Page 114 of The Christmas Contract
My heart kicks. The room quiets. I see faces from our neighborhood, from old lives, from the messy middle. I see our daughter chewing a strawberry like it offended her. I see the man I love.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. Simple. Straight. “Thank you for trusting me with your bodies and your beauty. We built this for softness and power, for joy, for zippers that don’t lie.” A ripple of laughter. “I wanted a place where no one apologizes for taking up space. Welcome to it.”
I could stop there.
“I have one more thing.” I look at Damien first because I can’t help myself. He lifts his chin, catching the change in my breath. He knows me too well. My daughter sees me put a hand low overmy stomach and does the same, because she knows me too. “Red Ribbon is growing. And so are we.”
Clara’s hand clamps onto Alex’s wrist. He says “Oh” under his breath, realizing what I’m trying to convey. The room goes quiet, multiple smiles blooming at once.
Damien closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip—a rare, private tell—and when he opens them again, they’re bright and full of joy. He comes to me, cups my face, and kisses me once. The roomful of people I love applauds like we wrote the ending they wanted to read.
Clara wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and glares at anyone who notices. “Allergies,” she lies. Alex puts an arm around her and doesn’t bother pretending anything.
We send Sasha over to Miss Bennett because she’s wriggling and wants to help. Miss Bennett obliges by letting her hold her purse. Customers come to kiss my cheeks and congratulate me, telling me stories about their bodies and their lives. I listen and I promise fittings, booking three private appointments within the first hour.
My daughter steals another strawberry, Clara steals a mochi, and Alex steals a kiss, Clara scolding him for it. Damien finds my hand and laces our fingers, palm to palm, ring solid against my skin.
“Happy opening,” he says into my hair. “Happy everything.”
“Happy everything,” I echo, and mean it all the way through.
Later, when the lights are lower and the bell is quiet, we stand in the middle of Red Ribbon Atelier—our friends gone, our family still here, the future shaped like a perfect bright seam runningforward. I look at the mirrors and don’t recoil. I look at Damien and don’t flinch. I look at our daughter and think about the new life inside me. I look at Clara pretending not to lean into Alex, and Alex letting her pretend.
Once, the world was kill or be killed. Now, it’s cut on the bias and let it drape. Now, it’s stitch by stitch, a dress that fits, a day that holds. The red thread runs through every hem in the room. It runs through us.
I smooth my hand over my belly and smile, then I scoop my daughter into my arms.
“I love you,” Damien says, placing a gentle kiss on my cheek. “So goddamn much.”
“Ditto.”
The End
