One
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My sewing machine’s whir died away when I lifted my foot from the pedal.
I raised the needle and presser foot then slid the dress free. My scissors’ clipping filled the quiet as I cut away the loose threads from the stitch I just finished. Then I stood and gave the dress one quick flap to free any bits of thread and scraps of cloth.
Moving to the dress form, I slipped the dress over the frame. I had adjusted it to the client’s exact measurements. I tugged and shifted the dress until it fit perfectly.
I stepped back to assess my handiwork, folding one arm across my stomach while I propped the other on top and tapped my chin in thought.
The waist can be taken in a smidge.
The empire waist gown had a plunging v-neck. I’d adorned it with slim, criss-crossed black lace beneath the ruched bodice. The client initially requested the dress in hunter-green, but thankfully agreed on teal after I suggested it would better complement her colouring.
I rubbed my finger across my lips and grimaced at the rough, dry texture. My throat felt parched too. When was the last time I ate? I headed to the little refreshment table where my half-cup of cold coffee, an empty glass and a pitcher of water sat.
The warm summer day in Palo Alto had melted the ice in the pitcher. I poured a glass of water and greedily gulped it down. I had a bad habit of forgetting to eat or drink while I worked. If my assistant Sophia never brought me refreshment—unasked, and always with a knowing, reproachful look on her face—I would regularly pass out from dehydration and starvation.
Sipping on another glass of water and pondering the work remaining on the dress, I idly surveyed my surroundings. My custom clothing design business had come a long way. I used to work from a tiny, cramped room at home, and had to meet my clients at their houses. However, over a year ago, I took the leap and rented a space in the city. I was even able to afford an assistant.
Fluorescent lights overhead cast a stark brightness over the windowless room. The comforting scent of cloth and the oil I used to keep my machine’s gears turning filled the air.
Several rolls of different cloth materials in various colours and designs leaned along the walls. A haphazard mess of patterns, paper, water erasable pens, designer magazines, and sewing instruments covered my desk. Whenever I couldn’t find my good pair of scissors, it was usually hidden beneath that mess.
Could do with some tidying up around here.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Kyle?” came Sophia’s voice in a high, harsh note. She continued her conversation in a lower voice.
Sophia was out in the showroom. From her muted tones, I suspected she was on the phone. She was my assistant for over a year and by now I knew the inflections of her voice.
Happy and loud meant she was with a customer and a sale was imminent. It mystified me how much she enjoyed being around people. If given the choice, I’d be content as a hermit for the rest of my life.
Angry and low meant she was on a phone call with her boyfriend, and they were fighting. Again.
I reached for my phone, hoping to drown out Sophia’s conversation with distraction. Nothing to do on the damn thing, though. I wasn’t in the mood to play a game. No calls or texts for me to return. Of course not. The only people in my life I phoned were Sophia, my clients, and Robert.
And Robert never bothered to call or text. Not anymore. Married for six years and each year, contact between us became less frequent, only reserved for emergencies or really important messages.
Besides, some work retreat kept him occupied in Michigan. We hadn’t seen each other in days, yet he was too busy to call me. Too busy to tell me he missed me and he couldn’t wait to see me when he got home.
Too busy to check in and ask, How are you, Grace?
Too busy to even say hello.
Sophia’s approaching footsteps brought my focus to the present. She knocked then opened the door. Her handbag was slung over her shoulder. A furrow sat between her dark eyebrows, the corners of her lips turned down.
“Hey, Grace. I’m really sorry to do this, but is it OK if I leave early?”
I moved to her. “Are you OK?”
She wiped her forehead and released a huff. “Kyle left Matt alone in my apartment to go hang out with his friends.”
“Jesus.” My eyebrows rose. “Isn’t he too young to be by himself?”
“That’s what I told Kyle! Matt’s four years old but Kyle’s acting as if it was no big deal to leave him unsupervised. Now I have to go home and babysit Matt until Kyle’s ex comes to collect him.”
“But why isn’t Matt with his mother? Doesn’t she have custody of him?”
“Kyle begged her until she agreed.” She exhaled deeply and shook her head. “He can be so sweet and then so stupid, Grace. Shannon will never let Matt stay with Kyle again when she finds out what Kyle did.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I have to. As much as I love Kyle, he’s not responsible enough to take care of his own kid.”
After assuring her it was OK to leave early, we both made our way to the showroom. A new shipment of ready-made dresses had arrived today. I liked to keep them on hand for customers who didn’t want to spend more on my custom designs. The boxes containing the new shipment Sophia was tasked to unpack remained unopened at the front desk. She must have seen them too because she turned to me, her features apologetic.
“I promise I’ll finish inventory tomorrow. I’ll stay late to make up for today.” She started toward the door when she turned around again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Elena called. She wants to make another appointment for alterations.”
“Oh god. Her again?”
It was my turn to huff in frustration. All my clients were happy with my work because I went above and beyond to meet their expectations. Elena Carmicheal proved the exception. That woman lived in a fortress of perpetual dissatisfaction.
Sophia gave me a sympathetic look before waving goodbye. She hurried down the sidewalk until she was out of view. Sophia was an intelligent, beautiful Latina woman with tawny skin, russet-coloured eyes, and spirals of shoulder-length dark hair. It pained me to see her wasting her life on someone who didn’t deserve her. Whenever she complained about yet another argument she had with Kyle, I wanted to grab her by the arms, shake her, and shout at her she could do so much better than that loser.
But who am I to judge? Maybe Kyle made Sophia happy in a way she valued despite his failings. A relationship’s success wasn’t only based on job security and money. If that were the case then Robert and I would still be ensconced in wedded bliss. Instead, we were becoming roommates who shared the same last name and the same bed.
I lingered at the door, enjoying the warmth coming through the front door’s glass. It was nice to enjoy some natural light after being cooped up in the backroom all day. The streets were becoming crowded as afternoon grew late.
A few more customers might wander in before I closed up. Sophia’s natural talent at convincing customers to part with their money for my creations dwarfed my poor attempts. Faced with a potential customer, I twisted my hands a lot and gave them time to second guess their choices. However, there wasn’t much left to do on the empire gown so I decided I’d man the front desk.
A man strolled past just as I turned away from the door. He was tall, maybe six feet two or more, with healthy, fair skin, and dark hair cut short. Dressed in a opened taupe coloured jacket, white t-shirt and navy-blue jeans, he slowed his pace until he stopped in front of me. His hands tucked into his jacket pockets, he craned his neck ostensibly to read the sign above the door.
I knew what the sign said and how it looked—Designs of Grace in black, bold cursive on a white background. Despite Robert’s negative comments, I thought it clever.
My hands on the metal handle, I leaned to push the door open and admit him into the shop when he dropped his gaze to mine. It was as if he jumped out of nowhere and spooked me. My heart lifted in surprise, then fell into a gallop. A sharp inhalation of air trapped in my chest.
Born into the bad, I grew up in it too. And though I worked hard to shake the past’s black dust off my feet, one lesson the bad taught me, one I’d never forget: how to recognize a monster.
And as I faced the stranger, I saw past his handsomeness to the darkness lurking in the hazel depths of his eyes. On autopilot, I yanked the door shut, locked it, and flipped the welcome sign from OPEN to CLOSED.
Get away from the door, Grace.
I remained still, my heart thudding a rapid, heavy beat.
What is he going to do next?
One corner of his mouth quirked up. Not quite a smile. Aware of my fear, he found it amusing. He nodded once then turned and continued walking down the street. I pressed my face against the glass and followed his path until he disappeared.
Immense relief swept through me.
A long exhale eased the anxiety tightening my chest.
Dear god, I hope I never see him again.