Page 171 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I jog downstairs and drop the sack in the rubbish bin. On my way back upstairs, I stop in the kitchen, wondering if it is actually as clean as I think it is. I’ll have to ask Frankie.
But when I walk into my room, she’s not there. “Frankie?”
“In here.”
I follow the sound of her voice through the attached bathroom between my room and Piper’s and stop on the threshold when I see Frankie standing in Piper’s room.
“I haven’t been in here for years,” she says, turning in a slow circle.
“Piper sleeps here now.” I step back. The only time I’ve been in here since Piper moved in is when I put the mannequin thing by her bed. I didn’t scrounge around then. In and out quick.
“Did Piper bring the dress form with her all the way from New York?” Frankie walks to the form and lifts the different fabrics pinned to it, examining them.
“Um, I actually got that for her.”
Still holding a bit of fabric, Frankie sends me a curious look. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
I drop my gaze to the floor and shake my head. It wasn’t thoughtful, but I don’t want to get into it.
“This is stunning.” Frankie is still examining all the fabric. “Piper is really good.”
I take a breath and step inside the room. When Frankie waves me closer, I can’t resist. I’ve wanted to see Piper’s designs.
I’m not disappointed. I’m keen on the colors and patterns and the way Piper’s put them together, but that’s as much as I know. The dress is pretty, but I’m not sure why.
I reckon Frankie senses I’m clueless—she has spent her entire existence with me, after all. She runs her fingers along the top of the dress. “See how she’s combined old denim patches with this quilted cotton bodice?”
I nod, assuming the floral stuff making up the body part of the dress is “quilted cotton.” At least I know what denim is.
“I bet this is all thrifted clothes she’s upcycled.” Frankie’s wide grin encourages me to really study Piper’s work. I want tosee what she’s seeing. “Remember when Piper and I used to go thrifting? She’d repurpose her finds into something better. Even the vintage designer stuff. Piper liked to make everything she wore. It was sort of like making it her own, I guess.”
“She’s good?” I ask.
“She’s better than good. Look how she’s made the stitches noticeable and imperfect. And the little bits of embroidery on the patchwork. I think this is a Japanese technique—I can’t remember the name of it. Honestly, Arch, Piper is going to make a name for herself. I’d wear this.” Frankie fingers the stitched flower design, then glances at the bed and moves there.
I examine Piper’s dress in the making more closely, trying to imagine her in it.
When I glance back at Frankie, she’s slowly turning the thick pages of the sketchbook I’ve seen Piper carrying around. She studies each one, but I stay where I am. Sure, I’ve messed with Piper plenty, but going through her things? That’s too far, even for me.
“These are even better,” Frankie says over her shoulder before tipping her head toward the book, inviting me to look.
Tentatively, I move closer until I can see Piper’s drawings from behind Frankie, which is technicallypeeking, notgoingthrough.
“Check out this patchwork dress.” Frankie points to the page and then to the different textures Piper has labeled.Recycled denim, reclaimed leather, vintage silk.
“Her designs are as good as any designer I’ve seen who is focused on repurposing,” Frankie says next to me.
“I wonder if they’re for Luca Valente.”
Frankie huffs a laugh. “If they are, he’ll take all the credit for them.”
I think I remember him dressing Frankie for a few events. She doesn’t sound like a fan, though.
“What do you mean?” I study the page closer, then give into temptation and flip to a few more, all of which have similar labels.
Frankie stops me from flipping a page to examine a design more closely. “The last dress I wore to the Oscars was a Valente, but the designer he sent to measure and fit me implied that the dress was one of the few things Valente had actually designed in recent years. Apparently, he uses his employees work more than he does his own these days.”
“Is that normal?”
