“It’s just that anyone who saw these would know that I love you,” I say, instead of the truth, and then it—a bigger truth—is just out there. It’s a moment I would have planned for Griffith Park or the Chandelier Tree or even walking the shady sidewalks between our houses. Definitely not sitting at her desk with an open door and a billion photos of me open on the screen and a desperate need to change the subject from my size.
I hadn’t even said the words to myself yet. Not in that order.
Jordi closes out of the photos and sits back from her computer. “I haven’t shown anyone,” she says, and her tone hasn’t warmed at all.
“I mean, Maggie has to think you’re a professional,” I continue. “Not that you just take pictures of your girlfriend. Not just stuff you’d put on Instagram or whatever.”
“I’m glad that’s the quality you think I’ve mastered, Abby,” she says.
“No, no, Jordi, your stuff’s amazing, just, the subject of those, not exactly something you’d want people to see.”
She stands up from her desk.
“I feel like I explain everything badly,” I say.
“You explain everything fine.” Jordi flops back on her bed. I don’t join her because I’m pretty sure she’s mad at me, I don’t want her mom to walk by and get the wrong idea, and also because it hasn’t escaped my notice that she didn’t return my I love you.
“Should I go home?” I ask.
“No.” She sits back up. “Come here.”
“Your mom …”
“She can’t literally expect that the only place we’ll sit is sharing that stupid swivel chair,” she says, and I laugh.
“You know I think you’re amazing,” I say. “Not because we’re together. I think you’re amazing because you’re amazing and take amazing photographs.”
“The word amazing has ceased to have any meaning now,” she says as I sit down next to her. “Thank you. Seriously.”
I lean my head on her shoulder, and she slips her arm around my waist. We still seem to fit together, but I don’t think I’ll ever like the Abby folder as much as she needs me to, and also it’s very possible that Jordi Perez doesn’t love me.
But we of course walk to work together the next morning, and while I expect it’ll feel different, it doesn’t. I love seeing my bag strapped over her shoulder, and I’m wearing my blue pineapple. Henry invited her to see an art show and a few bands play at The Smell downtown, and she shows me the message where he typed bring your pink-haired lady, which makes us both laugh.
“What’s going to happen next year?” I ask. “I mean, next month, really. Whose lunch table are we sitting at? How do people decide that?”
“It’s a new year,” Jordi says. “We’ll start our own. Whoever’s cool can just join us.”
“Ugh, but then I won’t see Maliah at lunch,” I say, and Jordi laughs, and I only feel a little guilty. I don’t know if we’ll all fit together or not, but I’d sort of rather put the responsibility on Maliah than shoulder it all myself.
At work, there’s a new shipment, so I get to work steaming everything while Jordi brainstorms photo ideas, and then once I have one of each style ready, she begins shooting. I get the rest of the stock ready to display before sitting down to survey all our social accounts. Since Maggie’s working in her office, I feel safe pulling up the ModGirl and Timeless Vintage pages to see if my hypothesis continues to hold.
And it does. Their casual photos are doing better, period, and then when they do post sleek professional photos, people react in a different way. I know there are a million factors involved, and we wouldn’t just automatically replicate their success if we copied what they’re doing.
I glance Maggie’s way. She’s flipping through paperwork but doesn’t look stressed or any more frazzled than usual. It seems like there’s finally a breath to take in between the fall line announcement and the upcoming release. Jordi will be occupied with photographs until it’s lunchtime—and even then we’ll probably have to make her stop working for a bit—so it’s a safe time to have this discussion.
One big reason Maggie brought me on is clearly that I know how to handle this. So these sorts of conclusions are exactly what she expects from me, or at least what she hoped for when she called to offer me the internship. I’m not betraying Jordi and I’m not setting aside my own relationship just to get ahead in this contest—it’s not even a contest, for god’s sake! I owe it to Maggie and Lemonberry to do the very best job I can. Also, I think I owe it to myself. Falling in love might be changing my whole life, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t also be working toward my dream career.
“Hey.” Jordi leans into the back room. “What are you doing for lunch? There’s a ton of leftover pozole at my house. And also, no people for once. Christian’s got plans all day.”
I close all the tabs that aren’t
