Page 85 of No One Else

“I- yes, I would.” I’m surprised he still has it. Then again, if he hasn’t done anything with her clothes, he’d probably never part with something so special to her.

“In the white garment bag in the back on the right.”

I walk in the closet and heft it out, laying it down carefully next to Pete on the bed and unzip the bag. Up close, the delicate beading is even more detailed, the sleek lines pronounced. I’m in love with it instantly.

I touch the lace gently, imagining how happy she must have been wearing this, what the day was like for the two of them. And then just a year later, welcoming a baby boy.

I’d always had vague future visions of marrying Carter, but there were never any specifics in my mind, nothing concrete. It was just a general sense of well, people that have been dating a while get married one day, right?

Looking at this dress, though, the idea seems a lot more real. Only this time with Evan. Walking down the aisle toward him, his face suffused with happiness, pride, maybe a couple of tears.

Building a future with him. A house, kids. The whole nine yards.

“What are you doing?”

I glance up, finding Evan in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.

I snatch my hand back, guilt washing over me for some reason. Like he caught me doing something wrong, even though Pete invited me to look at it. “I- I was just admiring your mother’s wedding dress.”

“Why is it even out?” He stares at it the same way he did with the suit earlier. Like it’s scary.

“Calm yourself,” Pete says grumpily. “I asked if she wanted to see it.”

“Doesn’t- doesn’t it bother you?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he mutters, sticking his hands in his pockets.

He leaves the room and I rush after him, finding him in his bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror. I come up behind him, smoothing my palms over his shoulders. The suit’s a little tight there but otherwise looks phenomenal. He has his one gray dress shirt underneath, which works surprisingly well with the navy. “You look handsome.”

“I look like my dad.”

“In the picture on his nightstand?”

He nods, staying silent.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Just... weird.”

I take a seat on his bed, sitting crisscross. “Do you want to talk about your mom?”

He turns away from the mirror, looking at me sharply. “Why would you ask that?”

I raise my brows at him. “Evan,” I say, exasperated. “The suit? The wedding dress? It’s obvious you have some unresolved feelings about it all.”

He blows out a breath, discomfort written all over his face.

I pat the spot next to me on the bed. “I’m not trying to pry, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

He’s never outright said it, but I’m pretty sure his mother’s dead. From what, I have no idea, but he’s mentioned multiple times that it’s just him and his dad. Plus, Pete talks about her with such fondness and all her clothes are still here... it’s the only logical conclusion I can come to.

He sits down heavily next to me, hanging his head down. “I don’t like to talk about her. It’s-,” he swallows, “it’s too hard.”

“But your dad does...” I say slowly, remembering Pete mentioning her at dinner one time before. And Evan had clammed up then too.

“He thinks talking about her helps keeps her memory alive, so we won’t forget her.” He shakes his head sadly. “But how could I ever forget her?”

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