Love By Design

Chapter 42

Work is starting to feel like work.

Every interaction at Holmes leaves me increasingly exhausted and I feel less and less excited about coming into the studio. I’m restless, but not in a good way, fraying at the edges and unravelling in the worst ways possible.

Commissions feel like a chore, so much so that I’ve had to put Mahalia Made on hiatus. I’m either procrastinating or postponing things, losing interest in starting and even finishing any type of design work. Even pursuing personal projects feels of very little significance to me.

The opposite of love is indifference, people say.

And I’m slowly falling out of something I used to be so passionate about, watching myself nosedive into the indifference.

The sound of the lift whirring echoes down the hall and I hear the lift doors ding open.

“Hallie?”

I feel Gigi’s presence first before I see her, standing by the door of my studio with a hesitant look on her face.

“How are you doing, doll?” she asks, watching as I begin grabbing hangers of clothes from my closet.

“I’m leaving for Switzerland tomorrow morning,” I tell her.

Running away from my problems is probably not the most ideal approach but being in London is far too suffocating.

Everywhere I went, there was a connection to Holmes.

And every little thing reminded me of August.

I open the door to my closet wider, shoving away the assortment of fashion books and reference materials piled up by the floor in front of it. Leaflets and reading resources from my research trip at Cionne catch my eye, causing a sudden lurching in my heart.

“What?” She asks. “Just like that?”

Silently, I nod and watch as she reluctantly steps inside the room.

The current state of my studio is a mess.

Piles of fabric scraps scattered on the floor, partially crumpled sketches and torn design drafts strewn haphazardly across worktables. Unfinished garments that I haven’t touched in months hang from clothing racks and every single mannequin of mine is pinned with half-finished garments from postponed commissioned work.

My worktables are cluttered with spools of thread, fabric swatches and random trimmings and embellishments that I haven’t bothered putting away.

There is nothing controlled about the creative chaos I used to pride myself on. There’s no artistry thriving in the messiness of my design studio.

Opening my closet to retrieve my suitcase, my stomach sinks at the sight of mahogany chests with the logo of the Toussaint Foundry.

I roll my suitcase out of my closet, sidestepping around pattern pieces and templates littering the floor before grabbing an armful of clothes and heading out into the living room.

“What about Holmes?” Gigi asks, trailing behind me.

“I’ll be handing in my notice after Christmas,” I reply.

Hauling the empty luggage on top of the sofa bed, I begin to remove my clothes from the hangers and dump them inside.

“You’re quitting?” She asks in disbelief.

“I requested time off in the meantime,” I say quietly. “But I’ll be leaving in the New Year.”

One by one, I messily fold my clothes to make them fit in the suitcase. Cream-coloured fabric peeks out from the disorderly pile and I pause.

August’s jumper.

My fingers twitch as I tug on the delicate material and pull it out from the pile. It’s soft to the touch but I find no comfort in it like I used to.

Eyes watering, I bite my lip to stop it from quivering.

“I’ve done all the work needed on my end for the regalwear collection,” I say. “I won’t be needed at Holmes anymore.”

Gigi’s eyes flicker to the jumper in my hands.

“Have you spoken to August?”

The question hangs heavy around us, the mention of his name a deadweight on my chest.

“No,” I swallow. “I don’t think he wants to hear from me.”

“That prick,” She seethes, shaking her head.

“It’s not his fault,” My voice sounds oddly distant, hollow to my own ears as I speak. “I told him I didn’t want to involve myself with him.”

I was delusional to think that I actually knew August. Even more so to think that everything that happened between us was more than what it was. In reality, I was nothing more than a fleeting face in the industry.

The latest fad he’s fucking.

A stinging sensation lurches in my chest.

“I thought he liked me,” I say quietly.

I fold his jumper neatly but I don’t put it inside my suitcase.

“Oh, Hallie…” Gigi’s eyes flicker with a sadness.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shake my head. “He was right, Holmes isn’t for me.”

“That’s total fucking bullshit, Mahalia Hartt.”

The frustration in her voice about the situation is evident, I know because I feel it too. I turn towards Gigi who’s looking at me with glossy, dejected eyes.

“Didn’t you also try to dissuade me from joining Holmes?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. “Consider me defected from the fashion frontlines, General Winters.”

Gigi rolls her watery eyes at me. “This is different and you know it.”

There’s a pause between us, my heart beginning to feel heavy.

“I’ve never had to question what I love doing, Gigi.” I say, voice shaking. “Sure, I question myself so many times. Everyone in the industry is far more qualified, far more experienced than I am. My mind is in a state of constant comparison to other people. I question myself a lot but I’ve never had to question my passion. Despite people telling me otherwise, I’ve never had a single doubt on what it is I love to do.”

I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Oh, Hals.” Gigi sighs.

Her gaze is downcast, dark brown eyes brimming with unshed tears as she moves to hug me.

“But lately, it’s all I think about,” I sniffle. “It’s all I feel. The uncertainties that come with the territory. It makes me wonder, who am I doing this for? When am I going to see results? Where am I going with all of this? What am I actually doing?”

Everything is just so… grey again.

But not the kind of grey that melts into silver and provides me with a sense of security whenever I look into them.

It’s an overcasting, cloudy grey— unpredictable, indecisive.

“There’s just so many rules to all of this, I’m struggling to keep up.” I continue. “Being in the industry, being in fashion. Why is it so unnecessarily difficult? Why do things have to be so stupidly complicated? All I want to do is be in my silly little studio, make my silly little clothes and maybe kiss a silly little grey-eyed photographer every now and again.”

Gigi chokes on tear-filled laughter.

“Adulting is fucking hard,” I complain, scrunching my nose tearfully.

There’s a slight tremor in Gigi’s voice as she speaks.

“First of all,” She begins, letting out a shaky breath. “There’s no need to put so much pressure on yourself, Hallie. You’re 22 years old. You’re a baby adult. You’ve been trying to navigate the godforsaken adult world for like, what? Two years? That’s nothing. You’re at potty training stage.”

I burst into a cheerful sob.

“You say that as if we’re not the same age.” I shake my head, wiping my eyes. “I wish I had your brain.”

“I wish I had your heart,” She responds, sniffling. “And your hands. You’re talented, Hals. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You’re good at what you do and other people know it too.

August’s voice rings in my head.

Don’t ever doubt yourself.

I turn to Gigi, giving her a watery smile as I pull her into another hug.

“No crying, Genevieve.”

“I will attend as many of these sorrow soirées with you as I want to.” She dismisses me with a playful eye roll. “Will you be okay? Going back to Switzerland?”

I nod.

“I think a change in scenery would do me good,” I say. “And I really want to see my Mama and Papa. I miss them both, so so much.”

As of this moment, the thought of reuniting with my grandparents is the only thing providing me a sense of comfort and I want nothing more than to be in their company, especially after everything that’s happened.

“If you need anything, I’m here, okay?” Gigi says to me.

“I know.” I smile at her. “Thank you.”

She gives me a reassuring smile before enveloping me in another bone-crushing hug.

“Have a safe flight to Geneva. Send Lola and Lolo my love.”