Her face softened, warmth radiating from her as she spoke. “Oh, she’s doing just fine. Growing up way too fast, though. Time’s flying by quicker than I’d like.”
I wished I could share Sadie’s sentiment. For me, time felt frozen, like each day was a repeat of the one before. Maybe only mothers could truly feel the passage of time as they watched their children grow up too quickly.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, trying to keep things light. “Time’s funny, isn’t it? Sometimes it feels like too much, sometimes not enough.”
She nodded in agreement, her face shadowed by an unspoken sadness. “I couldn’t agree more, Bryn.”
There was a heaviness in the air, a quiet moment where neither of us spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just…full. Sadie had always been good at this, allowing silence to exist without rushing to fill it. She had a way of making people feel heard, even when they weren’t speaking.
Then her mood shifted; her expression brightened. “By the way, I got in some of those retro dresses you love last week. I set them aside for you to pick through first.”
Excitement coursed through me, my eyes lighting up. “I’d love that! With a bit of free time this afternoon, I can dive into the alterations.”
She clapped her hands together, spinning with infectious enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Follow me, let’s get started!”
As we weaved through the aisles, I took in the familiar scent of aged fabric and cedar polish. The store was apatchwork of eras, each rack crammed with forgotten treasures waiting for a second life.
Sadie gestured toward a section near the back. “I set them here, figured you’d appreciate the good lighting. Oh, and I saved the navy one with the lace trim just for you. It screamed Bryn.”
“Sadie, you’re amazing! These are perfect, exactly what I had in mind!” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.
Her fingers brushed over her skirt before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a face as smooth as alabaster. Her smile was soft, but her words were casual. “No biggie, happy to help.”
With my finds carefully in hand, I hurried home, eager to revitalize these vintage treasures and turn them into my next creative project.
I’m a self-proclaimed virtuoso of vintage revivals, turning worn-out garments into bespoke pieces that hug my curves. There’s a certain pleasure I take in breathing new life into the faded, coaxing beauty from what others have forgotten.
In a burst of inspiration, I spent a few fleeting hours reinvigorating two dresses. The first got a contemporary makeover: sleeveless with a daringly short hemline. The second embraced its retro roots, with a nipped-in waist and a flared skirt, striking a perfect balance between classic charm and modern edge.
Running my fingers over the fabric, I whispered, “Perfect.” They may not have a designer label, but they’re beautiful in their own right.
I slipped into the first dress, and it was love at first sight. The vibrant colors popped against my fair skin and curly red locks, making my emerald eyes sparkle like gemstones. It fit my petite, 5’2 frame perfectly, which was no small feat. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I studied my reflection. I’d truly outdone myself this time.
Just as I was basking in the glow of my creative triumph, the phone shrilled to life, interrupting the silence like a shriek in the night. Reluctantly, I tore my gaze from the mirror and made my way to the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Brynie girl! How’s it going? Missing your favorite person yet?” Reggie’s voice reeked of arrogance, and his superiority practically oozed from the other end of the line. In the background, a faint thud of pulsing music bled through, the distant hum of a party in full swing.
I rolled my eyes, gazing toward the ceiling in exasperation. My jaw tightened as the all-too-familiar nickname echoed in my ears. I absolutelyloathedit when he called me “Brynie.” Something about it, the casual, almost mocking way he said it, made my skin crawl, like nails dragging down a chalkboard.
“All’s well here,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet and working on a fewnew designs.” I didn’t bother to mask the annoyance in my tone.
I knew exactly why Reggie had called: to enforce his arbitrary curfew. It was a blatant power move, a way for him to control every aspect of my life.
“Ah, your so-called ‘works of art,’” he sneered. “I’mdyingto see what you’ve come up with this time.” I could practically hear him grinning, his smugness even more pronounced after a few drinks.
“Yeah, real funny,” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. I wasn’t about to let him get under my skin, not today.
“Relax, Brynie,” he snapped, his voice tightening with irritation, the sharpness of his words laced with a cruel edge. “You need to lighten up. Can’t you take a joke, or are you too stupid for that?”
Reggie was a master manipulator. His tone didn’t just belittle, it shrank me. Made me feel like a scolded child, stripped of dignity, too stunned to breathe. He knew exactly where to aim and how deep to cut. He enjoyed the way I flinched, the way I folded in on myself. After every outburst, he’d watch me, waiting—testing—to see if I’d push back.
I never did.
“Anyway,” he went on, his voice slipping into that fake, easy charm, the edges of his words just a little slurred. “I’ll be out most of the night, so don’t wait up.” Laughter floated in from the background—female,high-pitched, unmistakable. “Oh, and do me a favor, will you? Make breakfast before you head to work. A man’s gotta eat, you know.”
The shift was seamless. His upbeat mood flipped back on like a switch, the one he reserved for when he wanted something from me.
