We have so much to do anyway. The fall line actually hits the store in mid-August, so we’re already accepting pre-orders. Jordi and I are both spending time tracking the dresses selling best and relaying the info back to Maggie. But Maggie’s less available than usual, as launching this season’s looks is a bit more important than carefully tallying the interns’ contributions.
Though maybe that means the tally’s already been finalized, and I’m being way too quiet, for once, for my own good.
With Jordi using most of her free time getting her photography show ready, my summer hangout place has switched from Trevor’s backyard to the Perez house. Which, obviously, is more than okay with me. Maliah’s mentioned my absence a bit, but I can’t imagine she minds. Inviting me was an easy way to include me but as long as she’s with Trevor, would she miss me much?
Obviously, I miss how things used to be, even if there isn’t much I enjoy more than hanging out in the same place as my girlfriend. When we were little, best friends could be your everything. So I don’t even always know if it’s Maliah I’m missing. Maybe it’s the time in my life before I knew that wouldn’t always be the case, before boyfriends and girlfriends and arson rumors.
I’ve gotten back into updating my blog more often, as Jordi’s productivity is a bit contagious. Researching posts does take a while, from visiting online stores and other fashion blogs to compiling a selection on a theme, to putting it all together in a way that looks interesting and not like I just listed out a bunch of preexisting stuff. Whenever I schedule or post my latest, my brain feels nice and exhausted.
Then I think about scientists working to, I don’t know, cure cancer, and I feel silly. And I’m only spending some of my time doing that anyway. Christian forced me to learn to play The Last Guardian with him, and I’m slowly making my way through an epic book involving dragons because he wants to discuss it with someone and Jordi’s too busy.
I’d never really pictured myself dating anyone, it’s true, but I guess I still had this little corner in my mind tucked away even from myself about what it would be like anyway. Maybe you can’t help but lock away a little hope, no matter how improbable that possibility might be. Dates and kissing and love.
But then there’s also this. Being happy to know someone’s working one room away from you. Hanging out with their little brother because he’s somehow part of your world now, too. Knowing where the glasses are in the cupboard and that the water on the door of the fridge isn’t as cold as the Brita pitcher inside it. It’s funny how I feel romance in all of it.
I feel Jordi in my whole summer.
“Hey.” Jordi walks into the living room while I’m leaving comments on a few other blogs and Christian is reading a long dragon novel I assume I might have to read next. “Are you bored?”
“I’m not … not bored,” I say, and she laughs.
“Come on,” she says, and I follow her into her room.
“Do I get to see your show pictures?” I sit down on the swivel chair at her desk. “Have you picked them all by now? How many are you showing? Are they printed yet?”
“Abby.” She squeezes in next to me and takes my hand off the touchpad. “I love your questions but …”
“Not now?”
She smiles. “One at a time, at least. I know what I’m showing. They’re being printed now. And you can see them at the show.”
“Has anyone seen them?” I ask.
“You’ve seen plenty of the photos,” she says. “But not in this arrangement. I just want everyone to see them together. If you want to just look at more photos in general, obviously they’re all here.”
I look at the multitude of folders in the window onscreen. They’re in alphabetical order, and the first one is abby.
“Wait, so all the photos of me are in one folder?” I’m not sure why that makes it more overwhelming than the photos existing in different folders, but it does. It’s a lot of Abby, all together.
“I have things organized a few different ways,” Jordi says, scrolling around in the main photography drive. “But, yeah, I have an Abby folder. It’s one of my favorites.”
I don’t ask, so I’m relieved that she clicks on it, because not knowing is weirder than being confronted with what feels like a million pictures of myself. But I’ve gotten used to it—even if it’s been in piecemeal before—and so I don’t hate it.
“You’re quiet,” Jordi says, still scrolling.
“It’s a weird experience,” I say. “Seeing so much of me. Seeing me like you see me. It’s still kind of foreign.”
“So much of you,” Jordi says with a laugh. “You make it sound like I’m taking naked pictures of you.”
I blush and she looks away, and if that’s not enough, suddenly Mrs. Perez is home and in the doorway.
“Are you two okay in here?” she asks. “Anyone need a beverage refill?”
“We’re fine, Mom,” Jordi says, and I nudge her knee with mine because obviously parents only check in on your beverages to make sure you aren’t making out. There are plenty of moments where it’s hard keeping my hands off Jordi, but open doors and proximate family members are pretty much guaranteed mood-killers for me. But I don’t think it would be helpful sharing that with Mrs. Perez.
“You haven’t shown anyone these, have you?” I ask as the photos of me continue. I learn what I look like midlaugh.
“Like my mom?” she asks.
“No, just … anyone. When you submitted stuff to get your show at Pehrspace or showing Maggie your work or anything.”
She tilts her head at me. “Why?”
Her tone is cooler than I want it to be.
“Just …” I consider my words carefully.
