Chapter 54
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning when I’m quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to go to the kitchen.
After yesterday’s incident, the house has been so thick with tension that everyone is walking eggshells around each other. August and I locked ourselves in my room to avoid issues from further escalating. It’s frustrating to know I’m the one that inadvertently caused it but I’m also aware I’m not the root problem in this situation.
From the landing, I see my cousins all sardined up between pillows and blankets in the living room, sound asleep. I tread lightly towards the kitchen, thankful my woollen socks mute the sound of my footsteps.
Grabbing a glass from the cupboard to pour myself a drink, I pick up a jug of water, wincing as I attempt to balance it between my injured hand.
“Lia, be careful.”
I turn to find my grandma walking towards me, a shawl wrapped around her.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head, walking towards me as she takes the pitcher from my hands and begins pouring the water into the glass.
“I was still up in your Papa’s study.” She answers, voice quiet.
There’s a sad and distant look in her eyes as she quietly assesses me. Her normally bright eyes are downcast and I feel her expression tug painfully on my heart.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” I say.
My grandma blinks, a frown appearing on her face.
“What on earth are you saying sorry for?”
“Everything,” I respond instantly. “For causing a disruption, for troubling you. I don’t mean to be an inconvenience, Ma, especially after so many years of being away. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh hija…” She begins. “You have nothing to apologise for.”
My grandma sighs, long and heavy, and I feel the weight of dejection in her exhale. Shoulders drooping, she turns to me.
“I don’t condone your uncle’s behaviour.” Her lips press together in disappointment, frustration in her eyes. “Your Papa and I do our very best to make him see sense but…”
Her sentence trails off quietly, a sad resignation in her gaze.
“I’m sorry, Lia.” She turns to me, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You don’t have to apologise, Ma.” I shake my head. “You shouldn’t apologise for his behaviour.”
There’s a long pause between us before she speaks again.
“August is good to you, anak.” She says and I can only nod, offering a half-hearted smile. “Mahal ka niyatalaga.”
He really loves you.
My breath hitches, the sharp intake of air lodging itself in my chest. Hearing the remark in Tagalog sends a warmth throughout my entire body.
“We’re not…” I trail off. “We’re not at the ‘L’ word stage yet.”
In reality, August and I aren’t at any stage. Just endlessly floating around ‘are we’ or ‘aren’t we’. A ‘sort-of situationship’ with no official label. But I couldn’t necessarily disclose that information to anyone here.
Especially my grandma.
She examines me, eyes inquisitive, as I try to think of exactly what to say.
“Tell that to your Papa,” She says, a small smile appearing on her face. “He’s convinced August is going to ask his permission to marry you soon.”
My eyes balloon and I can almost feel them pop by the triggering nature of the sentiment. Trust my semi-traditional grandparents to make that leap.
“Your Papa gave him a stern talking to about your relationship earlier,” She reveals. “The boy seemed very determined, even disclosed his five-year life plan. Your Papa was extremely impressed.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t think he’ll be–”
The creak of the floorboard brings me back to attention and I turn my head towards the sound. August hovers by the archway, eyebrows furrowed and rubbing sleep from his eyes, like he’s just woken up.
“Hello, po.” He clears his throat, voice groggy.
My grandma acknowledges him with a small nod. “Hello, anak.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping towards him.
“You were gone when I woke up,” He replies, reaching for me. “I missed you.”
My heart stutters at the admission, warmth spreading in my chest. There’s a brief moment where he just stands there looking at me, grey eyes soft and earnest in the pale glow of the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
Despite the dimness, August is as visible as ever, and I nod wordlessly.
“Did you need anything, hijo?” My grandma asks, studying both of us curiously.
“Oh no, uhh, thank you Madame Hartt.” August turns to my grandma, shaking his head politely. “Just… Maha-um, Lia.”
He waves his arm awkwardly as he gestures towards me, body shifting sluggishly and I bite my lip at how endearing he looks— all dazed and confused.
“You don’t need to be so formal around me,” My grandma regards him. “Everyone calls me Lola. Mama is fine too.”
A pause hangs between us all and I try not to let my nervousness show at her open display of acceptance.
“Thank you,” August takes a breath before continuing. “I apologise for my behaviour earlier. It wasn’t my intention to be hostile in your home, especially since you’ve been very hospitable to me. But I hope you understand that your granddaughter means the world to me, I only have the best interests at heart and I will always do right by her.”
His words wrap around me, cocooning me in a blanket of warmth.
I fought for her then and I’ll fight for her now.
“I know,” My grandma nods.
She doesn’t say anything else.
“We were thinking of spending New Year’s back in London.” I begin, clearing my throat. “I have a lot of work I need to do, Ma. I hope that’s okay?”
Sadness flashes in her eyes but she nods nonetheless.
“I understand, hija.” She says.
“I’ll visit again soon, okay?” I tell her reassuringly, offering a faint smile. “It wouldn’t be another four years.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile, nodding at me.
“Can we talk?”
My voice trembles at my own request, already feeling the nerves before I’ve even started the conversation.
August stills, looking up.
He’s sitting on the edge of my bed as he helps organise the clothes I’ll be taking back to London.
His hands stop folding, surprised by the unexpected question.
“Should I be worried?” He asks.
“No,” I shake my head.
Yes.
Maybe.
“I don’t know.” I let out a frustrated sigh.
My fingers twitch in anticipation. I’ve never been good at eloquently expressing my thoughts, let alone my feelings. Though I very much feel everything, it’s difficult for me to communicate my emotions in a way that’s straightforward.
I’m a patchwork of catastrophic thoughts, restless hands and inarticulable feelings.
August chuckles.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of your little soliloquies,” He quips. “Lia.”
I scrunch my nose, playfully. “Unnatural.”
He grins at me affectionately before placing a kiss on the frown between my eyebrows. Taking my non-injured hand, he intertwines our fingers before pulling me to him.
“Alright, my little yarn of anxiousness,” He begins. “Unravel.”
He looks at me, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“What are we doing, August?”
I blink up at him, trying not to show the restlessness I feel.
“We’re packing to go back to London?”
He glances towards the pile of clothes on the bed before turning to me quizzically.
“No,” I shake my head. “What are we doing?”
He pauses, contemplating.
“What do you want us to do?”
“Jean-Luc,” I stress.
He tilts his head to the side before smiling, “Aurora.”
“I asked you first,” I grumble, jutting my lip out.
He doesn’t miss a beat this time.
“I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”
I blink.
“That’s where I’m at, if I didn’t make it clear enough.” He adds. “I like you, a lot. I’ve liked you for quite some time now and I would love for you to be my girlfriend.”
The promptness of his reply catches me off guard, his sincerity even more so.
“Oh,” I respond, dumbly.
My chest feels surprisingly light and I feel the threads of my emotions being pulled in all directions.
A smile quirks on his lips.
“Is this your way of subtly rejecting me?”
“What?” I gape. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly,” He muses. “You’re not saying anything.”
“Sorry, I’m…” I swallow quietly. “A-are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” He echoes, blinking. “If I like you?”
I nod, still hesitant.
August scans my face, grey eyes glinting with a shy softness.
“Well, yes.” He replies, emphasising the word. “It’s been impossible not to, the tinkering talent that you are. You’ve stitched your way into my heart with your glitter threads, non-internal dialogues and anatomically incorrect heart-shaped patches.”
Bringing my bandaged hand to my chest, I press it to my sternum to alleviate the endless fluttering I’m feeling.
“They’re stylised hearts.”
“Yes, mon c?ur.” He grins, before asking teasingly, “Anything else you’d like to add?”
August looks at me expectantly, as if sensing my never-ending thoughts.
I voice the idea I’ve been thinking about since leaving London. It feels like a pipe dream of sorts. But I’ve thought about it a lot and I genuinely feel like it’s the right choice for me.
“I want to start my own fashion label.”
His eyebrows shoot up and I nervously play with the bandage around my wrist.
“I’m probably going to go back to working part-time at Tito Boy’s in the meantime,” I continue. “I know it seems like a step backwards instead of a step forward but it won’t be a waste of my time. I think it’ll be better because I can focus on the upcoming collaborations I have. I still have Mahalia Made. And I’ll keep using it until I rebrand and officially launch the actual label. I know it sounds like a decision made on a whim but it’s— it’s not.”
I’m babbling nervously now, my thoughts convoluted.
“I have enough sketches that could potentially turn into something, like a proper collection. And, um, I’m thinking of building up my clientele list on a more individual basis rather than commercial— like more prominent clients in the industry. Given the right funding and clientele and marketing, I think… I think I can do it.”
“I know you can,” He says with conviction. “You don’t have to justify yourself, Tinker-Talent.”
It’s a little nerve-wracking to have August be the first to know but I’m glad to have shared it with him nonetheless.
“What are you thinking of calling it?” He asks.
I pause.
“MAHALIA,” I answer. “I know it sounds conceited, naming it after myself but it makes sense.”
It feels right.
“It’s perfect,” August states, then adds without hesitation, “I’ll invest in you. I can get your collection in publications, take photos of your work, you can even collaborate with the atelier. They have a Designer Initiative programme in Paris and—”
My eyes widen at his suggestions.
“August,” I cut him off, frowning. “That’s not why I’ve told you this.”
The last thing I want is for August to think I’m only interested in him because of his reputation. My stomach lurches at the thought and I immediately shake my head in disapproval.
“I have no intentions of exploiting your name to leverage my brand or–”
“You have it anyway,” He interrupts, voice earnest. “Every name. Me as August, me as Jean-Luc, me as Vante.”
He takes my hands gently, leaning down to press a kiss on my palms.
“I’m yours, loveheart.” He affirms. “All of me.”