I laughed for the first time in weeks.
Colin asked me out.
Colin had that effect on both of us.
With his patience and Paige’s determination, she gradually regained her strength and coordination.
After her therapy ended, Colin asked me out. By our third date, Paige had already made up her mind.
“Mom, you should marry him.”
“We’ve been on three dates!”
I rolled my eyes.
“And? You’re not getting any younger.”
I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I was beginning to agree.
Somewhere between shared dinners, terrible jokes, and Sunday afternoons together, Colin stopped feeling like a visitor.
He became family.
Her jewelry came from Italy.
Then there was Colin’s mother, Joyce.
Joyce was the kind of woman who could turn a casual lunch into a fashion show nobody had asked to attend.
Her handbags supposedly cost thousands. Her jewelry came from Italy.
Her shoes were purchased at exclusive boutiques whose names she pronounced with such enthusiasm that I was afraid she’d sprain her tongue.
She was perfectly polite.
I suspected that if Joyce ever bought something on sale, she’d need medical attention.
Unfortunately, her expensive taste didn’t extend to good manners.
In front of Colin, she was perfectly polite. But whenever he left the room, she found creative ways to remind me that I wasn’t the daughter-in-law she’d envisioned.
“Not someone else’s.”
During one visit, while Colin was making coffee, she sighed.
“I’d hoped for grandchildren of my own. Not someone else’s.”
“Well, Paige already knows how to use the bathroom by herself,” I replied. “Think of the money you’ll save on diapers.”
Joyce stared at me like I’d suggested serving canned soup at Buckingham Palace.
Joyce complained.
She wasn’t particularly fond of homemade things, either.
One Christmas, a relative knitted her a beautiful scarf.
“Honestly, if people can’t afford a proper present, they should just send flowers,” Joyce complained.
I wondered whether anyone had explained to her how much flowers cost in this economy.
She was his family.
Colin knew his mother could be difficult, but he’d spent years ignoring her obsession with appearances.
Still, whenever Paige came up, he made one thing perfectly clear: she was his family.
I hoped Joyce would eventually accept that.
Until then, I intended to keep the peace.
For Colin’s sake, anyway.
She was making my dress.
When Colin proposed, Paige screamed so loudly that our neighbor came over to check if someone had been murdered.
Then, before I’d even picked a wedding date, she announced that she was making my dress.
“Sweetheart, we could just buy one.”
“Mom, I know what I’m doing.”
She wasn’t worried.
“You said that right before you broke both arms.”
“Are you seriously going to hold that against me forever?”
“Probably until I’m ninety.”
Paige had fallen in love with sewing during her recovery, starting with simple pillowcases and eventually making her own clothes. But a wedding dress was another matter entirely.
“You broke both arms.”
She wasn’t worried.
Within a week, our spare room resembled a small clothing factory. There were sketches taped to the walls, lace draped over chairs, and enough fabric to dress a small army.
Colin found a sewing pin in his sock one morning.
“Is this part of the wedding planning?” he asked, hopping around the kitchen.
She adjusted the neckline.
“Consider it your first sacrifice as a husband,” Paige replied.
Over the following months, I watched my daughter turn rolls of fabric into something extraordinary.
She measured me approximately a thousand times, adjusted the neckline, and spent an entire Sunday deciding between two nearly identical pieces of lace.
Three nights before the wedding, I found her still awake, carefully attaching tiny pearl buttons.
“Just a few more.”
“Paige, honey, you need to sleep.”
“Just a few more.”
“You said that two hours ago.”
She looked up, smiling.
“This is my gift to both of you. Without Colin, I never would’ve been able to make this with my own hands.”
She looked up.
I kissed the top of her head, suddenly unable to speak.
When she finally helped me try on the finished dress, every seam was perfect.
And as I looked at my daughter in the mirror, I knew no designer in the world could have made anything more precious.
Meanwhile, Joyce had become particularly enthusiastic about showing off her designer collection.
I started noticing.
Whenever we went to a restaurant, she placed her handbag on the table like it was another guest. Usually, a more important one.
“This is genuine Italian leather,” she’d announce, sometimes to waiters who’d only asked whether we wanted sparkling water.
But I started noticing little things.
I wasn’t a fashion expert.
One supposedly exclusive handbag had crooked stitching. Another had a zipper that got stuck so often Joyce practically needed Colin’s physical therapy services to open it.
Then there was the purse she’d apparently purchased during a luxurious shopping trip to Paris.
Funny, because I distinctly remembered her spending that entire month at home, complaining about the rain.
I wasn’t a fashion expert, but something about Joyce’s collection didn’t add up.
“Limited edition.”
Not that I cared. People could carry their groceries in designer handbags or plastic bags for all I cared.
What bothered me was how Joyce treated anyone who couldn’t afford expensive things.
One afternoon, she arrived at our house carrying another new purse.
“Limited edition,” she announced proudly. “Only two hundred of these were ever made.”
I bit my tongue.
“Wow,” I said, admiring its suspiciously crooked logo. “And you managed to get one. What are the odds?”
Joyce smiled.
“Well, darling, some people simply have connections.”
I bit my tongue.
Apparently, those connections didn’t include a decent quality-control department.
My breath caught.
On the morning of the wedding, Paige helped me into my dress, carefully fastening every pearl button.
When I turned toward the mirror, my breath caught.
The lace fell beautifully, the waist fit perfectly, and those tiny pearls shimmered whenever I moved.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered.
“Don’t start crying,” Paige warned. “I spent three nights on those buttons. If you ruin my makeup with a group hug, I’m charging you.”
“You look beautiful.”
Naturally, I hugged her anyway.
At the altar, Colin took one look at me and wiped his eyes.
“Oh my God, you look beautiful.”
“You’re supposed to save the crying for the vows,” I whispered.
“Too late.”
She beamed.
Then he caught Paige’s eye.
“You did an incredible job, sweetheart.”
She beamed.
The ceremony was everything I’d hoped for.
Unfortunately, the reception came with Joyce.
Linda glanced down.
She spent the first hour inspecting everyone’s outfits as though she’d been hired to judge a fashion competition.
Her favorite target was Colin’s Aunt Linda, who carried an older handbag.
“Linda, sweetheart, they do make handbags this century.”
Linda glanced down.
“I know. But this one has something yours doesn’t.”
“Sentimental value.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Sentimental value.”
I nearly choked on my champagne.
Joyce wasn’t finished. Ten minutes later, she loudly announced that her own handbag cost more than Linda’s entire outfit.
I decided to ignore her.
Colin overheard her and shot her a warning look.
Joyce immediately became fascinated by the floral arrangements.
I decided to ignore her.
It was my wedding day, after all, and I wasn’t about to let one unpleasant woman ruin it.
Unfortunately, Joyce apparently had other plans.
Her glass tipped.
I was laughing at something Linda had said when Joyce approached with a glass of red wine.
I stepped aside to let her pass, but instead of walking by, she reached across me.
Her glass tipped. Cold wine splashed down the front of my dress, soaking into the delicate lace.
“Oh my God!”
I grabbed a napkin, staring helplessly as a crimson stain spread across the skirt.
I slowly looked up.
Paige rushed over with more napkins.
“Mom, don’t rub it! You’ll make it worse!”
Joyce watched us struggle without moving a muscle.
“Oh, stop fussing. It looked homemade anyway. I’ve been embarrassed for you all afternoon.”
I slowly looked up.
Joyce shrugged.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, someone had to say it.”
“Paige spent months making this!”
Joyce shrugged.
“Perhaps she should’ve spent a little longer.”
“Right now.”
I stepped between her and my daughter.
“You owe Paige an apology. Right now.”
Instead, Joyce deliberately wiped her wine-soaked fingers on a clean fold of my skirt.
“If this is the best she can do, she doesn’t belong in this family. I told Colin that a long time ago.”
Paige went pale.
I turned back.
“I can fix it, Mom,” she whispered.
I pulled her against me.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to fix anything.”
Then I turned back to Joyce.
“This dress means more to me than anything you’ve ever bought. And if you think you’re going to insult my daughter at my wedding—”
He’d heard plenty.
“What’s going on here?”
Colin stood behind Joyce.
From his expression, he’d heard plenty.
He looked at Paige’s trembling hands, then at my ruined skirt. Without saying a word, he gently took the napkin from Paige.
He walked out.
Then he turned toward the DJ.
“Turn off the music.”
The room fell silent.
“Give me five minutes.”
And he walked out.
I looked at her.
Joyce watched him leave, then smiled.
“Good. He’s going to sort this out.”
I looked at her.
“For once, Joyce, I think you’re right.”
But as I stared at the doors, I couldn’t imagine what Colin was planning.
Colin walked in.
Five minutes later, the reception doors opened.
Colin walked in carrying a large cardboard box.
The moment Joyce saw it, her smile vanished. She grabbed the edge of a table.
“Colin,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t do that to your own mother.”
He set the box down and opened it.
“What’s all this?”
Inside were several handbags, jewelry boxes, silk scarves, and other accessories I’d heard Joyce brag about for months.
“What’s all this?” someone asked.
“Mom asked me to keep these in my car,” Colin explained. “She wanted to change outfits for the evening reception. Apparently, one designer handbag wasn’t enough for today.”
“This is ridiculous!”
A few guests chuckled.
Colin picked up a familiar-looking purse.
“Mom, how much did you tell everyone this cost?”
“Colin, this is ridiculous!”
“Four thousand dollars?”
Joyce gasped.
“That’s none of their business!”
“You made it everyone’s business when you spent half the afternoon telling people.”
He turned toward the guests.
“These are counterfeits. Every single one.”
Joyce gasped.
Nobody answered.
“How dare you!”
“Mom, you told me yourself where you bought them online. You even showed me the website and made me promise not to tell anyone.”
Linda leaned forward, suddenly very interested.
“Wait. So my ancient handbag might actually be worth more?”
“How dare you!”
Nobody answered, but several people laughed.
“You’re humiliating your own mother!” Joyce snapped.
“You poured wine on my wife’s wedding dress and told my daughter she didn’t belong in our family. I think we’re a little past worrying about this.”
Joyce opened her mouth, but Colin continued.
That did it.
“You could carry a ten-dollar purse for the rest of your life, I wouldn’t care. But you don’t get to make other people feel worthless because they don’t own expensive things.”
Joyce folded her arms.
“At least my accessories LOOK expensive! At least I understand quality! That girl clearly doesn’t!”
I looked at Paige, still clutching a stained napkin.
Colin continued.
That did it.
There was something Colin didn’t know. And I was finally going to tell him.
“Actually, Joyce, that’s interesting. Because a few months ago, Paige’s sewing was apparently good enough for you.”
Colin turned toward me.
“What?”
Joyce went rigid.
“Paige was thrilled.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, I think it’s time.”
I looked at Colin.
“A few months ago, your mother came to our house with a dress she claimed cost four thousand dollars. One of the seams had split, and apparently, her usual tailor was unavailable.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Mom, you asked Paige to fix your dress?”
“She’s making a mountain out of a molehill!”
“Paige was thrilled,” I continued. “She thought Joyce was finally taking an interest in her sewing.”
I remembered how excited my daughter had been.
“She spent an entire afternoon repairing it. But while she was working, she noticed something strange. The designer label had been stitched over a cheap manufacturer’s tag.”
I raised an eyebrow.
A murmur spread through the room.
“It was one little seam!” Joyce protested.
“And Paige fixed it?” Colin asked.
“Well, yes, but that’s not the point!”
I raised an eyebrow.
She came back.
“Oh, we’re just getting to the point.”
Joyce looked ready to swallow her own tongue.
“Three days later, she came back with an envelope full of designer labels. She wanted Paige to sew them into several ordinary dresses and jackets.”
Colin stared at his mother.
She scoffed.
“You seriously asked her to do that?”
She scoffed. “That’s a complete exaggeration!”
“Really? Because you told me Paige should be grateful for the opportunity to work with luxurious clothing.”
“Well, she should have been!”
“Except the clothing wasn’t luxurious, Joyce. That was literally the problem.”
Paige finally spoke.
A few guests snickered.
Paige finally spoke.
“I remember that dress. The stitching was so bad I had to redo half the seam.”
“Nobody asked you!” Joyce snapped.
Paige blinked.
I stepped closer.
“You did. That’s kind of how this whole thing started.”
Linda burst out laughing.
I stepped closer to Joyce.
“So let me get this straight. Paige’s hands were good enough to repair your precious designer dress. They were good enough when you wanted fake labels sewn into your clothes. Now suddenly her work was embarrassing?”
Closed it.
Joyce opened her mouth.
Closed it.
For once in her life, she had absolutely nothing to say.
And nobody rushed to rescue her from the silence.
Colin stared at his mother.
“I’m your mother!”
“I don’t care whether your handbags cost ten dollars or ten thousand. I care about how you treat people.”
“Colin, I’m your mother!”
“And Paige is my daughter. You don’t get to decide whether she belongs in this family.”
Joyce looked scandalized.
“I deserve some respect!”
Joyce sighed dramatically.
“Then try showing some. Apologize to Paige.”
Joyce sighed dramatically.
“Fine. I’m sorry. Weddings are stressful, and the wine—”
“The wine didn’t insult my daughter,” I interrupted. “You did.”
Colin nodded toward the doors.
“Apologize to Paige.”
“Mom, I think you should leave.”
“You’re throwing your own mother out?”
“I’m asking someone who hurt my family to leave.”
Joyce grabbed her handbag and marched toward the exit, muttering about ungrateful children.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Joyce grabbed her handbag.
Then Linda raised her battered old handbag.
“Well, at least nobody tried to expose my collection.”
The room erupted in laughter. Even Paige managed a small smile.
Joyce had spent years trying to prove her possessions were worth thousands.
But the most valuable thing at our wedding was something my daughter had made herself. It had never needed a fake label to prove its worth.
