It was almost ten p.m. by the time we got to Bakewell. The whole family was tired and crabby, and to be honest, I was probably the worst of us all. It had been a long day. A long, emotional,exhaustingday.
Shar was waiting for us. She showed Mom and Dad to her guest room in the main house while I took Samaya through the backyard lit with Rowan’s garden lights and showed her the tiny house, since she’d be using Gia’s bed.
Samaya laughed when I opened the door. “Seriously, Tahira? How have you and Gia been livinghereall summer? Hey, if you’re used to small spaces now, can we switch rooms at home? Yours is twelve percent bigger.”
I snorted. “My sewing supplies take up, like, half of my space, though.”
Truth was, I didn’t even mind the tininess of the tiny house anymore. Yeah, it would be great to walk three steps without bumping into pine, but it was worth it to be practically living in the garden, which had become my favorite place in the world this summer.
“You sleep here,” I said. “Bathroom’s back there. Help yourself to any skin care you see. Gia took all her skin care home with her, so it’s all mine.”
Samaya dropped her bag on the daybed. “You going to bed, too?”
“I will in a bit. I just want to...”
What did I want exactly? I wanted to find Rowan and put my head on his shoulder. I wanted to tell him how much I hated that fashion shoot in Toronto. I wanted him to see the design I’d done on the way up. But he’d made it clear on the phone that he didn’t like the change of plans that had me back in Bakewell.
I did need to see the garden, though. So, after taking an antihistamine, I went out into the dark night.
Some new boxes and a wheelbarrow full of floristry supplies and chicken wire were near the workbench, along with rows and rows of plastic flats of vibrant plants, ready for the sculpture. The twinkle lights on the roof of the greenhouse were on, and I could also see the chicken wire frame of Rowan’s iris.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the sculpture I’d drawn on the drive up. Was it even possible to create it?
I scrutinized the chicken wire iris. Right now, it just looked like a big ball of wire, and I could only tell what they were going for because I’d seen the original sketch. They’d done a great job. Without really thinking about whether I should’ve been doing this, I carefully flipped the frame over. It totally looked like the skirt of my design. I unrolled some new chicken wire and cut off a piece with wire snips from the greenhouse. I rolled it into a loose tube and placed it above the upside-down flower as the bodice for the dress. It did work in terms of the scale, but my tube of chicken wire didn’t have the curves of a real body. I put it on the workbench, nipped in the waist, and tried to mold breasts, but it didn’t go well. I was so terrible at sculpting with chicken wire.
Ugh. This was not working. What I needed was to mold it on a form. Like designing clothes by draping.
I almost pulled my sweatshirt off right there so I could wrap the chicken wire around myself to make the shape, but then I remembered Ruby, my dress form.
Samaya was getting into bed when I came in the house to get Ruby. “What are you doing?” she asked.
I unlocked the casters on Ruby’s base. “Nothing. Just...working on something in the garden.”
Samaya snorted. “With your dress form? You’re in your obsessive designing mode, aren’t you? You do that when you’re avoiding real stuff.”
I chuckled as I wheeled Ruby out the door. It wasn’t fair that my sister was so perceptive.
I pushed the dress form over to the workbench, turned on the light on the bench, and inspected her.
Ruby was a professional-grade half-body double with an iron base on casters. She was covered with a thick off-white canvas and was more or less my size, instead of sample size. I unrolled the chicken wire bodice I’d made and wrapped it around her. This was ridiculous—the wire would probably ruin the canvas cover. What was I doing all this for, anyway? I should be getting some sleep so I’d be alert tomorrow.
But I wouldn’t be able to sleep now, anyway. Not when I was so anxious about what was going to happen when I saw Rowan. Not when each time I closed my eyes, I imagined his expression when he’d said, “Am I supposed to just take you back?”
I needed a way to affix the chicken wire at the back of Ruby so I could mold it tight against her body. If this were fabric, I would pin it. I could attach it with floral wire, but that would be annoying to remove once I had my shape. Ah! I had some little clamps in my sewing box that I used instead of pins when sewing leather or vinyl.
I rushed to the tiny house to get them.
Then, clamps in hand, I paused in the doorway of the house to look at the garden. Ruby was lit almost as if by a spotlight from the work light on the bench, and the twinkle lights on the greenhouse shimmered. It was all surrounded by flowers illuminated by Rowan’s garden lights.
It was ethereal. How was I going to leave this place in a week?
I then noticed that Ruby wasn’t alone. Rowan stepped out of the greenhouse. When he saw me, he tilted his head toward Ruby. “This thing scared the crap out of me. I thought there was a ghost in the garden.”
“Oh, hey. Sorry.”
He was in his pajamas. Plaid flannel pants and a long-sleeve gray shirt. A plain one, no cartoon plants in sight. I kind of missed his bright colors, but it was so good to see him.
The look on his face told me he didn’t feel the same. He would have preferred I stayed in Toronto. I almost turned and went back into the tiny house.
