Lia grinned. “You really don’t have a plan? It’s like, the most important night ever.”
I just smiled, but inside I was thinking about Dad teaching me to patch a torn sleeve, his big hands guiding mine at the sewing machine.
Back then, it was just Dad and me, and after Mom died, those small moments became everything.
“It’s like, the most important night ever.”
The house changed after Dad married Camila. Suddenly, there were two stepsisters, and Camila’s fake affection whenever Dad was around.
But the minute he left for duty, her smile faded.
My “chores” doubled, and Lia and Jen started dropping laundry outside my door.
Sometimes I’d stand in Dad’s closet, hold his old jacket to my chest, and whisper, “Miss you, Dad.”
“You’ll make me proud, Chels,” I imagined he’d say. “Whatever you do, wear it like you mean it.”
The house changed after Dad married Camila.
***
It was that night I decided I’d wear his uniform to prom. Not the way it was, but transformed, something new built from what he left behind. It felt like a secret between us.
For weeks, I worked in silence.
After scrubbing the kitchen floor and folding Jen’s endless stacks of shirts, I’d retreat to my room and stitch under my desk lamp.
Sometimes, in the quiet, I’d whisper goodnight to Dad.
I worked in silence.
***
One Saturday afternoon, I was hunched over my desk, thread in my mouth and Dad’s jacket spread out in front of me, when my door flew open.
Jen barged in without so much as a knock, arms overflowing with pastel dresses and tangled straps.
I startled, yanking the blanket over my project so fast I nearly sent the sewing box flying. “Careful, Jen!”
She cocked an eyebrow, peering at the lumpy shape beneath the blanket. “What are you hiding, Cinderella?” Her lips curled in a smirk as she dropped the armful of dresses right onto my feet.
“Nothing,” I said, forcing a yawn and glancing at my open math book. “Just homework.”
“Careful, Jen!”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. Whatever.” She dug out a wrinkled mint dress and shoved it at me. “Lia needs this steamed by tonight. And don’t burn anything, she’ll freak.”
“Got it.”
Jen’s gaze lingered on the covered project, but then she shrugged and left.
When her footsteps faded, I pulled back the blanket and smiled at the stitches. Dad would’ve called it “stealth sewing.”
“Lia needs this steamed by tonight.”
***
Three nights before prom, I stuck myself with the needle again, hard. A bead of blood welled up on my finger, staining the inside hem. For a moment, staring at the crooked seams, I thought about giving up.
But I didn’t.
When I slipped the finished dress on and faced the mirror, I didn’t see a maid or a shadow. I saw my dad’s jacket, my stitches, my story.
***
The night of prom, the whole house was in chaos. Camila was already in the kitchen, sipping her second cup of coffee, tapping her nails against her mug like a metronome.
I thought about giving up.
She didn’t even look up when I walked by.
“Chelsea, did you iron Lia’s dress?” she barked, eyes still on her phone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered quietly, folding dish towels. I could smell burnt toast and Lia’s perfume battling in the air.
Lia breezed in, waving her phone and holding her sparkling clutch. “Jen, where’s my lip gloss? The gold one. You promised not to touch it!” Her voice echoed down the hallway.
Jen came stomping out in her heels, every step a threat to the tiles. “I didn’t take your stupid lip gloss. Why do you always blame me?”
“Chelsea, did you iron Lia’s dress?”
“Because you always do! Mom, tell her —”
Camila cut in, “Both of you, enough. Chelsea, did you clean up the living room? There are crumbs everywhere.”
“I did it after breakfast,” I said, wishing I could disappear.
***
Upstairs, I slipped into my room and shut the door. My hands shook as I buttoned the bodice, the sash made from Dad’s service tie feeling heavier than ever. I pinned his silver pin, the one from basic training, at my waist and stared at my reflection.
For a second, I hesitated. Was I about to make a fool of myself?
I slipped into my room and shut the door.
Downstairs, laughter rolled through the house. I could hear Jen saying, “She’s probably wearing something she found at Goodwill.” Her voice carried straight up the staircase.
Lia chimed in. “Or something she pulled out of the donation bin behind the church.” Both girls laughed.
I forced myself to breathe. I had to do this. I opened my door and started down the stairs. Jen’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my God, is that…?’”
Lia blinked, then snorted. “You made your dress out of a uniform? Are you serious right now?”
Both girls laughed.
Camila’s eyes narrowed. “You cut up a uniform for that? Lord, look at you, Chelsea.”
“I didn’t cut it up. I made something out of what he left me.”
Camila laughed. “He left you rags, Chelsea. And it shows.”
Jen shook her head. “What, working at the diner wasn’t enough for a real dress?”
“It looks like you’re wearing something from the dollar-store,” Lia added. “Although, that’s totally your style.”
I blinked hard, willing the tears not to come.
“He left you rags, Chelsea. And it shows.”
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, three loud knocks, cutting straight through their laughter. Camila groaned.
“Probably someone complaining about your parking again, Chelsea. Go answer it.”
I tried, but my legs wouldn’t move.
