Chapter 2: The Dress He Never Asked About
Marcus had a rule about shopping with Amy.
He never asked how much something cost until she had tried it on.
“That's a terrible financial strategy,” Amy told him as they walked into the first department store.
“It's an excellent emotional strategy,” Marcus replied.
“If I see the price tag before you come out of the dressing room, I might faint. Then we'd have to call an ambulance, and your shopping trip would be ruined.””
Amy laughed despite herself.
“You're so dramatic.””
“I'm a man with a budget and a dream.””
“What dream?””
“To leave this mall with enough money to buy dinner.””
She shook her head, and Marcus watched the corners of her mouth lift.
It wasn't the same bright smile she'd worn when she'd first entered the living room. There was still something guarded about it, as though she were afraid to become too happy in case somebody took the happiness away again.
Marcus understood that feeling better than he wanted to.
He had watched Amy grow up with an empty space in her life that no amount of effort from him seemed to fill completely. He could be at every school play, every parent-teacher conference, every birthday breakfast, and still hear her ask whether her biological father might come next time.
Marcus had never wanted to compete with that man.
He had only wanted Amy to know she was loved.
Inside the store, Amy moved slowly between the racks of dresses. She touched a dark-blue satin gown, considered a burgundy one, and then stopped in front of a pale lavender dress with a flowing skirt.
Marcus stood a few feet away, holding her cardigan and trying to look like a man who understood formal fashion.
“What do you think?”” she asked.
He studied the dress seriously.
“I think that dress is going to make me need a second job.””
“Marcus!””
“I'm just being honest.””
She smiled and pulled it from the rack.
“I'm trying it on.””
“Take your time.””
Amy disappeared into the dressing room.
Marcus sat on a nearby bench, folding the cardigan over his knees. His phone vibrated once in his pocket. He checked it, answered a work message, and put it away.
Then he waited.
A few minutes later, Amy's voice came through the dressing-room curtain.
“Okay, don't laugh.””
“Wouldn't dream of it.””
“You promise?””
“I promise to evaluate your fashion choices with the seriousness they deserve.””
“That's not a promise!””
He grinned.
The curtain opened.
Amy stepped out wearing the lavender dress.
The skirt fell just above her ankles, and the fitted waist gave the dress a simple elegance that made her stand a little taller. She turned toward the mirror, smoothing the fabric over her hips.
Marcus didn't speak immediately.
He saw the little girl who had once worn a bedsheet as a princess gown and demanded that he bow before she would let him serve breakfast. He saw the teenager who now pretended she didn't need anyone to walk her through a difficult day.
And he saw how desperately she wanted this particular milestone to feel special.
“Well?”” Amy asked, turning toward him.
“You can say something.””
Marcus stood.
“Baby girl,” he said quietly, “you look beautiful.””
Her expression softened.
“Really?””
“Really.””
She turned back toward the mirror, smiling at her reflection.
“You don't think it's too much?””
“No.””
“Not too grown-up?””
Marcus stepped closer.
“You're allowed to grow up, Amy.””
She looked at him in the mirror.
For a second, she seemed to be searching his face for a hidden condition. Some warning that adulthood meant she had to stop needing him.
Instead, Marcus reached for the small price tag hanging from the side seam.
His eyebrows rose.
“Oh, Lord.””
Amy burst out laughing.
“I knew it!””
“I didn't say anything!””
“Your face said everything!””
Marcus held up both hands.
“I'm just saying, this dress better come with free alterations and a personal chauffeur.””
She laughed harder, and he laughed with her.
It was the first time that afternoon her laughter sounded completely unforced.
She turned back toward the mirror and tilted her head.
“I wish Mom could see this.””
Marcus's smile gentled.
“Your mom would love it.””
Amy looked down at the dress.
“She used to tell me she'd take me shopping for homecoming.””
“I remember.””
“She said we'd get our nails done and try on a hundred dresses, even if I only liked one.””
Marcus nodded.
“Your mother had a gift for making one afternoon feel like a holiday.””
Amy rubbed the fabric between her fingers.
After her mother died, Marcus had learned to live with the small ways grief entered their home. A song on the radio. A familiar perfume in a department store. A recipe neither of them could make without remembering the woman who used to stand at the stove.
But the milestones were the hardest.
Amy's first day of high school. Her first school dance. Her first driving lesson.
Every new beginning reminded them both of the person who should have been there to witness it.
Marcus reached for the tissue box on the nearby counter and offered her one.
Amy shook her head.
“I'm okay.””
“I know.””
He didn't tell her to stop crying. He didn't tell her to be strong.
He waited while she took a breath.
Then she looked at the dress again.
“Do you think Dad would've liked it?””
The question arrived so softly that Marcus almost missed it.
He knew which father she meant.
For a moment, he considered giving her the answer she wanted. He could say yes. He could tell her that any father would be proud to see his daughter dressed for a night like this.
But Amy had spent too many years building hope around things other people might do.
So he chose the truth he could offer.
“I think any man would be lucky to see you walk into a room wearing that dress,” he said.
“But you don't need anybody's permission to feel beautiful.””
Amy looked at him.
“Even his?””
“Especially his.””
She pressed her lips together, then turned toward the dressing room.
“I think I'm going to get it.””
Marcus nodded.
“Then that's the dress.””
At the register, Amy tried to hand him her debit card.
He moved it gently back toward her.
“Put that away.””
“Marcus, I have money.””
“I know.””
“Then let me pay.””
He studied her for a moment.
“Here's what we're going to do. You can buy your shoes with your money, and I'll handle the dress.””
“That's not fair.””
“Neither is the price tag, but here we are.””
She rolled her eyes, yet her eyes had begun to shine again.
“Thank you.””
Marcus paid before she could argue any further.
Outside the store, they stopped at a small café. Marcus ordered a sandwich, and Amy chose a milkshake. She placed the shopping bag carefully beside her chair, where she could see it.
For several minutes, they talked about ordinary things.
The homecoming theme. The possibility of rain. Whether her best friend, Tiana, would spend three hours choosing earrings and then wear the same ones she always wore.
Then Amy's phone lit up on the table.
She glanced at the screen.
Her biological father's name appeared.
For a moment, she sat completely still.
Marcus noticed but kept his eyes on his sandwich.
“Do you need to answer that?”” he asked.
Amy picked up the phone.
The message read:
What did you need?
She stared at it.
A bitter little laugh escaped her.
“Seriously?””
Marcus put down his sandwich.
“What is it?””
“He just asked what I needed.””
Amy turned the screen toward him, then pulled it back before he could read more than the message.
“I literally just told him.””
Marcus didn't respond immediately.
Amy began typing.
I asked if you could take me shopping for my homecoming dress.
She sent it.
A few seconds passed.
Then another message arrived.
I'm busy. Ask Marcus.
Amy felt the words land somewhere beneath her ribs.
She locked the phone and placed it facedown on the table.
“He knows I asked Marcus already,” she said.
Marcus kept his voice steady.
“Maybe he didn't realize how important it was to you.””
Amy looked up sharply.
“Why do you always do that?””
“Do what?””
“Make excuses for him.””
Marcus leaned back.
“I wasn't making an excuse, Amy.””
“You always say maybe he's busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he'll come next time.”” Her voice trembled, and she pressed her palms against her jeans.
“You make it sound like I'm supposed to understand everything he does.””
Marcus was silent.
Amy looked toward the café window. Cars moved through the afternoon traffic, sunlight flashing across their windshields.
“I don't want to hate him,” she whispered.
“He's my dad.””
Marcus felt the familiar ache in his chest.
“I know.””
“But I'm tired of feeling stupid every time I believe he'll show up.””
He reached across the table, not to take her hand, but to place his palm beside hers.
“You're not stupid for wanting your father, sweetheart.””
She looked down at their hands.
“Then why does it feel like I'm the only one who wants this?””
Marcus had no answer that would make the truth easier.
He wanted to tell her that some people loved badly, that some people confused affection with obligation, and that children often spent years trying to earn something they should never have had to earn in the first place.
But Amy didn't need a lecture.
She needed someone to sit with her while the hurt was still fresh.
So Marcus stayed quiet.
After a while, she wiped her eyes and picked up her milkshake.
“I'm sorry I snapped at you.””
“You don't owe me an apology for being hurt.””
“I didn't mean to take it out on you.””
“I know.””
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she asked, “Can we get my shoes now?””
Marcus smiled.
“Absolutely.””
They left the café together, the lavender dress resting in its shopping bag.
Amy walked beside him, holding the bag in one hand and her phone in the other.
She didn't send her father another message.
But when they reached the escalator, her phone vibrated again.
This time, the message wasn't from him.
It was from her aunt Denise.
Amy, sweetheart, your dad called me. He says you need to stop making him feel guilty about not being around. What happened?
Amy stopped walking.
Marcus turned back.
“Everything okay?””
She stared at the screen, her face slowly losing color.
Then she looked up at him.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “he's telling people I'm the one who keeps asking too much.””
And for the first time that afternoon, Marcus's expression changed in a way Amy had never seen before.
Not hurt.
Not disappointment.
May you like
Something quieter.
Something far more serious.