Page 16 of Hats off to Love

“Yes,” I told him, waiting for the insult to follow.

Only it didn’t come. Instead, he took his time and looked at each and every one. There were eleven hanging up, and once he got through them all, he went back to this one and said, “If you make this, it will be stunning.”

Here’s the thing about creative people: we need constant reinforcement. It doesn’t matter if you design houses or dresses, paint murals or write novels, there’s an insecurity that incessantly lingers, but with each and every positive word, it shrinks and doesn’t feel so debilitating. That one comment coming from him, even after he told me I lived in a pigpen and not like an adult—it restoked my fire to buckle down, finish my collection, and be proud of it.

“I’ve always loved this one,” I tell her, moving to the mannequin. “This dress is actually two pieces, the bodice and then the skirt.” I untie the sash. “This will have crystals sewn over the entire length and will hook in the back once we measure you.” She lets out a pleased hum as I lay it to the side then continue. “The bodice is composed of silver feathers laid out in a full alternating pattern until they reach mid-chest and then will arch up over each breast. The feathers will wrap around your back where we can do a lace-up enclosure or a zipper, depending on your preference. The bodice, once complete, will be sewn onto a bodysuit to keep it flat and in place.”

“I love the feathers,” she says.

“There will be more of them. I just wanted you to get an idea of the pattern and the design of how they will lay. Also, the same feathers and crystals will be used in your headpiece.”

“It’s just so beautiful.” She holds a hand to her chest.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and I see Molly smiling from ear to ear. “As for the skirt, you can pick any of the three here. I’m open to suggestions, but if I had to choose, it would be the one I paired with it.”

The skirt is a bubble skirt. It is very full, but I made the front short, hitting at mid-thigh, and then as it wraps around the legs, it gets longer until it drags on the ground, and there is a small train.

“Oh, I agree with you. I love this one because I’ll be able to move my legs around and they’ll feel free.”

“If you want, we can make the whole skirt short and then add an additional piece that hooks in the front and back under the sash and kind of acts like a cape. The look will still be the same with the train, and then once you’re off the red carpet, you can take it off if you want.”

“I think I like that idea as it will be easier to sit and eat in.”

“Perfect. All right, let’s get you changed. There are bodysuits in the fitting room, go ahead and find the one that fits you the best and ignore the shoulder straps. They will be removed. From there we can start measuring and decide on any changes we want to make.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Hey, Blair,” I call out, and she turns to face me. “The curtains”—which are currently swept back to each side of the store and anchored by holdbacks—“they close. Will you pull them so no one can see in?”

“Got it.” She moves and pulls the white sheer curtains. They are thick enough to keep people from seeing in and thin enough that natural light can still shine through.

“Is it okay if I document this and take pictures?” Molly asks tentatively. “You can delete all the ones you don’t like before you leave.”

“Okay.” Avery smiles at her as she walks over to the tea and takes a sip.

“Should I get Blair something to drink, too?” Molly asks Avery.

“Yes, I think she would like that.”

As everyone starts moving, my cell phone vibrates on the counter. I walk over to pick it up and see I have one new message. Swiping it open, I see it’s from Stokes: Good luck today.

I’m shocked he remembered this was today, but what I find more shocking is that I’m glad he remembered. It means he’s thinking about me and hopefully it’s ruining his day. I can feel the devil horns sprouting from my head as I smirk at his unfortunate misery. Taking the high road despite my feelings, I text him back: Thanks.

After a solid hour of laughing, drinking tea, trying on hats, and taking more measurements than I will possibly ever need, Avery looks at me with a twinkle in her eye and asks, “Shall we take a photo?” She’s pointing toward the rose wall.

“You want to take a photo with me?” I ask her, feeling shocked and flattered.

“Absolutely. All three of us can be in it. Blair will take it, but we have to pick out hats to wear.”

You would have thought Avery just handed Molly a million dollars with the way she flushes and lights up like a Christmas tree.

We each select a hat, Avery stands in the middle of us, and Blair takes our photo. There’s a series of us laughing with each other and then smiling nicely. She texts the photos to me so I can post them on social media and says she’ll do the same, then, just like when she arrived, the car pulls up and she’s gone.

Molly and I are still standing just inside the door, and it isn’t until a solid five minutes of silence have passed that we turn to each other and scream.

This is one of my proudest professional moments to date.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes. I pull it out to see that Stokes has texted again: Just saw the photos, well done.