Chapter 2 - The Seamstress Who Knew the Stitching
Two weeks before prom, one of the fabric flowers on the left side of the dress worked loose and hung by a single thread.
I panicked. There was no version of this where I asked Denise or my father for help. Instead I called Theo — my AP Chemistry partner, a calm, careful guy who had watched me stress over that dress for months — and he drove me to a small alteration shop downtown called Delgado's Alterations.
Mrs. Delgado had a reputation for vintage work and delicate custom pieces. She spread the dress across her worktable and went still. She ran one finger along a particular pleat near the waist, then looked up at me.
"Has anyone else brought this dress in before?" she asked. "Or photographed it?"
I didn't understand the question.
She set down her glasses. About a month earlier, she told me, a well-dressed blonde woman had come into the shop with photos of a dusty pink gown on her phone. The woman wanted an exact replica — every flower, every seam — and she wanted it fast, for an "anniversary event." Mrs. Delgado hadn't thought twice about it at the time. Seeing the original dress on her table made everything line up.
Then she parted the heavy satin lining and pointed to the hem. Stitched into the fabric, small and blue and in careful cursive, was a single letter. A V.
May you like
"That's a maker's mark," she said gently. "Whoever sewed this signed it."
It was my mother's signature. She left it on every piece she ever made.
