Page 11 of Lease to Love

I didn’t answer right away. I let the words settle in my chest, finding their mark.

“Thank you, Mama,” I said. “For the advice and the three-week delay.”

“The delay was for me. You weren't ready to hear it before.”

Mama winked at me, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. "And make sure you check on Mama E while I'm gone. You know she won't ask you to. She just likes it when somebody shows up anyway."

I nodded. My Mama E didn’t leave the house often these days, but Mama always made time to check on her. I was happy to do it while she was gone.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And when I get back, I want to see whatever you’ve got upstairs that you’re not putting out yet.”

I smirked as I went to open the door for her, “I have absolutely nothing upstairs.”

Mama snickered, “Lying ass.”

With a laugh and one last hug, Mama walked out into the afternoon sun, the bell chiming behind her.

I stood alone in the quiet of my boutique, surrounded by racks of clothing I’d designed, in a space I’d built, on a block I’d grown up on, and just let myself breathe.

House of Autumn was mine.

The exposed brick on the west wall. The track lighting I installed after watching three hours of YouTube tutorials. The custom counter I'd built myself when I barely knew what I was doing. The reclaimed wood beneath my feet. The shelving unit Mr. Marvin had helped me build two summers ago before his back gave out.

The inventory was mine—pieces I'd sketched on napkins and in the margins of business plans, pieces I'd sourced from suppliers I'd spent years cultivating relationships with, pieces that walked out the door on the bodies of neighborhood women who always came back later asking for more.

All mine.

And if something didn’t turn around this month, it was going to slip through my fingers.

I may not have wanted to admit it to Mama, but I was struggling.

Because this was never supposed to be all mine.

I was never supposed to be doing this alone.

The bell chimed again.

I took that last thought, shoved it back into that little box labeled Not today, Satan, and stepped out of the office, already arranging my face into its usual smile as I greeted the women who had just walked in.

“Welcome to House of Autumn! I'm Summer. What are we shopping for today?”

And with that, I let myself get swept up in the lunch rush.

A woman in her forties looking for a dress to wear to her daughter's engagement party. Said daughter, who wanted to see about custom bridesmaid dresses. Some women who worked at the law offices near NoMa came through on their breaks, looking for something to wear to happy hour.

I was particularly proud of the dress I sold the mother of the bride—a jade-green maxi dress with a handkerchief hem and a neckline that did something dramatic and beautiful and unexpected against her chocolate skin.

As she twirled in front of the mirror, I watched her face light up.

Watched her see herself differently.

That was the part of the job that never got old.

Making women—women with skin and hair and curves that looked like mine— see themselves.

The lunch rush bled into the evening rush, and when the shop finally cleared out, it was 5:45 PM, and my feet were teetering between sore and numb.

I was tired. An in-your-bones, nobody-talk-to-me, all I want is some wine and my bed tired…