Emma slid through the door, calling out to her mother. “Mom? Mom are you in here?” She kicked off her shoes, to find her mother in the kitchen wiping up some sort of mess off the counter. “Mmm, what smells so good?” Her mother turned and gestured to the oven. “Dinner.” The word came out curt. There was only reason for this.

“Alright, what he did he do now?” Her mother was a ticking time bomb, exploding with exasperation at her daughter’s question.

“What he did now, is the same thing he’s done to me for the past forty years.” Emma watched her mother yank her apron off before throwing it on the table in a ball. “I have slaved for that man for the better part of my life.” She stabbed her index finger into the air. “And all I get in return is more work. No appreciation.”

Emma winced at her mother’s tone. It would be counterproductive to play devil’s advocate using her own relationship; her mother would tell her that she’s still drunk on newlywed bliss even though Jacob and Emma had been dating for nearly a decade before marrying the past year.

Her mother raged on. “I am telling you right now Emma, marriage is nothing more than stroking a man’s ego. You have no idea what you just signed up for.” Emma opened her mouth, but then thought better of it.

Her mother went and made herself comfortable in her chair, her newest stack of library books sitting beside her. Her current read looked to be close to one thousand pages, and the bookmark had barely made any sort of dent.

_Well, she thought. Time to go hear the other side. _

Emma found her father out in the garage, in his favorite pair of overalls – the ones with the grease stains – looking for something in his toolbox. His back was turned to her and he jumped as the door slammed behind Emma.

“Hey kiddo,” His tone was weary and he sounded a little tired, if nothing else. He gave her a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Emma hopped onto their lawn mower’s seat, fiddling with the buttons.

“So, I just got an earful from mom.” “And? Am I in trouble?” She put her thumb and index together, leaving but a small gap. “Just a little.” Her father gave a chuckle before pulling out a lawn chair and sat next to her beside the lawn mower.

“I’m sorry she roped you into this. Our spats aren’t your concern.” Her father pulled out his multi-tooled swiss army knife, trimming away at what appeared to be a painful hangnail.

Emma snorted. “So I get married and now suddenly you and mom’s spats are ‘private’? I’m not sure if we’ve met before, but I’m Emma, your daughter. Your _only _daughter.” She stuck out her hand and her father gripped it. “Nice to meet you Emma.”

They both threw their heads back in that father-daughter way and laughed.

“But really, what did you do?” Emma asked, wiping at her face. “Cause she’s pretty steamed.” Her father’s shoulders slumped. “I really don’t know, kiddo. I think we’ve just…lost it.”

Emma didn’t believe that for one second. She had watched her parents handle more throughout their marriage than any of her friends’ parents. She considered this. But maybe that was why her father felt they’d lost their spark. Maybe couples who went through all that they did, didn’t always come out on the other side stronger.

She got an idea. Leaping from the mower, she began moving plastic buckets, clearly looking for something. “C’mon, I know you’re around here somewhere,” she muttered to herself.

Her father got up to examine what it was she was looking for.

“It should be around here somewhere – Aha!” Emma yanked free a teal metal table she’d thrifted years ago when she was a broke college student trying to cozy up her apartment.

“What are you doing?” Her father asked.

She pushed the compacted table against the wall, wiping her hair out of her eyes. “A date. You and mom.” She pushed in the keycode, raising up the garage door, sunlight streaming in. She said, “I don’t know why I didn’t consider it earlier! Dr. Sans is always telling Jake and I to make sure we never stop dating each other, now that we’re married.”

Emma’s parents had never understood why she and Jake attended couples therapy after only being married such a short time, but Emma knew her therapist’s advice was exactly what her parents needed right now.

She made for the door before saying, “I’m going to go and talk to mom, convince her. In the meantime, maybe you could spruce it up in here a bit? Pull out one of our old patio rugs or something?” She let the door slam behind her, eager to find her mother.

Her mother was, - as expected – sitting in her chair, with her nose in her new book. She hadn’t even bothered to look up as Emma stood in the doorway. Emma snatched the book from her mother’s grasp, setting it on the table beside her.

“Emma! I was reading that, what, what on earth are you doing?” Emma yanked her mother out of her chair and up to her bedroom without a word.

Emma shut the door behind them and gave her mother a look. She gave her mother a sly smile and said “tonight, you are going out on a date.”

Her mother let out a “hmmph” noise, turned and grabbed the door handle. Emma pressed her body against the door, slamming it shut again.

“Just hear me out,” Emma said. It took her a moment to catch her breath, so some of her words came out in rasps. “you and dad need a date night. Yes, you’re right, dad does take advantage of you, and he does need his ego stroked _a lot, _even for a man, but he _loves _you mom. He’s out in the garage right now, trying to show you.” _Emma hoped he was. She was really putting it on thick. _“And so I think the least you can do is to show him you still love him too.”

Her mother considered her daughter’s words, before making her way into her closet. It was so organized, it would bring tears to Marie Kondo’s eyes. Her mother’s fingers trailed along the endless rows of fabrics, but never settled on any. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“How about a dress?” Emma said.

Her mother grimaced at the selection of black and beige dresses. “None of these particularly say ‘date night.’ They’re more like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ type dresses.”

Emma would not let her mother give up that easily. “Fine, then not those.” She bit her bottom lip, and crossed her fingers behind her back. _Please say yes. _“What about…The Dress?”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “What dress?”

Emma nudged her with her shoulder. “You know. _The Dress.” _

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “No. No, no, _no.” _She stuttered, “besides, I haven’t worn that dress in thirty years. It probably doesn’t even fit, and even if it did, the fabric is weird, and…I haven’t shaved my legs in _three _days.” Emma rolled her eyes. Her mother could be so dramatic sometimes.

_Time for plan B. _

Emma sighed, walking out of her closet and onto the edge of her bed. “You’re right, mom. I mean, it’s like you said, it’s been _thirty _years. That dress probably doesn’t fit.” Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “I know what you’re doing,” she said.

Was Emma proud to be using her mother’s vanity and insecurities against her? Not particularly. But she was desperate. Her parent’s needed this. She’d make this exception for herself. Just this once.

“Is it working?” Emma asked. Her mother dropped her arms, gave her a pointed look and went back into the closet. Emma could hardly contain her laughter.

_Maybe Jacob was right. Emma could be diabolical. _

When her mother re-appeared, Emma brought her hands to her mouth.

“Mom,” she whispered. Her mother stood in a flowing velvet dress. The dress hung on the edges of her shoulders, showcasing the delicate arches of her collarbone, while hugging her hips before flowing out into an almost flower-like shape around her feet.

“Still fits,” Her mother whispered as she took in her appearance in the mirror. The velvet was a rich blue-black color that complimented her mother’s complexion perfectly. She turned to look at her backside, shaking her head. “I still remember the first time I ever wore this dress.”

Emma leaned back against the headboard. She had heard her mother tell this story multiple times, but this was the first time Emma would truly be able to envision what that first date was like with her father.

“Your father was who I always referred to as ‘the boy across the street.’ He was loud, and his hands were always greasy from working on those old cars every day. I preferred to spend my days inside, learning to play the piano in our guest room. Well, one day I happened to read in the paper that my favorite orchestra would be playing in the next town over. I begged my father to go, but because we only had one vehicle, it just wasn’t possible.” Her mother clasped a bracelet over her wrist, pulling it just so. “It wasn’t until your father heard of my predicament and took advantage of the situation. Oh Emma, don’t look at me like that!” Emma noticed her mother’s cheeks turn a light shade of crimson.

“And he offered to take you,” Emma filled in, a sly smile pulling at her lips. Her mother nodded. “On the condition that it would be a date. You father wasn’t an ugly man by any means, and he wasn’t _so _intolerable that a night away with him would kill me. So I accepted.” Emma gestured to the gown. “And this was the dress?”

“It was.” A laugh escaped her mother’s lips. “Oh Emma, you should have seen your father. He wore dark overalls, with a plaid dress shirt. We couldn’t have looked more different that night. But I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that night.”

“Wasn’t he really under dressed for the concert?” Emma asked. “He was.” Emma watched her mother’s eyes soften at the memory replaying in her mind. “But he was a perfect gentleman. He even lifted my dress over a puddle, as to not ruin the fabric, not caring if his shoes got wet. And after the concert, he took me to a hole-in-the-wall stye restaurant, where it was me that was severely overdressed. But between the music and the delicious pasta, that was the night I fell in love with him.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Mom! The lasagna!” Emma raced out of the room after her mother, as her mother pulled the bubbly, slightly crispy dish from the oven.

“I hope your father doesn’t mind a little crunch,” her mother said as she cut out two servings.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Emma hollered back, racing into the garage.

“Wow.” Her father had transformed their garage into an intimate dinner for two. He took the metal table Emma had pulled out earlier and set in the center of the floor, on top of an old patio rug that he’d even given a quick vacuuming to. Her father had even placed a checkered tablecloth on top of the table. A glass vase filled with wild Daisies sat on the center, next to one of those electronic flickering candles. Soft music played on an old record player in the corner. With the sunset coating everything in a soft golden color, it looked like a scene from a movie. Emma glanced at everything, then to her father, whose attention was in awe of something behind her.

Her mother stood behind her, two plates of steaming lasagna in her hands. “Francine,” her father whispered. He grabbed the plates from her hands, setting them on the table before reaching for her hand. He spun her in a soft circle, the edges of her mother’s gown flowing around her bare feet.

Emma watched as her father took her mother in, his bottom lip quivering. “I can’t believe you kept it all this time,” he said.

Her mother gave a small shrug, her eyes glassy, and looked over at Emma, “someone made a very convincing argument. And honestly Charlie?” she said “I could never throw this dress away.”