Page 93 of Catch Me
“You’ve had a long day,” she says, running her hand down my cheek.
“I have.” I kiss the inside of her palm.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Not anymore,” I answer while looking directly into her eyes.
She squirms in my lap, making me groan.
“The shirt is perfect,” I say.
“Do you like it? I thought the color would look fantastic on you and the cut was perfect. The collar needed some alterations, but I think it came together.”
“You sewed a new collar?”
She nods. “I had help from Lillian since she has way more seamstress experience than me. It was like …” She trails off.
I lightly squeeze her arm, feeling her reluctance. “Like what?”
She glances toward the shirt, then back at me. “When I was a little girl, my aunt was the first person who taught me to sew. She was so good.”
I remember the aunt that inspired her love of fashion.
“What was her name?” I ask.
“Gloria. Aunt Gloria. She was my dad’s younger sister.” She chuckles. “She was the first one who put aVogue, Ebony,orJetmagazine in my hands and told me that fashion tells a story.”
“Your collection,” I say.
Ivy nods. “She gave me the first few magazines, but I started collecting more after she died. I think it helped me feel connected to her.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Fourteen. One day I came home from school and there was a hospital bed set up in the spare bedroom. Aunt Gloria was in it, looking so thin and frail. She waited as long as she could before even telling my parents she was sick.
“By the time she told my dad, the cancer had spread to almost all of her major organs.” Ivy pushes out a shaky breath.
“I’m sure that was difficult to experience.”
“It wasn’t easy.” She chuckles but it lacks humor.
“The hardest part was that I felt like I was the one most impacted in our household. A week after she died, my dad had her belongings packed up and donated to charity. No one even spoke of her.
“She was his younger sister, but it was almost as if she didn’t exist.”
Ivy’s forehead wrinkles in confusion.
“I didn’t mean to make this conversation all about me. Especially not when it’s your night.”
I turn her to face me so that she straddles me.
“There’s literally nothing more that I want to hear about than you. I want to know everything about you,” I confess.
She rolls her eyes, but a smirk plays on her lips.
“I’m not that interesting. What I want to know is if you ate dinner? You worked super late, did they have dinner catered?”
“They did, and yes, I ate. Did you eat?” I turn the tables.
