Chapter 11 Aspen
ASPEN
EARLY APRIL
Senior Year
“Holy fuck, I think I’m going to throw up,” I mutter.
Sage and Arthur exchange worried glances while Sage rubs my back in soothing circles. “They’re all going to love it!” she assures me.
My senior runway showcase is tonight, and I knew that Sarah was coming. She has been the most amazing mentor for the last year, but I had no idea she would be bringing anyone else with her.
I peek my head out the curtain again to confirm what I saw. Sitting front row next to Sarah, is the creative director for Trend magazine, and on her other side is the fashion director of Castle Couture. “What the fuck are they doing here?” I whisper-shout.
“They’re here to see your showcase, duh,” Arthur teases unhelpfully.
“You deserve all the recognition in the world, honey. The show is going to be amazing. This is a good thing!” Sage insists, taking my hands in hers to squeeze tightly.
My internship last summer was better than I could have ever imagined. I learned so much in such a short time, and I even had my first actual girlfriend. Not that it lasted very long.
Anna and I had a great time all summer, but when she came to visit homecoming weekend, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with how close Sage and I were.
She knew that I wasn’t out with my family or at school, and she thought that she would be okay with that, but seeing it in person was harder than she’d expected.
She kept suggesting that Sage was into me, and her jealousy brought out a side of her I hadn’t seen before.
I had planned to finally tell Sage the truth after they met, but Anna and I ended things that weekend, so I didn’t see the point.
But I did have a girlfriend, and it was great while it lasted.
Even if it was only in my New York bubble.
I proved to myself that I could care about someone other than Sage, which was honestly a huge relief.
It helped me come back for our senior year with a renewed appreciation of our friendship without any of the lingering resentment that had started to form the year before.
I think it’s also helped that we haven’t kissed at any parties. Luckily, it hasn’t come up at all, and it’s made having some semblance of boundaries so much easier.
This whole year has been great; socially, I have no complaints, and academically, I completed all the classes necessary for my business minor while also working my ass off to create my senior showcase for my fashion degree.
My Magic Collection turned out exactly as I’d envisioned, and I can’t believe important industry executives are actually going to see it in person.
“Deep breaths,” Sage reminds me, dramatically demonstrating the motion for me to follow.
“Alright, Aspen, it’s showtime,” my professor says, walking up to us and offering me an encouraging smile.
Arthur and Sage hurry to take their seats where they can watch the runway, and I take up my position backstage just before the exit onto the catwalk.
I give a final nod to each model before they walk.
The whole experience is surreal. The collection is made up of wedding dresses, suits, and other outfits fit for someone to wear on their wedding day.
It’s all inspired by the elusive magical straight-out-of-a-fairy-tale feeling that I’m always chasing—the same one I first felt seeing a bride for the first time all those years ago.
I’m very proud of how everything came out, but I have no idea how it will be received.
At the end of the show, my professor introduces me, and I take a bow. At least I hope I do because this whole thing has been sort of an out-of-body experience, and I feel like I’m floating off the stage when it’s finally over. I head back out to the audience when it’s completely done.
“That was incredible!” Sage shouts as she runs up, nearly tackling me with the force of her hug.
I laugh, feeling more grounded than I had been a moment ago, surrounded by her familiar touch and comforting presence.
That is until an unexpected familiar voice cuts in, making my whole body immediately tense. “Can we pose for a photo?” my mother asks.
I had no idea my parents would be here, but here they are, both staring at me expectantly. They’re probably only here for the PR opportunity of the picture, so I should just get it over with.
“Sage, would you mind checking in with the models to see if they need anything from me before they leave? I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” I suggest, and she nods, waving hello to my parents and offering them a smile before heading off.
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” I say as I approach them.
My mother has already spotted Arthur and waved him over to be our photographer.
It’s a role he’s perfected over the years in situations like this; ones where my parents want to pretend to be involved in my life but are actually only concerned with our image.
We pose with practiced, polished smiles in place; the perfect politician and his supportive family. As if.
My mother steps forward to approve the picture, but before I can escape, my father is gripping my elbow, holding me in place.
“I’d like a word before you run off,” he says in a harsh tone that leaves no room for argument.
“I know you wanted to have your fun during college, and we’ve allowed that, but enough's enough. You’re already older than your mother was when we were engaged.
It’s time for you and Arthur to make things official. ”
He might as well have stabbed me. That might have hurt less than his little announcement.
There’s a sharp pain in my chest as I imagine actually marrying Arthur.
I’m only twenty-two, I thought I had more time.
I’m completely frozen in place, in shock at his suggestion.
I don’t think I can actually breathe, let alone formulate a response.
Luckily, Arthur must have overheard, because he steps up next to me, placing a comforting hand on my lower back before speaking up.
“I know engagements were common for people in their early twenties in your generation, but they’re almost unheard of these days,” he comments casually in an overly friendly tone that’s probably meant to distract from the fact that he’s fighting back against my dad’s wishes.
“Thirty is the new twenty,” Arthur adds with a laugh. “We both have so much to accomplish in our careers before we could ever truly think about settling down. That’s why we’ve agreed to regroup then, after we’ve had time to establish ourselves a bit more.”
I know Arthur is just saying all this to get my father to back off, but I hate how true his words sound. Like that’s actually our plan.
“What’s that supposed to mean? If you plan to get married when you’re thirty anyway, why not just get engaged now?” my dad pushes back.
I finally remember how to speak. “I want to be my own person, Father. I want the chance to have a career and find love.”
My dad looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language before barking out a laugh.
Arthur interrupts before he can say anything, though.
“We’re all on the same page here. We don’t want to have any regrets, but we have a plan.
Right, Aspen?” he says pointedly, looking at me.
“If we haven’t found ‘true love’ by the time we’re thirty, we’ll get married to each other, like you and my dad have always wanted,” he says, turning to look at my father.
I know that Arthur and I have joked around about ending up in some sort of lavender, political marriage in the past, but this doesn’t sound like a joke.
This sounds like my future being carefully planned out without any input from me.
His reassurance seems to appease my father for now, and he drops the subject with a curt nod as Sarah and the other industry leaders approach.
So much has happened today that I can barely focus on any one thing.
A part of me is freaking out over the conversation with my father and Arthur, but I have no time to think about what it all really meant.
This showcase was a huge opportunity, and I need to take advantage of the exposure I just received.
I should be grateful Arthur was able to shrug off my dad, and that my father didn’t insist on a shorter timeline.
I won't be thirty for almost eight years.
That’s plenty of time to figure something else out.
“Hello, I’m Amanda, Creative Director at Trend magazine,” the gorgeous intimidating woman says as she offers me her hand. Of course I know exactly who she is, but I shake it and introduce myself. “Thank you so much for coming! I had no idea Sarah would bring anyone; it’s such an honor.”
“Well, she insisted I would want to see the collection for myself, and after seeing the preview you’d sent her, I agreed.”
“Thank you. I know I keep saying that, but I’m not sure what else to say,” I ramble with a nervous laugh. I hope my makeup is hiding how much I’m blushing.
“Listen, we do a spotlight on up-and-coming designers every summer, but we’ve never featured one of our own interns. Why haven’t we done that, Sarah?” she questions, turning to face Sarah as she joins us.
“I guess none of them were as good as Aspen,” she offers with a wink directed at me, and I inhale a sharp breath. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“I came here expecting to talk to you about an entry-level position at the magazine on my team. Sarah’s recommendation was glowing, and I still would like to do that, but I think we should also talk about showcasing this collection in the magazine itself.”
Holy fucking shit.
“Now wait just a second, Amanda,” the man I know to be Henry Newcastle, aka the fashion director of Castle Couture, interrupts. “You can feature her, but she should obviously come work for me, actually designing, not stuck in some boring office,” he teases.
What the actual fuck is happening?
“Yes, yes, Aspen is amazing,” Sarah says with a laugh.
“We all agree, let’s let her enjoy today without pressuring her into anything.
Alright? Obviously, I would love to have you at the magazine, darling,” she says, looking right at me, and I feel my cheeks heat even more than they already were.
“How about we all exchange contact info and we can make formal offers tomorrow?” she asks, looking between Amanda and Henry now.
After an intense few moments of what looks like a staring contest, they both laugh.
I give them the business cards I’m so glad my professor suggested I have today, and they promise to talk soon.
“Huh, I guess your degree wasn’t as frivolous as I’d thought,” my father comments after they’ve walked away, apparently having heard the entire exchange. “If you’re that good, though, you shouldn’t waste years working under other people like they’re suggesting,” he scoffs.
I gawk at his dismissal of what I would consider amazing job offers. “What else would I do?” I ask in disbelief. He obviously doesn’t understand what a big deal either of those positions would be for me.
“Let them advertise in that magazine, get your name out there, and then open your own label,” he says, like it should be obvious. As if it’s so easy to just become a famous designer.
“All the dresses were wedding dresses today, right? Neither of them mentioned anything about weddings,” he points out.
My shoulders deflate as his words sink in.
Shit. Could my dad actually have a point?
I loved my internship last summer, but my dream has never been to work at a magazine, and Castle Couture is a huge name but they don’t have any wedding lines.
“Starting a brand isn’t easy. Even if my showcase blows up after the magazine feature, I would still need huge amounts of capital to fund the necessary steps to actually start my own label,” I state aloud as I try to remain logical about his suggestion.
“That’s my eventual dream, but I would need to create hundreds of each dress to offer as samples to bridal boutiques before I’d ever get an actual order in.
The fabric storage and the skilled labor involved would be very expensive. ”
I was thrilled just moments ago that I had been offered job opportunities. I should focus on that.
My father gives me a questioning look before asking, “You know we have money, right?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, you have money, I have a monthly stipend that wouldn't cover any of that,” I remind him.
“Alright, I’ll invest,” he states, and my jaw drops. “For forty percent equity, I’ll give you the capital you need to do what you just described. I expect a full proposal in my email by Monday.”
He what?
Today can’t be real. My dad doesn’t give a shit about my career. He wants me to be a wife, a mother, not to own a business.
“You can keep the majority of the shares so you don’t worry about losing creative control,” he continues.
“But after the company is profitable, I expect half of the earnings from each dress sold to go back into repaying my initial investment on top of my forty percent. I’ll help you get started, and I’ll get a chunk of the eventual profits. ”
Okay, he’s after money. That makes more sense.
Fuck. Does that mean he actually believes in me, though?
If he thinks I’ll be profitable enough to repay his investment…
My father is not the “support my daughter at any costs” kind of parent.
So if he’s endorsing me, it’s purely from a business standpoint.
Not because he wants me to follow my dreams.
But that’s almost more encouraging in this moment. If he thinks I could really be that successful, maybe I should go for it.
He’s offering me my dream. One I didn’t think I could have for years and years.
Am I brave enough to take it?
I’m not thrilled about giving him any more control over my life, but he already has so much financial control over me now anyway.
What’s a bit more?