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The steam from the iron smelled like starch and hot metal. I ran the silver plate of the iron down the sleeve of Damon’s white button-down shirt,pressing the crease flat.
Damon sat at the kitchen table, his finger tracing the edge of a printed menu he had pulled up on his laptop. He adjusted his collar, though he was only wearing his gray undershirt.
“Thirty-four dollars for a roasted chicken,” Damon said, shaking his head. “In Oak Creek, Ohio. They must think people do not know what a bird costs at the grocery store.”
“The kids chose it because of the patio,” I said, keeping my eyes on the yoke of the shirt. “They wanted something nice for my fiftieth.”
“They wanted something expensive,” he said. He tapped the screen. “And their father is the one who has to pull out his wallet. Jake is twenty-four, he should understand how a budget works by now.”
“Jake is paying for his own share, Damon,” I said.
He did not look up from the screen. “He says he is. We will see who actually pays when the bill arrives.”
“He has a good job now,” I said.
“An entry-level marketing position in Columbus is not a career, Elena. It is a starter job.” Damon clicked the laptop shut with a sharp snap. “I just do not want him throwing his money away to impress people.”
I set the iron on its heel and smoothed the shirt sleeve one last time. “He is trying to impress me.”
Damon did not answer. He stood up, took the hanger from my hand, and carried the shirt toward the hallway without saying thank you.
By four o’clock, the iron was cold and back in the pantry. I stood in the dining room, looking at the dust motes floating in the pale October sun. My phone buzzed on the sideboard.
It was a text from Jake. “Just leaving Columbus now. We should be at the restaurant by six-forty-five. You guys on your way soon?”
My hand hovered over the keyboard. I knew how much work Jake had put into coordinating this dinner with Lily and Noah. Lily had spent three weeks trying to get a table near the fireplace, and Noah had saved his tips from the hardware store to buy a gift.
Damon walked into the room, his white shirt now on but unbuttoned at the top. He checked his watch. “What are you staring at?”
“Jake,” I said. “He wants to make sure we are on our way.”
“He is always checking up on us,” Damon said, walking toward the bathroom. “Tell him we will get there when we get there.”
I typed, “We are getting ready now. Can’t wait to see you.”
I went into our bedroom and closed the door. The house was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the heater in the hallway.
I reached into the back of the closet, past the dark wool coats and the sensible winter skirts, and pulled out the box from Evelyn’s Dress Shop. The tissue paper made a loud rustling sound in the quiet room.
I took out the emerald dress and held it against myself. It felt light, almost weightless, compared to the heavy cottons I usually wore.
I reached into my small jewelry box and took out my mother’s worn pearl earrings. They were small and slightly yellowed with age, but they were the only real jewelry I owned. I clipped them onto my ears, the cold metal pinching my lobes.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself, looking at the wall. “It is just a dress.”
I stepped into the green silk, pulling it up over my shoulders. The zipper went up easily, the fabric fitting snug against my waist.
I walked out of the bedroom, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.
Damon was coming up the stairs, his tie still loose around his neck. He stopped on the third step from the top, his hand gripping the banister. His eyes traveled from my shoes up to my neck, staying there for a long moment.
“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asked. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing my hands down the skirt. “I bought it last week.”
“You look like you are trying too hard, Elena,” he said, adjusting his collar. “A woman your age in bright green. People are going to stare.”
“Let them stare,” I said, though my voice caught slightly.
“I am not going to let a beautiful evening go to waste,” I added.
Damon laughed, a short, sharp sound. “You always take things so defensively. I am just looking out for you. You do not want to make a fool of yourself in front of the kids.”
He turned around and walked down the stairs without waiting for me to answer.
I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on the smooth wood of the railing. I could hear him downstairs, rustling his keys. I did not change my clothes. I walked down the stairs, opened the front door, and followed him out to the driveway.
The air was crisp, the smell of dry leaves rising from the pavement. We got into the car without speaking.
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