“Yeah. I’m not doing anything else. I want to see these ideas of yours.”
I pulled out the sketchbook and laid it open on the chair. Flipping through the pages while holding the phone camera over the book, I explained my vision to her. Her warm praise felt so good.
“This is excellent work,” Nilusha said. “I can see some of this working in Toronto or something.”
“But not here.”
“I don’t know the market there. Hey, what’s that? There’s a flower festival?”
The flyer for the Bakewell Festival of Flowers was still between the pages. I cringed, turning the camera back to me to tell her about the festival, and how obsessed everyone was with it.
“It soundsdarling. I love those country farm places. Last year my girlfriends and I went up to one of those flower farms to take pictures in the lavender fields. You wouldn’t believe how amazing it smelled.”
“Could be around here. It’s all very picturesque, if you’re into that kind of thing.” Obviously, she couldn’t have gone to Wynter’s—Rowan and Leanne would have chased them out with pitchforks for daring to take a picture. I opened the brochure to show Nilusha some of the pictures of the flowers inside.
“OMG...Tahira, zoom closer, will you? I see something interesting.”
I did.
Nilusha laughed in surprise. “Ha! This is amazing! Did you even read the prize for this sculpture competition?”
“Yeah, it’s a trip to New York. That’s why everyone wants to win.”
“Tahira, the prize is a trip to New York to enter the AHA Grand Floral Cup.”
I picked up the flyer and took a look. “What’s that?”
“Hang on, I’m googling this,” Nilusha said. “Your little garden competition feeds into the American Horticultural Association’s biggest annual event.”
“Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“Yes, yes, you are. The Grand Floral Cup is amassivetelevised floral competition that happens in New York every year. Even people thataren’t into flowers pay attention to it. It’s like the Westminster dog show for flowers. Plus,Christopher Chan.”
That got my attention. Christopher Chan, one of the hottest designers in New York right now, had a background as a posh florist or something, but these days he was doing really cool stuff with streetwear. Matteo was always going on about his menswear line. The designer was also an instructor at FIT—and honestly one of the reasons I wanted to go there. “What does Christopher Chan have to do with any of this? I mean, he uses a lot of botanical prints, but—”
“Tahira, he’s a judge in this.”
“Wow. Does that mean ...?”
“Whoever wins this little competition will get to go to New York and meet Christopher Chan. You are aware he’s also on the selection committee for FIT, aren’t you? Hell, even if you don’t win, entering would be amazing. This would stand out, if he saw it on your application.”
“But I’m applying for fashion design, not floral design.”
“Tahira, lesson two for today—design is design. Line, color, form...the principles aren’t that different. Christopher Chan used to be a floral designer, and now he’s one of the top streetwear designers in the world.You need to enter this.I overheard him talking about it during Fashion Week, back when I could still walk. I’d stepped into this teeny tea shop because they had the most beautiful madeleines in the window, and who should be there but Christopher Chan, talking to Eda Meurisse fromVogue. I quickly put on my Fashion Week lanyard and sat at the table next to them, but alas, I’m anobodyto Christopher Chan. He wouldn’t stop talking about this flower competition, though—he sounded obsessed. Oh, I’m stilldreamingof the madeleines. I’m going to ask Didier if they’ll deliver.”
I didn’t even know what a madeleine was. “There’s no way I can enter a garden thing. I don’t know a thing about flowers, and I’mextremely allergic to them. My aesthetic isn’t really naturals, you know? I’m not into flowers or foliage—”
“Adapt, Tahira. Take an antihistamine. Ask your garden-oriented hottie next door to teach you.Design is design.This could be the break you were looking for. Actually, not ‘could be.’ This isChristopher Chan. You must reach for this connection.”
I exhaled. “Okay.”
Flowers. It always came back to bloody flowers around here.
9
A DREAM TEAM IS BORN!
Every instinct in my body told me that entering the Bakewell Bloom flower sculpture competition was a bad idea, but I couldn’t exactly claim Nilusha Bhatt was my mentor if I ignored the first big piece of advice she gave me.
