A Lowcountry Bride

by Preslaysa Williams

  “Look at you.” Derek clapped. “You’re an old pro.”

  Jamila’s eyes shifted, apparently embarrassed. Maya gently guided the cloth as Jamila worked through the stitch.

  Derek searched his memories and came upon one that shone clear. Jamila was right. She’d used a sewing machine with Grace, though he didn’t remember it right away. Jamila had a hole in her jeans, and Grace helped her patch it up.

  Here was Maya today, patching up his little girl’s heart. He blinked back a tear.

  When they finished, Jamila held up the cloth for Derek to see, proud of her work. “That’s awesome, hon. You shouldn’t have any problems with your project now.”

  “I still have to think of a design, Dad.” Jamila glanced over at Maya, uncertain. “Could you help me with designing my dress for the project?”

  “Sure can.” Maya opened a sketchbook. “Right before you guys arrived, I was sketching ideas for Heather Gates’s gown.” She handed Jamila her sketchbook. “Maybe my sketches will give you some ideas.”

  Jamila flipped through the pages. Seeing the two of them work together filled Derek with a sense of peace. This was what was missing in their lives—or was it?

  A heavy weight pressed on him. Be careful, Derek. Don’t get too close. You’ve lost loved ones before.

  “I have an idea,” Maya said, pulling Derek out of his thoughts. “You know how Heather wanted her great-grandmother’s memory reflected in her dress somehow?”

  Jamila nodded.

  “How about we do the same for your project? How about we honor your mom and your grandmother in your dress? We could even name the dress after them. I’d have to brainstorm some ideas, and you should too.”

  Jamila stopped turning the pages. “I like that.”

  The weight pressing on Derek lifted. “I like that too.” He stood and looked at Maya’s sketchbook. She was one talented lady.

  “We could talk more about it when you’re at the store,” Maya said. “We’ll have it ready in time for the project’s due date.”

  “It’s due in four weeks.” Jamila sighed. “I might have some of my mother’s and grandmother’s clothing that I could sew into the dress.”

  “Or you could also go with a variation of their favorite colors. I was thinking of that burnt-orange scarf that looked so good on you.” Maya rearranged the spools of thread on her worktable.

  “My mother loved that color.”

  “That’s just one option.” Maya held up her index finger. “We’ll work out the details together. I’ll brainstorm more ideas before then.”

  “Thank you, Maya,” Jamila said.

  “You’re welcome. This is a great opportunity for us both.”

  Contentment washed over Derek. Seeing Jamila like this was thrilling. This was a great opportunity, in more ways than one.

  After exchanging goodbyes, they headed to the truck. Derek put the key in the ignition, and Jamila stared out the passenger window, apparently deep in thought.

  “Maya’s cool, Dad.”

  “You think?”

  “She’s nice. If you wanted to hang out with her more, I guess that would be fine with me.”

  Was his daughter a mind reader? Or were his feelings that obvious? Probably the latter. “That means a lot to me, J.”

  “I know.” Jamila smirked.

  He smiled. She was still a smart aleck.

  “Do you want to date her?”

  Derek stilled. He did, but he’d also be taking a risk by dating Maya.

  People leave. Maya was in Charleston temporarily.

  People changed. Things could go bad between them.

  People died. Grace and his mother had passed.

  But people also lived. “Yes. I want to date Maya.”

  “I knew that too.” Jamila grinned.

  Derek started the ignition and pulled out of Maya’s driveway. He’d ask Maya out on a date. Joy filled him as the Lowcountry sun beamed onto the car dashboard. Going inside Maya’s house today wasn’t such a bad decision after all.

  Maya closed her fashion magazine and glanced up at the digital clock on her bedside table: 12:43 a.m. The amber light from her cobalt stained-glass lamp illuminated her tiny room. An owl hooted outside the window. All was at rest, except her. After her meeting with Jamila and Derek today, she’d been thinking and thinking and thinking about the best kind of dress to make for Jamila. Maya wanted it to be special, and the pressure to perform and make everything perfect settled deeper and deeper. Designing dresses for a high-profile figure in South Carolina and a girl who was struggling with grief, taking care of her father, working on those revisions for Laura, and continuing to make dresses on consignment were a snowball of responsibilities that Maya now had to juggle.

  She wanted Jamila’s dress to also be reflective of her mother and grandmother. Maya was determined to come up with an unforgettable idea, but the options were too many. Should Maya suggest something trendy and fashionable? Should the dress be timeless and classic? Maya grabbed her notebook and wrote more preliminary ideas.

  What about Heather’s gown? How would it reflect Heather’s great-grandmother? Maya tapped her pen on her chin, thinking. Then she did an internet search on Heather Gates.

  A lot of articles popped up about Heather’s genealogical research and her Black ancestry. One article said that her great-grandmother loved the color purple. “It is the color of hidden treasures revealed,” her great-grandmother was quoted as saying.

  Was Heather’s great-grandmother referring to herself and her true, yet hidden, identity? Could be.

  As Maya pondered this, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Derek.

  Hey, Maya.

  Her heart fluttered. Since when did her heart flutter because of texts from Derek? Since today.

  Why was he texting her so late? Was something wrong?

  Hey. What’s up? she texted back.

  Do you have a minute to chat?

  Something must be up if he was texting her this late at night. Sure, she typed.

  Seconds later, her phone rang, and Maya’s heartbeat went into overdrive. She had to get these Derek feelings under control. Maya picked up the phone. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Silence. Maya bit her bottom lip, waiting. It must be serious if he was calling her this late.

  “I was calling you because . . . well, I was really impressed with how you and Jamila connected today.”

  “Great.” Why was he calling her again?

  “I spoke with Jamila, and she’s really warming up to you.”

  “Also great.” Was this cause for a phone call in the middle of the night, though? “I was brainstorming some ideas for her dress.”

  “She likes you a lot.”

  Something must be on his mind. Maya set the sketchbook aside.

  “And so do I,” Derek added.

  Her heartbeat triple-timed. Oh.

  “Would you want to go out to dinner tomorrow? Nothing serious. Just two people enjoying each other’s company. Of course, if you don’t want to, I completely understand. I just figured I’d ask.”

  She wasn’t expecting that either. “Dinner?”

  “You don’t have to say yes. I was just wondering in case you wanted to say yes.”

  He really liked her. She had to tell him about her illness, but how? Should she blurt it out or wait for another time?

  “Maya?”

  Sickle cell demanded her energy, her time, her life. It would also demand a lot from anyone she seriously dated. Derek didn’t need to deal with all that. He was already navigating fatherhood and a business and trying to heal from his wife’s tragic death. Maya wasn’t going to subject Derek to her burdens.

  “You still there, Maya?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking. I don’t know, Derek. I’m moving back to New York.”

  Maya could feel his disappointment through the phone. “I completely understand. And you’re right.”

  The finality in his voice tugged at
her. “I’m not saying no. I have a lot to consider. I need some time. Is that okay?”

  “Take all the time you need. No rush.”

  “Thank you.”

  After they hung up, Maya’s heartbeat slowed. She tugged at the edges of her plaid comforter and stepped out of bed. No need to fool herself into trying to fall asleep after that phone call. Her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the kitchen and plugged in the coffeepot.

  A faint shuffling could be heard from the hallway. Her father. She sighed, thinking of a way to respond when he asked the inevitable.

  He yawned, his hair sticking out every which way. He leaned on his new walker. “What are you doing up, my favorite daughter?”

  “You mean your only daughter.” She turned on the tap and filled the coffeepot with water.

  “You’re still my favorite.” He smiled. “So why are you up?”

  Because I’m afraid. “No reason. Thought I’d make some coffee.” She needed to figure this out. Would it be right to take this next step with Derek, knowing what it would demand of him? Knowing that he’d already lost his wife so tragically?

  Her father rubbed his eyes, his walker helping him to stand. “It’s one o’clock in the morning. Coffee isn’t needed for another five or six hours. Unless, of course, you’re a farmer.”

  Maya smiled, amazed at his calm and his ability to find humor in every situation.

  “How are you really feeling?” her father asked.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Okay.”

  He grabbed a blue mug out of a kitchen cabinet. “You don’t sound okay.”

  She relayed her conversation with Derek.

  “You said yes, right?” her father asked.

  “No.”

  “Why the hesitation?”

  Maya took his mug, ignoring his question. She was too tired to answer—well, she was really too stressed. “I’ll pour you a cup, Pops.”

  “It’s because of your sickle cell, isn’t it?”

  Discomfort edged through her. Time to change the subject. “I thought you’d be sound asleep. You’re definitely not a night person,” she said.

  “Okay then. We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” Her father adjusted his brown robe around his shoulders. “And I am a night person, by the way. You’ve been keeping me up since your mother and I brought you home from the hospital. Besides, I can get a head start on breakfast. How do blueberry pancakes sound?”

  “Perfect.” Blueberry pancakes were her favorite. He always made them ever since she was a kid.

  The clatter of pots and pans filled the tiny kitchen as her father set up the cooking area.

  “You need help, Pops?”

  “I’m good, love.”

  She nodded. He didn’t pry or ask any more questions about what was bothering her. She appreciated that about him. “Thanks, Pops.”

  “Any time.” He sprayed a skillet with cooking oil.

  Maya shrugged and walked to the breakfast table. She plopped down on a chair and laid her head on the red placemat, still uneasy. Should I take this next step with Derek? “Can we talk about this more?”

  “Of course.” He looked up from the skillet and then turned off the burner. “I was just waiting to hear you say the words.”

  She lifted her head and faced him.

  “I’m here for you, darling.” He hobbled over to the love seat and set his walker beside him. Then he patted the arm of the couch. “Let’s talk.”

  When she was younger, Dad had served faithfully as her counselor, solving all her childhood dilemmas. Although she wasn’t sure if her adult problems could be so easily solved, her father would listen. He’d lend his support, however small.

  Maya sat on the couch and pulled the throw over her legs. Sitting here, with the first man who had captured her heart, quelled all sense of unease.

  “Was I right about why you’re hesitant about dating Derek?”

  Maya tamped down the urge to voice her fears about how her illness could affect Derek, but she couldn’t hold it for much longer. “I don’t want Derek to be negatively affected by my illness. If we started dating, even in a long-distance relationship, he’d eventually end up heartbroken.”

  “Oh, darling.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I know you’re concerned about that, but you have a right to be happy too. Give yourself the gift of joy.”

  Her eyes stung. “Easy to say. Not so easy to do.”

  “You don’t want Derek’s heart to be broken. That’s wise, but don’t cancel him out of a date.”

  She leaned on the armrest, uncertain. “What if I go ahead with this and . . . I don’t know.”

  He patted her shoulder. Pops still wore his wedding band, even though Mom passed away nine years ago and even though he was dating Ginger. Seeing it tore her up inside, a symbol of how he’d taken a great risk when he eloped with Mom against her parents’ wishes.

  What if she took a risk and said yes to Derek’s date? What if she said no and ended up regretting it? Yes? No? Yes? No? That was the problem with making decisions. One never knew how they’d turn out. She had made very careful decisions with regards to her life and her career, and she didn’t want to fumble anything up.

  “Earth to Maya.” Her father snapped his fingers. “You still there?”

  “I am.” She laughed. “I just have a lot to consider.”

  “I know you do. So what will you decide?”

  Maya looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “Having the courage to follow your heart can be a slippery slope,” her father said. “Makes you feel all sorts of things. Not so easy to do and much harder to live.”

  She was trying to live it, trying to follow her heart. Maya rested her head on Pops’s shoulder. Maybe if she snapped her fingers, all the hard parts would disappear.

  Maya snapped her fingers twice.

  Nothing.

  “Maya,” her father continued, “I think you’re smart to be worried about Derek and think things through. Most people operate on autopilot, never questioning the effects of their choices.”

  “I don’t feel smart. I feel—”

  “Hopeful? Yet uncertain?”

  “Yes. I like Derek. I’ve enjoyed every day at that boutique, but I don’t want to be a headache to him.”

  He paused. “You want my opinion?”

  “Yes, Pops.”

  “No one is asking you to uproot your life or change your goals. Derek knows you’re leaving. Enjoy it for what it is—a date. Then return to New York and follow hard after your dreams. But don’t stop living, Maya. Don’t ever stop living. You owe it to yourself to live every single day to the fullest. Don’t let sickle cell take that away from you either.”

  “But what if—”

  “Take things one day at a time. Don’t worry about the what-ifs. Just think about today. And today, a nice man asked my daughter on a date. Have you told him about your illness yet?”

  “No. I wasn’t planning to do so, because I figured I’m just working at Always a Bride temporarily. Also, I didn’t want him to treat me differently or fire me. Since he wants to go on a date, however, I will.”

  “Good. Tell him. Let him decide how far he wants to take things with you—just like you told your ex-fiancé.” He motioned to her old wedding gown in the hall closet. “No matter what happens in life, trust that it’ll work out in the end. Live on, darling. You have a beautiful life ahead.”

  The onset of tears blurred her vision. His words rattled her to the core. There was a rightness to what he’d said, even if she couldn’t wrap her mind around all of it herself.

  Maya wiped the tears from her cheeks and got her cell phone to text Derek. She’d accept his offer and tell him all about her illness on their date.

  Dinner sounds great, Derek. When and where do you want to meet?

  Live. Maya would live.

  She breathed deeply, fully, truly.

  Chapter Twelve

  A few days af
ter Maya had agreed to a date, Derek steered his freshly washed pickup into the semicircle driveway of 82 Queen and turned off the ignition. Maya had been off work for the past few days, so he hadn’t spoken to her since their phone call. He hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

  A red-vested valet parking attendant took his keys and handed him a ticket. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Last time he’d felt this way had been over twenty years ago on his first date with Grace. Funny how he was getting the same feeling on his date with Maya.

  A sharp gust of wind billowed through his bomber jacket, pushing him toward the front entrance. He faced two options: brace against the harsh wind or seek shelter in the restaurant. He would seek shelter.

  Derek anticipated Maya’s arrival, but he was also nervous. He had been out of the dating scene, and he hoped things hadn’t changed much in over two decades. But what did he know? Derek could easily mess this up.

  He still wanted to get to know Maya better one-on-one. Derek was also mindful of the fact that Maya hadn’t given him an immediate yes when he asked her on this date. This meant Maya was hesitant and wanted to think about it, which he respected. He had to play things carefully. If he seemed too eager, he could push her away.

  A uniformed man opened the door and welcomed him. The knot lessened its grip. Here goes nothing. He nodded to the doorman and strode inside.

  The restaurant foyer extended a warm greeting with its arched Romanesque ceiling, walls paneled with impressionist art, and shiny hardwood floors. Clinking silverware, mingled with soft murmurs and laughter, filled the space. People clad in casual attire gathered in booths and at tables. No Maya.

  A set of French doors framed in marble stood off to the left. They opened onto a vacant dance floor encircled with empty dinner tables. He’d reserved a table here the morning after Maya had said yes. He continued searching for her and checked his phone for a text. No text. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor. Perhaps she was up there, waiting.

  “Hey, Derek,” a voice called from behind.

  He turned and nearly collided with a waitress holding two menus under her arm. “Excuse me, miss.”

  The waitress appeared to be sixteen going on thirty—or thirty going on sixteen. Hard to tell. Her short, spiked red hair stuck out like an Arizona cactus and reminded him of a punk rocker. This, along with her Queen of Sheba black eyeliner and bright red lips, belied her conservative uniform: a starched white shirt and creased black pants. Everyone had their personal style; hers was unique.