Between Sisters

“Funny thing. ”

A look passed between them, a moment of perfect understanding; when it passed, and they were back in ordinary time, Claire felt a tug of regret.

“I think the fabric is too flimsy, don’t you?” Claire said. Her job was to find a flaw in each dress, a reason her sister shouldn’t spend this much money.

Meghann frowned. “Too flimsy? You look gorgeous. ”

“It hangs on every bulge. I’d have to wear undergarments made by Boeing. ”

“Claire. It’s a size ten. One more comment like that and you’ll qualify for the Hollywood Wives Eating Disorder League. ”

After that, Claire tried on a succession of dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. She felt like a princess, and it didn’t ruin the day at all that she had to decline each one. She could always find one tiny thing that made the dress less than perfect. The sleeves are too short, too wide, too ruffled. . . . The neckline is too sweet, too sexy, too traditional. . . . The feel of this one isn’t right.

She could tell that Meghann was getting frustrated. She kept delivering armfuls of gowns. “Here, try these,” she said every time. Meg and patience had never known each other well.

Risa had long ago gone on to other customers.

Finally, Claire came to the last dress of the day. Meghann had chosen it. An elegant white gown with a heavily beaded tank bodice and a flowing taffeta silk skirt.

Claire unhooked her bra and stepped into the dress. She was still fastening the back as she stepped out of the dressing room.

Meghann was completely silent.

Claire frowned. She heard Risa in another part of the store, chattering loudly to another customer.

Claire looked at her sister. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. Should I begin the Heimlich?”

“Look. ”

Claire lifted the heavy skirt off the ground and stepped up onto the platform. Slowly, she faced the trifold mirror.

The woman who stared back at her wasn’t Claire Cavenaugh. No. This woman hadn’t partied her way out of a state college and decided that cosmetology was a viable career choice, only to quit attending those classes as well . . . she hadn’t borne a child out of wedlock because her lover refused to marry her . . . and she certainly didn’t manage a campground that pretended it was a resort.

This woman arrived in limousines and drank champagne from fluted glasses. She slept on high-thread-count sheets and always had a current passport.

This was the woman she could have been, if she’d gone to college in New York and done graduate work in Paris. Maybe it was the woman she could still become.

How could a dress highlight everything that had gone wrong with your life and subtly promise a different future? She imagined the look on Bobby’s face when she walked down the aisle. Bobby, who’d knelt on one knee when he asked her to please, please be his wife. If he saw her in this dress . . .

Meghann came up behind her, stood on the platform.

There they were, side by side. Mama’s girls, who’d once been closer than sisters and were now so far apart.

Meghann touched Claire’s bare shoulder. “Don’t even try to find something wrong with this dress. ”

“I didn’t look at the price tag, but—”

Meghann ripped the tag in half. “And you won’t. ” She turned, raised a hand. “Risa. Get over here. ”

Claire looked at her sister. “You knew, didn’t you? You handpicked it. ”

Meg tried not to smile. “It’s Vera Wang, honey. Of course I knew. I also knew your defenses were a bit high at the outset. You don’t want me to buy your dress. ”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to. ”

“It’s okay, Claire. It means a lot to me that you’ve included me in your wedding. ”

“We’re family,” Claire answered after a long pause. It felt awkward, this conversation, and vaguely dangerous. As if they were skating on a frozen pond that couldn’t possibly hold their weight. “Thank you for the dress. It’s what . . . ” Her voice cracked a little. “I always dreamed of. ”