Well, tonight is also about checking all of Lemonberry’s social media feeds to see what’s happening at the fashion show.
“How did that date go?” my dad asks, and I can’t remember if I’m on twelve postcards or thirteen, so I start over.
“Greg,” Mom says, and I hold my breath for what’s coming next. “Girls don’t like to talk to their dads about dating.”
Considering how much of what my mom has to say is about eliminating delicious foods from your life, this is maybe the smartest thing she’s said in years.
“I thought kids hated it when their parents weren’t involved in their lives,” Dad says, and I laugh.
“Yeah, Dad, that’s what all the kids are sitting around talking about.” But I feel bad for him with this stupid assistant work and his confused expression. “It was good. It was a good date.”
I recount a stack and wrap a rubber band around it before refreshing everything on my computer, which is open next to me on the couch. Photos are up, and I can tell right away from their angles and sharp focus that they’re Jordi’s work. Laine is one of the models, and then there are two other models in Lemonberry dresses who are just as beautiful and well-coiffed. I am doing intern type work for my parents while Jordi is shooting pictures of beautiful women.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Mom says from her computer. I have no idea what she’s working on, but a Word document is up on her screen while Dad and I are counting out our stacks.
“Take a break, Nor,” Dad tells her. “Abby and I can finish this.”
“I might take a walk,” she says. “If you really don’t mind.”
As soon as Mom’s out the door, Dad says “Hey, go check my filing cabinet.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
Dad has this beaten-up gray filing cabinet that looks like it stored death records or something even more depressing in the 1950s. When he left his ad agency job, he loaded it up with his old files “just in case.”
But now it looks like the bottom drawer is full of snacks. “Oh my god. Dad, you’re a hoarder!”
“I’m a proud carbs hoarder,” he says. “Look, I love your mom, and her food, but … a life without Chex Mix? It’s not a life I want.”
I grab a bag of Chex Mix for him and take a bag of Goldfish for myself. “Dad? Seriously, don’t you hate this? Not the food-hoarding, but … being Mom’s assistant? I swear I do more exciting things at my internship, and I’m only seventeen.”
“It’s not always that simple,” Dad says, before scarfing down a few handfuls of Chex Mix. “I liked my job fine, Abby, but it wasn’t my life.”
“What did you want it to be?” I ask. “Like, you weren’t seventeen and dreaming about media planning or whatever, right?”
“Kiddo, my life is your mom and you girls,” he says. “So when it looked like it would be possible for your mom’s career to really expand, I wanted to do anything I could.”
“But didn’t you used to do, like, big things at work?” I ask, even though I’m not entirely sure what Dad’s old job had consisted of. “And now you’re counting postcards.”
“I wasn’t doing big things,” he says. “I was working on spreadsheets and PowerPoint decks, and feeling like more of an order-taker than someone pitching big ideas. If I’d been fulfilled by it, I wouldn’t have left—hell, your mom wouldn’t have wanted me to leave. Believe it or not, I’m much happier now.”
“Oh,” I say, because this all feels like breaking news to me. Could stacking postcards actually somehow be Dad’s life’s work? At least he’s making Mom happy. And I might be far from her biggest fan, but I can’t deny their relationship is sort of admirable. Maybe even romantic, though I don’t want to think about that. I might just feel weak because I’m home alone on a Saturday with my dad and promotional postcards and Goldfish crackers while Jordi’s taking photos of models.
Oh, god, Jordi and models. I refresh my feeds again. There are more photos and, somehow, everyone gets more beautiful. I go back to the postcards. By the time I go to bed, the professional fashion show photos have stopped, and there’s a casual one clearly snapped from someone’s phone. The models are there, but so is Maggie, and so is Jordi. A model’s arm is around Jordi’s shoulders.
Obviously I don’t actually think Jordi is hooking up with a gorgeous older model, but also it is not exactly the best thing to look at when you’re me right now. And then my phone buzzes but it’s just Jax, who seems to be mildly drunk and stuck at a party.
But luckily while I’m working on my blog the next morning, a text arrives from Jordi. are you free today? my family’s making empanadas and they’re insisting i invite you.
Oh my god, I get to hang out with Jordi, meet her family, and eat empanadas? This might be the best day ever.
I get permission from Mom and Dad, and then figure out a casual but cute outfit (my lemon shorts and a blue V-neck with pink sandals) before walking over. Should I be nervous about Jordi’s parents? Yes, they’re insisting I come over, but they don’t trust Jordi after her fire photography. Maybe they’re insanely strict with her. Maybe they don’t even know that Jordi’s gay and just think that I’m some girl she works with. I mean, I am some girl she works with, but what if that’s all they know?
Still, for the first time, I don’t wait at the gate. I walk in and then ring the doorbell.
“Hey.” Jordi opens the door and smiles at me. “Come on in, Abby.”
Jordi’s house is perfect. I don’t mean that in an I like Jordi and therefore this house is perfect to me
