Anyway, I really do think that when the school year ended, Jordi didn’t quite look so cultured or bad-ass or intimidating. But I’ve never just looked so much at Jordi before.
“What about you, Abby?” Maggie asks, and I manage to remember I’m in the midst of a conversation.
“I don’t know about college yet,” I say, even though part of me feels like it already knows so much. I see myself in New York, or even still here, but downtown and no longer living at home. My parents want me to focus on something serious in college—which is pretty crazy considering Mom makes her living blogging about food—and refuse to believe that fashion can be serious. It’s as though they’ve forgotten binge-watching whole seasons of Project Runway with me while I choked up at all of the emotional moments.
“You have so much time,” Maggie says with a wave of her hand. I wonder how old she is. Honestly, I have no idea how to judge adults’ ages unless they look really visibly old. Maggie’s probably younger than my parents, but by how much, who knows. “Not everyone has to have as much sorted out as Jordi does.”
Oh, no. Jordi must have had such a good answer about college, and I wasn’t even paying attention. I seriously spent most of last year dreaming about making this internship mine, and I actually have it—well, half of it, anyway!—but instead of soaking up as much knowledge as possible or impressing Maggie with my passion and social media savvy, I’m daydreaming. And while daydreaming sounds like a wispy, romantic thing perhaps done by the heroine in a romantic comedy, considering my daydreams aren’t romantic or wispy, I don’t think it counts.
And now I’m literally daydreaming about daydreaming. And all the while, Jordi is sitting next to me, looking serious in her all-black clothes and having some sort of genius answer about her future.
“So I want to be honest with you both,” Maggie says after our waiter takes our drink order. My stomach clenches while I await news of my fate. Our fates, I guess. There are a lot of fates hanging in the balance right now.
“I’m going through a divorce right now, and I feel a little more scattered than usual,” Maggie continues, and I find myself exchanging a split-second look of oh dear god, what do we say now? with Jordi.
At least, that’s what I presume Jordi’s thinking right now, because I definitely am.
“I still want to make sure you two get tons of experience this summer,” Maggie says. “So hopefully everything will be great. Business as usual.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About your divorce, I mean.”
“Me too,” Jordi says, and even though she has one of those vaguely monotone voices, I can hear her sincerity. It’s funny how things like that can be apparent.
“Girls,” Maggie says, and she laughs softly. “I wasn’t telling you to get sympathy. But thank you.”
I’m trying to figure out what to say next, and then I’m surprised when the waiter shows up because I’ve been so busy thinking about a billion other things that I haven’t even considered my order. I just sort of point to something and hand off my menu. Of course, it’s not even mildly concerning that I wasn’t ready to order a bowl of pho (or whatever I just asked for), but I can’t ignore the fact that I feel less and less prepared to get through this day—a day that’s so far included walking through a store, alphabetizing some papers, and ordering lunch for myself. When I’ve pictured myself post-college, no matter what part of the high-stakes fashion world I saw myself in (stylist, editorial director, department store buyer, designer), that part of that world was high stakes.
I firmly believe I can be plus size in the rail-thin world of fashion, but not if I’m also getting flustered about food at a restaurant in my own neighborhood. Why can’t I be more like Jordi, who—despite that she was clearly as surprised by Maggie’s divorce announcement as I was—looks calm and pays attention and probably has more than a vague idea of what she just ordered? I didn’t even know I had this side, this panicky daydreaming Abby who’ll never make it in fashion. How can you go seventeen years on Earth and not know all your sides?
“While we’re being honest,” Maggie says, and I feel a shift in that moment, the way the smell of the air changes right before it rains. “It is true that I normally hire the summer intern on a part-time basis, and while I definitely have enough work for the two of you this summer, I won’t be able to bring both of you on this fall.”
Jordi and I exchange another look. This time, even though I’m pretty sure that we’re again thinking the same thing, it doesn’t feel so united.
“I’m hoping that it’ll sort itself out organically,” Maggie continues. “So let’s not focus on that. I just want to be open with you two. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say quickly. Hopefully it makes me seem agreeable, the kind of person you’d want to hire for a paid job.
“Okay,” Jordi says, and I try not to analyze her exact same barely-a-word response for proof that she handled even that better than I did. I’m seized with the urge to cry, but I push it down because that would be seriously ridiculous.
Still, it’s very hard to ignore that sort itself out organically couldn’t mean anything but one of you will be right for the job and the other very obviously won’t.
CHAPTER 3
After lunch is a redux of before lunch: filing and worrying about Jordi’s high competence level. Unfortunately, I seem to be way more adept at the latter than the former.
Summers are my favorite. They used to be, at least. Summers were when my sister, Rachel, and I were free from
