Was it embarrassing to faint because of blood in front of Mr.Tyler?You betcha.But afterward, he hadn’t made me feel weak or embarrassed at all.He made me feel…treasured.
My shift at the pub is supposed to end at nine, but when I tell Natasha I have a chance to go to the Tyler Gala, she volunteers to stay late for me.
“Girl, I’d quit this job entirely for an opportunity like that.”She’s wearing her black braids in a high ponytail, and when she shakes her head, her hair dances.“You can leave early.I got you, okay?”
My smile for her is genuine.Everything feels brighter, happier, clearer.“Thank you!”
I float along, taking orders from guests, delivering their food and drinks, accepting payment.My mind isn’t on the work, but that’s okay.The job is physically taxing, but it usually doesn’t require a lot of thought, and I’m free to fantasize about the gala.
When eight o’clock rolls around, Natasha taps my shoulder.“Hey, shouldn’t you be going?”
“I still have to close out the bill on twenty-two,” I say, lifting my chin toward a table of people lingering over the dregs of their brew.
“I will drag you out of here if you don’t go,” she says with a laugh, her pale green eyes sparkling.“I’ll take care of twenty-two.Go, get ready!Live the life we all dream of, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” I say.And then, surprising us both, I pull her into a tight hug.“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, looking pleased.
I thought I didn’t have any friends—I thought Joel was the only person filling the role.But now I see I have a friend in Mrs.Dali, and maybe a new friendship with Natasha.
Grinning to myself, I head home.I don’t know if Mrs.Dali was able to make the final adjustments on the dress.When I tried it on yesterday morning, it needed a few more alterations to the front so I don’t flash my tits all over the place.
I bet Mrs.Dali was able to do it, though.The woman is incredible.She must be some kind of fashion wizard.
Who would’ve thought this gala could actually happen?
Certainly not me.
At first, I thought Joel was being cruel by leaving the ticket for me on my cleaning cart.Or thoughtless.But maybe Joel left the ticket for me just in case.Maybe he had some hope—however unfounded—that I would find a dress in the end.
Maybe he’s not completely irredeemable.
When I reach my apartment building, I hurry up to Mrs.Dali’s apartment on the second floor.She’s waiting in her doorway, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide and excited, looking even bigger than usual behind her glasses.
“It’s all ready for you, Ella.You have to try it on!”
I can’t help my giggle of excitement, and even as it leaves my lips, I wonder when the last time was that I giggled like this.Was it before Dad died?It’s been almost a year.The thought sobers me immediately, but Mrs.Dali yanks me farther into her apartment and all of my somber thoughts disappear.Because, wow.
There it is.The dress.
It’s hanging up in front of the hallway, and on the easy chair next to it is a pair of shoes and a tiny clutch.They match the dress exactly.
“How did you pull this off?”I ask, hurrying forward to run a finger tentatively along the edge of the clutch.It’s a simple design, a drawstring bag, but it somehow still looks elegant.
“Waste not, want not.I used fabric from those flowing pieces we lopped off of the back of the dress,” she says.“From there, it was a simple matter of finding the perfect ribbon for the string, which I had in abundance in one of my sewing kits.And, well, your shoes were a little more difficult.I had to ask around.I checked your size when you slept here on Thursday night.Only one of my friends is your exact size, and we weren’t sure she would have a pair that could work, but we really got lucky.”
“You did all of this…for me,” I whisper.“Thank you.”
“Oh, you do so much for me, dear, I just wanted to do something in return.Now, it’s time to get ready.Fuss later, fuss later.You don’t want to be late to the gala!”
She helps me with my hair and make-up, but we keep it simple because neither of us has the skill to go crazy-glamorous.It doesn’t matter, though, not to me.I’m going to look amazing in this dress.
Once my hair and make-up are done, I retreat to the bathroom by myself and slip the dress on.It’s definitely a no-bra affair, but Mrs.Dali worked a miracle with the front, and I’m fairly secure the girls will be snug and covered throughout the evening.
I barely recognize the woman in the mirror.Usually when I see myself, I see a tired woman, someone who looks twenty years older than she really is.Someone who has had her hopes and dreams ruined.Those hopes and dreams haven’t been smashed outright, but chipped away a tiny bit every single day.
But now, looking at myself, I see someone who has the energy and the hope necessary to go out and enjoy herself for once.
