“Mom’s wedding dress,” I say, not telling him that I paid to have this gorgeous, heavy cream satin dress preserved several years ago.
“Let’s get rid of it,” he says energetically, while looking over what remains of generations of things and stuff.
Without thinking, I say no, and practically grab it away from him. “Who’s ever going to wear it again?” he asks over his shoulder, digging through another box, not even thinking about it.
I set it aside, and put my own wedding dress in the pile for the charity shop.