*Louise**
_ l’éphémère _
Wedding dresses are the family business. Every day of the week, except Sundays, the shop is open to brides-to-be who are looking for the dress to wear on the day. It is her job, on every day of the week (except Sundays) to meet with the brides-to-be who come in with their mothers and sisters and friends, to look at these women, to listen to them, and, out of the hundreds of dresses in the store, find the one that they will buy, that they will wear on the day they will become someone’s wife.
And on this day, when she walks toward the front door to let herself in and prepare to open the shop, she pauses for the briefest moment at the large storefront window and looks up at the dresses on display, the satin and tulle and lace, the intricate beadwork, all of it glistening behind the glass like an expensive daydream. Her mother has been asking her, maybe not every day, but often enough, when she will get to pick out a dress for her own wedding. She smiles, looking at those gleaming beauties in the window, and thinks about the simple cocktail dress she will wear to City Hall this afternoon when she elopes.
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