I force a smile. “No, it’s not all people my age. I’m going to get some coffee.”
It feels safe in the back. I’ll have at least a few moments before Jordi could reach this room and I have to see her again. I don’t understand how I could ever again see her eyes, her neck, the way her hands are so delicate but hold her camera with all the world’s strength.
I guess a small part of me always knew we might not last forever. I might not get my happily ever after. But in these worst-case scenarios, it was always the job that would end us.
Somehow, I never saw this coming.
“Hey, Abby.” Maggie walks into the room with a coffee carrier full with cups. “I needed caffeine before I made it in, and I thought everyone might appreciate something better than my sad old coffeemaker’s best efforts.”
“Oh, thanks.” I take a cup from her. “That was really nice.”
“It’s too bad about Jordi,” she says.
What? “What?”
“I hate being sick during the summer,” she continues. “The worst.”
“So she’s out all day?” I ask.
“She is, sorry. Want to sit with me to think about this week’s orders?”
Of course I do, and by the time we’re debating if cardigans will keep selling as well as they have been, I feel a little more like myself again. Maggie even takes my advice on which print of a dress to order. And then I tweet how excited we are about our upcoming orders, and people start asking nearly immediately what we’re getting in.
And then I realize this is the perfect time to bring it up.
“Um, so of course Jordi’s photos are amazing,” I say. “She’s really talented. But when you look at a lot of really successful Instagram accounts, like corporate ones?”
“Oh god.” Maggie laughs. “Am I corporate?”
“Well, you know. Not personal accounts. Anyway, they still post things that look a little …” I shrug. “Amateur? Maybe that’s not the right word. But not like something you’d see in a fashion shoot or an official lookbook.”
Maggie nods. “I get what you’re saying. Like something you’d take with your phone.”
“Exactly. And maybe since Jordi’s sick today, I could try something? Just to see if it makes a difference. And if it doesn’t, I’ll delete it.”
“Sure. Just let me see it first. I don’t want it to look too amateur.”
Maybe I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’m a little afraid that too amateur is all I can manage. But after lunch (Mom’s leftovers because my life isn’t sad enough) I try a bunch of different shots and finally settle on one of the jewelry display case with a caption about the current sale.
“Is this okay?” I bring my phone back to Maggie and let her review it. This is the most I’ve pushed myself to fully do what I think I’m good at here, but I try not to imbue this moment with too much meaning.
But luckily Maggie nods her approval, so I post. I’m not sure how much of a betrayal it really is; I should have brought this up a while ago, but I didn’t even want to chance hurting Jordi. It’s not as if Maggie won’t still need photos of clothes for the web site and a million other promotional things, though. But if my assessment is right, I was smarter about this, and it’ll be quantifiably certifiable. Sure, Jordi could switch from her fancy camera to her iPhone, but would she know what works best for the brand? Would she know just how to phrase a post about new styles?
Seriously, she can’t have done what she did and get the job. My heart can’t take it.
“Abby?” Laine leans into the back room. “You have a friend out here.”
I walk up front and find Jax examining a rack of crinoline skirts.
“What the hell are these?” he asks. “Old-fashioned underwear?”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be in San Francisco?”
“I just got back and thought I’d see how you’re holding up.” He looks me over. “You seem okay. Not your best, not your worst.”
I don’t even want to know when Jax saw me looking worse than two and a half days out from my only breakup.
“When do you get off?” he asks. “Let’s get fucked up and talk shit about crazy girls.”
“That sounds terrible. Can we just do the opposite of that?”
“I have no idea what that would be, but, sure. Anything you want, Abbs.”
We end up going to Patio Burgers because Jax says his dad is getting anxious about the app. I wonder how this would even work if Jax hadn’t teamed up with the daughter of someone currently anxious about a cookbook. I feel like most people have parents who worry about normal things.
“I’m pissed because you’re pissed,” Jax says. “But I don’t think it sounds that bad.”
“Are you serious? It was the worst. It was the hugest violation.”
“She wasn’t taking secret nannycam pics of you or whatnot,” he says. “Right? Every time I saw that girl she had a camera pointed at something. Usually you.”
“But I thought that was private,” I say. “Just for her.”
Jax shrugs. “Feels like the danger of going out with a photographer. You date Taylor Swift, she writes a mean song about you. You date Jordi, your picture’s gonna be on a wall in some gallery.”
“First, you have to accept that you’re never, ever going to date Taylor Swift,” I say. “Second, no. People shouldn’t assume you’re a public person just because they are.”
“Have you talked to her?” he asks.
“No, and I’m not going to,” I say. “It’s bad enough I’ll have to see her at the store on Wednesday. Luckily she faked sick today.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells me. “I see Tina Pang plenty, and she broke my goddamn heart.”
“I have no idea who that is,” I say. “But it’s interesting you have a heart to be broken.”
“Had a heart,” he says with
