My mother-in-law ordered me a dress four sizes too small for her 40th anniversary party — then laughed when I told her I couldn’t even pull it over my hips.
So I bought my own dress instead.
But at the party, I overheard two women talking about the dresses Clara had chosen for them.
And that was when I realized mine wasn’t the only one hiding a secret.
The dress itself was gorgeous.
Honestly, that made the whole thing worse.
It was made of deep blue satin with a narrow waist and delicate sleeves — exactly the sort of dress I might have chosen for myself before pregnancy changed what felt comfortable on my body.
My daughter was only three months old.
A few weeks earlier, Clara had called while I was shopping and told me not to buy anything for her anniversary dinner because she had already ordered my dress.
I didn’t think much of it.
Then the box arrived.
I opened it.
Saw the dress.
Loved it.
Then I checked the tag.
I stared at the size for several seconds.
It was nowhere close to what I wore now.
At first, I assumed the boutique had made a mistake.
Still, I decided to try it on.
I stepped into the dress.
Pulled carefully.
And stopped.
It wouldn’t even go over my hips.
I stood in front of the mirror with one arm tangled awkwardly in the fabric while my baby started fussing from her bassinet.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know.”
I peeled the dress off, folded it back into the box, and immediately called Clara.
She picked up quickly.
“Did the dress arrive?”
“Yes. I think the boutique sent the wrong size.”
There was a pause.
Then Clara laughed.
“No, sweetheart. That’s the one I ordered.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Clara, I literally can’t get it on.”
“I know.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean, you know?”
“The party is two weeks away.”
“So?”
Another little laugh.
“So you still have time.”
“For what?”
“To lose some weight.”
I looked toward my daughter.
She was lying in her bassinet with one tiny fist beside her cheek, wearing the deeply offended expression she always had whenever feeding time was even slightly delayed.
