He grinned.
“That’s definitely a first.”
I laughed politely.
Then my cousin Linda stood to give a toast.
“To Janet,” she announced.
Everyone raised their glasses.
Linda smiled.
“And to Janet for being brave enough to wear something her husband knitted.”
People laughed.
She continued.
“That’s true love, because that dress is certainly…”
She paused dramatically.
“…unique.”
The room erupted.
My brother-in-law Ron added:
“Tom, couldn’t you afford a real dress?”
More laughter.
I smiled.
But inside, I felt something crack.
These weren’t strangers.
These were people who had shared holidays with us.
People who knew Janet had been sick.
People who knew how much the past year had cost her.
And they were laughing at the one thing I’d made with my own hands because I loved her.
I looked down at the table.
Then Janet squeezed my hand.
“Don’t react,” she whispered.
I nodded.
But the jokes continued.
Finally, Janet stood.
The laughter slowly faded.
She walked toward the microphone.
She didn’t look angry.
That somehow made it more powerful.
“You’re all laughing at a dress,” she said.
The room became quiet.
“Because it’s easier than understanding what it means.”
Nobody moved.
“Tom made this while I was sick.”
She looked at me.
“He thought I didn’t know.”
A small smile appeared.
“But I knew.”
She ran her fingers across the fabric.
“Every row of stitches was hope.”
She paused.
“Every detail was love.”
The room was completely silent.
“You all call Tom when your pipes freeze.”
She looked toward Carl.
“You call him when your car won’t start.”
Then she looked toward Ron.
“You ask him for help when something breaks.”
Her voice became firmer.
“And he always shows up.”
I lowered my eyes.
