Chapter 19 Good to Go and Good to-Go
Good to Go and Good To-Go
It’s July already, and when I return to the shop for my next session, Mrs. Matsumoto skims my essay. Aside from her critiques on the way I formatted everything, she seems to like the content. I return her books; then my mentor wastes no time in picking out three designs to submit to CIF.
Her first pick is the fourth sketch. It’s the yukata where one side is all black with a black phoenix while the other side has patterns and a rainbow phoenix.
Her reasoning for choosing this design is that it’s a simpler one while still requiring a bit more technique than the yukata we worked on together.
The second yukata is a bit more intricate.
This one features both black and rainbow phoenixes crossing paths on the back.
Mrs. Matsumoto decided to go with this design because it continues a linear story.
The birds who once didn’t know each other have now crossed paths.
To match my illustration, I’ll need to quilt the phoenixes together one feather at a time.
Who knows how long and tedious that process will be.
But what I love most about this design is that it will require using scraps of silk that would’ve otherwise been thrown out.
Mrs. Matsumoto and I go back and forth sketching and resketching the last piece.
We take parts of the other designs that we like and Frankenstein them into one final look.
In the end, we’ve created a yukata that pays homage to Amah’s uchikake while looking like it could be the final installment in my application collection.
Between the advanced sewing techniques and the story of phoenixes merging into one, this will ultimately be the best way to end this tale.
The sleeves will help showcase the rainbow colors while the long trains and lengthy arms can be modified to resemble feathers and wings.
This collection is ambitious and time-consuming. But it will masterfully showcase my capabilities. If I can hammer these designs out in the next two months, not only will I have the perfect application packet for CIF, but I will finally have a piece of Amah that’s tailored to fit me.
“And, Lilyn,” Mrs. Matsumoto adds before she sends me away to gather fabric, “what do you think about putting on a little fashion show during the Obon Festival this year?”
My brain short-circuits. I’ve heard of an Obon Festival before, but I can’t place my finger on why. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Buddhist festival that honors the spirits of dead ancestors,” Mrs. Matsumoto explains.
Right! I’m not Buddhist, but Ma grew up attending Buddhist temples every Sunday for DIY activities and lunches.
After moving to America, she stopped going and started being more punk.
I vaguely remember her sharing a story about how the lanterns at the Obon Festivals in Taiwan were lit to guide her ancestors home.
“Since you’ll be finishing your designs around the middle of August—and since your final yukata honors your grandmothers—I can organize a little fashion show for you,” Mrs. Matsumoto says. “Do you think you can be ready for it by then?”
I pull out my phone and make a note of how much time I’ll have until this year’s Obon Festival. It’s happening on the third weekend of August, which means that if I agree, I won’t have room for any setbacks.
“I’ll get straight to work,” I promise.
So I do just that. Mrs. Matsumoto hovers around the workshop for a while to make sure I can handle the task.
Then, after a few hours, she goes upstairs for lunch.
She offers me a meal, but there’s electricity in my veins.
I stay down in the workshop measuring out silk and cutting out patterns.
I can’t think about food when I’ve just agreed to making three yukatas in seven weeks.
Shadows drag across the wooden floor as I work.
The light streaming in from the windows fades from midday gold to sunset strawberry.
The bell at the front of the shop jingles as I sew the black side of my yukata against my rainbow side.
My sewing machine is whirring so loudly that I don’t hear footsteps coming my way until someone is already standing in the doorway.
Yua leans against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. Judging by the way her mascara is a little runny and her lipstick has faded around the middle, she must’ve had a long day herself.
My straight seam veers off the pattern.
Yua giggles as I lift my foot off the pedal. “Good to see you, too,” she says, stepping into the workshop and plopping down beside me.
I want to throw my arms around her and feel her do the same in return. Even though it’s almost been a week since we kissed, I haven’t stopped craving another moment like that. But her mom could come check on me at any second.
Yua doesn’t lean in, and I imagine it’s because we’re thinking the same thing. No PDA at Matsumoto Alturations. But that doesn’t stop her from scooting her chair so close to me that her bare shoulder is only a breath apart from mine.
“What are you working on?” Yua asks, leaning over until her lips are practically at my neck.
I swallow hard and remind my fingers that they’re supposed to be reaching for the seam ripper. Where exactly did I put that thing?
“We settled on some designs for my portfolio,” I say.
Before I can even finish my sentence, Yua is reeling back with a gasp. “Finally! What did you decide to make?”
Now that her breath isn’t warming my skin, I can think clearly. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone so I can show her the designs her mom and I worked on.
“We made minor modifications to this one,” I say, handing my phone over so she can see the difference between the first design and the touches we added to the final version. “Swipe to see the others.”
While she looks over the sketches, I find the seam ripper and peel apart the threads I accidentally sewed out of alignment. Yua’s scrolling through my phone when she gasps again. I’m sure she’s studying the final design—the showstopper.
“Your Amah’s yukata?” Yua exclaims. “Are you sure you can do all that in the time you have left?”
The knot is back in my throat, but this time I know it’s not from the closeness of Yua’s lips to my skin.
It’s at the remembrance that the sands in my hourglass are slipping away.
I have less than two months to get this done.
But I’m not going to worry about summer’s end.
Right now, I’m here with Yua and I’m savoring her presence.
“I think so.” I nod. “I can probably finish this first yukata in a week. The second one will take a while because I’m hand-stitching two phoenixes.
I’m mapping out a timeline of two weeks for that one.
As for Amah’s yukata, I think it’ll take three weeks since I’ll be using a lot more material for it. ”
After that, I’ll go home, and you’ll be gone, too. I don’t say the words out loud because it’ll be too real. I haven’t even been in Tokyo for half my summer semester, but I can already see the finish line, and I’m not ready to cross it.
Yua giggles as she returns my phone. Just the sound of her voice brings me back to this moment. “You know what your collection reminds me of?”
The corner of my lip twitches. Right. Now that she’s seeing it in person, I’m sure she can’t unsee the resemblance this work has to her and her mural and our date at Chidorigafuchi Park.
“It reminds me of Pokémon,” Yua says.
I recoil. “What? How?”
Yua laughs as she takes my phone again and sets it on the table between us. She scrolls through the photos until we’re back at the first design. “Look, Charmander.” She scrolls to the second one. “Charmeleon.” Then she shows the last design. “Charizard. It’s a three-phase evolution!”
I slap my hand over my face. Considering that each yukata gets more intricate as the designs progress, I can see where she’s coming from. Only Yua would see a deeper message in things I’m oblivious to.
Yua grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “You know I’m only playing, right? I love it. But seriously, you can see your growth with each piece, and I’m proud of you.”
I return her smile and place my hand over hers. Yua stops shaking me as if she suddenly realizes how close we are. How close our faces are. How we’re touching without meaning to, and how we’ve done this before. And how one touch led to other things.
Yua takes her hand back and clears her throat. She glances at the wide-open door before saying, “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”
I straighten my spine while silently mourning the loss of her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think there’s ever a time I don’t want to see what you’re working on.”
Yua chuckles to herself as she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone. She scrolls through her camera roll for a moment before finding the image she wants to show me. But instead of handing her device over, Yua holds her phone to her chest.
“Okay, so this is a work in progress,” Yua begins, voice lowered like she’s worried someone will overhear us. “I’ve already done the outline of it, and it’s turning out pretty good. But this is going to be the most important design I’ve worked on so far.”
I tilt my head. “How so?”
“It’s a half-back tattoo,” Yua answers. “I haven’t done anything bigger than a half-sleeve before. My mentor is testing me on this one. If the coloring looks nice after my client’s last session, then I’ll have my mentor’s approval to work for his brother in LA.”
My eyes widen. “Do you think your client will be able to handle all that coloring?”
“I don’t know.” Yua winces like the thought alone causes her physical pain. “It’s an all-day job, but if my canvas needs a break, then who knows how long it’ll really take.”
I hiss through my teeth. “Yikes.”