Page 160 of The Design of Goodbye
Time passed. My dad got home and sat next to me. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t need to explain the painting’s significance because heknew.
An idea came to me. It was so sudden—so shockingly complete—I was left breathless at the inspiration coursing through me.
“What is it?” my dad asked. “What’s that look for?”
“I have an idea.” I stood, almost stumbling off the porch in my haste. “I know what my collection is going to be for the Harbor Fashion Show.”
I didn’t have a moment to waste. I had a month. One month to design four pieces—an entire collection. It was going to be okay, though; I was going to finish. Because this was important.
I had a story to tell.
May
chapter sixty-three
The story went like this:
Amy wore a black strapless jumpsuit. Black lace covered her neck, chest, and arms. The only skin fabric wasn’t touching was her face.
Taylor wore a black romper with a matching overskirt that stopped at her ankles. The outfit looked entirely black, but when she spun around, the chiffon caught the spotlight. And there, underneath the overskirt, shined the color yellow.
Amy wore a black spaghetti-strap bodysuit with a layered tulle skirt. Every color imaginable was dyed on the sheer fabric.
Taylor wore a wedding dress. Hand painted on the satin ballgown were colorful blue jays. Attached to the dress was a dark-blue feather train, so when Taylor moved, the train fluttered behind her like wings.
One would think that was how the story ended. The brilliant gown with its vibrant colors. But the story didn’t end there.
No, it was just the beginning.
* * *
I burst through the double doors of the event center and took in a deep breath of post-rain air. I’d done it. I’d entered the Harbor Fashion Show. My friends had walked down the runway wearing clothes I’d designed.
My Harbor Fashion Show dream hadn’t turned out how I’d expected, but it’d been perfect in its own way. I’d designed an entire collection in a month. My mom hadn’t been there, but my dadhad. He’d kept me company and fueled with an infinite supply of caffeine and sugar and love.
Most importantly, I’d proven to myself I could design clothes—an entire collection—without my mom. I had ideas. I had talent. There was something extra beautiful in that.
“There you are!” called my dad after I’d been outside a few minutes. “What are you doing out here?”
I took in another breath, my eyes closing briefly as I said, “I needed a moment to take it all in.”
“You were brilliant. Your collection was incredible.” He hugged me. “I’m so proud, Madison. So proud.”
I didn’t let go of the hug. Moments were fleeting. I wanted to savor how I felt in this one: proud and full of so much joy. “Thanks, Dad.”
He patted my back. “I think you won.”
“I don’t care if I did,” I answered truthfully. “I did this for me. In the end, that’s all that matters.”
“When did you get wiser than me?”
“Since the day I was born.”
He broke from our hug, laughing as he handed me something. “Someone asked me to give you this.”
It wasn’t the same envelope I was used to, but I knew who it was from. Inside was a painting I recognized: a grouping of cherry trees, their sprouting leaves indicating the first signs of spring.
But, this time, it was finished.
