I still liked being there, though. Amy always has fresh flowers and lit candles and bowls of candy at her store. It’s so nice that people like to come in just to browse. She also stocks hand-crafted jewelry from local artists and vintage items—my staff discount applies to those as well.
“Mini, there’s a bunch of pants that need hemming,” Amy said. “I pinned them to the right length, could you do them today?”
“Sure,” I said, and took the stack of clothes from her. “Any news from Rachel?”
“Nothing new,” Amy said. “But she’ll be back soon, so we’ll get it firsthand.”
I nodded and went into the office, where the sewing machines were set up next to racks of clothes that had to be sorted through before being moved up to the shop floor.
“Hey, Bobbin.” I patted Amy’s cat, who was also the Turnabout Shop’s store cat. He stretched and came over to watch me sew. He found scissors, thread, pins, and fabric endlessly interesting.
“Nicely done.” Amy put a cup of freshly brewed tea next to me and looked over my shoulder.
“This is a bargain,” I said, checking the price tag that was still attached to the pants I was sewing.
“Making fashion affordable, that’s us.” Amy smiled. “I’m taking Bobbin home; he needs his dinner. Will you close up the shop when you’re done? And have a look through the new stock, in case you like something.”
“Sure,” I said, grabbing Bobbin off my lap where he had settled and handing him to Amy.
Later I went through the boxes of new stuff, folding and organizing and putting aside a couple of things I liked. Amy would look them up and price them and if they were in my price range, I might get them.
Honestly, I would much rather buy one expensive versatile piece, new or used, than twenty bits of fast fashion. Not that there’s anything wrong with basic clothes, especially once I’ve altered them! I’m more against the horrible way workers down the supply chain get treated and how wasteful consumerism is in general. Thrift stores recycle fashion and give them a second life, and I’m so there for it.
Speaking of being there, I had to hurry home—I’d promised Vinnie I’d video chat her after work.
Vinnie still hadn’t seen the jewelry.
She had been so busy lately she hadn’t even found time to call. She was packing up her old apartment and moving in with her friend Shinu, also a first-year resident, until the wedding. Shinu was closer to the hospital and to Manish’s apartment.
I turned the laptop on and waited.
Vinnie was in shorts and a cami. Behind her I glimpsed a room crammed with packing boxes. I grinned—it was good to see her!
“Hey, Vinnie,” I said.
“Hey,” she said. “Awww, Yooogi!” She made kissing sounds as I pointed the laptop webcam at the dog. He whined, because he had no clue how Vinnie’s voice was magically coming out of my computer.
I put the computer back on the table.
“How did it go at the bank?” she asked.
“Great!” I said. “Wait a sec and I’ll show you.” I ran to my bedroom and grabbed the jewelry boxes, which had been lying on my SAT prep papers ever since I unearthed them from their hiding place in the house. “Here, look!” I carefully unwrapped the beautiful necklace tagged with Vinnie’s name and held it up to the webcam.
“Wow!” she said. “Hold it closer, Mini. Turn it a bit? Oh, I remember that necklace so well! And the bangles and the earrings!”
“Me too,” I said.
“But you were so little…,” she said.
“I still remember,” I said. “And Mom left notes in each of the boxes. Look at this.…” I clicked open another jewelry case and unfolded the note inside it. “‘You won’t believe it, girls, but this necklace is actually one of your nani’s anklets,’” I read from it. “‘She had them made into matching necklaces for your masi and me. Anklets are supposed to be silver. In the old days you were not allowed to wear gold on your feet—unless you were Rajput.’”
“That’s so cool!” Vinnie said.
“She says I can have it,” I said. “She based your necklace design on it. See how the pattern repeats all the way around, just like an anklet? And it has tiny bells!”
“Show me more!” Vinnie said.
So we played dress-up for a bit, with me modeling all the heirloom jewelry like a five-year-old with a Disney Princess Dress Up box and reading out Mom’s notes to Vinnie.
“Where are you keeping these, Mini?” she asked suddenly. “What if the house gets burgled?”
“Don’t worry.” I grinned. “I used Beeji’s trick.”
Beeji, our grandmother, sealed her jewelry in a Ziploc bag and buried it at the bottom of the basmati rice bin—I wasn’t her granddaughter for nothing.
I put the jewelry away—it was time for business.
“Listen, I talked to a wedding decorator and her rates are pretty reasonable. But we need to get her a date and a venue and a head count, ASAP. Have you figured out what day works for you and Manish?”
If the twenty-eighth didn’t work for her, we were sunk.
“It’ll have to be a weekend at the end of August,” she said.
“How about August twenty-eighth?” I asked. “It’s a Sunday.”
“I think that’ll work,” Vinnie said.
“Good.” I grinned again. “Because it’s the only day she can fit us in!” Guess it was meant to be!
“Awesome!” Vinnie said. “Having an actual date makes it seem so real!”
“How many days will you have off?” I asked.
“Only three days and the weekend,” she said. “So we can fly out on Wednesday of that week and be back Monday.”
“No honeymoon?”
