“Next October,” she said. “We want a fall wedding.”
That gave her eight months. Enough time to find a dress, unless she was looking at something custom, in which case she might want to start sooner.
“Are you thinking about dresses yet?” I asked.
“Kind of,” she said. “Mom mentioned I might be able to see yours for inspiration.”
I felt something shift slightly in my chest. Not alarm, exactly. More like the first note of a song you know is going to go somewhere you don’t want it to go.
“My dress is at Mom’s,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind if you looked at it.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I mean — for inspiration, absolutely. It’s not available to wear or anything, obviously. It’s mine. But if it would help you figure out what you want, that’s fine.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” Elise said.
I want to be careful here about what I consented to, because it matters. I said she could look at it. I said it was not available to wear. I said it was fine to see it for inspiration. I did not say she could try it on. I did not say she could have it. I did not say anything that could be reasonably interpreted as offering the dress as a gift or a loan.
Afterward, I sent my mother a text. I still have it. It says: *Just talked to Elise. I’m fine with her looking at the dress for inspiration. Please don’t let her try it on or take it anywhere — I just want her to be able to see the construction and embroidery if that helps her figure out her own direction.*