One Dress, Two Sisters

Irene was sitting on the floor of her mother's old bedroom when her sister came in. On the bed between them lay the dress, in a worn cardboard box. It was ivory silk with a long lace hem, and it smelled faintly of cedar.

"I know why you asked me here," Vilma said. "We are both going to say it's ours."

"We are," Irene said. "I wore it in my head when I was twelve. I think you did too."

Vilma smiled, but her eyes were serious. "I'm getting married in May, and you're getting married in October. If we go by the calendar, I win."

"If we go by who wants it more, nobody wins," Irene said. "That's the problem."

For a while, neither of them spoke. Irene looked at the old photo on the wall. In it, their mother stood in this dress, laughing, with her hair blowing across her face. Irene was the oldest, and she had always imagined that the dress would pass to her first. She was not sure whether she wanted the dress or only wanted to be chosen.

"Can I tell you something?" Vilma said at last. "I live so far away now. I see Mom twice a year. When I wear this dress, I think I will feel as if she is standing next to me."

Irene felt her own wish loosen a little. She did not want to give it up, but she saw what the dress meant to her sister. "Then you should wear it," she said slowly. "But I would like a piece of it too."

"What do you mean?"

"The hem is almost two meters of lace. If a seamstress shortens it for you, she could use what's left to make a veil. I could walk down the aisle in the same lace, and you would still have the dress."

Vilma stared at her. "You would really do that?"

"I have already started to like the idea," Irene said. "It might even be better. We would both be wearing her."

Vilma picked up the box lid and set it gently on the bed. "Let's call the seamstress tomorrow," she said. "Before one of us changes her mind."