TWENTY-SEVEN
“Turn around so I can see the back of the dress,” Rachel said from her position on the large round stool in front of the pedestal. Angie followed her request. “Now turn facing me.”
Angie saw her mother’s hand resting emotionally near her throat when she spun back around. No doubt the sight of her daughter in a wedding dress had made her weepy. “How does it feel? Because it looks perfect.” She dabbed at tears with a tissue as she talked.
“Just fine. Not too tight; not bagging, either. I don’t think any more alteration needs to be done,” Angie said. “Let’s wrap it up and go home.”
“You got it,” Rachel said, standing.
“I think you should keep the dress at the condo. I’ll be dressing there anyway,” Angie said.
“Good thought. I’ll hang it in the closet of your old room.” Rach
