A Lowcountry Bride

by Preslaysa Williams

  Maya nodded, unsure of whether Heather was impressed or repulsed. Sometimes Maya got the repulsed reaction. Folks weren’t used to Blasian bridal gown designers. Maya braced herself for both responses.

  “This dress is beautiful. Do you have a catalog or something of your other designs?”

  She liked it! “Sure. I do.” Maya flipped through her mental checklist. Did Maya bring her portfolio today? She should’ve. “Be right back.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Maya slow-jogged to the break room. As she did, she overheard Derek chatting to Cat about another one of her dresses. Hopefully Cat would like it.

  Once inside the break room, Maya scanned the space. Ah. Her portfolio was on the desk. Yes. Yes. Yes! Seconds later, Maya returned to the sales floor and flipped it open for Heather.

  Maya stood off to the side, nervous as Heather (the governor’s daughter!) looked through her dresses. Cat was inspecting the inside of another one of Maya’s gowns very closely, and anxiety filled Maya. She could only handle one thing at a time.

  Snatches of Derek’s conversation with Cat filtered her way.

  “What do you think of this dress?” Derek held out the wedding dress with the red bandeau top and Filipino baybayin characters around the waistline. Baybayin was the indigenous language of the Filipinos, and Maya’s mother had taught her how to write it before she died.

  Cat tilted her head. “Meh. Wedding dresses are supposed to be classic and elegant. That red is too gaudy.”

  Maya deflated. Gaudy? That dress wasn’t gaudy!

  “Hmm. I love these, but I think I want something more custom designed,” the customer said, drawing Maya’s attention away from Cat’s comment. “Something that would be a one-and-only type dress? Do you custom design dresses?”

  Custom design dresses? Did Maya even have the time or energy to do that, with working at the store and taking care of her dad?

  Maya wasn’t sure. Perhaps she should ask more questions.

  “When is your wedding?”

  “June.”

  Maya’s face took a turn for the serious. “June? I’m set to return to New York in late June. What day of the month?”

  “The ninth. It’s a Saturday.”

  Maya looked up, considering her schedule. That was six weeks from now. Six weeks was plenty of time to work on Heather’s dress if Maya simply had to alter an existing design. A custom-made dress would take much longer.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Derek show Cat another one of Maya’s dresses. Cat just shook her head no.

  Now what would Maya do? Her entire brand was based on cultural influences in her designs. “Are you sure you don’t want a more traditional wedding gown? I can make that for you.” It’ll also be something Cat would like.

  “Oh, no way. I need something that will reflect my full heritage.”

  Maya twisted her mouth, trying to figure out where this customer was going with that comment. She looked very European with her creamy skin, golden-brown hair, and green eyes.

  “My mother and I have been working on our family tree. It’s been a multiyear project. A few weeks ago, we discovered that my great-grandmother was Black, but she passed as White. We had no idea. I want to tell my great-grandmother’s full story. She’s deceased now, and there’s not much I can do. I feel awful that she had to hide who she really was. Would designing a dress that was reflective of her be something that would interest you?”

  Maya considered it. She could go with a New York traditional dress, something Cat would like, or she could take this chance with Heather Gates’s request.

  Why should Maya care so much about what Cat thought of Maya’s style? If Cat didn’t like it, then Cat didn’t like it. There was little Maya could do to change her opinion.

  “I’d lived my entire life thinking my great-grandmother was White. I don’t want an entire piece of her identity to be erased in our family any longer,” Heather continued. “If I could wear a dress that speaks to my entire ancestry, that would be beautiful. It would be a way to honor my great-grandmother.”

  “It sounds like she was special to you.”

  “Very special. She died when I was nine years old, but prior to that, I was very close to her. I didn’t understand racism as a child, but I do now. She sacrificed her identity to fit into White society and not face the hardships that many Black people faced. Hardships like segregation and discrimination. We didn’t know about her Black family members. We never met them. So my great-grandmother must have shunned her Black family completely.” Heather shook her head. “It makes me wonder how my family would’ve received her if they knew that my great-grandfather married a Black woman.”

  “Your great-grandfather didn’t know?” Maya asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. He used to make all of these off-color remarks about Black people when I was a kid. So he couldn’t have known that his wife was Black. Now I wonder how she felt hearing his cruel words.” Heather sighed. “Just awful all around.”

  Maya was silent. Heather’s desire to want to honor her great-grandmother was compelling.

  “My great-grandmother used to tell me ‘make-believe stories,’ as she called them. Stories about Black teachers and pastors and sharecroppers back in Georgia. Now I wonder if those stories were her way of talking about her family without talking about her family. I wonder if those stories were her way of preserving herself.” Heather shrugged. “I don’t know. I won’t ever know.”

  “Do you know if she had any family in Georgia?” Maya asked.

  “No idea. We did find her birth certificate, and her mother was a Black woman. The father’s name isn’t listed on the certificate. I want to weave her story into my dress somehow.”

  Heather’s desires resonated with Maya. She wanted to weave her parents’ influences in her gowns too. Until now, Maya thought she was the only person in the world who felt this way. Not anymore.

  “I like the way that you blend in different-colored fabrics into the wedding gowns too, Maya. I wondered if you’d be able to do that with my wedding dress, but in a way that was meaningful for my family history.”

  Maya’s creative wheels turned in her brain. She could stop this entire conversation and focus on Cat and try to appease Cat’s design sensibilities, or Maya could continue with this opportunity. “June ninth will work if you choose from my existing selection of dresses. If you do that, then I can make alterations to reflect your desires. However, if I created a dress from scratch it would take five to six months. That would be way past your wedding date.”

  “Have your dresses been mass-produced?”

  “No. Each one is unique. I’m not at the mass production stage yet.”

  Heather paused, apparently thinking. “Then I’ll choose one from your existing selection and we can tweak it as needed.”

  “Excellent,” Maya said. “We can collaborate on tailoring the dress to fit your story too.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear you two talking, Maya.” Cat walked over to them. “Are you Heather Gates?”

  Heather nodded.

  “Your story is amazing. I would love to cover it in my fashion blog. We could do a wedding style edition with your dress.”

  “For real?” Maya asked.

  “Yes. Of course.” Cat adjusted the leopard-print glasses on her nose. “This is something that readers will like to know about. You’ll get some extra publicity too, Maya.”

  Cat may not like Maya’s style, but she liked it enough if the governor’s daughter was involved. Maya would ride that publicity wave. “Sounds great.”

  Heather clapped. “This is gonna be so wonderful. We’ll have to set up a time to chat about design ideas.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  This was good. Following her creative heart paid off. Excitement and a bit of trepidation flitted through her. She could deliver a stunning dress. Maya could definitely do it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Derek and J
amila were riding in the truck to Maya’s house. She had offered to let Jamila use the sewing machine, and now they had time in their schedule to get it. The trunk show had been a success. More than a success, it had been amazing. Cat. Heather. Everything. The event was more than he’d hoped for or even conceived of. After going over the books with Marlon, Derek found they’d made enough money to get caught up on the mortgage and then some. He was going to pay the bank soon after this stop at Maya’s house.

  Maya was helping him make all these good things happen. This sewing machine that she was lending to Jamila was another way that Maya was building bridges.

  He wanted to get to know the woman behind the designer, but doing so was risky. It would mean admitting to himself that in some ways, he was moving on from Grace, but was he really? If he did move on, would that be a betrayal to Grace?

  It would also mean that he’d risk causing a deeper rift in his relationship with Jamila. He promised Jamila that he wouldn’t date Maya or anyone else. Jamila seemed to be slowly warming up to Maya. Still, a promise was a promise. Derek wouldn’t date anyone unless Jamila was okay with it.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “How did you know that you were in love with Mom?”

  Hoo boy. Nope. Jamila wasn’t ready to know his thoughts about Maya. “I just knew. First time I laid eyes on your mother, I knew.”

  “When y’all were at that party, you mean?”

  He laughed. “Yes, when we were at the party.”

  Derek had told Jamila that he met Grace at a college party. It was a freshman mixer. He took one look at Grace and knew she was The One. Grace had a way about her that was calm in the midst of a storm.

  He’d brought the storm. Ever since his father had walked out, he’d been a rebellious kid. Derek had given his mother more grief than she should’ve gotten—he flunked classes, partied, got in trouble with the law. Meeting Grace made him want to get his life together, because for the first time, he wanted to build a life—with her.

  “Was it love at first sight?” Jamila asked.

  “For me, it was. I don’t know about your mother.” He chuckled. “She couldn’t stand me at first. Thought I was just a jock. She didn’t take too kindly to me flirting with her.”

  “I don’t blame her.”

  Derek did a double take, then refocused on the road. “Why not?” he said, humored by her response.

  “You told me that all boys are evil. Doesn’t that include you?”

  He’d told her that. It was his fatherly duty to tell her to stay away from crushes and romantic interests—but he didn’t expect Jamila to turn his advice against him. “I’m your father.”

  “But to Mama, you were a boy.”

  Jamila was too smart for her own good. “True.”

  There was a silence, and then: “Dad?”

  “Yes, babe.”

  “Did you know that Mama was your one and only?”

  A sinking feeling had come over him. At the time, he thought that Grace would be his forever love, his forever one and only. Now that he was getting to know Maya, he wasn’t so sure.

  If he was frank with Jamila, she’d probably get angry again. If he kept quiet, then he could be denying himself the opportunity to let go.

  To let go of the silent grief.

  To let go of the guilt surrounding his wife’s death.

  To let go of the fortress he’d built around his heart.

  “Did you hear me, Dad?”

  Loud and clear. “I did. I was thinking about your question.”

  “So what’s your answer?”

  He paused. “When I first met your mother, I knew she was the one for me. During our entire marriage, I knew she was my one and only.”

  Jamila drummed her fingers on the dashboard. “You still feel the same way about Mama, right?”

  Did he still feel the same? Was true love a one-time thing, or did his heart have room for a second chance at falling in love?

  The more he knew Maya, the more he wanted that second chance, but then there was Jamila and this guilt he’d felt about letting his heart feel what it felt toward Maya.

  Once Grace had said that if she ever passed away, she wanted Derek to find happiness again. Derek remembered that conversation now. Grace was so selfless and loving, but he hadn’t paid much attention to her comment. Derek always thought they’d have a lifetime together. Who would’ve known that going to church one day would prove deadly?

  At the time of that conversation, Derek didn’t think he’d want to find happiness again in the off chance he became widowed, but now Grace’s words were a gift, a rare and treasured gift. Derek would find happiness again, and perhaps he’d find it in Maya. “I’ll always love your mother, Jamila. That will never change.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Did Jamila sense Derek’s newfound feelings? Unease settled in him. Derek couldn’t bear to have her upset with him again.

  This was too complicated, but one thing Derek knew—his heart still longed for a slice of joy again. He wanted that joy by having a restored relationship with Jamila—and maybe a love relationship with Maya.

  Moments later, Derek pulled into the driveway of Maya and her father’s home. It was a ranch-style house with a driveway and a car shed. Whew. This was surreal. They were there only to pick up a sewing machine, but it felt like something more.

  Did Derek want it to be something more? Did he want to go further with Maya and ask her on a date?

  No.

  He made his promise to Jamila. No need to push it. They’d simply pick up the sewing machine and leave. He’d even wait in the truck and send Jamila to get it.

  They were fully parked in the driveway, and Derek turned off the ignition. “I’ll wait here while you get the sewing machine.”

  “You sure?”

  He wasn’t. Derek really wanted to go inside and hang out for a while. “I’m positive.”

  “O-kay.” Jamila got out of the truck. By the time she was halfway up the driveway, Maya greeted her.

  Maya’s smile was enough to light up the entire block. She wore a floral sundress that skimmed her ankles, and her smooth sepia skin glowed.

  At the sight of her, Derek unconsciously reached for the door handle, but then he stopped himself. Stay here, Derek. Jamila is just going inside for a second.

  “Hey, Jamila.” Maya glanced his way, and Derek gave a friendly, distant wave. “Why don’t you two come inside? It’s nearing ninety degrees today. I just made a fresh batch of lemonade.”

  Oh Lord. “I’m okay,” Derek called from the car. “Don’t want to be too much of a burden.”

  “No burden at all.” Maya motioned to him. “Come on in.”

  Jamila turned and waved to him too. “Come on, Dad.”

  He was outnumbered. Derek got out of the truck, as nervous as a teenager on a first date, and headed up the narrow walkway lined with geraniums.

  They stepped inside of Carl’s one-story house. The air-conditioned living room was a welcome reprieve from the muggy Lowcountry weather. The space was small and cozy, like a welcoming bed-and-breakfast or a small inn. The Asian-print throw pillows and vases filled with red and white tulips had Maya’s designer eye all over them. On a small worktable off to the side were a bunch of fabrics, sketches, and the sewing machine. Maya motioned for them to come to the living room, and they did. Derek sat on the comfy couch, and Jamila sat next to him.

  “Where’s your father?” Derek asked Maya.

  “I drove him to physical therapy. This session will be a long one, so I decided to return home for a bit to meet up with you guys.”

  “Oh? Why so long?” Derek asked.

  “They’re gonna try Pops on a walker today. So hopefully when I pick him up, he won’t need his wheelchair anymore.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “It is. He’s looking forward to being more mobile.”

  Derek clasped his hands together. “I counted the sales from the past
few weeks. We made enough profit to get current on the mortgage. The trunk show helped too. Always a Bride will not go into foreclosure.”

  “Wonderful!” Maya smiled. “That’s excellent. And who knows what good can come from Heather’s wedding.”

  “You’re right. It can only get better from here,” Derek said.

  A silence stretched between them, a silence filled with possibilities and hope. He relished in it.

  “Is that your sewing machine?” Jamila asked, breaking the moment.

  “Yes.” Maya gestured to it as if she were a game show host. Cute.

  “Can I see it?” Jamila asked.

  “Of course you can. I’ll get the lemonade, and then I’ll show you how it works.” Maya headed toward the kitchen.

  Jamila studied the sewing machine. “Last time I used one of these was when Mama was alive.”

  Her words hit him deep. The fact that Jamila was willing to accept a sewing machine from Maya said a lot. “Maybe your mother is looking down from heaven and saying it’s okay to use a sewing machine.” Maybe she’s saying it’s okay for both of us to move on.

  “Maybe,” Jamila said, her expression serious.

  “You don’t agree?” Derek asked.

  Jamila shrugged. “I dunno. It’s been kind of hard to take up sewing again after Mom died. That’s probably why I’ve been stalling on this project.”

  “I understand that. I really do, love,” Derek said.

  Jamila glanced away.

  The shuffling of feet signaled Maya’s return. “Here’s the lemonade, guys.” She set it down on coasters and then grabbed a pamphlet from her worktable. “Here’s the user’s manual. Ready for me to show you how to operate the machine?”

  “I already know how,” Jamila said. “I’ll have to get used to this one, but I know the gist of it.”

  “Great. Want to practice sewing on a sample piece of cloth?”

  Jamila paused and glanced at Derek, who smiled. Jamila then nodded yes. Perhaps Jamila really did value his advice.

  For the next few minutes, Maya showed Jamila how to line up the cloth with the guide points on the machine. Then Jamila pressed the power button, and the machine came to life.