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No references to Marcus.
No references to Maya.
Maya stared at the picture.
Then called her father.
“Do you regret cutting the bag?”
Marcus laughed.
“Hello to you too.”
“Answer.”
He thought.
“Yes.”
Maya was surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because destroying her bag didn’t repair your dress.”
“No.”
“It made me feel powerful for about thirty seconds.”
“And?”
“It gave her something legitimate to accuse me of.”
Maya smiled.
“Also true.”
“And because I don’t want you learning that revenge is the same thing as justice.”
Maya was quiet.
“That sounds very mature.”
“I’m older.”
“You were forty-two.”
“Basically a child.”
“Grandma would disagree.”
Marcus smiled.
Lillian was seventy-six then and still sewing.
“She usually does.”
Maya asked, “Was it satisfying?”
Marcus laughed despite himself.
“Yes.”
“Dad.”
“You asked.”
“That ruins your moral lesson.”
“Life is complicated.”
Maya hung up smiling.
The black bag became a family joke eventually.
Not immediately.
Years later.
Jonathan gave Marcus a cheap plastic purse for his fiftieth birthday with a pair of child-safe scissors attached.
The card said:
FOR HEALTHIER CONFLICT RESOLUTION.
Marcus threw both at him.
Jonathan ducked.
Maya laughed so hard she cried.
There was something almost miraculous about being able to laugh at an object once connected to one of the worst afternoons of her childhood.
That did not mean the afternoon was funny.
It meant the memory had acquired neighbors.
College.
Friends.
Work.
A first terrible apartment.
A first serious boyfriend.
A breakup.
A graduate internship in Copenhagen.
Marcus visiting and complaining European hotel rooms were designed for children.
Lillian teaching Maya to sew properly.
Life.
At twenty-four, Maya opened a small design studio in Boston.
Not fashion.
Furniture and interiors.
She named it Rosewater.
Marcus noticed immediately.
“So you do like Mom’s old collection.”
“I like the name.”
“Liar.”
“It’s branding.”
“Also liar.”
Rosewater Studio’s first successful product was a chair.
Lillian hated that she had been right about chairs.
The upholstery came in multiple colors.
The most popular was pale rose.
Maya called it Camille Pink.
That annoyed her too.
But customers loved it.
At the studio opening, a fashion journalist asked Maya about the pink gown displayed inside a glass case near the entrance.
Maya had decided to borrow it from the museum collection for one night.
The reporter knew the public version.
Camille Brooks designed it.
Her mother completed it.
Maya wore it at fourteen.