My grandmother’s words were still warm in my hand, and Chloe’s fingers were the last fingers I wanted touching them.
“You want to see it?” I asked.
“Yes.”
My voice was shaking, but I kept it steady enough. “Then I’ll read it. Out loud. So you don’t have to wonder.”
“You want to see it?”
Chloe blinked.
She had not expected that.
I unfolded the paper and lifted it so the light from the gymnasium chandeliers caught the ink.
“My darling girl,” I read. “If you are reading this at prom, then I made it long enough to see you walk out the door in this dress. That alone is the greatest gift my life has ever given me.”
The laughter at the edges of the crowd faded a little.
She had not expected that.
I felt it. Chloe felt it too.
Her smirk twitched.
“Keep going,” she said, but her voice had lost something.
I swallowed and continued. “The fabric I used is not new. It is silk that was gifted to me almost twenty years ago by a woman I once helped during the hardest winter of her life. She had two little girls and nowhere to go.”
I lifted my eyes from the paper for one second.
“Keep going,”
Chloe’s expression had shifted.
The smirk was gone.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped, but quieter.
“I’m reading it,” I said. “You asked.”
I looked back down. “I gave that family a place to sleep, food on the table, and rent for almost a year. I never asked for anything back.”
“I’m reading it,”
“But when they got back on their feet, the mother brought me this silk,” I continued. “She said it was the most beautiful thing she owned. She wanted me to keep it for someone I loved more than anything in this world.”
A few people had stopped dancing.
The girls behind Chloe were no longer giggling.
“That someone was always you,” I read. “Wear this dress and remember that kindness is the only currency that ever lasts.”
Then I held up the photograph.
That was when everything changed.
“That someone was always you,”
In it, my grandmother stood beside a younger woman.
Both of them were smiling.
Both of them held the corner of a folded length of blue silk between them.
“This is my grandmother,” I said, raising the picture. “And this is the woman she helped.”
Chloe stared at the photograph.
The color in her face drained away in stages, like watching a candle burn down.
“This is my grandmother,”
“Where did you get that?” she whispered.
