“I’ve got the perfect one for you,” Arthur says, leading her to a rack neat the fitting rooms.
It is not the perfect one for her. Navy, high collar. The lines are all wrong.
Neither are any of the four Arthur brings over for her. I stand outside the cubicle listening as Sophie becomes more and more frustrated.
There are a few other women shopping for dresses for the dance as well, and as I wait for Sophie, I give my opinions for an older woman—feathers are never a good idea—and tell a wide-eyed seventeen-year-old whose mother must have pulled her out of class for the shopping trip that the pink makes her look too young.
The mother glares at me, but changes her tune when I find an A-line with a lace overlay in periwinkle that the daughter falls in love with.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I finally cut in as Arthur goes off to find more dress selections for Sophie. “She needs something that enhances her curves, not hides them. And nothing so dark. A green would be good, or gold.”
“You want me to wear a gold dress?” Sophie laughs from behind the change room door.
“Shh,” I tell her, leading Arthur to the front of the store. “I know what I’m doing. I saw something in here yesterday...”
I find the dress amid a rack of basic browns. “This,” I declare, holding it up.
“Or this?” Arthur has his own selection, an off-the shoulder sage-green satin.
“Pretty, but mine is better. But bring it along.”
“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it,” the older woman calls after me.
But I know Sophie will take it. It’s perfect for her.
She tries on the green and it’s… nice. It’s a very pretty dress, albeit simple, but at least the colour works for Sophie. And if I didn’t know Sophie so well, I’d tell her to take it.
But I do know her, so I tell her to try on the other dress before she decides.
I listen to her mutters and curses as she gets into it. And then…
“Oh.”
This is a differentohfrom before. This is theohof a woman who has fallen in love with a dress.
Just like I knewshe would.
And when she steps out of the cubicle and spins in a circle before the small group of customers with their oohs and ahs, I fall in love too.
From the moment Sophie steps out, my attention is caught, and clings to her like the dress. It flows over her like bronze-tinted water, the thin, gossamer fabric catching every breath.
It skims her curves with confidence, close enough for her shape to be visible, but leaves enough to the imagination.
And looking at Sophie in that dress, I have an imagination.
A soft neckline with fluttery cap sleeves, snug at the top with a gentle sway at her hips, the bronze colour brings out the red highlights of her hair and gives warmth to her cheeks.
Or maybe it’s the way she stares at her reflection in the three-way mirror, her cheeks flushed with wonder.
It’s the type of dress that not everyone can wear, nor will many want to, but it’s the kind of dress that makes me want to stay close to Sophie. Not because it reveals too much, but because it reveals so much of her.
Sophie looks at me staring at her in the mirror, wide-eyed with wonder, and she laughs.
“That’s the one,” I say with satisfaction.
“Can you help me find a dress that makes me look like that?” the older woman asks.
39
