Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing Read Free

out the tradition solo when she crunched inside the tiny stalls of Glendale thrift shops and designed vintage pinup-girl apparel.
    Nana Eleanor loved the creative connection she shared with her granddaughter and as a gift for her eighteenth birthday, she presented an authentic 1962 Daisy de la Flora bejeweled straw handbag that had been converted into a sewing basket. Thegift changed Scarlet’s life. She had been obsessed with all things Daisy ever since.
    “… and get a real job,”
Well… every mother thinks her child deserves more, right?
    “Scarlet, did you hear me?” her mother snipped. “Promise me you’ll hot-tail it out of there if she doesn’t make you partner. Tell her you want your own office so you can brag about it at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow!”
    “I’ll give it my all, Mom, like I always do—the way you and Dad taught me,” Scarlet said graciously, pretending her mother had told her not to worry because she would win Carly over with her talent, skills, and charm. “It’ll go great. I practically run this operation. This promotion is a long time coming.”
    “Even if she does promote you,” Jeane continued, “… now, don’t take this the wrong way, I’m only telling you straight because I love you… but I think you’re shortchanging yourself if you stay at that sweatshop. You deserve better. No child of mine should be sweeping the floor.”
    Scarlet knew her mother had her own Dr. Phil style going on, but now she had gone too far, especially at a time when she should be sending good luck to her daughter, not cut-downs. She wondered if her mom, or any of her family for that matter, would ever take her life goals seriously.
    “I mean it, mija,” Jeane continued. “You’re thirty, you should be wearing suits, not those cartoon dresses you make. And you should have bought a home by now. And a fancy car.”
    Scarlet had had enough. “I
am
wearing a suit right now, and I
do
have a fancy car!” she whisper shouted so Yoli wouldn’t hear.
    “Nana’s clunker Mercedes is fifty years old and stinks like vitamin E oil. You should sell it and put the money toward your school loans.”
    “I’m not selling Nana’s last memento of freedom, Mom. Youknow the highlight of her week is our Sunday lunch dates. It would break her heart if I sold it,” Scarlet said, glancing at Yoli, who had positioned herself front and center, pretending to sort papers so she could eavesdrop. Both their heads perked up with the click of Carly’s doorknob.
    “Mom, my meeting is about to start. I’ll call you later, OK?”
    “Good luck, Scarlet. Knock ’er dead, and then pour sugar on her.”
    That’s all it took to make Scarlet feel at ease. A sliver of a cheer from her mom always worked wonders. She knew her mom truly wanted her to be happy, even if her version of happiness, like most things, didn’t suit Scarlet’s taste.
    “Thanks, Mom, I love you,” Scarlet said. But before she hung up, she heard, “Scarlet, wait!”
    “Yeah, Mom?”
    “Your sister can’t make the mashed potatoes for tomorrow. I told her you could—you know, since you’re single and have free time. We’ll need enough for forty people. By three o’clock. Thanks, mija.”
    *   *   *
    Scarlet sat across from her boss’s desk, anticipation peeking over both shoulders, as she watched Carly skim the personnel file, using a heavy gold pen to add notations. Scarlet couldn’t help but admire Carly’s glossy ink-black hair and how it hung straight and blunt on each side, as if someone had draped a silk scarf over her head. Even though she was full-blooded Mexicana, Scarlet thought she could pass as a taller version of a camera-ready Kimora Lee.
    “You were fired from the night shift at Fabrictopia last year? Assaulting a customer? I didn’t know that,” Carly said, tapping her pen on the paper.
    “Ha! Oh yeah… simple misunderstanding,” Scarlet explained, wondering how that information had ended up in her file. “I was