I used to believe the worst thing that could happen to my husband and me was missing our prom. Five years later, on the happiest night of my marriage, I learned how little I really knew about the people I’d trusted most.
The garment bag hung on my closet door like a promise.
Inside was the dress Terry and I had picked out three months earlier, back when the biggest worry in my life was whether the shoes would give me blisters by the second slow song.
I was 18, in love, and stupid enough to think nothing bad ever happened to girls like me.
Terry and I had been together since sophomore year.
By senior spring, everyone in our little town assumed we’d walk out of prom with plastic crowns on our heads as prom king and queen.
***
My then-boyfriend texted me days before prom, teasing me about “practicing our dance routine” in his kitchen with his mom’s dish towel as a partner.
“I’ve done it enough times not to step on your toes, but if I do, it’s because my mom gave me bad training,” Terry wrote.
“I’ll trade you in for the dish towel,” I typed back.
***
After school the day before prom, my boyfriend pulled me into a long hug by his car.
“I gotta drive to the next town,” he said. “My suit’s finally ready. The tailor called this morning.”
Terry grinned that lopsided grin of his.
“You’ll see it tomorrow,” then he kissed me goodbye.
I stood in the parking lot watching his taillights disappear, not knowing it was the last time I’d ever see him standing on his own two feet.
***
At home, my mother, Sylvia, was already fussing in the kitchen when I walked in. She had that too-bright smile she used whenever she was working up to saying something.
“Big night tomorrow, honey. Is Terry’s suit ready, and is he picking you up here or meeting you there?”
“He’s actually gone to the town an hour away, the one with that tailor I mentioned. He’ll only come back sometime later. And I’m meeting him at the prom. Why?”
My father, Rick, would usually be sitting at the table, pretending to read the paper. But he hadn’t returned home yet.
My mother said he was working late.
Whenever I mentioned Terry’s name, I caught the look that passed between my parents. Quick. Practiced. Gone before I could name it.
“You two are so serious for 18,” my mother said, wiping a counter that was already clean. “You know your father, and I just want what’s best for your future.”
“Terry is my future, Mom.”
It occurred to me that if my father had been around, he would’ve set the paper down, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it. Then he’d reach for his coffee instead.
That’s how my days went when I was around my parents.
“Of course, sweetheart,” my mother said. “We know.”
***
I went upstairs before she could say anything else.
