Page 11 of The Brooklyn Way
“Thank you.”
“Anyway,” Mrs. Field reached across her husband and patted my folded hands lightly, “I’m glad to hear that you’re ready to get back to your passion because I have a passion project for you.”
“Mom, do not try to push a long, drawn-out project on her before she has time to work on my dress.” Carrington’s tone was whiny.
“Brooklyn is a professional seamstress; she can get both things done.”
Carrington folded her arms across her chest before demanding, “But my dress should be the priority.”
“We’ll see.”
I laughed at the fact that Mrs. Field wouldn’t give in to Carrington.
“This is for the girls, Carrington.”
“Everything is for the girls, Mom. What about your girl? Me?” Carrington questioned.
It was Mr. Field’s turn to laugh. “She’s got you there, Madeline.”
“Honestly, Mom, you have this ball every single year. I’m only getting married once.” Carrington wrapped her arm around Bryce’s arm, while he kissed her atop her head.
Mrs. Field let out a defeated sigh. “Okay. Okay. Let’s share the scope of both projects with Brooklyn, and she can prioritize how she sees fit.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m already aware that Carrington needs some alterations done to her wedding gown.” I faced Carrington. “I’ll need to see the dress, boo. What exactly do you need, Mrs. Field?”
“You know I own a boutique etiquette and finishing business—”
“In Polite Company,” Carrington and Nyrah sing-songed in unison.
Mrs. Field smirked at them before saying sarcastically, “Two of my satisfied customers.”
“I loved etiquette classes.” Nyrah blew her aunt a kiss across the table.
“I hated them,” Carrington groused.
“Me, too,” Tiara seconded, which drew the ire of Mrs. Field.
“You missed eighty-five percent of the classes, Tiara,” she reminded her. “You were only there for the first few lessons. I don’t think you made it past how to do a proper introduction. What was there to hate? Saying hello to people?”
Tiara was saved from responding by several servers arriving at our table with our food. Once we were settled with our selections, Mrs. Field tried again.
“Because I do a great deal of charity and community work, there is an arm of my business that offers free etiquette training to students ages eleven to fourteen who have a membership at The Dorothy Jackson Community Center. It’s the center that my son created. Anyway, I have eighteen girls participating in cotillion this season—”
Carrington interrupted her mother. “You need eighteen dresses made?”
“Carrington,” her mother began, “we’re sitting here talking about me owning and operating an etiquette business while you have the worst manners at the table. Now, please!”
Carrington looked properly chastised, placing her eyes on her plate for a brief moment, before looking up again. “I apologize. I was caught off guard by the number.”
“Had you allowed me to finish my thought, you would’ve known that I do not need eighteen dresses made. I have some girls whose parents are taking care of their dresses. My team and I were also able to find some dresses off-the-rack for some of the girls. However, we have a few… about five or six, who are either hard-to-fit or picky or something. I’m hoping you’ll agree to come up with something for those young ladies.”
“Hard to fit?” Tiara repeated the phrase. “That’s right up your alley, since at your size, you must be really familiar with being hard to fit.”
I stared at her for a few seconds. It was obvious that she was a classic mean girl. I wasn’t one to mess with people. Unfortunately, that trait sometimes made me the target of people who didn’t like themselves. Usually, I would let shade roll off of me, but that behavior had encouraged Vince to take liberties with me that he shouldn’t have. I wasn’t about to be the same fool twice. I didn’t know how many interactions I would have to have with this chick in my dealings with Carrington and her family. It was best that I set her straight early.
“Same for you, right? A grown woman wearing what? A child’s size twelve? You must shop in the tween section.” I gave her a bright, but super fake smile. “I see you in your little jewel-toned dress… Justice, right?”
Carrington looked over at her mother. “Oooh, I used to love their clothes in middle school. Back then, I think it was called Justice for Girls. Remember, Ma?”