“It fits,” Phee acknowledged.
“It better,” Amy said. Her eyes narrowed on me. “We need to take yours in at the waist. Have you lost weight?”
Yes. “No. I like it loose,” I protested.
“You look amazing,” Meg said. Smoothing things over, the way she always did.
Or proving I’d really needed to lose those extra pounds.
“Beth should be comfortable,” Jo said, coming to my defense. “I want everybody to be comfortable.”
“You look beautiful,” I said. Almost boyish, even though she was a mother now.
“Especially your arms,” Meg said. “Have you been working out?”
Jo smiled. “Lifting my little guy.”
Amy turned from the bed with a shoe box in her hands. “Speaking of comfortable...”
“I thought I’d wear my old sandals,” Jo said.
“Just try them,” our mother said.
Jo looked from the shoe box to Amy’s hopeful face and sighed. “Sure. Why not?” She tugged off the lid and dug in the tissue paper. “Oh, Ames.” Her laugh was choked with emotion. She drew out a pair of white sneakers, adorned with tiny black bows to match her dress. “They’re perfect. Everything’s perfect.”
Whirling, she hugged our sister close. The mirror caught the moment, Jo’s dark head by Amy’s bright one, the misty smile on Meg’s face, the naked love in our mother’s eyes. My vision shimmered at the sight of all of us together. Aunt Phee sniffed.
“I never thought I’d say this, but you were right about the dresses,” Jo said.
“You all look wonderful,” our mother said.
Meg smiled. “We do, kind of.”
We looked like sisters, all in blue, the same and not the same. Meghad chosen something off-the-shoulder that hugged her curves. Amy wore a midnight fit-and-flare, the cutouts at the waist and hem filled with dark illusion.
I smoothed the soft blue lace Amy had picked out for me, wishing I had bought a larger size. But Amy had insisted.
Our mother smiled at me reassuringly. “Stop fussing. You look fine.”
“You, too, Momma,” I said.
Her body, straight and spare as pine, was set off by a sleeveless steel-blue sheath. She looked like Meg would in twenty years, with thick, faded hair and steady eyes, our sister’s prettiness stripped down to its essential structure.
“Not bad for an old broad.”
“Just wait until Dad sees you,” Amy said.
“Ha. Your father hasn’t looked at me in years,” Abby scoffed. But her cheeks turned pink.
“Hey!” Jo grinned. “My dress has pockets!”
“Don’t you dare carry anything but a handkerchief,” Meg said. “You’ll spoil the line of your skirt.”
“Okay.” Jo took a deep breath and grabbed the bottle of champagne sitting ready in the bucket Meg had brought up from the kitchen. “A toast!”
The cork popped. The camera clicked and whirred. I didn’t even blink.
“Just half a glass for me,” our mother said.
