Chapter 24 Crunch Time
Crunch Time
The answer is no. Mrs. Matsumoto is not okay with me receiving any help on my CIF application. Buuuut she did say it was okay for me to spend this week sewing in the shop’s back room. And technically, she doesn’t have any rules against Yua joining me for company. So that’s what we do.
At first.
Since I’m in Mrs. Matsumoto’s workshop a lot, it’s given her plenty of time to hover over my shoulder to see what I’m up to.
It certainly beats sewing alone at the Nakamuras’ house.
At first, I preferred the privacy because sometimes I get in my own head about things when people are watching.
But with Mrs. Matsumoto right there, she’s able to coach me through the first half of my final yukata.
And when she’s not there, her daughter fills in.
By the second day, Mrs. Matsumoto is hardly with me.
She’s in the front picking out fabric for her clients while Yua’s in the back helping me with sewing techniques.
It does get a little distracting—Yua reaching around me to guide the fabric through the sewing machine.
Yua leaning over me to make sure I’m cutting the right patterns.
Yua scratching my back and whispering compliments in my ear whenever I accomplish something.
If Mrs. Matsumoto hadn’t left the door wide open, I would’ve grabbed Yua by the cheeks and kissed her until my face turned red.
Despite the wide-open door, Yua and I still sneak quick kisses every now and then.
Sometimes Yua stands behind me, playing with my hair.
Other times, she brings me drinks and snacks.
We definitely don’t do enough smooching to get caught on the job.
At least, I don’t think we do. Sometimes I swear I hear Mrs. Matsumoto’s footsteps coming our way.
But when I push Yua off me to glance at the door, there’s no one there.
By Thursday, I’m finally starting on recreating the outer layer of Amah’s bridal kimono.
Except, I’m putting my own twist to it. This one has long flowing sleeves designed to resemble black feathers.
Even with how hard I’ve been working, I didn’t think I’d finish it.
But with Yua’s help and encouragement, I finish one of the sleeves before leaving the shop that night.
A summer storm has rolled in by Friday. The pattering rain and distant rumble of thunder keep me company while I hand-stitch the silk feathers into place.
I originally dreaded putting this last piece together, but it turns out to be simpler than I expected, thanks to Mrs. Matsumoto’s insight and knowledge.
She has all the tips and tricks for making something look difficult without the process actually being so.
Right before dinnertime, I complete the last stitch of my yukata.
I’m officially done with my collection. When the rain starts back up, it sounds like Tokyo is applauding me for all the work I’ve put in.
I hang Amah’s tribute up on a mannequin and stare at it in disbelief. This week was absolutely crunch time. But that’s the thing with art. Sometimes I need the pressure of a deadline to make things beautiful. And having my girlfriend’s assistance along the way wasn’t so bad, either.
Yua does a quick inspection of the final piece.
She helps me try on the yukata, wrapping the yukata’s obi around my middle until I’m in the most luxurious creation I’ve ever made for myself.
The long sleeves are carved to look like feathered wings while the layers of lace underneath have come together to resemble a soft down undercoat.
But it’s the overwhelming blend of blacks and rainbows that leaves me gasping when I see my reflection.
After a long moment of admiration, Yua decides the design is good enough.
She leaves the workshop to find her mother while I stay behind, rubbing my hands together.
I still need Mrs. Matsumoto’s approval. Without it, I won’t get her letter of recommendation, the last thing I need for my application to CIF.
As I stare at my reflection in the workshop mirror, I can’t believe this is me.
Yes, I’m wearing something inspired by Amah’s uchikake, and yes, it still has that Lilyn touch to it.
But I’m not the girl I was when I arrived in Tokyo.
That girl was anxious and lost. Now, I know where I’m going in life.
I’ve found my muse, and I’m wearing it in every stitch of Amah’s memory.
Yua returns to the workshop biting her lip. “Mum is upstairs having a late lunch. She’ll be down soon.”
My shoulders slump, and my head rolls back. Ugh. I just want her to come down and tell me I got an A-plus already. Even though she’s not technically grading me on anything.
Yua sighs. “I mean, since it’s just you and me…”
We hold each other’s gazes for a moment before another thought crosses my mind. Yua’s been teasing me this entire week with gentle touches and sweet kisses. But right now, my hands aren’t occupied by silk and thread. Right now, they want to be on Yua.
I glance out the sliding doors, giving the store a quick sweep.
There aren’t any patrons here. Usually around lunchtime, the store dies down a bit, anyway.
But before I can do a full one-eighty, Yua’s palm cups my cheek.
She’s turning me to face her and then she’s pulling me in for the kiss I’ve been craving.
Yua’s arms wrap around my waist. She pulls me in so tightly that my chest presses against hers. Yua’s body is soft, familiar, and warm. We fit like sheets of fabric made to be stitched. So here we are, tying our hearts together.
She kisses me. Once. Twice. I catch her every time.
When she comes back in for the third kiss, I cup my hand behind her neck to keep her from pulling away.
I lengthen this kiss as my other hand finds the curve of her hip.
The hem of her shirt has risen a little.
My thumb brushes the bareness of her stomach.
It’s something new. Something exciting. Something that makes me open my mouth wider, deepening our kiss.
The stairs creak.
Yua and I spring apart. I anxiously run my hands through my hair, combing out any frizz. Yua tugs her shirt back down. She clears her throat as she slides onto a bench at the table. I find a chair opposite her and do the same.
Yua’s gaze meets mine once more. There’s a wild look in her eyes like she wasn’t ready to pull apart.
Her lipstick is a little smudged, and her cheeks are still flushed.
Even though I can’t hear her heartbeat, I swear I feel it from my place across from her.
No, we’re not touching, but I want to be.
Footsteps patter our way. Mrs. Matsumoto rounds the corner and stands in the doorway.
She looks as elegant as ever—dark hair swooped back in a claw clip.
Not a wrinkle on her tunic, not a button out of alignment.
But her nose scrunches as if she can smell what we were doing moments ago, even though I was hoping for a gasp when she saw me in all these feathers.
“Stand up, Lilyn,” she says, breaking the suspiciously silent silence. “Let me see what you’ve done.”
I climb out of my seat slowly, matching Mrs. Matsumoto’s level of grace as if it’ll hide any evidence of Yua’s body pressed against mine. Or maybe it brings even more attention to it. Who knows?
I show Mrs. Matsumoto my yukata, twirling in place so that she can see the details, from the sleeves to the train to the colorful obi.
I explain the techniques I used for each stitch and why I chose my patterns.
It’s like I’m back in school all over again, giving a presentation I could recite in my sleep.
I’m speaking like I’m on autopilot because, well, I kind of am.
Meanwhile, Yua’s watching me from over her mom’s shoulder, and I can’t stop glancing at her.
I finish my presentation and stand beside Mrs. Matsumoto as she studies all three yukatas.
My heart thunders in my chest. Mrs. Matsumoto takes her time looking my design over.
She points out a crease in the stitching of my first installment—I freaking knew she would spot something I didn’t notice.
On my second yukata, one of my sleeves is longer than the other.
I honestly didn’t even notice. I was so focused on making sure the hand-stitching on the tail feathers was perfect that I completely overlooked such an easy fix.
I hold my breath as Mrs. Matsumoto looks my design over one more time. This final piece is the most ambitious one yet. Furthermore, this one has the least amount of her input in it because Yua took over. Were we too lovestruck to make sure this yukata was perfect?
Mrs. Matsumoto does one final lap around me before taking a step back.
She meets my gaze with that familiar coldness.
I know what she’s thinking. Good thing I’ve got some wiggle room to redo this last one.
Except this time, I’m sure Mrs. Matsumoto will want to helicopter me like she did earlier this week.
“How did you manage to make such a careless mistake on your second installment,” Mrs. Matsumoto begins, “then create the most incredible design on your third?”
My ears are ringing. Wait—what?
“Technically speaking,” my mentor continues, “this third installment was the most challenging to make. If you were going to overlook something as simple as the length of the sleeve, I thought you would’ve done it on your final yukata.
But considering that you’ve created such a phenomenal collection, I think it’s safe to say you know what you’re doing, even if you make a little mistake along the way.
Good job. I’ll write you a letter of recommendation to the Contemporary Institute of Fashion. ”
I’m twirling like a ballerina on the inside, but I’m standing in place on the outside.
I’ve spent years designing, sewing, and learning new techniques for all kinds of Asian-style clothing.
Everything I’ve done from my first stitch to now was finally worth it.
I’ll be a shoo-in for CIF. I’ll continue living out my dream.
And the icing on the cake is, I’ll have a girlfriend whom I get to share those milestones with.
Yua slides an arm around me and gives me a modest hug. Her arms are stiff and unnatural, like she’s holding back for her mom’s sake. “I told you these yukatas were amazing!”
Screw modesty. I snake my own arms around her, still in disbelief, and bury my face against Yua’s neck. I’m squeezing her so tightly that she has no choice but to hold me with both of her arms. “Thank you for your—”
Mrs. Matsumoto clears her throat. Yua and I pull apart as begrudgingly as Velcro.
“Why don’t you return to the Nakamuras’, Lilyn?” Mrs. Matsumoto says slowly. “You and Yua will have plenty of time together at tomorrow’s dinner party.”
Oh, right. Since Yua will be flying out in two days, the Nakamuras wanted to host a final farewell. Aiko and Mrs. Nakamura were already cooking tomorrow’s dinner when I left for Matsumoto Alturations this morning. I suppose I should head back to help them finish.
“But it’s raining,” Yua says, jabbing a thumb at the window.
Sure enough, another spray of summer rain fogs up the glass. I can make out the shape of the trees beyond the window. The leaves hang down heavy with rainwater, and the smell of damp soil has been seeping into this workshop all day.
My mentor flattens her lips. “Well, you certainly aren’t staying here if all you plan to do is…” She doesn’t have to elaborate for me to know what she’s saying. In fact, I’m glad she leaves it at that.
“Oh, well…then…” My voice trails as I glance around the shop.
I could offer to wait out the rain by cleaning this place up.
But then another thought crosses my mind.
Or rather, an old promise does. A peahen-inspired mullet dress based off a video game character.
“Can I stay here to make a gift for Aiko?”