Because I Said So

by Karin Kallmaker

  Thanks for this, Universe.

  The building was quiet, though hardly deserted. The walls were a soft white and the carpet a deep gray, and individual doors were decorated to reflect the tenant beyond. A potter’s workshop occupied half of the first floor. There was a sweet tang of sandalwood outside the office of Wonder Aestheticists. She didn’t know what an aestheticist did, but it sounded very LA and very expensive. She took the stairs and negotiated her way around a tall, exceedingly fit woman carrying a hefty dress bag with one of Kesa’s business cards taped to it. Shannon felt as if she ought to recognize her but a name didn’t come to mind. A satisfied customer, hopefully.

  The feeling of approaching an executioner increased with every step toward the door marked “Designs by Kesa.” Was there any way through that didn’t include breaking to pieces?

  There was no bell, so she knocked and strove for calm, or at least the appearance of it.

  It lasted the three seconds it took for Kesa to open the door. One look and Shannon’s breath tightened in her chest. Her heart pounded at the insides of her ribs, and she had to stuff her hands into her jacket pockets to hide that her fingers were curled as if to shape Kesa’s face in her hands.

  They shared awkward hellos as Kesa stood way back to allow Shannon to enter. She didn’t know quite what she had expected. She’d never been in a space Kesa called hers, and she sought the studio for clues. Dressmaker dummies, of course. She remembered those from the car. Tables with fabric in neat rolls, yes. A drafting table with a pad of paper clipped to it, that made sense too. A good portion of the space was set aside with mirrors and a changing screen, plus some very comfy-looking chairs. The kitchen area was a bonus, Shannon thought. Like the rest of the space, it was exceedingly tidy. Everything had a place and everything was in it.

  Most surprising were the picture frames showing off not standard photographs of finished garments but instead sumptuous samples of rich fabrics. She wanted to take her time to look at them and ask why their reds and golds and greens were like nothing she’d seen in the places she usually shopped. She felt decidedly dowdy in her off-the-rack suit jacket. If anything didn’t fit in this crisp, tightly perfect space, it was her.

  Kesa fit it, though. She was so flawlessly dressed and manicured that it looked as if she hadn’t even tried. Black slacks brushed the tops of low-heeled silver sandals. Her sleeveless blouse was two shades darker than her eyes, with a hint of green that made those eyes all the bluer. Long gold and silver earrings twined with the heavy, silky hair that Shannon adored against her body. Every bit of Kesa was as powerfully attractive as she’d been in that Olvera Street bar. And more so—this was her turf, and she controlled every inch of it with a leashed power that made Shannon’s head swim.

  Kesa had closed the door behind Shannon. She said something, but Shannon didn’t catch it.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Kesa’s lips twitched. “Would you like some coffee, tea, or sparkling water?”

  “No. No, uh, thanks. Thank you.” Off to a swimming start. “I know this is a bad thing to confess to, but I overheard something that I wasn’t supposed to. The kids are considering eloping.”

  The skin around Kesa’s eyes paled and thinned, like tissue paper in a mist. “They can’t be serious.”

  “I think they are. And we can’t stop them.” She took a deep breath to control her voice, which suddenly threatened to break.

  “I’ll talk to Josie,” Kesa said through stiff lips. She seemed rooted to the spot just inside the door.

  “Do you really think she’ll change her mind?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard.

  “I realized that I can talk all I want to Paz, but ultimately, if I deliver any ultimatums about getting married, I become unwelcome in his life. There’ll always be a shadow of my distrust and doubt about his judgment. I don’t want—” Her voice cracked in spite of her attempts to keep it even. “I don’t want to find out how optional I am.”

  “You’re not—he loves and respects you,” Kesa blurted out. “Not like Josie and me. The only reason I’m not optional is that I pay the bills.” She gulped in air and turned her back, her head bowed.

  What do I do now? Shannon wondered. She wanted to hold her, and her mind elaborately, moment-by-moment, suggested what would happen after that. There was a lot of space on the floor. The tables, the counter.

  She’d had no idea that her libido could be so completely inappropriate. This situation was serious, she told herself. She doesn’t want you. She’s not yours.

  Sounding cautious, Kesa asked, “Has something changed the situation? I thought they were going to make a plan. Talk to you about renting from you. Is that not going to happen for…for some reason?”

  “They haven’t brought it up. I kept expecting them to, but it wasn’t as if I wanted to hurry them along by reminding Paz.”

  “So nothing happened?”

  Kesa almost sounded as if she thought something had. “Not that I’m aware of. Did something happen with Josie?”

  “No more than the usual.” With a little shake, Kesa finally moved. She gave Shannon a wide berth as she headed toward the nearest window, but it didn’t keep the delicate scent of her deeply remembered cologne from tickling at Shannon’s nose. “I wish I kept booze in the cupboard,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

  “We could go for a drink.” A spectacularly stupid idea, she scolded herself. Alcohol wasn’t going to put out any of these flames, let alone that it wasn’t known for helping anyone’s common sense.

  Kesa was already shaking her head as she closed and locked the open windows and pulled down the blinds. “I have to visit someone who got out of the hospital today.”

  “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”

  “Auntie Ivy has a heart condition.”

  Shannon had had the impression that Kesa and Josie had no family in the area. “Auntie?”

  “You play enough Mahjong, everyone becomes family and the problems of the world are solved.” Kesa wiped at the already pristine counter next to the sink. “She taught me how to play. Wants me to be more in touch with my Filipino roots.”

  “Do you want to be?”

  “Yes, though it’s hard to find any time for it. My parents actively avoided…our roots.” Kesa started to add something else, then fell silent.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

  “Thank you for telling me about their plans.”

  Okay, back to the original subject, Shannon thought. A good idea. “I don’t really know what to do. Other than make it clear that if they’re going ahead I would like to be there.” She cleared her abruptly aching throat. “Paz… The way life worked out, I’m his family. And he’s mine.”

  Kesa was standing at the small sink, her back rigid and hands gripping the counter. “When Josie is passionate about something, she finds a way to get what she wants. She’d leave school to make it work. It would be such a mistake. The kind you don’t ever come back from.”

  Before Shannon could possibly think of an appropriate response, Kesa snatched a sheet of paper towel from the roll and pressed it to her eyes. Through a muffled sob she said, “I have to go or Auntie Ivy will be asleep.”

  Shannon did her best to quell responsive tears of her own. “Is there—can I help?”

  “You can’t.” Kesa ran water on the paper towel and mopped at her face. “I get a grip on one thing and everything else slips through my fingers.”

  Unable to stand the distance between them any longer, Shannon took a cautious step toward her. “Kesa—”

  “Don’t.” She finally faced Shannon again, her eyes red and mouth trembling. “There’s no fix for it.”

  At a complete loss, Shannon finally said, “I hope your friend will be okay.”

  Kesa blinked. After a pause she shook her head and jangled a ring of keys. “Fine. I need to lock up.”

  They went down the stairs in silence broken only by Kesa’s occasional sniffle. Shannon ruthlessly shoved
back the voice in her head that was chanting, “Hold her, hold her.” Kesa was angry and afraid, that was clear, but Shannon felt as if it were all directed at her. Was that her reward for bringing unwelcome news?

  The spring sunset was in full glorious progress, painting the sky with peach and lemon. Shannon turned to say goodbye to Kesa and was stunned silent by the sight of her face washed with gold, like it had been that Sunday afternoon four years ago.

  She was back in that moment of magic. Connected to this woman by sunlight, desire, and the unexpected something more. She wanted to say the words that rattled against the back of her teeth, to give life to her feelings. Name them so they could be real.

  But as she had four years ago, Kesa spoke first. This time, though, the words were not about impossible feelings. Instead, they cut at her, powered by eyes of burning sapphire. “And you stand there like a block of stone. Go ahead and leave. What was I thinking?”

  Shannon remained frozen in place until Kesa’s hatchback turned out of the parking lot. The words she’d wanted to say then and now would not reach the light.

  Disbelief and fear had kept her silent then.

  And now? What was the point?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “How are those coming along?” Josie locked the apartment door behind her as she kicked off her shoes.

  Kesa wanted to demand every detail about an impending elopement but managed to hold herself back. Like Shannon, she was afraid of confirming how optional she was to her sister. What a crazy pendulum—she wanted Josie to be independent, and then she wanted Josie to be safe at home. On top of that she was desperately trying to shake off the encounter with Shannon. Her heart ached, and nothing she did helped.

  Focusing on work had succeeded in the past, but it wasn’t going well now. The one bright spot was that Auntie Ivy had been her usual self and Marisol very pleased with all of the test results. “I have a good idea. It doesn’t look right on paper. I don’t have your talent for it.”

  Josie gave her an all-knowing look. “I’ve had classes, you know, including one on drawing figures. You of all people know how much practice matters.”

  “It’s so frustrating that what I can see in my head won’t come out of this pencil.” She sighed so gustily that the sheet closest to her fluttered against the table.

  “That’s what practice is for. I can draw beautiful pottery, but if I wanted to make it for real I’d have to practice with real clay and a wheel and the paints. You’re the one who told me that art is magic but making it real is work.”

  “I know.” She supposed she ought to be gratified that Josie had actually been listening. “I really intend to take classes, honest. I appreciate you being willing to help.”

  Josie leaned over Kesa’s shoulder to tap the handkerchief-sized square of fabric on the table. “So that’s what you’re using? What an awesome shade of blue. Is that cerulean?”

  Kesa was pleased that Josie hadn’t bolted for her bedroom and shut the door. Instead, they were having a conversation like adults. She would bring up Paz, but for now she was content with signs of a truce. “Cerulean with white and phthalo blue. Do you think it matches this?” She picked up her phone to show Josie the image of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms.

  “Yes, the color is close to the painting, that is, if that image is displaying accurately on your phone. Colors can be tricky.”

  “I know. But I think it’s close enough. The fabric is a silk and hemp blend. I thought the slubs in it—” She held it up for Josie’s closer inspection. “I thought the roughness was suggestive of a painter’s canvas. It’s a Fifties retro swing dress, and there’ll be a pillbox hat with lacy fascinators and a veil, similar to what the actress wears in her series.”

  “The ‘Detective Della Field Mysteries’? Not the one where she’s a zombie hunter?”

  “I’m not confirming that’s who the dress is for, you know.” Kesa tapped the pencil against the tip of her nose. “However, I will say this is not for a zombie hunter, though that would be a cool party dress. No, they want it to sort of feel like a Fifties detective but not be expressly in character.” She traced her finger over the sketch she liked best, though there was something not right about the proportions. “The circle swing skirt with all those gores is the sweetheart look of the Fifties. But instead of the usual halter or squared-off neckline for the bodice, I’m going off-the-shoulder. Putting some Marilyn Monroe cleavage into a Doris Day dress. The demure bombshell.” Kesa doodled another series of triangles and circles that made up the bodice and skirt as she described it.

  Josie made a hmm sound. “It’s for an art opening, you said.”

  “Yes, and I want to remind people of Van Gogh. This color is quite distinctive, for one thing. I’ll use ecru and white cording blended for branches and white gauze clusters with hint of pink centers to suggest the blossoms.” She started a new drawing to represent the back. “Beginning here at the shoulder blade, I’ll create a dramatic line of branches and flowers that cascades around the right hip and down to the hem. Show off all the curves.” She made solid dots to indicate the beginning and transition points.

  “That’s a lot of handwork.”

  “She’s paying me a lot of money. Three times what I’ve ever been paid for a project.”

  Josie took a deep breath. “I’m pleased for you.”

  “Thank you.” Why did courtesy and support come so hard to both of them? When had they become enemies? Had it always been that way, from the moment that Kesa had had to make all the hard, painful decisions and little, bereft Josie hadn’t understood any of the necessity? Or had she naturally gotten all the caution and worry and Josie all the wings and fire?

  She cleared her throat. “I can pull this off with the fabrics and embellishments available at the textile mart right now. There’s no time to special order.”

  Josie tucked her backpack under the table and drew up a chair next to Kesa. Taking a fresh piece of paper she re-created the general outline Kesa had drawn. Her strokes were confident and precise, and her pencil filled in details quickly. Josie might credit the classes, but there was an inherent skill as well. Neither of their parents had spent time in artistic pursuits. Did it stem from Josie’s ease with complex math and geometry?

  She leaned into Josie to look at the drawing from the same perspective. “More flowers, less branch. And elongate—fashion drawings always make the model look ten feet tall.”

  “Gotcha. I don’t have a lot of time tonight, but I could do a line drawing and a pastel tomorrow. Anything special about the back underneath the embellishments?”

  “It’s solid, with the built-in, off-the-shoulder wrap at the top. A zip from base of spine to the top. And tea length—a few inches below the knee. The waist is natural.”

  Josie moved the waistline down with a heavy line. “There?”

  “That’s better, yes.” Kesa looked at the Van Gogh painting again. It wasn’t Lamont’s signature blue, but the shade would still be very flattering to her coloring. “I’ll rough out where I think the flowers ought to go specifically.”

  Josie hummed exactly the way she had as an eight-year-old with a coloring book and box of crayons. “How was Auntie Ivy?”

  “Almost back to her old self. That was so scary, all of it.”

  “I get that.”

  “Doing this dress is scary too, but it feels like we’ve got it under control.” Kesa took a deep breath. “So that means the scariest thing in my life is you.”

  Josie’s gaze was focused on her pencil moving across the paper. “Huh?”

  “I’m scared for you, Jo-Jo.”

  Her gaze left the paper to meet Kesa’s. “That’s because you don’t trust me.”

  “Do you trust you?”

  “Yes and no. But I’m responsible for me now.” Her voice increasingly tighter with frustration, Josie added, “I will own my mistakes, Key. You don’t have to be like Mom and Dad anymore.”

  “I’m nothing like them.” The words were
out before she could stop them. She felt Josie startle slightly and would not look at her.

  “What does that mean?” There was more puzzlement than hostility in the question.

  Josie wanted to be treated like an adult. Kesa was so tired of quelling the anger that was always there when she thought of her parents. So, maybe the way forward was to treat Josie like the adult she claimed she was.

  Where to start? “What do you remember about life when they were alive?”

  Josie pursed her lips. “We lived in big houses. There was a lady who came in to make dinner every night for a while. Mom was so pretty. I remember one night she and Dad were dressed super fancy. He had a tuxedo and she was wearing a long dress, with jewels, and I remember her jacket was soft and furry, I loved it. I suppose it was animal fur, but I didn’t know that then. It felt wonderful.”

  “Do you wonder why we didn’t live like that after they died?”

  “You’ve said there were bills.” It wasn’t exactly a question.

  “A lot of them. They’d been dodging collectors for years, that’s why we moved a lot. The art on the walls and the furs Mom wore were all rented. The house was a rental too and they’d already received an eviction notice. I had barely a week to find us a new place to live. People were showing up at all times of the day and night demanding money.” Her voice thickened with remembered anxiety and so many tears, and she reminded herself that those days were long over.

  Josie toyed with the pencil as she slowly said, “That must have been frightening.”

  “It gets worse. The car was a lease. They had no insurance. So I had to pay the towing company for the wreck and the county for the emergency vehicles. And the ambulance to take them to a hospital to declare them dead and then transport from there to the funeral parlor. All more bills, none of which I could pay so they became my debt. On the only credit card I had at that age. I was in bankruptcy by the time I turned twenty-one—it was the only way out. That’s followed me around all these years.”