Love, Loss, and What I Wore (8 page)

Recently I spoke to Dora. We call each other once or twice a year. I asked her if she ever thought about the clothes we wore when we were growing up.

“Never,” she said. “It was such a painful time.”

I keep thinking about what she said. I always thought she’d had a fairytale life—a mother, a father, beautiful clothes, and even a beauty mark.

Sometimes if can’t sleep at night I think about how my life used to he when I was young.

Some nights I try to remember my mother. I don’t have too many memories of her. I can remember more things about Dora’s mother. Our mothers were very different—Dora’s mother wore real jewelry, sailed to Europe on the
Ile de France,
and went to the theater. My mother didn’t do any of those things.

But they also had things in common. Both made clothes (Dora’s mother for fancy ladies, my mother for my sister and me), and both died when they were young—my mother at forty-four and Dora’s mother at fifty-two.

I like to think I got my fashion sense from my mother and from Dora’s mother.

For the past few years, I have usually worn black. Not because I’m sad but because dressing in black is always chic—and makes shopping choices much easier. And also because Audrey Hepburn wore black a lot and later so did Jackie.

Recently, however, Allie told me her favorite color is pink so I thought maybe I’d try a pink scarf.