Chapter 6
Starting my job at the studio was a maelstrom of introductions, interactions and integration— the three ‘I’s of being an intern, I suppose.
The first week at Holmes consisted of meeting the team, familiarising myself with the responsibilities of the Design Intern role as well as assimilating with various sectors of the company.
I’d spoken to the other members of Design during the application process and it was a relief to find that they are as pleasant in person as they were in my interviews. Pollux, a mid-level designer, has been part of the Holmes team for almost half a decade whilst Estelle has been transferred temporarily from her senior role at Vante to oversee much-needed work until they’ve found someone permanent for the British brand.
With horror stories of working at the company lingering in the back of my mind, I adopted the mindset of expecting the best whilst preparing for the worst.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and, feeling drained after my first week at Holmes, I’ve spent the majority of the day recuperating.
Curling under the duvet, I sink further into the sofa bed comfortably.
The idea of procrastinating the day away sounds tempting but the work I need to do for Mahalia Made has been piling up ever since I started working at Holmes.
“No rest for the wicked,” I let out a loud sigh before getting up.
I’m halfway through reassembling the sleeper sofa in the living room when my phone rings on the coffee table.
“You’re alive.”
The voice of my grandma sighs in relief as I answer the call.
“Hi, Ma.” I respond.
“Ayy, nako.” She clicks her tongue. “Is it really that troublesome to call or send a message to your Papa and I, Lia?”
Swiping through my phone, I tap the video call button and I’m quickly greeted by my grandma’s face on video. Her dark brown eyes blink at the screen, eyebrows furrowed slightly before she sees me and they instantly soften.
“You really should pick up your phone,” I hear my grandpa in the background. “Your Mama has been fussing about you non-stop.”
“Sorry po,” I reply, hoping to mitigate my awful habit of failing to keep in contact with the Tagalog honorific. “I’ve been so busy with work.”
Bright hazel eyes and a beaming smile greet me this time as my grandpa appears on the screen.
“How was your first week at your new job, Lili?” He asks.
My heart warms at the nickname he’s used for me since I was a baby.
“It’s going well, Papa.” I mirror his smile. “Quite hectic though since I’m still in the process of getting used to everything.”
Phone in hand, I walk to my bedroom-turned-design-studio.
“Are they treating you nicely there?” He asks.
“As well as they can,” I reply.
Grabbing a pen and paper to do an inventory check, I make a note of fabrics, threads, zippers, buttons, fasteners and other textile supplies I would need to restock for my commissioned work.
“All the people I’ve met are lovely, so far,” I add.
“Good good.” He nods.
Despite quickly adjusting to new environments, it’s always taken me a bit more time to feel comfortable around new people. Not that I’m shy or hesitant in social situations, I actually like meeting new people and talking to them. I’m just a little clueless when it comes to interpreting social cues and engaging in awkward small talk.
“Make sure you’re eating properly,” My grandma chimes in. “Your Papa and I will send you another care package soon, okay? Berries are back in season so the market will be selling the chocolate-covered cherries you love so much.”
Warmth blooms in my chest.
Even though we’re living in different countries, my grandma is always doing what she can to make sure that she’s taking care of me.
“You don’t have to do that, Ma.” I say, watching as she gives the phone to my grandpa and goes off-camera. “I know the post office is far.”
“Don’t be silly,” I can almost picture my grandma’s dismissive headshake. “Tell her to not be silly, Josef.”
“Don’t be silly, Lili.” My grandpa repeats then adds in a hushed tone. “You know there’s no swaying your Mama.”
“My eyesight might be getting worse but my hearing is still sharp,” She calls out and I couldn’t help but laugh.
On the screen, I watch as my grandpa shakes his head at me before his gaze shifts behind the phone. A soft expression graces his face and it doesn’t take me long to realise that he’s watching my grandma, as he often does, with his kind eyes.
“It would be ideal to see my granddaughter in person before my vision worsens,” My grandma says as she reappears back on the screen. “Your Papa and I miss you.”
I stop my scribbling on the notepad, biting my lip as I stare at the pattern paper on top of the cutting table.
The topic of visiting is something I’ve always distanced myself from. I’m aware that I should make the effort sooner rather than later since I haven’t seen either of my grandparents in person for a really long time but the implications of visiting are always a little more complicated.
Fragmented recollections of Christmas from four years ago re-emerge in my mind.
… wasting her time …
… won’t get anywhere …
… such a disappointment …
My chest tightens as my hand twitches out of anxiousness.
“I miss you both so much,” I reply, quietly. “Once I’m fully settled in my job, I promise to come visit.”
“Good good.” My grandpa returns, joining my grandma on the screen.
The call continues, different conversations going back and forth between us— from my recent endeavours at Holmes and updates about Tito Boy’s to sharing snippets of life in London and my commissioned work at Mahalia Made. Even though my grandparents have very limited knowledge of certain aspects of my life, their willingness to engage in conversation is something that I deeply appreciate.
For the next couple of hours, I found myself speaking to them over the phone and watching as the familiar rooms of the house in Interlaken come into focus. Memories of my childhood spent in the very same spaces tug at my heart and the familiar feeling of homesickness settles in my stomach.
“We’re going to make dinner now, hija.” My grandma smiles warmly at me. “You take care, okay?”
“Of course, Mama.” I return her smile.
“Love you, Lili.”
“Love you both.”
Ending the call, I feel a considerable weight lift from my shoulders. Catching up with my grandparents is always a highlight of my day, especially when it’s been a while since I last spoke to them.
“Hallie!”
The mechanical hum of the lift signals Gigi’s arrival at the flat, her sing-song voice echoing down the hallway.
“In the studio!”
Gigi enters the room, dressed in her usual all-black attire whenever she’s doing ‘off-duty, extra-overtime’ work at MODUE during weekends.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you at all this week,” She states. “How was your first week?”
“I’m settling in well, surprisingly,” I reply. “No unwarranted aggression on the frontlines yet.”
Gigi laughs. “Glad to hear that, sartorial soldier.”
She gives me a mock salute before drooping tiredly over the fluffy bean bag next to my dressmaker dummies.
“I can’t believe they made you work 12-plus hours on a Saturday,” I comment. “With a 5 AM start too.”
“Fashion knows no boundaries,” She sighs. “This weekend was the only time they could schedule the celebrity shoot with Audrey Darlington. The magazine’s been back and forth with her team for months.”
“You’re still covering for Entertainment?”
“Unfortunately,” She nods. “The workload eased up a bit though. Our Editor-at-Large is hybrid working again instead of strictly working from home but staffing is still such an issue.”
“It’s the same problem at Holmes,” I comment. “Design has one member left from its previous team of five. They’ve had to assign a senior designer from Vante to help cover the work for Holmes.”
“How is everyone?”
“All really lovely, actually,” I answer. “Considering there are only three of us at the moment, Pollux and Estelle were both really welcoming. No red flags so far.”
“They’re buttering you up,” Gigi comments teasingly. “But I’m happy your first week went smoothly. I was rushing around London doing coffee runs and delivering magazines to newsstands for my first week at MODUE.”
“I’m anticipating the chaos,” I laugh. “It feels too good to be true right now.”
Gigi rises from the cushioned beanie to head to her room and I follow her out as I walk back to the living room.
“And your photographer paramour?” She calls out from her bedroom. “How is he?”
Plopping down on the armchair, I open up my laptop and go through emails for commission requests.
“I don’t know why you insist on calling him that,” I snort in reply.
Gigi emerges from her bedroom after changing out of her outdoor clothes, settling in her usual workstation by the dining table.
“You won’t stop talking about him,” She laughs, dark brown eyes twinkling. “This is the first time you’ve ever had an inkling of an interest in someone.”
“You’re exaggerating.” I roll my eyes. “I like people. I like everyone.”
“Okay, yes.” Gigi waves a hand, opening her laptop. “Your pan-lover preferences aside, you don’t like-like anyone.”
“Are we suddenly five years old?”
“I’m unquestionably correct and you know it,” She muses. “In the years I’ve known you, you’ve expressed one, singular, solitary—”
“Okay, I get it–”
“—individual instance where you’ve shown the faintest interest beyond platonic attraction in someone. And that was Barista Boy.”
Recalling my mortifyingly helpless infatuation with the full-time barista during during my first year of uni, I cringe.
“He remembered my drink,” I say. “Every single time.”
“As complicated as your venti soy matcha latte with whipped cream, caramel drizzle and all those different syrups is–”
“Every single time,” I interject. “And he asked how I was doing every day.”
“A bare minimum for someone who works in the establishment.”
“He never forgot how to spell my name,” I add.
“The bar is really on the floor, Hals.” Gigi snickers with a knowing look. “You pined over him for months.”
I blush in embarrassment. “I did not pine.”
“You visited the same coffee shop every single day.”
“It was literally opposite our uni building!”
“Not to mention, you wouldn’t even step foot in another café.” She laughs good-naturedly.
“Sue me for being loyal,”I pout. “They don’t make that kind of matcha latte anywhere else.”
“Ah yes, those consumable glittery flakes are truly one of a kind.”
“You liked the edible rose petals in yours!” I huff.
Gigi grins at me teasingly.
“I’m just saying, Hals.” She sing-songs. “I can tell when you’re beginning to like someone.”
A text message coming through lights up my phone and I glance down at the notification curiously.
How was your first week at Holmes?
After breakfast at Tito Boy’s, Jean-Luc and I exchanged numbers.
I didn’t really expect anything to come out of it, thinking he only asked out of politeness, but he’s been messaging me every day since.
Our conversations revolved mainly around our professional lives rather than our personal ones which I’m glad for since I actually have more to talk about the former than the latter. He inquires about my design projects and I reciprocate by asking about his photography and his freelance work.
Good! I type. Everyone’s friendly and surprisingly easy to work with so far. I don’t feel uncomfortable or anything, overall it just feels–
I pause, realising that I’m probably sharing more information than necessary and I promptly delete the entire message.
Good!
I send instead, then cringe at the ridiculously dry reply before attempting to salvage it.
Very productive!Enjoying it so far!How’s freelancing?
I cringe even more at my quadruple texting.
When life gives you scraps, make a quilt.
I snort out loud at his reply, his message reminding me of the project I need to finish for my grandma’s birthday as I begin typing a response.
“Oh honey, you’re down bad,” Gigi smirks.
I blink. “I’m just replying to his messages.”
“Exactly,” She teases. “You never read messages let alone reply to them, you leave me on delivered all the time.”
“I do not,” I protest.
Gigi eyes me curiously. “What’s he like?”
“Tall,” I answer, remembering how he towered over me during our first meeting at Holmes’ exhibition space.
Gigi laughs.
“You have to give me something to work with here, Hallie.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “What does he look like?”
I pause for a moment, reflecting.
“He’s pretty,” I say. “But in a sort of masculine way?”
Jean-Luc wasn’t your typical blond-hair, blue-eyed Parisian Adonis. Certain things about him made him a little more… distinguished. Like his light grey eyes and wavy, blond hair that looks white, almost.
“Like platinum blond?” Gigi scrunches her nose.
“I think it’s natural,” I comment. “His hair looked far too healthy for it to be bleached that light.”
She snorts. “And grey eyes?”
“A10, I swear.” I nod. “The lack of pigment was shocking to the system.”
I contemplate his eyes. The most striking feature about him. So piercing that you can physically feel it when he’s looking at you. I remember the intensity of his gaze whenever he peered over in my direction, both at the studio and the restaurant.
His grey eyes were so focused and intentional, it was almost difficult to maintain eye contact.
Add his sharp nose, defined jawline and high cheekbones into the mix and he’s quite possibly the most intimidatingly beautiful man I’ve ever met in my life.
“Mahalia Hartt!”
“Yes?” I blink.
Gigi’s tone is teasing as her face breaks out into a grin. “Were you daydreaming about your shutterbug sweetheart?”
I roll my eyes, grabbing one of my thimble plushies from the couch and throwing it in her direction. “Absolutely not.”
She catches it, laughing lightly, and I’m about to further retort when my phone dings with a barrage of texts– all from the same person in question.
Gigi eyes my phone knowingly.
“You might not claim to be daydreaming about him,” She grins, throwing the plushie back to me. “But he is definitely thinking about you.”