Chapter 18 #2
I inhale sharply, then meet her gaze. "I need you to tell me how to get my parents to be okay with Red and me."
She opens her mouth, slightly shakes her head, then closes it.
I wait her out.
She finally says, "You know I'd do anything to help you, right?"
"But?"
"You're asking for a tall order. Your father is going to go nuts. Hell, your mom is going to lose it, too," she claims.
My fingers tighten on the mug. "Which is why I need you to talk to her. She'll come to you after she finds out, and I need you to have my back. If she accepts Red and me, then she'll be the one who will get my father to be okay with us, too."
Aunt Kora's fingers tighten around her mug, knuckles whitening for a split second before she forces them to relax. She stares into the dark liquid like it might give her the right words.
The café hums around us with clinking spoons, the hiss of the espresso machine, and muffled conversations, but everything narrows to the space between us.
She finally says, "I need a little time to wrap my head around this. Hearing you talk about knives and glass…and then you defend him in the same breath… It's a lot, Blue. I'm not angry with you. I'm not judging you. But I am trying to catch up to where you already are."
My throat burns. I nod, swallowing hard. "That's fair. How long do you need to catch up?"
She smiles. "Well, I definitely need to finish my coffee first."
I softly laugh. "Sorry. I'm not very patient."
"Me either." She winks, then her smile fades. "It looks like you've been in more pain than any of us realized. And it sounds like he's the first person who actually helped you carry it. That doesn't make what he did ethical, but it makes it complicated."
"Life isn't black and white. And it's not a pretty, perfect journey," I remind her.
She exhales through her nose. "I need twenty-four hours, Blue. Let me sit with this. I'll figure out how to talk to your mom so your dad doesn't start World War Three."
Relief rushes through me so fast, my shoulders sag. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm not promising miracles. I'm promising I'll try. There's a difference."
My stomach flips. I force a smile. "Okay. Thank you."
We finish our coffee, then rise to leave. She pulls me into a hug, ordering, "Go to work. Design something beautiful. Let me do the worrying for a little while."
I nod against her shoulder, then pull back before I start crying in the middle of the café.
The walk to the fashion house feels lighter, even though the sky has gone gray and threatens rain. I run my fingers across the exposed brick, then open the door and head to the design room. Bolts of fabric in every color imaginable pop, cheering me further.
My desk sits in the corner by the windows, surrounded by mood boards and half-finished gowns pinned to dress forms. I drop my bag, boot up my tablet, and lose myself in the new collection for three solid hours.
Silk, organza, hand-beaded lace, and colors inspired by bruised sunsets all form several pieces.
At noon, I find Mom in the showroom, reviewing samples for the upcoming trunk show. She's in a crisp white blouse and tailored trousers, her hair twisted up, a pencil holding it together. She looks up when I approach, her smile automatic and warm. "Hey, sweetie, what do you think?"
I glance at the designs. "Looks great. I need to ask you something." The words come out steadier than I expect.
She sets the swatch book aside. "Of course."
"I want to have dinner tomorrow, just Dad, you, and me. The rooftop at Alinea would be nice," I add.
Her eyes soften. "That sounds perfect. Any special occasion?"
I shake my head. "I just thought it would be nice. And..."
She tilts her head. "And?"
"I can tell you about some things I'm learning in therapy," I state, my heart racing faster.
Her face turns serious. "Sure. Seven thirty? I'll confirm with your father."
"Seven thirty is perfect."
She stares at me.
I point at the clothes. "These are really good."
"Yeah?"
I nod "Yes. I made a dress earlier today. I think it might fit in the collection well."
"Well, bring it here," she chirps, her face lighting up.
"Alright." I go back to the design room, pull the dress, then take it back to Mom. "What do you think?"
"Oh, Blue! This is perfect!" Mom gushes, putting the dress on the hanging rack, then stepping back. Her gaze darts down it, then she reaches for the pocket and drags a finger over the hidden edge. "This is so smart and in right now!"
"Thanks!"
Mom slides the embellished gold zipper down the cleavage, boasting, "This is sexy. Showstopper! Great work, sweetie!" She steps closer, picks it up, then holds it against several of her pieces, tilting her head in different directions while peering closer.
The hairs on my neck rise, and goose bumps pop out on my skin. When Mom gets that look, she's making decisions.
She spins, beaming, "I'm adding it to the grand finale for the final piece!"
I open my mouth, unable to speak. The last item on the runway is the one everyone will be talking about, and I've only gotten one of my works in a show before.
She softly laughs. "The look on your face is priceless right now."
"Um...is this a joke?"
Her face falls. "No. I wouldn't do that. And this piece is extraordinary!"
Pride and excitement light me up. I cautiously ask, "Is this a definite?"
She nods, wiggling her eyebrows. "Yep! Done deal!"
"Yes!" I practically shout, tossing my arm high in the air.
Mom hangs the dress on the rack and wraps her arms around me. "I'm so proud of you! Get ready for lots of interviews!"
I need to tell Red!
"Thanks, Mom."
"Thank you! This piece is going to take the fashion world by surprise and in a good way!"
I smile so big, my cheeks hurt. This is the moment I've been waiting for, but I thought it would never arrive.
"Skylar. Your signature is required," Calvin states, peeking past the doorway.
Mom gives me another hug. "Fabulous, sweetie! Congrats!" She disappears.
I make my way back to my desk and text Red and Demi.
Me: My dress will be the final piece in the Fall Show!
Demi: Holy shit! That's amazing!
Me: I can't believe it's finally happening!
Demi: Told you you're fabulous. Make sure I have a front row seat!
Me: Of course!
I stare, waiting for Red to respond, but he doesn't.
I glance at the time. It's 1:30.
He's probably in a meeting.
I grab some more fabric and cut pieces from several that will make a great skirt. Halfway into it, my phone dings.
Red: What? That's amazing!
My smile returns.
Me: Thanks.
Red: We'll have to celebrate tonight.
Demi: I want to celebrate!
Demi: I'll bring Mikhail. We can have a double date.
I jerk my head back, then bite my lip. That explains a lot.
Me: You and Mikhail?
What happened with Nikolai?
Demi owes me some answers.
Demi sends a wink emoji.
Dots appear then disappear. I wait, but nothing comes through.
Demi: Red, I'm texting you. Plan on 8 tonight, Blue!
More excitement hits me.
I get to go on a real date with Red!
"Eek!" flies out of me. I twirl a few times until I get dizzy, grab the counter, laughing, and get back to work.
I approve final sketches, argue with the pattern maker about dart placement, and pretend I'm not counting down the minutes.
At four-thirty, I slip into the restroom, lock myself in a stall, and text Red.
Me: Hey. Stall selfie incoming because I'm hiding like a teenager.
I snap a quick photo with my chin tilted up, a small smirk, and the top button of my blouse undone just enough to show the edge of my collarbone. Then I send it before I can overthink it.
His reply comes fast.
Red: Jesus, Bluebird. You're trying to kill me at work. That's not fair.
Red: Also, you're beautiful. Like always.
Heat crawls up my neck. I bite my lip and type back.
Me: Can't wait for our double date tonight!
Silence stretches, making panic crawl up my spine.
Me: Hello?
Dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Red: Should be interesting.
Relief hits me.
He's not backing out.
Red: My next appointment's here. Gotta go.
He sends a kiss emoji.
I send him one back, feeling happy, hopefully, and on top of the world.