Page 69 of Pillow Talk
‘Not your mom. I think she actually hates the shop more than you do,’ Anni replied and picked up a pair of heavy gold bangles.
Shona bit her lip when her gaze fell on the yellow gold, its gleam stirring a memory she would rather have forgotten.
‘How did you get these?’ Anni asked.
‘When my dad finally sorted out my grandmother’s things and put her house up for rent, he gave them to me. He said she would have wanted me to have them,’ Shona explained and a hollow, bitter laugh escaped her lips.
Her grandmother wore those bangles every day. Apparently, she never took them off. Shona’s grandfather had bought them for her with the money from the first sale he made at the shop.
She remembered her grandmother’s hands. They were bony and always cold. Shona had no recollection of her grandmother ever holding her hand, stroking her hair to console her or, leastof all, cuddling her. But she remembered the long, knotted finger that would stab the air at her whenever her grandmother scolded her, which was often.
Anni’s eyes reflected sadness, empathy and understanding.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Shona asked.
‘The sewing machine.’
Shona pushed the sari aside and lay down, covering her eyes with a bent arm.
Anni lay down next to her friend.
The sewing machine.
‘I’m sorry I brought it up,’ Anni murmured.
‘It’s okay. It happened. We can’t change that,’ Shona said.
‘But it shouldn’t have happened,’ Anni replied cautiously.
Shona didn’t answer as the unwelcomed memory shoved its way into her mind. By the time she was 15, she was already sewing her own clothing. She would design garments for herself and Anni and then Drake would supervise her when the shop wasn’t busy. She didn’t have her own sewing machine and those at the shop were the only ones available. Her skills had developed beyond the point where she could complete work by hand.
She even had a favourite sewing machine at the shop. This probably seemed lame to other 15-year-olds, but to her that sewing machine – bought decades before she was born by the grandfather she never knew – was pure treasure. At that point, she didn’t even mind working at the shop after school because she knew she’d have a chance to use the sewing machine.
That was until her grandmother decided to sell it. She said it was old and no longer working as well as it should. She said the money from the sale could be used towards buying a newer model. But by then Shona knew her grandmother too well: she was selling the machine out of spitebecause she knew it brought Shona joy. Or maybe because with Shona being more focusedon sewing, she believed she was neglecting her duties in the shop. Either way, her grandmother wanted the sewing machine gone and made it clear that Shona would not be allowed to use any ‘new’ machines, including the others that were not so new anymore. It was clear that her grandmother didn’t want her to sew in the shop.
She could have pointed out that if working in the shop was actually a paid job, she could have bought her own sewing machine, but arguing with her grandmother was unheard of and she wouldn’t have dared. Instead she cried. She cried from the moment her grandmother put up a ‘for sale’ message on the noticeboard at the local supermarket until the person who bought it whisked it away one rainy afternoon. Her mother didn’t want to get involved, so Shona didn’t have her on her side, and her father gave up after just one conversation with her grandmother. He didn’t even try to convince her to let Shona keep the sewing machine. They weren’t hard-up for money. Where was the harm in allowing her granddaughter to have it? The memory of her calculating, cold grandmother had completely ruined her mood. Anni obviously sensed it.
‘Your dad did eventually get you your own sewing machine,’ she said quietly.
‘I suppose that’s fine,’ Shona murmured, her voice lacking conviction.
‘Let’s choose your outfit and accessories so we can pig out on pizza,’ Anni said, sitting up.
Shona followed suit, but at the back of her mind, she was still hurt that her father had bought her her own sewing machine months later and that he hadn’t fought for her to have the other one. Or maybe he was just tired of fighting his mother; she knew the feeling only too well.
Sen wouldn’t admit it to his mother but he was actually looking forward to taking Shona to the wedding. Poor thing didn’t know she was going to be formally introduced to his family. He didn’t want to scare her off but felt guilty for throwing her into the lion’s den.
He arrived at her apartment an hour before the wedding. He wore work suits every day, so he’d decided to change it up a bit by wearing a Sherwani suit. The elegant black coat, buttoned at the neck, hung just below the knee and was paired with matching black pants.
He rang her doorbell and heard Shona humming a tune as she approached the door.
When she opened it, Sen was speechless. His heart did that damn flip again. His mouth was dry and all he could do was stare at her.
Shona was wearing a wine-coloured sari with a black lace border. The blouse was made of the same black lace. Her hair was pulled back, with her mass of curls twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was expertly done. Her lips were a softer tone of her wine sari. She was stunning. He couldn’t look away or find any words. This woman was his.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
Sen snapped out of it.
