Team Spirit

36. Lars Plants Flowers

36. Lars Plants Flowers

Judy is dressed. I run my fingers through my hair over and over again like this motion will somehow prove to me that I am dreaming.

I worked all night, accidentally stabbing myself with my needle so many times, my fingers stopped noticing. I worked until Dad comes down to remind me that, just because I am suspended, does not mean that I can stay up 'til three in the morning. I did anyway, but I also rose at 7am again like I was heading to school.

To finish. Like Cecilie said, a basket of flowers. Sunflowers, daisies, black-eyed susans all stitched into the skirt, mimicking Crystal's bridesmaid bouquets. They're all trapped under the dreamy tulle underlay. I kind of hate tulle, I've realized at this point. Tulle is static-y, forcing me into a battle with it and all the little bits of thread I left lying around from sewing on all the flowers. Creating a nice edge on it was not the most fun I've ever had.

But there it is, a sample mocked up from a skirt and camisole, the last of a bolt of tulle, and so many silk flowers, I don't really want to think about it. It looks especially impressive around the waist of a proper dress form where it can hang naturally, giving the caught garden effect.

I can't believe I made this. I can't believe it looks good. It doesn't even look like the hours locked away in the basement, unhappy, unhappy, unhappy before finally arranging the petals into something I liked. It doesn't look like bleeding fingertips or eyestrain or Roman and Sam texting to make sure I'm still alive.

I dial Crystal's number before I lose my nerve, riding a high of completion.

"Hello, Crystal Sanders speaking," she answers professionally, because people must call her cell all the time to ask about getting the gel toenails done or whatever else she does. I take note.

"Hi, Crystal. It's Lars. I have a look I'd really love to show you," I say.

I shake. I didn't know I could shake with something other than fury or nervousness. Maybe this is a kind of nervousness, but a good kind. It's the kind of anticipation that also sort of makes me want to throw up.

Crystal sighs. "Look, Lars—"

"I know I have not been the most reliable or professional contact, but I am very confident that if you give me this one last chance, I can create something very memorable," I interrupt. Sewing by myself in the basement has given me a lot of time to rehearse this in my head. Don't take no for an answer, I pep talked myself earlier. "Also, I have come into a lot of free time recently."

Crystal takes an eternity to answer. I imagine her rolling her eyes dramatically at someone on her end of the line. If I can have just this one thing go right in my life, I might be happy for a single day. After weeks of getting everything absolutely wrong, I just want this one thing. 

"Okay, fine. I'll swing by this afternoon between appointments."

"Okay. Okay, great. I will see you then."

I hang up. And lie on the floor to stare at the exposed PVC and vents running through the ceiling. 

Dad comes down the stairs around lunchtime, finding me still sprawled across the floor. 

"Should I be worried?" he asks.

"Part of the creative process," I answer.

"Ah." At least that's something akin to what he's experienced himself. 

He leaves me be. I manage to pull myself up from the ground before Crystal shows up. 

I change, too. It feels important to get up and put on a professional air, even if my version of it involves a vintage read leather skirt and a black blouse I bleached constellations into. 

I can survive Wren. I can survive high school. I can survive trying on grown up disappointments and late nights. 

The fact is, I want it all, but all includes the work and the setbacks, not just pretty clothes. 

I answer the door for Crystal wearing strappy black heels so I'm almost as tall as her. 

Her make up isn't as precise as usual. Her lashes aren't quite as thick and black. I can't remember the last time I saw Crystal less than 100% done up. Regan, once again, follows her in. 

"So, I took what you said about being inspired by your florist very literally," I begin, my heels echoing off every step of the basement stairs. It's about how I imagine my heart beat sounds reverberating inside my rib cage right now. 

"Oh my God," Regan breathes before we even reach the bottom of the stairs. "You made that?"

My heart swells, but Crystal hasn't said a word and I can't quite bring myself to look at her to read her expression. I hold my breath to keep from babbling about my tulle troubles or what wildflowers bloom this time of year in Alberta. 

Regan bustles ahead of us, pulling the dress form into the best lighting before snapping photos on her phone. 

"I stitched the flowers on in a night," I say, finally letting myself watch Crystal's face, "if you like it, I can power through all the dresses this week." I will be exhausted after, but I can do it. In theory, I'll get faster with the practice that comes with doing it over and over. 

Crystal purses her lips. Her eyes shine even after she blinks rapidly. 

"Sam says you gave a kid at school a black eye," she says, decidedly not what I was expecting to come out of her mouth, "why'd you do it?"

I blink. "I...he..." 

"Was it him?" Crystal grabs her right wrist in her left hand, clutching hard at it. 

I nod slowly. There's no denying it now. 

Crystal nods back, focusing her attention on the dress as Regan examines the petals. 

"It's beautiful," Crystal says, finally. 

My lungs ease out a tightly held sigh. Oh, thank God. 

"Get in here," Regan says, pulling me over to pose next to the dress. She snaps a picture and I hope excitement shows more on my face than the shock and relief do. 

We work out the details. Crystal loves the black-eyed susans and wants more. One of the bridesmaids has lost weight and it would be great if I could take in the waist a little. If there's time, stitching a few flowers into Crystal's dress would be wonderful. She walks me through how to write up a proper invoice. I go through all these motions resisting the urge to scream and spin wildly around the room. My phone keeps buzzing on the table from all Regan's Instagram tags. 

"You'll need this too, I guess." Crystal pushes a tiny envelope to me across the sewing table. "I always figured Sam would bring you, but I think you need your own invitation now. Thank you for everything. Everything."

I know what she means and my heart flip-flops in my chest. I never meant to be so transparent. I didn't mean to wear my heart on my sleeve. Crystal's look is so soft. 

There's no time to dwell, though. I have work to do. 

a/n so Team Spirit unbelievably ranked today?! I have no idea how it happened and I'm not complaining. The header image and the inspiration for Lars' dresses came from a fantastically talented costume maker named Angela Clayton, or Doxiequeen. She's amazing and if you're into that kind of thing, definitely look at her work. 

Are you ready for Sam to make an appearance in a cowboy hat next?