Elizabeth Howard, US
Bridal Shower
Excited
beyond words, Addie donned the green dress,
the color of new willow leaves, the dress her mother
sewed evenings after other chores were done. As she
entered the parlor, the ladies hushed and then
started
chattering about how pretty she was. They settled
her in the chair of honor and handed her the gifts,
oohing and aahing as she opened each one and passed
it on so everyone could examine it—a set of dishes
from her parents, a toaster from Aunt Millie,
bedding,
towels, bowls, pans, so many things she would need
in her life with Joshua. She patted the wedding ring
quilt Grandma had made for her. She’d seen it
while it hung in the frames, but she was pleased
nonetheless, thinking of all the things Grandma
had done for her. Many people had come,
even Ethel Combs, the strange lady who lived
in the fancy house on the creek bluff. When Addie
swam there with her friends, she felt Ethel was
looking down, judging their swimsuits as unseemly,
their diving from the rocks as daredevil stunts.
The last package was from her. Maybe it was
something beautiful and frightfully impractical,
a figurine, a curio, a whatnot to adorn the mantel.
She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw
a box of spice jars, each one used, some sticky
from old recipes. “I have always thought,”
Ethel said, “every bride ought to have a full spice
rack. Since I don’t use these any more, I felt
I ought to give them to you.” Mama turned red,
Aunt Millie coughed, Grandma said, “Well, I never.”
And Addie buried her face in Grandma’s quilt.
