Glitter on His Cuff

My ex-husband is announcing his engagement when the school calls to ask why nobody has picked up our daughter.

Adam's livestream is playing on my phone. Behind him, a waiter carries a cake through a restaurant he once told me we couldn't afford.

"Ms. Bennett?" the school secretary says. "We couldn't reach you over the sewing machine. We couldn't reach Mr. Mercer at all. But Sophie's uncle is here. Daniel Mercer. He's listed as your emergency contact."

I put down the bridesmaid dress I'm hemming.

Daniel's name has been on that form since before the divorce. I kept meaning to change it. Then I kept failing to think of somebody else who would come when called.

Adam's older brother is a billionaire who owns hotels and a software company. On the emergency form, he is simply the uncle who always answers.

"Yes," I say. "He can take her."

Forty minutes later, the bell above my shop door rings. Daniel steps inside with a pink backpack over one shoulder and Sophie beside him.

Sophie slips past me and crawls beneath my cutting table, where I keep crayons for emergencies. At seven, an emergency can be anything from a fever to a disappointing shade of purple.

"Dad forgot," she says.

"I know, baby."

Daniel sets her lunchbox beside my sewing machine. His charcoal suit probably costs more than my industrial serger, but there is silver glitter stuck to his cuff.

"She wanted to finish her card before we left," he says.

I reach for my phone. Three missed calls from Adam have appeared beneath the frozen image of him holding a champagne glass beside his new fiancée.

"I'll call your brother."

"He called me."

"To say thank you?"

Daniel looks at the ivory dress in my lap.

"To ask whether you'd alter Rebecca's wedding gown."

For one full second, the only sound in the shop is Sophie rubbing a blue crayon back and forth under the table.

"Of course he did."

My phone rings again. Adam.

I answer on speaker because I have spent fourteen months refusing to conduct his failures in secret.

"Lucy, before you get angry, the lunch ran long."

"It was dinner by the time your brother collected her."

"I lost track. Rebecca and I wanted to tell everyone at once."

"You told the internet before you told your daughter."

Silence.

Then Rebecca's voice, sweet and distant. "Is Sophie all right?"

"She is now."

Adam clears his throat. "About the dress. Rebecca's designer can't fit her schedule. You're the best person I know, and it could be good exposure."

Exposure is what people offer women when they want skilled work without the inconvenience of respecting them.

"No."

"You haven't heard the timeline."

"I don't need the timeline. I won't alter your fiancée's wedding gown."

"Lucy, can we be adults?"

Daniel does not move. He does not take the phone. He does not tell his brother what I mean.

I smile because anger is easier to control when I give it excellent posture.

"Adults collect their children when they promise to. Pick Sophie up here tomorrow at nine for your weekend. Confirm it in the parenting app."

I end the call.

Under the table, Sophie holds up her card. It shows four people beneath a glitter sun. Me, Sophie, Adam, and a tall figure in a dark suit.

"Uncle Daniel needs a sparkly tie," she says.

"Clearly," Daniel replies.

He crouches, still in his expensive trousers, while she adds a violent pink stripe to his paper chest.

I turn away and begin pinning the bridesmaid hem. Relief can be humiliating when you have gone too long without it.

"Lucy."

I look up.

"Would you prefer that I leave," Daniel asks, "or help you close?"

The question nearly undoes me. Not because it is romantic. Because he asks.

"You can help. Garment bags go on the back rail. Zippers facing left."

He follows the instruction and folds the first bag in half.

"That is a garment bag," I say. "Not a fitted sheet."

"I knew the logistics business would fail me eventually."

He unfolds it without argument.

We close the shop in twelve minutes. Daniel carries two boxes upstairs to the tiny apartment above it, but stops at the landing until I invite him through the door. He checks the child lock on the spare car seat before leaving it with me.

"You keep a car seat?" I ask.

"I bought it when Adam listed me on the school form."

"That was three years ago."

"Sophie was smaller then. This is the second one."

He says it as if replacing an expired car seat is not the sort of detail that can split a tired woman open.

My phone rings again after he leaves. This time it is Nina Park, my closest friend and the only wedding planner who refuses to call a table runner a tablescape.

"I have a real commission," she says. "Six bridesmaids, the bride's reception dress, and custom pieces for both mothers. The wedding is at the Mercer Grand."

I look through the window. Daniel is fastening Sophie's empty car seat into the back of his sedan so he will have it next time.

"Did Daniel arrange this?"

"No. I sent your portfolio three weeks ago. The bride wants a meeting Monday."

"Send me the brief and the budget."

Nina laughs. "That is the least romantic answer possible."

Down on the sidewalk, Daniel glances up at my light.

"Good," I say. "This is business."