On Tuesday, I found her at the kitchen table at almost one in the morning. She’d moved the machine out there because the light was better. There was fabric everywhere. Pins in a little red tomato cushion. Her phone propped up against the sugar bowl with a video playing on mute.
The dress was blue. A soft, pale blue, like the sky early in the morning. It had a fitted top and a skirt that would swing when you walked. Even half-finished, it was beautiful.
“Sweetheart, it’s nearly one,” I said, pulling up a chair beside her. “Can’t this wait?”
She didn’t look up. “No.”
“You have a chemistry test tomorrow.”
“I studied.”
“When?”
“In the car this morning.”
I sighed. “Who’s it for? It’s not your size.”
She finally stopped sewing. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist.
“Annie’s singing in the school concert, Mom. Her mother can’t afford a dress.”
“Annie?”
“Annie Hale. She’s in my grade.”
I knew the name, barely. Lily had mentioned her once or twice. Quiet girl. Sat alone at lunch. Her mother cleaned offices at night. I think I’d seen her once in the school parking lot, standing by herself in a jacket that was too thin for October.
“I didn’t know you two were friends,” I said.
Lily hesitated. Just for a second.
“We’re not really,” she said. “Not yet.”
She flexed her tired fingers, then picked up her needle again. She was doing the hem by hand now. Tiny, careful stitches.
“The boys already laugh at what she wears,” she said quietly. “There’s this kid, Trevor Banks. He calls her Goodwill. Like that’s her name. ‘Hey, Goodwill.’ Everybody laughs. Yesterday, she asked Mr. Duncan if she could sing from behind the curtain.”
“Behind the curtain?”
“So nobody would see her. Just hear her.”
“Oh, honey…”
“Mr. Duncan said no. He said she was the best voice in the whole choir and she was singing the solo, and the solo goes up front.” Lily pulled the thread tight. “She looked like she was going to throw up.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I want her to wear something she doesn’t have to hide in.” Lily spread the skirt across her knees so I could see it. Her voice got softer. “She has such a pretty voice, Mom. You should hear her. When she sings, everybody shuts up. Even Trevor.”
I looked at my daughter. At the dark circles under her eyes. At the little red marks on her fingertips from the needle.
I remember thinking: I did something right. With everything that went wrong, with all the money we didn’t have and all the things I couldn’t give her, I had raised a girl who would stay up until one in the morning to sew a dress for someone who wasn’t even her friend.
I kissed the top of her head.
