Page 10 of The Brooklyn Way
Mrs. Field choked on a sip of iced water.
“I knew that wasn’t going to happen,” Carrington insisted. “Especially once Cam committed to Booker University and Tiara went to Virginia Colony. The writing was very obviously on the wall.”
I watched Tiara shoot Carrington a glare that I didn’t understand, which Carrington returned with an expression that said she dared Tiara to tell her she was lying.
“So, yes,” Mrs. Fields broke the silence, “Cameron and Tiara did date in high school, but Tiara has since moved on. You’re with… Ethan Washington, right?”
Tiara looked properly chastised, then responded with, “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
Mrs. Field gave another smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope good things come from that union.”
An awkward silence fell over the table, which Nyrah broke. “I love your dress, Brooklyn. Is that Lilly Pulitzer?”
I wasn’t surprised that she had asked, because the dress that I was wearing featured a print that the iconic designer definitely would’ve loved. The A-line dress was made of a drapey, silky cotton modal and featured a baby pink background with grass green vertical stripes placed about every inch and a half or so.
I smiled, pleased that my dress was giving what it needed to give in order to be confused with a Lilly Pulitzer. “It’s not. Actually, it’s by Spread Love—”
“A Brooklyn Way original,” both Carrington and I said at the same time before falling into giggles. Even Mrs. Field joined in.
Both Nyrah and Tiara looked confused.
“It’s my dress. I’m Brooklyn Waverly. I’m a designer. I have a line called Spread Love. This dress is an original that I made for myself. Thank you for liking it.”
Since I’d been living in the guest house with access to a pool, I’d taken to swimming almost every day. I didn’t realize what great exercise swimming was until the weight started falling off me. I’d lost almost twenty pounds in six weeks, but it was the inches that I lost that put the icing on the cake. They were the reason that the dress I was wearing floated over my curves instead of getting hung up on rolls, bulges, and pudges. Swimming had smoothed me out, tightening my muscles and giving them definition.
Nyrah reached over and lightly fingered the fabric. “Cotton modal.” She made indecipherable but impressed sounds with her mouth. “What made you choose cotton modal?”
My eyes bugged. “Oh, you’re familiar, familiar with fabrics.”
“I’m into textiles.”
Carrington explained what her cousin meant. “Nyrah is a buyer for Freedom Journey.”
My eyes bugged for a second time, but the first time was in jest; this time… was not. “The black owned luxury store whose flagship is in Charleston?” For some strange reason, tears sprang to my eyes. “I have an appointment with the owner, Journey, on Friday morning. She’s giving me a tour of the store.”
Nyrah shrugged her slim shoulders. “Maybe if I’m free, I’ll swing through. Does she have you bringing by any samples?”
I shook my head sadly. “I’ve…” I wasn’t sure exactly how to describe what had been going on with me, “…slowed down.” Admitting that out loud tried to steal the air from my lungs, so I took slow breaths until I felt the wave of nausea pass. “My personal life got the best of me for a minute. I lost the desire to create.”
Nyrah’s head was nodding and so was Mrs. Field’s.
“But sewing is my passion. I’ve been slowly getting back into it by making pieces for myself. Maybe one day I’ll get back to making pieces for others.”
That was when Mrs. Field jumped in. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Brooklyn. When Carrington told me that you hadn’t been sewing, I was heartbroken. I know how much it meant to you. I used to watch your YouTube videos. The joy on your face when you would present clients with their finished pieces… it was obvious how much you loved what you did.”
“You have a YouTube channel?” Nyrah questioned.
I nodded reluctantly. “Yes, but it hasn’t been updated in ages. A client of mine, a fellow YouTuber, hired me to make a dress for her thirtieth birthday party. What I didn’t know was that while I was working on her dress, she was working on my boyfriend.”
A loud bark of laughter came from the other side of the table. “That was you?”
“Tiara, please lower your volume.” Mrs. Field’s chiding was coupled with a displeased glare.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Field. It’s just that I heard about that. So, to put a face with that situation is… wild. That’s crazy.” Her mirth-filled eyes found mine. “Wow. A client hired you, then stole your man. Wow.”
“Tiara—” Mrs. Field began.
“Diabolical people do diabolical things, Brooklyn,” Mr. Field told me. “Regardless of how people try to spin it, their behavior is a reflection of them, not you.”