Chapter 2 - An Itemized Reality
The next morning, I didn’t turn on the sewing machine until I opened my accounting software.
For four hours, I logged every minute of labor, from the first sketch to the seventy-two hand-sewn pearl buttons running down the back.
Custom bridal design in North Carolina ran at least eighty dollars an hour for master construction, not counting emergency alterations and fabric markup.
The final number at the bottom of the invoice glowed against the screen: eight thousand four hundred and sixty dollars.
I printed the document on heavy stock paper, stamped it with my business seal, and slid it into an official courier envelope.
I wrote June’s address on the front, along with a note requesting full payment within forty-eight hours before the release of the design copyright.
My mother called back before noon, her tone sharp and hurried as if she were disciplining a child who had spoken out of turn.
"Maya, your sister says you haven’t sent the transfer through the app yet. Gene’s mother is finalizing the flower bill today."
"I sent her an invoice instead, Mom," I said, leaning against the counter while the steam press hissed quietly.
"Since I’m not considered a guest or a sister, I’m treating her as an ordinary client with an outstanding custom balance."
My mother choked on her breath, clearly stunned that the quiet daughter had answered back with numbers instead of apologies.
"You can't charge your own flesh and blood for a gift, Maya! That's petty, and it's vindictive!"
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"A gift was meant to celebrate a wedding I was invited to attend," I told her, my voice unnervingly calm.
"If my presence is too embarrassing for her high-society company, then my charity is far too cheap for her taste."
