When Margaret receives a white maxi dress from her daughter-in-law, Anita, for the wedding, she suspects a setup because of their fraught history. As she arrives at the ceremony, unexpected revelations await, and later, Anita reflects on the symbology of a white dress.
I didn’t even have to read the note to know the beautifully wrapped box on my doorstep was from Anita. Who else would send me something so over-the-top?
With a mix of curiosity and dread, I tore through the wrapping paper, revealing a stunning white maxi dress.
Then the note fell out. “Please wear this to the wedding. Love, Anita.”
Love, Anita? Really? I could almost hear the sarcasm dripping off those words. You see, Anita and I have had our fair share of disagreements.
When she first started dating my son, James, I thought she was charming. Modern, confident, and clearly intelligent. But then the clashes started.
It began with small things, lifestyle choices, mostly. James had always been a bit of a mama’s boy, and Anita was too headstrong, too different from the traditional values I held dear.
But the real trouble started with the wedding planning. She excluded me from every detail, every decision. I found out about the venue from a friend, for goodness’ sake! And now, this darn dress.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Linda, my best friend. “You won’t believe what Anita did now,” I said as soon as she picked up.
“What happened?” Linda’s voice was a comforting anchor.
“She sent me a dress to wear to the wedding. A white dress! Can you imagine?” I paced around my living room, my voice rising with every word.
“Hmm,” Linda said thoughtfully. “It could be a setup. Or it could be a misunderstanding. Maybe you should talk to her?”
I feared Margaret would never accept me, always seeing me as the woman who took her son away. The thought of planning a wedding with her scrutinizing every detail was daunting. For my own sanity, I had to exclude her.
“Talk to her?” I echoed. The very idea made me break out in a cold sweat. But Linda had a point.
The next day, I found myself sitting across from Anita in a quaint little café. I could barely sip my coffee; my hands were trembling too much. Anita looked composed as ever, a serene smile on her face.
“You don’t like the dress?” Anita asked, her brow wrinkling.
“It’s a lovely dress, I just don’t understand why you want me to wear a /white/ dress to your wedding,” I replied.
She leaned in, her eyes earnest. “This wedding is about family coming together and I wanted to honor you, Margaret. That’s why I chose the dress. It’s important to me that you wear it.”