Chapter 9 - The Lavender Kite
Three months after the canceled wedding, June brought the dress downstairs with a pair of scissors.
I looked up from my laptop.
“That seems decisive.”
She placed the lavender fabric on the kitchen table.
“We’re making kites in science club.”
I glanced at the scissors.
“Do they know you’re planning this?”
“Mrs. Alvarez said fabric might work if it’s light enough. She said I should ask you before cutting anything.”
I touched the skirt.
The material was soft and almost weightless.
For weeks, I had wondered what to do with it.
Donate it.
Store it.
Let June forget it existed.
I had been making plans for an object that belonged to her.
“What do you want to make?” I asked.
“A dragon kite.”
“Of course.”
“With a really long tail.”
We took the dress to my mother, who owned a sewing machine and believed almost anything could be improved with proper hemming.
She did not look sad when June spread it across the table.
She adjusted her glasses.
“We’ll need to work around the seams.”
That afternoon, the dress became pieces.
There was no dramatic speech.
No ceremonial first cut.
Just three people measuring, arguing over the shape of wings, and trying to keep the cat away from the ribbon.
I found that unexpectedly comforting.
Not everything painful required a moment of solemn transformation.
Sometimes it could become a practical problem involving scissors.
Life had begun finding its ordinary rhythm again.
June still saw the counselor.
I had begun seeing someone too, partly because I wanted help understanding how I had missed what happened, and partly because I had become tired of treating every uncertain feeling as evidence that I could never trust myself again.
I learned to ask clearer questions.
I learned that embarrassment could make me minimize something before I had even understood it.
I also learned that checking in with June did not mean repeatedly asking her to revisit the worst hour of her life.
We talked about school.
Birds.
Whether cereal counted as soup.
Sometimes Colin came up.
Usually, he didn’t.
Marjorie remained in touch carefully.
At June’s request, they met once at a public library event, with me nearby.
They discussed migrating birds again.
When we left, June said, “I’m glad she wasn’t really upset about me.”
“I am too.”
“I don’t think I want to see Colin.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked relieved even though I had said it before.
I was learning that important reassurances sometimes needed repetition without impatience.
As for me, I returned to work with more energy than I had expected.
I was a landscape designer for the city, which meant I spent a surprising amount of time explaining why a tree needed more than a decorative square of dirt.
I loved the work.
Before the wedding, Colin had suggested I leave the job eventually because his schedule was demanding and someone needed flexibility.
At the time, I had heard generosity.
Now I was glad I had waited.
That spring, my team received approval to redesign a neglected pocket park near June’s school.
There would be shade, accessible paths, and tables where people could sit without buying anything.
June studied the plans at our kitchen table.
“Can there be a place to fly kites?”
“It’s a little small.”
“A tiny kite.”
“We can discuss it with the committee.”
She grinned.
A week later, Hannah called.
Colin had moved to another city for work.
There was nothing I needed to do with that information, she said. She simply thought I would prefer hearing it from someone who wasn’t gossiping.
I thanked her.
Afterward, I sat quietly for a moment.
I had expected to feel triumph when his life moved away from mine.
Instead, I felt space.
Then June shouted from upstairs because she had found a moth large enough to require witnesses.
I went.
The kite took two more Saturdays to finish.
Its body was lavender, its eyes uneven, and its tail long enough to catch on every doorway in the house.
On the morning we tested it, the wind refused to cooperate.
June ran across the field while Ben jogged backward, trying to keep the frame from folding.
My father offered contradictory advice.
Renee filmed the entire disaster.
Eventually, a gust caught beneath the wings.
The kite lifted.
June’s mouth fell open.
Then she laughed so hard she almost dropped the string.
I stood beside her, watching the fabric rise.
Once, that dress had represented a place she thought she needed to surrender.
Now she held the line herself.
“Mom, look!”
“I’m looking.”
May you like
It climbed higher.
For several minutes, neither of us thought about a wedding at all.
