Iris’s POV
My mother settled at the kitchen table and spread out her materials. Fabric swatches in every shade of white and cream. Magazine pages folded back to mark dress styles she thought I might like. A notebook covered in her careful handwriting, notes from conversations with caterers and florists and venue coordinators.
"This is every mother's dream, sweetheart," she said, holding up a swatch of ivory lace. "Watching her daughter marry a good man. I have been waiting for this day since you were born."
I smiled.
"Let me see the dress again," she said. "I have been dreaming about it."
I led her to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. The garment bag hung there, white and pristine, waiting. I unzipped it slowly.
My mother gasped.
"Oh, Iris." She pressed both hands to her chest. "
