Dropping the Ball

36. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Kaitlyn

I’m already waiting by my car when my mom pulls into the warehouse.

She climbs out of her Mercedes. “Good morning, cagey youngest child. I want to see inside.”

She gives me a hug. It’s the kind of polite social hug we give friends and acquaintances, short and light, but I do know she means it.

“Not yet,” I say. “I have something else to show you first. Look, there’s Madison.”

My sister pulls in with her silver Cayenne. I gesture for her to roll down the window. “Stay in the car. Mom and I will join you. We’re going on a field trip.”

Mom raises her eyebrows. “As if this warehouse weren’t field trip enough.”

“Mom,” I say, a note of warning.

She sighs. “All right. Shotgun. That’s how you call it, right? For the front seat?”

“Yes, Mom,” I say, grinning. It’s such an out-of-character thing for her to say. And when I settle into the backseat beside Harper, I grin again. “Ha, I win.”

Mom glances back and scowls. “Ohhh, you.”

“We’re going about a mile down the road, Madison. Take a left out of the parking lot. We’re headed to Montopolis, girls.”

“That’s certainly a change of scenery,” Mom says. Madison and I both ignore her judgy tone.

A few minutes later, we’re parking in front of Lidia Perez’s house. “Here’s the other part I didn’t tell you yesterday. Maheen Sultana has a visa issue and didn’t make it here with the dresses.”

“We need to call Doug—”

“He’s already working on it, Madi. In the meantime, her assistant Aleina made it without a problem. When I tried to book with Vania for a fitting, I was informed there was no way for us to get in.”

“Did you talk to—”

“Yes, Mom. The owner said our gala has them tied up. But I’d heard about Lidia through Micah, and she agreed to work me in on short notice. Aleina and I came over Wednesday and did a fitting. Aleina supervised, and she’s pleased. She feels Maheen would be comfortable with Lidia’s skills. Now I want you to see for yourselves. If Maheen’s documents don’t clear in time, we will still have beautiful gowns. Are you ready?”

“I suppose,” Mom says in a tone that couldn’t be more doubtful.

Madison rubs her forehead like she’s fighting off a headache. “Let’s go see.”

A few minutes later, Mom and Madison are settled in the armchairs with Harper sleeping in her baby seat at Madi’s feet. Aleina, it turns out, has been adopted since Thanksgiving and informed she will be staying in the Perez guest room until Maheen is in town, so she’s in the shop to supervise as well. I slip around the screen to put on the waiting dress, and when I walk out, Madison gasps and Mom’s eyebrows go up.

I step up on the stool in front of the three-way mirror, and I’m even more taken with the dress now that it’s tucked and pinned for the perfect fit.

“It’s incredible,” Madi breathes.

“You’re a goddess,” Mom declares. “Maheen is a genius.”

Aleina inclines her head in appreciation. “She will be pleased to hear you feel this way. Mrs. Perez is very talented too. She understands the fabric and the body.”

Mom gets up to inspect more closely, eyeing the pin placement, rounding me slowly. “It’s excellent work.”

Miss Lidia nods, a courteous smile on her face, but the verdict doesn’t surprise her.

“Would you like to see your gowns?” I ask.

“Yes,” Madison cries, and it startles Harper into a squeak. “Oh, sorry, baby, Mama has you. Let’s see Grandma’s first.” But as Madison loosens the straps on Harper’s carrier, Isa appears and crouches beside the baby seat.

“I’ll handle it,” Isa says. “Enjoy the dresses. I have two thousand baby cousins.”

Madison looks at me for reassurance.

“I don’t know. Wednesday, she told us five hundred.”

Aleina smiles. “After meeting them yesterday, I believe today’s count is correct.”

Madison gives Isa a nod, and they both turn their attention to Aleina, who goes to the garment bag and pulls out Mom’s dress.

Mom gasps and Madi and I ooh as she brings it to us, holding it up for us to examine. It’s plain black crepe in a gentle trumpet silhouette, sleeveless with a boat neckline. Instead of sleeves, a sheer black floor-length cape is attached at the shoulders, dripping with sequins and beading that spill down, gradually becoming sparser as they near the floor.

“Beautiful,” Mom says. “It may need minor adjustments, but the size looks right. This is a good silhouette for me. Tell Maheen it’s lovely.”

“Nailed it. Me next,” Madison says.

Aleina fetches the final dress. When she turns and walks toward us, our jaws drop. It is a fuchsia cloud, hard to take in all at once beyond the hundreds of layers of tulle. I don’t have a sense of the shape or anything else because of the sheer volume of intense pink.

“It will require some fluffing,” Aleina says, causing Madison’s eyes to widen. “I had to twist this and bring it in a vacuum-shrink tube?” She says this as if she isn’t sure her explanation is making sense. We both nod. “This is what Maheen is most interested in. Your feelings about it.”

“I’ll be honest, Aleina,” Madison says, her eyes sparkling, “I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at, but I love it anyway. Can I try it on?”

“You may need some help with this one,” Aleina says, “if you do not mind if I assist?”

“Come on, friend. Let’s do this,” Madison says.

She disappears behind the screen while Mom and I entertain Harper. A few minutes later, Madison steps out and Isa squeals then claps her hand over her mouth, but she only said what we’re all feeling.

It’s what the dress deserves. Madison hurries to the stool in front of the three-way mirror, turns one way then the other, and grins. “Nailed it again.”

“Not in a million years would I have thought I would like this, but it’s perfect, honey,” Mom says.

“I agree. Perfection,” I say.

The dress falls to her knees in the front and to the floor in the back. It’s made of so many layers of tulle that it’s opaque, but the netting is so light that it floats around her in tiers. The haltered bodice plunges nearly to Madison’s navel, showing off her nursing-maximized cleavage to advantage by emphasizing her shape, but the only skin showing is the one-inch strip all the way down until the skirt begins.

“Maheen wanted to give you something generous that would adjust to any figure concerns you had after recovering from birth, but—”

“Your body is rocking,” Isa pronounces.

“Thank you,” Madison says. “I’m told it’s a first-baby thing, and I might get away with it one more time, but luck runs out on baby three.”

“Amen,” Miss Lidia says with a smile.

“The tulle is meant to hide”—Aleina gestures toward her lower abdomen—“and we can close the plunge higher if you prefer.”

“No!” five other women say at once.

Madison starts laughing. “It’s very loose, but beyond that, I don’t want to change a thing.”

Maheen designed for each of us so differently and so brilliantly. “Maheen may be your greatest discovery ever, Madison.”

“And I believe Miss Lidia may be yours,” Madison says.

“I’ll second that,” Mom adds.

“This one is going to take a few fittings,” Aleina says. “If at all possible, Maheen would like to handle this one herself. If not, she is very confident to let Mrs. Perez do it.”

“Well, you’ve solved the missing designer problem perfectly,” Madison says. She steps down from the stool to stand in front of me. “It makes me even more curious to hear what you’re planning for the auction.”

“Then get changed, slacker,” I tell her. “You’re holding up the next part of the field trip.”

My phone vibrates as we’re walking to Madison’s car.

Why do I see your car at the warehouse but not you?

We’ll be there soon.

“We’re going to drive around a couple of blocks,” I tell Madison when we’re settled in the car. “I want to show you some things.”

And for the next fifteen minutes, I take them on a tour of the homes where all the talented people Micah knows live, making Madison idle in front of different houses as I lean between their seats to show them pictures on my phone of what the occupant of the house makes. Mrs. Horne’s weaving. Jeremy’s furniture. They gasp out loud when I show them Mr. Nairz’s cookies.

When we reach the storage units by the neighborhood exit, I have Madison park so we can talk.

“That was a cool field trip,” she says, “but tell me what this has to do with the auction.”

“Let me tell y’all what Drake Braverman told me about why they won’t donate,” I begin. “They aren’t connected enough to our goals. I asked him point-blank what it would take for them to open their wallets, and he said they’re more invested in local causes, things that strengthen the communities here. I thought about how Micah pieced together knowledge and resources from people in this neighborhood to get where he is now. But it was meeting Isa and Lidia that made it all click. I’m going to send you both a proposal. Look it over really quick.”

When their phones buzz, they each open the document and scan the information.

“Those are the bullet points,” I say, “but I spent all day yesterday before dinner running the numbers, and I can back them up with a comprehensive breakdown.”

Madison looks up. “You want to turn the warehouse into a community center?”

“Basically,” I say. “It would be for teenagers and adults to use as a makerspace. They’d have free access to equipment and materials. Someone like Isa could explore design without having to save up to buy fabric that’s too expensive to take a risk on. She could play and create and find her voice without the price tag hanging over everything. There are so many Micahs and Isas right here.” I wave out toward the neighborhood. “This wouldn’t be job training like we’re doing in Dhaka. This would be about nurturing talent that can’t afford to develop after the bills are paid.”

Mom scans the numbers again. “You think if Madison announces this as a new part of the Threadwork mission, we’ll get more donations?”

“I do. We won’t have a lot of time. It will take all of us asking everyone we know. It’s a huge new commitment for Threadwork. But—”

“But it’s good,” Madison says. “Not just because of the donations. This makes sense, Kaitlyn. It feels right for Threadwork.”

“Yeah?” So many intense feelings are trying to bust out of me that it’s the only thing I can say. Relief that she sees it. Pride that I thought of it. Excitement about this new possibility.

“I’ve spent so much time looking backward at the wrongs Dad did—”

“He’s been trying to fix them,” Mom says, always quick to defend him.

“I know. He’s doing better. But my point is that I’ve spent so long looking backward at one place and one problem. I love the idea of providing an opportunity for people to be creative when they wouldn’t otherwise have the resources.”

She twists more fully in her seat to meet my eyes. “You’re confident on your projections?”

“Yes. This will work, and”—I take a deep breath here—“I’ll need to tell Dad this, but . . . I’d like to stay at Threadwork full-time as an inside director when you’re back from maternity. However you need me, but I have ideas. Director of impact and strategy?”

Madison frowns, and I rush to convince her, because I want it so badly. “I’ll do whatever I need to, but you’re going to need another full-time big picture thinker.”

“But director?” she asks.

“Coordinator? The title doesn’t matter as much as the work.”

She shakes her head. “I’m thinking vice president. Vice president of vision? We’ll spitball.”

“So yes?”

“Yes!”

I throw myself at the back of her seat, wrapping it and her in a hug that makes her laugh and choke at the same time. “I promise to run with this makerspace. It won’t be your problem at all.”

She unhooks my stranglehold, still smiling. “I’m the last person you need to convince that you’re the woman for the job.”

“And you’re okay with folding this initiative into the gala’s fundraising goals?”

“It’s brilliant at every level,” she says. “Let’s do this. Mom? What do you think?”

I turn to her, bracing for her verdict. Sometimes I think Mom is more of an Armstrong than any of us even though she married in. “Mom, I know you—”

“Just a minute, Kaitlyn.” She presses the backs of her hands to her cheeks, and I wonder if we’re about to be subjected to one of her sudden-onset illnesses. Then she settles them in her lap. “This will definitely make it easier to secure some excellent donations. I’ll start making calls today, starting with Margaret and the castle panels.”

Madison and I both wait for her to address the bigger issue. The second of the Armstrong heirs is choosing not to join the family business. This has been my biggest worry. I don’t want to let my parents down again, but I’ve had a series of lightbulb moments over the last several days, and this is the second brightest: I want to help build what Madison is growing, not become another piston in the powerful Armstrong machine.

Mom takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m disappointed. Your father will be disappointed. But not in you , Kaitlyn. Disappointed about letting go of the future we imagined.”

I want her to say that it’s fine, this is a noble thing I’m choosing, and they’re cheering me on. But I wouldn’t believe her if she did. I wish that she was the kind of mother who would be all in on anything I decide to do, but getting hung up on the fact that she isn’t would doom me to constant disappointment. She gave me what she’s capable of, and it’s enough right now.

Not for Madison, apparently. She gives Mom a warning stare. “We will dig into that later. Right now, we deal with the auction.” She looks at me again. “If I start making calls today to schedule a board vote for a makerspace on Monday, will you be ready?”

“Yes. I’ll have a comprehensive proposal. This center can be a reality in less than a year.” Madison and I know our board well. If we have the numbers, they’ll say yes.

Harper makes a couple of nursing noises from her baby seat next to me and gives a small grunt.

“She’s going to want to eat, like, five minutes ago,” Madison says.

“Drive back to the warehouse,” I tell her. “You can nurse her there.”

Madison takes us back to the warehouse while Harper fusses. “Micah’s here,” she notes, spotting his truck.

I ignore the cajoling note in her tone that says tell us what’s going on there. “Good timing. He can show you the changes himself.”

We park, Madison gets Harper out, and I lead the three most important women in my life to the door. “I’d ask if you’re ready for this, but there’s no way you can prepare.” Then I open the door.

Christmas music spills out. Madison and Mom step in.

And they gasp.