Chapter 10 She Said Yes! #3
Mrs. Matsumoto and I sew a basic yukata together using yards of material that have been sitting on the clearance rack for over a year.
The fabric she’s chosen is a cotton gingham pattern in grape purple.
It takes us all day to sew the yukata piece by piece.
It’s not hard to do, though. In fact, the design itself is so simple, I wonder why I haven’t made a basic yukata before.
By the time we finish, I have the strangest yukata in my size.
It’s not going to be part of my application, but I’m proud of the fact that we used fabric that would’ve otherwise been wasted.
Not to mention, this was a great learning opportunity.
Now that I understand the pattern, Mrs. Matsumoto gives me an assignment: Sew a yukata on my own at home. From memory.
“And,” Mrs. Matsumoto adds while I stand in her workshop with sweat rolling down my back, “I have just enough leftover silk for your homework, so you’ll be using that.
Sometimes my clients purchase fabric but never pick it up.
You’ll be putting this material to good use.
You can include that in your essay on limiting waste in fashion. ”
I take a seat at a workbench to keep from passing out. Hold on. This might be too much for me. I’ve only gotten the basics down. But to sew an entire yukata without her help? Using high-quality silk?
I gulp. “Are you sure? What happens if I need more silk?”
Mrs. Matsumoto lifts a roll of silk off the neighboring shelf.
It’s an emerald-green color with a matte sheen that flashes gold in this low lighting.
Outside, the sun has fallen behind the buildings, and the sky is turning pink and orange.
Soon it will be nightfall, and I’ll need to take the train back to the Nakamuras’ home.
“You won’t,” Mrs. Matsumoto says, handing the roll of material to me.
I take the thick fabric in my hands. I have thread at home, but will it match this quality? And the scissors that I have are sharp, but the last thing I want to do is risk creating a tear in this material that will ruin the silk.
As if reading my mind, Mrs. Matsumoto gestures to the shelves and drawers of supplies we’ve been pulling from.
“Take what you need and finish your yukata by next Monday. If you’ve done a fine job, we can select three designs from your sketchbook to work on.
We’ll even find a way to recreate your grandmother’s uchikake. ”
My heart leaps at her words. In one week, I can begin doing what I came here to do. My vision dances with images I’ve been drawing. I’ll get to see them come to life. I’ll get to hold them in my hands. CIF, here I come!
Mrs. Matsumoto leaves me so that she can go count the cash in the register. I snag a tote off her table and start filling it with supplies. Scissors, silk thread that matches the color of the fabric, rolls of paper to map the designs on, and sewing pins, because I can always use more.
Footsteps patter my way. I look up at the sliding wood door, expecting to see Mrs. Matsumoto, but instead I see her.
Yua’s hair is wet like she just came out of the shower.
She’s wearing a pair of pajama pants, and her cropped shirt is falling off her shoulder.
I forgot that the top floor of Matsumoto Alturations is where she and her mom live.
And considering that the store closed hours ago, Yua’s made herself at home in the boutique.
Yua blinks at me, then turns around to look over her shoulder. It isn’t until she’s facing me again that I realize I’m staring at her so hard, she must think I’m seeing a ghost.
“You okay?” Yua asks, crossing over to me and hopping up on the worktable. She kicks her legs lazily while I remind myself to keep packing.
“Mm-hmm.” I nod to myself, focusing on the pincushions I’ve tossed into my tote. Three is enough, right? Better add a fourth for safety. But aside from the pincushions, I can’t remember what else I wanted to pack. Buttons? Why not?
“Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Yua says.
All week, she’s been on the other side of my phone, but now she’s so close to me. I have a feeling she’s going to bring up our last text, but I don’t know what to say.
“I really like you,” she continues, “and I kinda want to see if maybe you feel the same?”
I glance out the open door. The same door Mrs. Matsumoto could walk through any minute now. But as Yua’s words sink in, they’re all I can think about.
Yua likes me.
This whole time we’ve been texting and flirting—every time I smiled at her jokes, every time I was awed by her tattoos, and she was awed by my style—it was all real.
But I don’t want to be like my ma. I’ve never wanted short flings that last for a season at most. I want something real.
Something more. Something where I’m not constantly chasing after it, because it’s just there.
“I like you, too,” I say, dropping my gaze and wringing my hands together. “But…I don’t think we should be doing this.”
I half expect Yua’s smile to fall, or at the very least, I imagine she’ll be hurt by what I’ve said. But instead, her brows pinch.
“Why?” Yua asks, voice ringing with genuine curiosity. “Is it because you’re Mum’s mentee?”
“I mean, yeah, that’s part of it. I don’t want there to be a conflict of interest.” I scratch the back of my head. “But also, I…I’ve technically never been on a date before…”
My voice fades, but rather than asking me more questions, Yua nods, as if encouraging me to continue.
So, I do. I tell her about what it was like growing up with Ma and the countless boyfriends that were in and out of my house.
I tell her about how I didn’t grow up with a father—how I don’t know anything about him and, as a result, I don’t want to take any of my relationships for granted.
Especially ones that are supposed to be deep and meaningful.
That’s why I hold the fact that I’ve never dated anyone so close to my heart.
“I just…I have this idea that if I ever get into a real relationship with someone, I want it to last.”
I can’t believe I said all that. Out loud to her. And despite it all, Yua listened.
Yua nods slowly. “Wow, that’s really sweet. I’ve never thought of dating like that, and I totally understand if you want to save your first date for someone special. But I still really like you, and I don’t want to stop talking.”
When Yua’s gaze dips down to my toes, a warmth rises to my cheeks.
I don’t want this to end in flames like so many of Ma’s relationships have.
But when her cheeks get rosy, I remember the brush of her voice against my ear on that tour bus.
I remember how easy it was to talk to her at Cuppa Coffee.
And in this moment I realize—I don’t want whatever this is to end.
“I don’t either,” I admit, exhaling a big breath.
A silence lulls between us, but it’s not the kind that Mrs. Matsumoto can make.
Instead of feeling the urge to break the silence, I stand here in the quiet, not wanting this conversation to stop.
Not wanting Yua to walk away. Not wanting to go back to just texting each other, because the way I know she feels about me is the way I also feel about her.
Maybe I’ve been wrong about wanting to save my first date for my forever-person. There’s no promise that this relationship will last a lifetime, like there’s no guarantee that it won’t. But maybe this feeling of being able to stand here comfortably is worth putting my heart on the line.
“If you take me out on a date,” I begin hesitantly, “what exactly do you have in mind?”
Yua perks up. She holds my gaze with a look that’s part surprise and part relief.
Finally, she shakes her head to herself, as if she needed a moment to clear her thoughts.
“Remember how I told you that I like to go for a walk in the park for inspiration? I figured that you’d really enjoy that, too. ”
I rub my lips together, forming my thoughts. My heart jackhammers so loudly that there’s no way Yua can’t hear it. Because I know what I’m going to say. For Yua, I’ll risk this feeling fading away like one of Ma’s relationships. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”