Chapter 9

After hanging up, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time. I remembered when my dad first found out I had a boyfriend. He had been so excited he couldn't sleep. He dug out his thirty-year-old wedding album, pointed to my mom's faded dress, and said, "When you get married, Freda, I’m going to buy your mother a beautiful dress, just like this one, so she can sit in the front row and look at you."

I didn't cry. Instead, I dialed my mother's number.

"Mom," I said when she picked up. "You and Dad don't need to come down for the wedding."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Did... did we cause trouble again?"

"No, Mom. I'm not marrying him."

A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. Finally, my mother spoke softly. "Okay. Mom will be waiting for you to come home."

I hung up and immediately started packing.

Elliott sent a text:

"Sweetheart, the dress arrived! Do you want to come to the studio tomorrow to try it on? I want to see you in it so badly." Followed by a string of kiss emojis.

I didn't reply.

He sent another: "Freda~ still mad? How about I have them deliver the dress to your place? You can try it on there and send me a picture. Oh, and I talked to my mom. She promised to be on her best behavior at the ceremony."

The next morning, a courier delivered the dress. I looked at the custom gown draped over my bed—French lace, hand-beaded pearls, fabric that easily cost six figures. It was breathtaking.

It looked like a beautiful, glittering cage.

I carefully folded the gown, packed it back into its pristine white box, and set it by the front door.

Then I opened my suitcase and began packing my own life.

I didn't take much. The jewelry, the designer bags, the silk dresses he had bought me—I laid them all out neatly on the bed.

I only packed the old canvas backpack I'd carried when I first arrived in Chicago, the envelope of cash my dad had given me, and the mason jar of peach preserves my mom had quietly tucked under my pillow during her visit. On the lid was a piece of tape with her shaky handwriting: "Freda’s favorite."

The wedding was scheduled for Saturday.

On Friday evening, I walked out of my apartment, rolling my suitcase behind me.

Before leaving, I left a note on top of the wedding dress box:

"Elliott, here is the dress. If my parents aren't worthy of attending this wedding, then I'm not worthy of it either."

I turned off my phone, stepped into the cool night air, and disappeared into the city.