Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
PHIL
“I know that went well, but I hate that I couldn’t do my part,” I finally manage to say, over an hour after Damian and Griff leave.
“Of course you did your part,” she replies without hesitation. “You designed the dresses! And my top. We had a wildly successful afternoon, and without your input, it would have just been me giving a tour.”
That gets a chuckle out of me. “Maybe, but nobody gives a tour like you. I bet even without my designs, you still would have sold something.”
She flicks my arm with her forefinger. “Like what? A bolt of fabric?”
“Your own designs?” I counter, raising a brow.
We agreed when we started Phallacy that I’d be in charge of design and she’d manage everything else—that was her idea—but I thought she’d still be doing some designing.
She’s good at it, and I always thought she enjoyed it, but it seems like she only designs when I push her, and even then, she usually fobs me off.
“Pfft. Who has time for that?”
Like that.
I don’t have the energy right now to argue with her, so I let it slide and say, “I still wish I could have talked him through the designs. He was completely professional and polite, so I don’t know why my brain had to be a dick about it. Though I think his opinion of me is pretty low now.”
“It’s not,” my loyal champion declares. “The meeting wouldn’t have gone so well if it was. He could have walked out without committing to anything, and instead he wants contracts for two clients.”
Remembering how he looked at me, I’m not sure I agree, but that doesn’t stop the smile that takes over my face. “Daria Keys.”
The little squeal Calla gives says it all. “I’m so excited! Maybe she’ll love the top so much that she’ll want us to do a red-carpet gown for her, and we’ll get to meet her.” Cal’s a fan of Quixotic, and specifically of Daria, who she’s got a massive crush on.
“So we’re agreed that we’ll do it for a pap walk and the music video?” It’s a rhetorical question, but it still needs to be asked.
“Fuck yes. But did you even make a pattern when you made this, or was it trial and error? Do you need to start from scratch, and if so, will you have time?”
I shake my head. “I still have the sketches, I think, but I didn’t make a pattern.
I was using scraps—I just draped it on one of the dress forms and cut it.
Bring it in with you tomorrow, and Shane”—our pattern cutter—“and I will take a look, get something drafted. Most of the work was in the fabric, if I remember right.” I raise a brow at her.
“He said blacks and grays, right? I’ve got a few things in mind, including that funky stretch mesh with the beading that everybody except me hates. Just a few patches of that, especially around the neckline, will really pop under camera lighting.”
“We don’t hate it, we just never want to work with it because it’s a pain in the ass.
” It is stunning, though, and Calla’s right about how good it would look through a camera lens.
Thankfully, working with it will be our chief seamstress’s problem.
I make a mental note to bring poor Heidi some chocolate.
“Noted,” my smart-ass best friend says. “Anyway, I’ll deal with Griff from now on for anything in-person, so don’t worry about that. If you need to talk to him, do it via email or text.”
We’ve had that system in place since we first opened our doors, and it’s been working so far, but this time it really bothers me.
I was so excited about designing for Margaret, and sure, Calla did a great job answering Griff’s questions about the designs, but I wanted to talk him through them.
There are reasons for the choices I made, and I would have loved to explain them.
Just because serendipity is a thing and he picked my favorite of the three options doesn’t mean I didn’t want to tell him why I think it’s the best choice for Margaret.
And if I let Calla handle all the in-person stuff, I’m not going to be able to meet Margaret.
Though, knowing my luck, I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to her, which would be another exercise in frustration and humiliation.
I don’t even know if it’s Griff himself that prevented me from talking today, or just nerves about the whole situation.
Maybe next time I meet him, I’ll be fine?
But what if I try and the same thing happens again?
I don’t want to say all that to Calla—she’s heard it before, and as sympathetic and empathetic as she is, she’ll never completely understand—so I just say, “Yeah,” then change the subject. “Dinner tonight. Are you looking forward to it?”
She grins. “Yep! Blaise said Jordan’s definitely coming, now that he’s back in LA for the off-season. And something about a surprise…. Do you think they’re getting married?”
I shrug. “Probably not. They made that stupid pact about not getting married until either Blaise wins an award or Jordan’s team wins the World Series.” My eyes roll automatically, and Cal snorts.
“God, that was dumb. I mean, I fully believe they’re both going to achieve all that, but it makes getting married into some kind of reward, and the wedding is probably going to end up disappointing them both.”
The laugh bursts out of me. “Wow, Calla. Shady much? I’m telling Blaise you said his wedding is going to be a disappointment.”
“Why?” she asks dryly. “Jordan’s the one who’d be offended. Blaise will just laugh and start plotting.”
She’s got a point there.
Our monthly dinner with whichever of our college friends can make it is one of the highlights of my social life. Which makes it sound like it must be awesome, but only if you don’t know what my social life is like. In a word… empty.
That doesn’t mean the first Thursday of every month isn’t a lot of fun.
The friends I made at college were the first people who didn’t make me feel broken.
They never even asked why I don’t talk much, just accepted that it was part of me and welcomed me into their group.
They protected me from assholes and professors who thought I was pretending so I could…
god, I don’t even know. I never asked for an exemption from anything even though I knew I’d likely get a fail on assignments with an oral component.
Harold even convinced—and helped—me to apply for special accommodations so I could present those components privately to a professor I was comfortable with.
They’re the best people I know, and even five years after college, I can’t imagine my life without them.
And that’s only partly because the group chat is fucking hilarious.
So there’s pep in my step as I walk into the restaurant and spot how full our regular table is. I’m the last one—unusual. My gaze skims over their faces, and I frown as I realize Calla’s not here yet either. Wait, then who’s—
“Polly!” I close the distance between us, grinning, as he stands and grins back. “Hey!”
Another thing I love about my friends? I get hugs.
The jocks surprised me at first by not conforming to the norms of toxic masculinity, but honestly, they give the best hugs.
Sometimes they don’t know their own strength, but I’m never going to complain about someone being so happy to see me that they squeeze me too hard.
“How come you’re more excited to see Polly than me?” a voice whines laughingly, and I extricate myself from an enthusiastic jock hug to get one from a different jock.
“I knew you were coming,” I tell Jordan’s shoulder, where my face is currently smushed. “Polly is a surprise.” And not the wedding-announcement surprise Calla thought it would be.
When Jordan finally lets go, I circle the table and give hugs to Blaise, Harold, Butch, and Xera. “You couldn’t convince Marty to come too?” I ask her, and she shakes her head.
“He couldn’t get away from work. Though after the last time Mom summoned him for a lecture on how he’s wasting his life as an elementary teacher when he could be wasting his life doing a job he hates, he’s seriously thinking about moving back out here.
It wouldn’t stop the lectures, but it’s easier to hear them via voicemail. ”
I wince. I’ve met their mom a total of two times—first at Marty’s graduation, then again last year when Xera and Butch got married—and to say she’s terrifying would be vastly understating it.
I didn’t speak for the rest of the day after meeting her, either time.
Butch likes to say that Xera’s a lot like her mom, only with a heart, and I can see that.
“It would be great if he could come back,” Butch adds. “Then we’d never need to go to Philly at all, and we’d have more reasons to avoid your mom.”
Xera nods. “I did point that out.”
A familiar squeal interrupts us, and I turn in time to see Calla pounce on Brad.
“How come I’m the sloppy seconds here?” Jordan complains, and Blaise slings an arm around his shoulders.
“Because you’re mine first, babe, and they all know it.”
The smile they share is so loving and comfortable that it makes me green with envy.
I want that. To be so comfortable with someone that I never have to doubt how they feel about me.
Sure, Blaise and Jordan had some hiccups in the beginning, but they were young and dumb…
and what they have now is so solid, it survives them living at opposite ends of the country for six—sometimes eight—months of the year. That’s what I aspire to.
Of course, it’s hard to meet the man who’s perfect for me when I can’t always talk to strangers… and don’t like meeting new people. That limits the pool of available options a lot.
Once we’re all sitting and the server’s been over to take drink and appetizer orders, Harold asks, “So, how long are our famous athletes here for this time?”
Jordan and Brad are both Major League ball players—that’s baseball, which I knew nothing about until Blaise met Jordan back in college.
Calla was already a fan of the sport, but the rest of us were the most non-sporty-art-student stereotypes we could manage to be.
Except Xera, whose brother, Marty, played on the same team as the other guys.
We actually met her at the first game we all went to, and she helped us learn baseball so we could be supportive.
Or at least not bored out of our minds. I actually like baseball now, but I had no clue what was happening those first few games.
“I’m back until Spring Training in February,” Jordan declares. “Blaise is super excited about putting up with me lying around the house for that long.”
Blaise elbows him. “He’s got some sponsorship stuff to keep him busy so I don’t murder him.” The look he gives Jordan says clearly that he’s glad to have him back.
Jealousy is a bitch.