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Big and bright.
The very ring I'd wanted for so long.
I glanced down at my ring finger without thinking. Only a plain band sat there.
A full size too big.
I had to keep my fist half-clenched just to stop it from slipping off.
He must have picked up on how I felt.
Morris reached over and patted my head, his voice gentle as he began to explain.
"I promised Savannah that on the thirtieth anniversary of the day we met, I'd make three of her wishes come true. This ring was one of them."
"Give it some time and I'll buy you a better one."
By the time I came back to myself.
Morris had already lain back down, pulling Savannah into his arms as naturally as breathing, the two of them tucked close, talking and laughing.
"Morris."
I heard my own voice come out soft, though there was a stubbornness in it I hadn't even known I had.
"What if I really want that milk tonight?"
He froze.
When he looked up at me again there was a kind of confusion in his eyes, as if he couldn't understand why I, always the obedient, reasonable one, would suddenly act up like this.
Then something seemed to come to him, and Morris picked up the calendar beside him and started flipping through it.
At last.
He seemed to find what he was looking for, and the crease between his brows smoothed out.
Morris got up, walked back to the kitchen, and came out with a cup in his hand again.
This time he held it out to me, a trace of guilt in his voice.
"I've been so busy lately I forgot your period was due right around now."
"Mood swings around your period are normal. Drink some warm milk with brown sugar first and warm yourself up."
My fingernails dug into my palm.
"But I'm allergic to brown sugar."
Morris's patience seemed to be running thin. He lifted his wrist to check the time, and when he spoke again he was keeping his voice level.
"Then don't drink it."
"It's getting late, and you've got work in the morning. Go get some rest."
Every time Savannah came over late at night, I was the one who ended up in the guest room, even though her place was right across the hall.
But some silent understanding seemed to exist between the two of them.
And that strange understanding had even started to shape me.
The first time Savannah stayed the night.
I'd actually fought with Morris over it. Morris, who was always the first to back down in an argument, stiffened his neck that day and stood his ground against me for once.
"Savannah and I grew up together. Things were hard at my grandmother's place, so we slept in the same bed. We've been used to it for years."
"Don't let your mind go somewhere so filthy."
"We've been through a lot together. We're each other's best friend."
Back then, I believed him.
I got up.
Walked to the guest room.
The moment I flicked on the light, my eyes landed on the purple tailored dress lying on the bed.
Beside it lay sketch after sketch, draft after redrawn draft, along with all sorts of tailoring tools.
I stepped closer.
One look and I knew the sketches were Morris's own work.
In the bottom-left corner of every sheet was a small line of writing.
"The ninety-ninth dress made for Savannah."
Morris's grandmother had made her living sewing tailored dresses her whole life.
Morris was a man, but he'd learned her craft, every bit of it.
I only knew he could make them. I'd never once seen him make one for anyone.
It wasn't that I'd never asked.
Just a month ago, I'd mentioned wanting to wear a tailored dress he'd made himself as my toast dress at the wedding.
And what had he said?
"Making one is too much trouble, and it's exhausting. Work already keeps me busy and worn out. If you really want one, I'll transfer you the money and you can go buy it."
And yet.
He'd already made Savannah ninety-nine of them.
Something occurred to me.
I got up and went to the closet with the passcode lock.
I keyed in Savannah's birthday.
The lock clicked open.
