Britches Get Stitches

by Elicia Hyder

  Our resting period was a series of dynamic stretches. Knees to chest, ankle rotations, hip rotations, torso twists…All I wanted to do was lay on the floor and drink my weight in cold water. But alas, the torture continued.

  And I didn’t think about Jason Bradley another time.

  I went home and straight to the shower after practice. Kiara had given me very specific instructions to not come to the store one second before two o’clock and to not even glance at the storefront as I entered my apartment.

  Of course, I didn’t listen. But I couldn’t see anything either. The front window had been freshly recovered in brown paper.

  She’d written on the paper this time instead of the window: Grand unveiling today! Hot cocoa and Christmas cookies at 2 p.m.!

  Had I agreed to hot cocoa and Christmas cookies?

  I texted her, as promised, before I left my apartment to come down. When I walked inside, she was ringing up a customer, a woman with a toddler on her hip.

  To my right were two college-age boys, each holding the corner of a large strip of brown paper in front of the window. One of them smiled at me, and his corner lowered just enough for me to see a flash of white behind him.

  Kiara snapped her fingers. “Uh-uh, Davion! Don’t you get lazy on me now!” Davion. I recognized his name. He was Kiara’s boyfriend.

  Davion quickly straightened, snapping his eyes forward toward the wall.

  My head fell quizzically to the side, but before I could ask, Kiara spoke. “There’s the genius of whom we speak.”

  I walked toward the cash register.

  Kiara had a bright smile. She wore a fuzzy cowl-neck white sweater and bright blue pants. “We were just talking about you, Grace. This is Megan and her daughter, Riley. She just bought the Charlotte dress.”

  I beamed. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “You made them all?” the woman asked, adjusting the little girl on her side.

  “Kiara and I made them, but all the gowns are my designs.”

  “They’re beautiful,” she said.

  “Thank you. Have you been in before?”

  “No. I had no idea this was even here until we had breakfast next door.”

  “Yes, I swear their pancakes are our best advertisement!”

  She laughed. “That may be true.”

  “Megan, if you have a moment, we have a very special surprise for Grace. I’d love for you and Riley to see it,” Kiara said, walking around from behind the counter.

  “OK. Sure,” Megan answered.

  “Riley, do you like hot cocoa?” Kiara asked.

  Riley nodded with her thumb in her mouth.

  “Speaking of hot cocoa,” I said. “When did we decide to—”

  Kiara wagged her finger. “No, no, no. This is my surprise.”

  “And ours,” a voice said from the back of the room.

  Mom and Dad walked out of my workroom. Dad was carrying a bright orange drink cooler with a spout on the front.

  “You called my parents?” I asked Kiara.

  “I did.”

  I laughed as Mom came over to give me a hug. She held up a strip of periwinkle satin. “I’m in charge of the blindfold.”

  “Blindfold?” I asked, giving Dad a kiss on the cheek.

  Kiara walked toward the front of the store. “Yes. Blindfold.”

  The boys holding up the craft paper were starting to visibly tremble. “Kiara, how long have these poor guys been here?” I asked.

  “Since about nine this morning,” she said.

  My eyes doubled. “Holding that thing the whole time?”

  “Of course not, silly. And as soon as you put on that blindfold, they can lower their arms.” She walked over and plugged something into the wall.

  Mom held up the satin. I turned and she put it over my eyes, tying it behind my head. The fabric reminded me of Sylvie. “Kiara, did Sylvie pick up the dress this morning?”

  “I haven’t seen her since last week,” she said.

  “I haven’t either. That’s weird. Remind me to try to call again before I leave.”

  “You got it.”

  “Kiara, should we go outside?” my mother asked, holding onto my arm.

  “Yes, please. Davion, you and James take the table and the cookies outside,” she said to the boys. “Don’t forget the cups!”

  The paper crumpling echoed around the room as my mother guided me to the front of the door and outside. “Stay here,” she said, releasing me. The door bells jingled, and I assumed she was holding it open for my dad.

  It was freezing outside. I wished I’d worn a thicker coat.

  “She’s really a good find,” Mom said a moment later.

  “Kiara?” I smiled. “Yeah, she’s amazing.”

  “She’s an intern?” Dad asked.

  I nodded. “Part-time employee too.”

  “Maybe you should make her full-time,” Mom said.

  “I’d love to, if she sticks around after college. I’m sure that won’t happen though. She’s too good for Nashville.”

  “Did I miss anything?” a woman’s voice said behind me.

  I turned, not really sure why since I was blindfolded.

  “Hi, I’m Grace’s mother, Sheila,” mom said.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m one of Kiara Washington’s professors from MacKay. Imogen Sleight. Is this Grace?” she asked.

  My back was to the window, so I pushed the blindfold up over one eye. The woman in front of me was smiling. Imogen Sleight was pale with wiry white hair and glasses with thick dark rims. She wore a faux-fur-lined black puffer coat—Michael Kors if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “Hi, I’m Grace Evans,” I said, offering her hand. “Excuse the blindfold.”

  “No excuse needed. I’m glad I didn’t miss the big unveiling. Kiara’s been so excited about this.”

  “She certainly has been,” I said.

  “You’re a professor?” Mom asked.

  “The department chair, actually.”

  “That’s wonderful. It’s so nice of you to show up here to support one of your students,” Mom said, noticeably impressed.

  “She’s a very special student.”

  Before I could agree, the front door bells jingled again behind me. I tugged the blindfold back down quickly. I heard Kiara moving people around and giving orders to the boys.

  “Professor Sleight, you made it!” Kiara said.

  “I wouldn’t miss this,” the teacher said.

  There was a faint rustle of paper, probably inside the window, and I heard my mother gasp softly beside me.

  “Mama, look!” I heard little Riley say.

  “I know. I see it. It’s so pretty,” Megan agreed.

  “You ready?” Kiara said behind me.

  My heart was thumping with excitement. I nodded, and she pulled off the blindfold. I covered my mouth with my hands. The window took my breath.

  She’d created rolling hills of snow with the cotton and had painted large shimmering snowflakes that hung from the top. The pink Christmas tree—which I hadn’t been so sure about—was decorated with white ornaments and white lights and placed on a rotating stand that turned slowly.

  A glittery snowman wore a scarf and earmuffs (sold inside), and two child-sized mannequins were reaching up to catch the snowflakes. They were wearing two of our new limited-edition winter designs: the Holly and the Noël.

  The whole thing was set against a backdrop of a million twinkling fairy lights.

  Everyone on the street was clapping.

  Tears filled my eyes. “Kiara, it’s just…” I had no words to complete the sentence, so I hugged her. “Please don’t ever leave me!”

  She laughed. “Aww…are you crying?”

  “No!” I said, covering my watery eyes with my hand. I sniffed and hugged her again. “I love it.”

  “It’s absolute breathtaking,” my mother agreed.

  “Nice work,” Dad said.

  “Welcome, everyone. We have hot chocolate and
cookies!” Kiara announced to the crowd of passersby who had gathered to check out the commotion.

  The unveiling turned into an impromptu open house. Patrons were in and out of my store for the rest of the afternoon, renewing my hope that the holidays might indeed save the store from going under. The property-tax bill wasn’t going to pay itself.

  My parents stayed for a little while. So did Kiara’s professor. A few regulars stopped in as well. Still, no Sylvia. I tried to call her again before we closed.

  A man answered the phone.

  “May I speak to Sylvia Sinclair, please?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sinclair is not available. May I take a message?”

  “My name is Grace Evans, from Sparkled Pink children’s boutique. Sylvia ordered a dress from me and asked for rush delivery before Thanksgiving. I left a message with someone yesterday but haven’t heard back. She’s generally in my store a few times a week, but she’s not been in lately.”

  “Oh…well, Mrs. Sinclair has been in the hospital for the past few days.”

  I sat down at my work desk. “Oh no. Is she OK?”

  “They are letting her come home today. I’ll be more than happy to send someone to pick up her order.”

  “Thank you. I know she was really wanting it before the holiday,” I said.

  I gave him the address for the store, and he promised to send someone early the next week. I told Kiara the bad news as she put tiny pairs of blue jeans out on a table. “When was the last time she was in here?” she asked.

  I thought for a moment. Then heat rose in my cheeks as memories of being sandwiched together with Jason in the alcove next door flooded back to my mind. God, he’d smelled so good. Felt so warm and strong.

  “Grace?”

  I blinked. “Over a week ago.”

  “I hope she’s OK.”

  “Me too.” And I did. Suddenly, I felt very guilty about avoiding her that day. As crazy as she made me, I’d sort of gotten attached to her.

  Kiara stopped working and pulled her phone from her pocket. “I just got a message from Professor Sleight.”

  “Was she impressed?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. She wants to know if we would be available for an interview with the newspaper early on Wednesday. The article will run on Thanksgiving.”

  “Absolutely. A newspaper interview before Black Friday, are you kidding? I’ll be available at two in the morning if they need me to be.”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell her yes then.” When she finished texting, she pulled more pairs of jeans from the box.

  “This could really turn into something for you, Kiara.” I walked over to help her. “I’ve seen things like this snowball to get national attention.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Back before flash mobs were a thing, my best friend organized a spontaneous concert in the middle of Rockefeller Center with the choral department at her school. To this day, she puts that experience on her resume, and everyone in her business knows it. She said it’s come up in every interview she’s ever had.”

  “Was this Monica?” she asked.

  “Sure was. Now she’s got a fancy-schmancy job at Lockwood Academy. All because of an idea she had in college.”

  “That’s good to hear. But right now, I’m just trying to make it through this semester.”

  I laughed. “I hear ya.”

  “What’s your plan for next week? I don’t have school at all.”

  “We’ll only be closed on Thursday. We need to get ready for Black Friday before then, so if you want to work all week, you can. I’ll probably be working late a lot.”

  “Won’t you have roller derby practice?” she asked.

  “I’m going to skip practice on Monday, but I don’t want to miss Wednesday night’s scrimmage. So if I’m not there, I’ll be here each day and night. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Good deal. Thanks, Grace.”

  “How’s planning for your New York trip coming along?” I asked.

  “I’m about halfway to my goal. I have enough for plane tickets. I just need food and spending money.”

  “You’ll get there.” And I was sure she would. Looking at the window again, I could see a nice holiday bonus in her future, even if I had to sell my soul to give it to her.

  It was weird skipping practice on Monday. Kiara and I worked together until eight o’clock when I sent her home. Then I didn’t quit until almost two in the morning. On Tuesday, I started the whole routine over. But, by the time I left in the wee hours of Wednesday, three more gowns were complete, all the extra Black Friday stock had been unpacked and put on the shelves, and the rest of the store was decorated.

  Kiara brought me coffee when she came into work Wednesday morning shortly before opening. “Bless you,” I whispered, accepting the paper cup.

  “How late were you here?” she asked, carrying her stuff to the back.

  I followed. “I think I left around four.”

  “Mercy,” she said. “It looks great out there though.”

  “Thank you.”

  Just then, the front door bells jingled. “Gra-ace!”

  “Sylvie,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “There is not enough coffee for this so early in the morning.”

  Kiara laughed as I turned back toward the store.

  I froze.

  Sylvia Sinclair was in a wheelchair. Miss Taylor was laying on her lap, on top of a thick blanket. Sylvia wore dark sunglasses and her hair was as unkempt as I’d ever seen it. I didn’t recognize the tall man with dark hair who wheeled her in.

  “Grace, dear,” she said, her voice shakier than usual.

  “Sylvia,” I said again, this time touching my chest.

  Concerned, Kiara followed me out to the store room.

  “How are you?” I asked as I walked over and knelt beside the wheelchair. Miss Taylor growled at me.

  Sylvia reached for my hand, and I gently curled both of mine around hers. For the first time ever, she seemed fragile. Feeble, even. She weakly squeezed my fingers and nodded her head back twice to beckon me closer.

  I leaned in.

  “What the hell did you do to your front window?”

  I pressed my eyes shut. My lips too.

  Behind me, I heard a soft chuckle from Kiara.

  “Didn’t they tell you, Grace? Christmas colors are red and green. Red and green. What’s with all the pink? What are we celebrating here? Christ’s birthday or breast cancer? You really shouldn’t celebrate cancer. I personally take offense.”

  I scratched my head. “Nobody is celebrating—”

  “Its leukemia,” she blurted out.

  “What’s leukemia?” I asked.

  She released my hand and tapped her chest. “The doctors say I have leukemia.”

  “Oh, Sylvie. I’m so sorry.”

  She waved toward the window. “So if you’re gonna celebrate cancer, you should at least find out the color for leukemia.”

  The man with her was trying not to laugh.

  I wanted to ask about her prognosis, but Miss Taylor barked at me. Sylvia looked past me. “Where’s my dress, Grace? I didn’t come all the way down here for my health, you know.”

  With a sigh, I stood. “I’m so glad you’re feeling like your old self, Sylvie.”

  As I walked toward the back, I glared at Kiara, who was barely maintaining her composure.

  In the back, I found Sylvia’s gown. When I carried it out to the storefront, Sylvia’s manservant had wheeled her over to our holiday gowns. “This beading is gaudy, Grace.”

  I looked back over my shoulder and mouthed the words “kill me now” to Kiara. That time, she let a snicker escape.

  “And you should really start using Sinclair Satin instead of this cheap stuff. I can get whatever color you want, you know.”

  “I’m sure you can. We can talk about that sometime, if you’d like,” I said as politely as I could manage. It was nice fabric, after all.

  “How about tonight?�
�� She looked at the man. “We don’t have plans tonight, do we?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “I can’t tonight, Sylvie. I have derby practice.”

  “Ah yes.” She weakly snapped her fingers over her head. “Andrew, did I tell you Grace plays roller derby?”

  “No. That still exists?” he asked me.

  “It does. It’s bigger than ever,” I answered.

  Sylvia scoffed as only old, rich women can properly do. Then without giving me a chance to beg an explanation for her snobbery, she waved her hand in the air. “My dress, please?”

  I sighed and pulled the plastic wrap up around the hanger. “Here you go.”

  Sylvia stared at it for a long moment, then smiled and leaned forward in her chair. “The fabric is gorgeous,” she said, running her hand over the bodice.

  Of course she thought the fabric was gorgeous. She made it!

  “Do you like it?” I asked nervously.

  Sylvia looked away and shifted in her chair. “The dress is fine, Grace.”

  She might as well have been talking about canned meat.

  I was screaming on the inside. The dress is fine? From the design sketch to the rose bow, I’d invested at least forty hours into that dress. Not to mention the fact that I had to start it over after I’d already cut out the fabric.

  She reached back and tugged on the man’s sleeve. “Andrew, pay her and let’s go home.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and reached into his suit jacket’s inside pocket.

  Unsure of what to do or how to react, I stood there paralyzed until my mother’s voice echoed in my head. “The customer is always right, Grace. And at the end of the day, all that matters is that they write you a check.”

  Or hand you a black credit card in Sylvia’s case.

  With a clenched jaw, I covered the dress back up in its pink plastic (I hoped that it bothered her), and exchanged the dress with Andrew for the credit card. I walked behind the counter and punched the numbers into the digital point-of-sale system.

  “Are you OK?” Kiara whispered.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I hummed an octave above my normal range without meeting her eyes.