Maggie’s already in when I arrive at work the next morning, and she greets me by holding her arms out to her sides. Hopefully I’m not supposed to hug her? The gesture is vaguer than she must think.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
Oh, no.
“You were absolutely right about Instagram,” she says. “We had so many new comments and followers since Monday. I can’t believe you didn’t mention it Wednesday.”
Oh, yes, Wednesday, the day I tried not to look at or think about Jordi. That must have taken up more of my brainpower than I’d realized. Why am I letting my professional responsibilities slip by me yet again?
“I’ll chat with Jordi once she’s here, but, yes, absolutely, effective immediately let’s try to post as many candids as possible. Keep checking in with me, but, Abby, this is really in your hands. I’m so impressed with your analysis.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll come up with more today, and we can even schedule things to run when I’m not here, if that helps, and—”
“Absolutely,” she says with a smile. “Really great work. Also, we got the Bella dress in a new print, and I made sure there was an extra in your size for you.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say. “I can’t really afford to get a new dress right now but—”
“It’s a gift.” Maggie digs through a nearby box and pulls out the dress. It’s a tropical old-school floral—something that would fit in at a tiki hut—and even has little hibiscus flowers that match my hair. It couldn’t be more Abby if it tried. “I wanted to guarantee you’d have it.”
“Thank you so much, I—”
Jordi walks into the room and flicks her eyes in my direction for the briefest of moments. “Hi.”
“Jordi, come on back to my office for a moment,” Maggie says, and I realize it’s going to happen now. Jordi will have less to do for Lemonberry, and there’s no way I won’t at least right now seem like a more viable candidate for the fall job.
A more viable candidate? Who even am I?
Jordi walks past me a few moments later. Somehow she seems even smaller than Wednesday when she stood on the sidewalk down the block from her home. “I guess you’re taking pictures now.”
“Just for social media,” I say. “The rest are all for you to do.”
Wait, why am I trying to make her feel better?
She takes her camera out of her bag, hangs her bag on the usual hook, and heads out to the storefront. This is, no contest, a round I won.
But I think back to Jordi’s proposal. Proposal. Now there will definitely be no Ives-Perezes or custom dress made by Maggie or fight between Maliah and Rachel for who would be my maid of honor. Obviously none of those things were guaranteed or in the imminent future, but back then they felt like a dream I wanted to have.
And now the dream is over and, even if I deserved to, I’m the one who violated our terms.
That said, I spend all morning taking pictures until I settle on one of the new Bella dresses with Laine in the corner of the shot. There’s something about her smile that seems to capture her energy. I think of Jordi telling me that taking a photograph means that you can make everyone else see the world the way you do.
I don’t know why, but I walk back and hold out my phone to Jordi. “Do you think it looks okay?”
She looks up from whatever she’s doing in Photoshop. “The framing’s good, the lighting … could be better. Do you want me to show you?”
“I don’t want to interrupt you,” I say. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”
I tell Dad about my work success when I get home because he seems likeliest to be impressed by it. Mom comes in during the midst of our discussion with two hangers that hold two really beautiful dresses I’ve never seen before. For a moment, I’m hopeful, but they’re tiny. These are definitely not for me.
“Abby, I’m so glad you’re home,” she says.
“Abby was just telling me about her big social media triumph at work,” Dad says. “We should get the full household involved in this operation.”
“Greg, not now, this is an emergency,” Mom says with a sigh and then looks back to me. “I’m having photos taken by the LA Times tomorrow morning, and I’m not sure which of these will look better on camera. If either of them even will.”
“The green and white one,” I say. “Your hair will look better against it, and I think the print will be good on camera, not too distracting.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she says. “What’s that?”
“Oh my god, Maggie gave me this,” I say. “I mean, I heard you end up getting something free with the internship, but … I guess I thought it might just be something extra lying around that no one wanted to buy.”
I show Mom the dress but of course I hold my breath that she won’t ruin one of the only good things to happen this week.
“Wow,” she says, which doesn’t sound like the most hopeful of beginnings. “That’s really fun, Abby. The flowers match your hair.”
“I thought the same thing!” I decide to hurry to my room instead of chancing the moment any further. But then I have another smart thought and lean back into the hallway. “Mom? Can I be your stylist?”
She walks down the hallway. “Well, it’s not exactly a full-time job, but, sure.”
Now I definitely have to halt all contact with my mother because there’s no way she won’t somehow screw up before the day ends.
Jax insists on going out for burgers the next day. I’m still really not feeling up for so much
