The Friday Night Date Dress

Equivalent movie rating of PG for non-graphic kissing and intense themes of grief, trauma, and witnessing death.

Melinda entered the bedroom to change, running her hand down the dress hanging from the door before putting it on.

Sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline and pleated waist, the retro design did not seem at all at odds with the modern fabric. The gauzy silk chiffon overlay added just enough mystery without taking away any of the modesty.

She wondered what Robert would think of the skulls-and-roses look. The world lurched into greyscale, and now all those skulls made her think of was death. The feeling of accomplishment faded. She zipped the dress up her own back and headed to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she emerged, her hair curled and up, her makeup perfect, and strappy black sandals on her feet. She silently packed up a worn picnic basket with two champagne glasses, a sandwich, and some fruit. The bottle that went in was real champagne for once—Peter’s tip had been much more generous than she was used to, and she had felt like splurging a little.

Why had Peter invited her out tonight?

Not just me. Robert and me.

Still, most of her customers didn’t look at her twice. Well, there were always those guys that were especially rude—the kind who thought that being a diner waitress meant taking catcalls, pinches, and solicitations were part of her job description, regardless of the ring on her left hand. She had developed a pretty thick skin, and a repertoire of biting comments that shut unwanted attention down fast. If that failed, Fred would roar out and send those customers packing—he had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to harassing his girls.

But Melinda wasn’t used to someone expressing an interest in her. Like Peter. She wondered idly what movie he and his girlfriend were planning to see—then realized what she was doing and broke off that line of thought with an irritated, “I’m such an idiot.”

She grabbed her black shrug and the picnic basket and hurried out the front door without so much as a glance at the transformed woman who passed by the hall mirror. She had dressed up for Robert, and no one else, just like she did every Friday night.