Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NONEXISTENT CHRISTMAS
Emmy rushed through the controlled chaos and creativity with high-stakes anticipation.
Two of her designs were going to be revealed on the runway: a red silk ensemble and her prized taffeta Brilliance Nocturne.
She was most excited about that one. This was New York’s Fashion Innovation Conference & Fashion Tech Forum—the week she’d trained for all year.
Mitchell Augustine had been an absolute delight to work for.
But she’d never labored so much in her life.
Working for Harlow and Ash had given her no time to do anything else.
And the more hours she put in with Mitchell, the more she found herself.
Early on, he’d made her abandon the formalities, having her call him Mitch, but that was where the laid-back atmosphere ended.
When they worked together, it was as if they shared the same mind.
She knew where he wanted to go, and he anticipated her questions before she even asked them.
She’d never felt more accomplished in her life.
He’d been so impressed with her skills and the speed at which she learned that he’d asked her to design two looks with him for the Fashion Innovation Conference.
Working alongside Mitchell made her feel closer to her mom, and his praise and guidance helped her to see her own gifts. Looking back now, she couldn’t believe she’d let her mother’s sewing machine sit unused for so long. It had become a part of her and not just a reminder of her mother.
She and her mother shared the same talents, but Emmy was determined to set herself apart with her own designs.
But all her hard work had come at a price.
Charlie, who now lived in Jackson Hole, was always out on the trails or in a boat, and Emmy was knee-deep in fabric, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning.
Their calls dwindled, and eventually, as she fell into bed exhausted every night, she hadn’t noticed that her phone had stopped ringing.
She knew it would happen, but the knowing didn’t make missing him any easier.
Her only consolation was that she was usually too busy for his silence to consume her.
She did wonder if she’d crossed his mind over the last few months.
But she didn’t have time to think about it.
The atmosphere backstage at the conference was electric.
Emmy flew from model to model, making last-minute adjustments to the silk two-piece outfit she’d designed, as the Harlow and Ash seamstresses swiftly stitched on final trimmings, while other models slipped into garments under Emmy’s discerning eye.
Hairspray billowed around her, but she hardly noticed in her balancing act between tension and absolute exhilaration.
She wanted to get this just right for herself, but her father would also be there tonight. This was her moment to show him that all his support and encouragement over the years had paid off.
“Emmy! Does the Paloma belt have a third loop?” one of their assistants called over while she patted the waist of her model.
“No, just the two on each side.”
Both her pieces and all the ones on the runway represented months of effort.
Emmy’s sketches were edited, reedited, and sometimes reimagined with Mitchell before they were applied to fabric, her visions transformed into reality by her own hands.
She’d learned how to trust her instinct, and over time, she’d stopped asking herself what her mother would have done and naturally answered her questions her way.
But now, Emmy felt an irrefutable pressure to be accepted. She peered around the curtain to see if she could find her sister and her dad in the spectators, but she only found editors, buyers, and influencers, their discriminating gazes ready to choose which designs would represent the season.
Her dad had finally sold her childhood home, so he was living with Madison until he figured out where he wanted to settle.
The rest of the family had met them in Richmond, and they were all flying in together.
Their flight had landed a couple of hours ago.
She couldn’t wait to have her whole family there.
Everything had fallen into place this year.
They might even get a white Christmas celebration.
Emmy scanned the crowd once more, but camera flashes flickered like strobe lights, momentarily blinding her.
As the first model stepped onto the runway, Emmy’s phone lit up with a text from her sister. Were they lost? The music pulsed through the venue, while Emmy opened the text. All the blood drained from her face.
Emmy stood in the wings, her heart pounding, the room beginning to spin.
There was applause, but it was as if someone had plugged her ears.
“You all right?” Mitchell asked.
Emmy swallowed. “No,” she croaked. “My dad just had a heart attack.” When the words came out, tears sprung to her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Emmy was on a plane to Richmond, Virginia.
“I tried to call you all day,” Madison said as they walked through the hospital at a clip, passing a few sparsely decorated Christmas trees in the lobby.
Emmy had taken the cab from the airport straight to the VCU Medical Center.
“I’m so sorry. I was caught up in preparations and the show, and I didn’t check my phone. It started at 9:00 a.m. and the events went back-to-back. How is he?”
“Critical,” Madison said. Her eyes were red. “He’s got a team monitoring him.”
“Oh my gosh,” Emmy said in a whisper.
The thick gray panic that engulfed her when her mother passed had been resting quietly in the back of Emmy’s mind, but now, that fear was alive and well, pecking at her from the inside, collapsing her lungs and not allowing them any air.
“What did the team say?” she managed.
“They’re keeping an eye on his cardiac function. His heart is struggling, with irregular rhythms, and he’s got dangerously low blood pressure. He’s on a ventilator because his breathing is compromised.”
Emmy took a jagged breath, her chest aching.
They went through the security desks and up to her father’s hallway.
When they arrived, the hospital room hummed with the quiet beeping of monitors.
Her dad lay still in the bed, his skin colorless under the fluorescent lights.
Wires and tubes snaked from his arms and electrode patches dotted his chest as the monitor traced his every heartbeat.
Uncle Brian and Aunt Elsie rushed toward Emmy, embracing her. Uncle Stephen stood up with Aunt Charlotte, who was wringing her hands nervously. Jack stayed seated in the corner, but he gave her an appreciative nod, clearly letting the family have a minute.
Emmy walked over to her dad.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slightly labored. The scent of plastic circulating with the medicinal sharpness of antiseptic stung her nose.
A nurse came in quietly and stopped by his side, checking his vitals. Emmy searched his face for some sign of reassurance. She lay her hand on his wrist and his finger twitched, as if he were responding.
Aunt Charlotte whispered into Emmy’s ear, “He’s weak and exhausted. They’re worried his kidneys might not be receiving enough blood, but we’ve all been praying.”
Emmy focused on a defibrillator nearby, her vision blurring with tears. She blinked in an attempt to clear them.
“He was awake earlier,” Charlotte continued. “But he’s a little disoriented. The doctors are focused on stabilization and interventions. They might have to put in a stent.”
This wasn’t how Emmy had imagined Christmas this year. She’d had a lot of things go right in her life lately. How could something like this have happened?
“They’re calling for snow in a couple of days,” Madison said, handing Emmy a mug of tea as she sat with her aunts, uncles, and Jack in Madison’s family room. “Jack’s been chopping wood all week.” She winked at her husband, evidently trying to lighten the mood. “Anyone hungry?”
Charlotte stood up. “Madison, you’ve been so busy. I’ll put a couple of pizzas in the oven.”
“I’ll help,” Uncle Stephen said.
Aunt Elsie and Uncle Brian followed suit, leaving Jack with Emmy and her sister.
The sparkling Christmas tree next to them was at odds with the mood in the room.
There weren’t any presents to exchange, no dishes spread over Madison’s kitchen.
With the sale of her dad’s house, they had all planned on flying out to New York as a way to spend the holiday together.
They were going to do Christmas early again this year because of Emmy’s debut at the Fashion Innovation Conference.
They’d planned to see her designs at the Harlow and Ash show, and the next evening catch a musical with dinner to celebrate the season.
Their worried state carried on through supper.
They all ate slices of pizza on paper plates, sitting in near silence in Madison’s family room.
Emmy’s bites of food barely registered, the task of eating methodical, her mind on her dad.
She couldn’t lose him. Her dad had gotten her through so many difficult things—things he’d had to do in the absence of her mom.
He’d been both parents to her, and he’d done an incredible job.
Her mom might miss him and perhaps she’d petitioned to call him home, but Emmy was digging her nails into his arm, selfishly begging him to stay.
I need him more than you do, Mom. Emmy sent the message up to the heavens, hoping it would reach her.
Later that night, Mitchell called to check in. His call meant a lot, considering it was the final night of the Fashion Innovation Conference.
Emmy closed herself off in Jack’s home office and told him all she knew about her dad’s prognosis. It was the first time they’d talked about her personal life. The year had been so busy that they hadn’t had time for anything other than instruction.
“I’ll call you again tomorrow after we’ve both gotten some sleep,” he said.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Oh, and Emmy? Your taffeta Brilliance Nocturne piece got a standing ovation.”
Emmy gasped. She’d been so immersed in her family’s needs that the show already seemed like a distant memory.
“You did good, kid. I see a bright future in design for you.”
“Thank you.” She’d never been told anything like that before, and she had to wonder if it was because she was doing what she was built to do.
“I hope you like New York. You’re not going anywhere.”
“That means a lot, Mitch.” That was incredible praise, but she couldn’t really celebrate it until she knew her dad would be all right. Her success paled in comparison to what she was dealing with right now.