by M R Field
“Nothing. Maybe I just want to fuck.”
She flinches as her eyes narrow at me. “Well, we aren’t ‘fucking.’ ” Her fingers gesture as she steps closer to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I breathe out slowly. Now that arsehole has me taking this out on her.
“Theo …” Her voice lowers.
I sigh and shake my head, weaving my fingers into the back of my hair. “I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t want to talk about it. Can we drop it? Please?”
Why does my life always do this to me? I’m exhausted, and it’s only early afternoon. Without wanting to, my sister’s voice drifts back into my mind …
“He only wants to get to know you.”
A small hand flicks in front of me.
“Earth to Theo.”
I blink as the blue tips of Trinity’s hair shuffle in front of me. “Sorry.” I shake my head. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“Theo, the offer still stands … if you …”
I untuck my hands from my hair and grab her small face. “Please.” My voice lowers as her face fits perfectly in my grasp. “I can’t go there; there’s just so much bullshit that I don’t know where to begin.” Reluctantly, I release her face and point to the sketch on the table. “Looks like that sketch is unfinished. I’ll leave you to it.”
She blinks up at me and nods. Silence is her response. I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek in frustration at my past, stopping myself before I open my soul to the memories that I’ve long held at bay. I tuck my hands into my suit pockets and walk out of her warehouse, back into the afternoon sun.
So much for coming here to clear my mind. Now it’s running on maximum capacity. My past was catching up with me.
“Being an adult will send challenges your way. Best to have a heady supply of chocolate to see you through them.”
Love, M
TRINITY
“What are you making, Mum?” I sit eagerly on the stool by the kitchen bench, watching my mother stir a double boiler pot on the stove.
“Some lavender melts.” She wipes her hand on her apron while her spare hand stirs, then turns to look over at me. Smiling, she winks at me. “They’re great for stress.”
“Are you stressed, Mum?” I shift on my seat, eager to watch her.
“No, baby girl. But you are. You haven’t learnt to let go yet. Now, wake up and get a move on and get right onto that.”
A soft breeze tickles my cheek as my dream fades away. I open my eyes slowly to find myself in my bedroom with the unlit lavender candle sitting on my bedside table. I sniff, wanting to embrace its scent, hoping that my dream can return.
Disappointment shrouds me as the sincerity of the moment in my dream unravels like a worn-out thread. Eight years ago we lost her, and still I can’t seem to let her go. How old is too old to be missing your mum? For Dad, being alone in that big house with those memories would have to be akin to torture. I run a hand across my mandala and take a deep breath, release, and tell myself to get on with my day. Maybe I need to get Trice to start up her Saturday morning yoga sessions again, or just use it as an excuse to wear yoga pants.
I kick off the sheets and decide that even though it’s the end of the week, I’m not going to end it being a Debbie Downer. Fuck that. Once again, I’m awake at the crack of dawn. I need a juice and to get to Vagina’s wedding dress.
I stroll across to my chest of drawers and get a pair of comfy tailored cargos and a funky black top with a red lightning bolt down the middle. Grabbing my underwear and bra, I make my way to my bathroom, eager to get all soaped up. I know that being at work, I should dress more business-like; however, I like being a bit funky.
I lathered up the long strands and wondered for the zillionth time how I had let my hair grow so long. It was down to my bra strap; it hadn’t been that way since I was a kid. When it was shorter, I could work a funky colour into the ends for a retro look, but now I just played with bright colours. It took too long to get the funk back into it. If I could call electric blue normal. Still, maybe I was up for a change. Out with the old and in with the new.
At least I knew that there were some personal adjustments I needed to make, starting with having a firm discussion with my vagina over missing Theo. I was sick of going to sleep and almost reaching for my phone. We were friends who chatted regularly, but after last week’s Tongue of Destiny encounter, he had gone incognito. All that was left were the bruises that had faded gradually from my skin.
Every time a motorbike zoomed past outside, my heart raced. Ain’t that just the shit. So much for no-strings sex. Well, I’d thought it was no strings. Did we even have that conversation all those months ago? Seems that my vagina made up its own mind. It wants more. But it isn’t just that; I want to hang out more like we used to. I’m drawn to him, and I wish I could stop it.
I rinse and get out of the shower, dressing quickly and applying some thick eyeliner. It isn’t until nine that I open my doors, but I can make a start of the wedding dress or at least have a few drawings up for potential future clients. As I walk across the landing towards the kitchen, my footsteps thud across the floorboards. I run my fingers along the banister and, before I can stop myself, Theo’s solid chest comes into my mind. What a night that was all those months ago. Naturally, not only my mind but also other areas are remembering him. Dammit. I’ll message him soon. This radio silence is bullshit.
I grabbed the fruit out of the fridge for my morning smoothie, then I retrieve my oats from the pantry. Growing up with a super healthy family made it hard to start the day with a “cheater’s breakfast” as my father would say. Lunch and dinner and all that time in between, I wasn’t so strong. A girl can only do what a girl can do.
Blitzing the fruit together, I pour it into my cup and take it and my oatmeal over to my round table. When I had decorated the top section of this space, I’d wanted to use all of it whilst maintaining a comfy feeling. The view through the back window onto the next selection of warehouses isn’t really therapeutic, but my seashell blinds are.
I pull the notepad that permanently sits on my table closer as I start to jot down my list for the day.
Work on satin mock-up for Miss V (gina)
Begin second mock-up for bridesmaids
Double-check orders and plan for next appointments
Stock up on red material for Valentine’s Day
Stop obsessing over the non-boyfriend.
That isn’t too hard. As I crunch my breakfast, I begin to draw a few ideas for the next theme for the mannequins. I love the quirky momentum they create and how I can capture an audience with their dynamic. Being able to house my art just rocks.
As the edge of the pen brushes across the page, my hand takes me to a new idea. Reminiscing. Memories, fond memories, weave into the edge of the skirt. Embers from burnt-out candles frame the hem as I flick up the edges of the flames with the pencil’s lead, like heated waves.
Before too long, the page is filled with three high-waisted skirts that each represent a period of my life. I sit back in my chair and stare at the drawings, taking in the moments with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. How the customers who stroll through my shop don’t think I belong in an institution, with all my wacky bits, is beyond me. I doubt any of them have ever seen a shop like mine that has elegance on one side with all the bridal and formal gowns, and another side that prompts the reaction of, “What is that? The thing that I can’t stop looking at and need to go and take a sticky nose at?” Yeah, that would be my brain, coaxing you to the dark side.
Satisfied with my next side project, I wash my dishes and head downstairs. The soft glow of the morning sun beams through the transparent curtains that line the front window. I rarely ever close the thick blinds, as I love watching the moonlight serenade my mannequins at night. Leaning on the bannister and staring down into the moonlit room always takes my breath away.
As I walk across the creaky floor, my phone sounds in my pocket with “M
aterial Girl” by Madonna. I chuckle for a moment before I see “Daddy-O” on the screen. Answering, I smile as I raise it to my cheek.
“Yo! Daddy-O!” I singsong.
“Hey baby girl.” He laughs. “You’re spritely, as per usual.”
“Only way to be.”
“Busy day ahead?”
“Hoping so. I have to check the orders I’ve done, plus plan out my next appointments. It’s the end of the week, but Valentine’s Day is around the corner, so I’ll be getting a few bites for chicks who make an effort. Gotta stock up on the red.”
“And the sonnets,” he adds. “Just have a few pre-made ones for the no-hopers.”
“Sounds good.” I grin, enjoying his carefree tone. These past few months, he has been sounding a lot more upbeat than he used to. I shuffle the dresses along the rails.
Dad’s throat clears before I hear, “So, baby girl …” He pauses as I move to the other rail. “I was wondering when you could next visit home?”
My hand grips the rail as my feet plant to the floor. I’m not good at home trips.
“Trinity? You there?”
“Ah, yeah.” My tongue thickens like concrete in my mouth. “I’m not sure; I’m just really busy with things.”
“I understand.” His voice softens, losing its bubbly gait.
“Almost two years I’ve been open here, so I try to keep the momentum up so no one forgets me.” I attempt to lighten the sudden change in the air. I tighten my thumb across the rail to centre myself.
“I understand, especially with … our tough economy at the moment,” he stammers, “but I really need to discuss a few things. Especially …,” he pauses, and I hold my breath, “the house.”
The house?
“What do you mean?” My heart thuds. “What’s going on?”
“Look, I’d rather talk to you about this face to face …”
I swallow, not liking where this conversation is going. “You’re selling our house? What about Mum’s things? What about all the memories we have there? You can’t fucking do that!” I screech down the phone.
“Trinity!” my father’s voice barrels through the phone. “Calm. Down. Now. This is why I need you to come home. It’s not what you think.” His voice lowers slightly as he exhales sharply. “Just come home, soon. Okay? I promise you, all will be fine.”
“Okay …” I concede. “I’ll fly up next weekend.”
My dad’s breath catches on the other end of the line. “You’re going to come home?” Scepticism is laid thick in his tone, but he’s right. Getting me to travel home usually takes a lot of coaxing, layered with guilt. Each time I visit the house it feels empty, while his loneliness coats me like a thick blanket.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I’ll fly home. I’ll book flights this afternoon.”
“Thank you, baby girl. Let me know when you arrive, and I’ll pick you up.”
“Sure, Daddy-O. I’ll text you later.”
“Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Dad.” I lower my phone from my ear and hang up, taking a moment to close my eyes. I breathe in deeply to calm my nerves. The thought of visiting my childhood home spikes a surge of anxiety. That wooden box still hides in my closet. I need chocolate. Stat. And Vodka. Lots of and lots of vodka. Is eight a.m. too early for a shot?
I arrange the hangers evenly along all the rails before retreating to the back of the room to work on the second mock-up of Vag’s dress. The morning drags like a snail’s arse, as I cut through the satin and wait for the time for the doors to open. I could open the doors early, but my head isn’t ready for it. That call is running on a loop in my mind.
I line up the sections of material to start recreating the dress, and take a moment to clear my head, before I stuff up this mock-up. Running my fingers along the edges of the satin, my eyes travel to my desk where my single sketches sit for further fixing. The sketch that Theo saw lies against my stacked pile.
Walking over to it, I pick it up. It’s of a simple but elegant knee-length dress, strapless, with a sweetheart front and rogued side. I don’t have the boobs to prop it up if I made it for me, unless I use chicken fillets or something. I would change the original colour I sketched from blue to a deep purple when I finally did decide to make it. I just need a muse to create this for. It needs something a bit more, but I can’t put my finger on it. As Theo suggested, it is unfinished, and even after all the time I spent working on it after he left, he is right.
Sigh.
It seems that the men in my life are clouding my thoughts at the moment.
“Yoo-hooo!”
I hear the call while bent in the middle rack of the bridal dresses. One is caught on the window’s ledge, which a customer must have accidentally pushed, and I am attempting to swipe it back without the lace catching on the edge.
“I’ll be with you in a tick,” I say as I lift the lace gently back. Shuffling backwards first through the dresses, I tilt to the side towards the voices to find Eloise, and a younger Eloise clone next to her with black-rimmed glasses.
“Hey!” I smile as I stroll over to them.
Eloise stands there with a white box in her hand wearing a cute yellow summery dress, while her sister is in jeans and a Star Wars T-shirt.
“I thought that dress had almost dragged you to the other side. All I could see was your shoe.” Eloise winks at me as I get closer.
“Being short has its limitations, but I was able to escape its clutches through my ninja-tastic skills.” I tilt my chin to her sister. “Who’s the clone?”
Eloise laughs as she grabs her sister’s shoulder with her free hand and rubs it affectionately. “This clone is my sister, Anastasia.”
“Greetings.” I put my hand out for her to shake. Though it’s obvious that she’s younger than I am, she’s at least a foot taller than me, like her sister. “Do I call you Ana?”
She reaches for my hand and shudders. “No, just Anastasia.” Her hand grips mine as she says, “I don’t like nicknames.”
I smile as her green eyes look at me and then cast away quickly. “Well, you have a beautiful name. No reason to shorten it, really,” I add, and Anastasia looks back at me with a small smile on her face.
“So …” Eloise holds out a box in front of her. “I brought you something. It’s kinda an apology gift.”
“What do you mean?” My hands gather the box from her. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“It’s my sorry-my-friend-was-such-a-bitch-while-you-dress-fitted-her present.”
My fingers tighten on the box as a laugh escapes my lips. “No bloody way!” I shriek. “I’m pretty mean to her.”
“She is horrible, every time.”
“But I constantly stir shit up.”
“She deserves it—trust me.” Her eyebrow raises as she lifts her chin in the direction of
the box. “C’mon. Open it.”
I shake my head, flip open the cardboard lid, and begin giggling as I stare into the box.
Inside are five cupcakes that each have a word iced on them, reading ‘Vagina-is her-real name.’
“It totally is,” I agree. “C’mon ladies.” I walk over to the back table to put the cakes down. “I have delicious hot chocolate that will go great with these. Stay here for a tic and I’ll grab some for us while you keep an eye on the door.”
We spend the next half hour talking and munching on the delicious cupcakes, the conversation flowing freely. I watch Eloise’s sister sit nervously in her seat, her eyes trained on my arm. She adjusted her glasses in a nervous twitch, and after a few moments of unexpected silence, Eloise rubs her sister’s shoulder as her eyes flick over to me.
“Ask her,” she says softly. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
“Honey, you can ask whatever it is.” Pointing to my arm, I add, “They weren’t too painful, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Oh, no,” she looks down at the floor, her face reddening. “I like them,
though. I just wanted to ask you if you could make me my formal dress.” She bites her lip, her eyes returning to mine, a soft blush gracing her soft cheeks.
“Absolutely. Only because you love Star Wars. Otherwise, it wouldn’t happen.”
She chuckles as her shoulders loosen.
“So, when is it, and do you have any ideas?”
“Not until October, but I want to be ready.” She adds, “I’m in my last year of school and don’t want to wait until the last minute. I have a lot of studying to do, and I need to make sure that it’s …”
Eloise reaches forward and puts her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “This is our little stress head,” she says tenderly as she holds her. “She likes to plan things and is meticulous to a T. But the times we come in here, I’ve told her that school doesn’t exist. Just enjoying the moment.”
“Exactly,” I add. Standing up, I point over to the racks. “Let’s go see if I have something already, or we can sketch out some ideas.”
The girls agree and stroll over to the dresses. I take this moment to watch Anastasia to get an idea of her body shape. Tall, long legs, and a curvy waist. She reminds me of Hazel in her curves, but her long black hair is tied up in a high ponytail. I love her geeky look—if only I could inject a bit of sass into her.
Her fingers flick through the rails as a customer enters the warehouse. I excuse myself and assist her in general enquiries about my dress-making as the girls move along the rails. Before long, I’ve scored another potential client, and I head over to Eloise once the customer has gone.
“Anything here?” Eloise points to the three long dresses that have been put together at the end of the stack. Two are black and the other is grey. Anastasia stands next to Eloise, her head tipping to the side to look at them more.
Before her sister even tries them on, I know they won’t suit her. I hold up the first black dress and gesture for Anastasia to walk over to me. “Tell me what you like about this one, honey.”
