12 Gemma
O n Monday morning, Evelyn asks me to come into her office.
“We’ve managed to secure two couples for the first set of interviews,” she says when I walk in. “With Christmas coming up in a couple weeks, it’d be great if you and Celeste could interview them and submit everything by the next Monday, before the holiday. Things will get undoubtedly tricky to schedule around Christmas, but like I mentioned in my emails, we should be fine as long as we finish all the interviews by mid-January so we can take the rest of the time to edit and transmit for the print edition. Also…”
I tense up. “Also?”
Evelyn glances around and lowers her voice. “It’s not one hundred percent confirmed yet, but Citrine is talking about making ‘Modern Love in Focus’ the cover story for the February issue. They just want to see a draft or two from you and Celeste before they make the final decision.”
My skin buzzes with excitement. My first cover story after seven years of working for the magazine. This is huge.
Back when James and I lived together, we had a stack of printed Horizon issues with his cover stories—because luxury real estate, his focus, apparently brought in more print sales. Meanwhile, most of my work has appeared in the digital edition only, since the magazine only prints stories that the higher-ups believe will be the most profitable.
“By the way,” Evelyn continues. “Speaking of Celeste, you’ve met up with her already, right? Just to make sure you two are on the same page?”
Oh, we’ve met up all right.
“Yes,” I say. That’s the most I can say without giving away anything in my voice.
“And it wasn’t too… awkward?”
I grit my teeth and give Evelyn a forced smile.
“Ah.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Well. Thank you for being willing to work with her. I’ll email you all the details shortly so you can set things up for the first two interviews.”
“Got it, thanks, Evelyn.”
Back at my desk, I read over her email with all the logistics. Most of it is straightforward, and the hardest part is going to be conveying all this information to Celeste.
I start composing a new email message.
From: [email protected]
Subject: First Set of Interviews
Hi, Celeste. Sorry again about what happened over the weekend. We got our first set of interviews…
I stop. I’m being too casual. Since I don’t know how private our work emails are, I can’t risk sounding so suspicious.
I delete everything and try again.
From: [email protected]
Subject: First Set of Interviews
Hi, Celeste. We got our first set of interview assignments. See the below forwarded message from Evelyn for more info. Are you available to do the first set of interviews this week?
Best,
Gem
I delete and rewrite a few sentences. I groan, wondering if I’ll ever be able to communicate normally with Celeste again.
I’m so preoccupied by my predicament that I only realize I wrote “Gem” and not “Gemma” after I hit send. I don’t get much time to dwell on it, though, because Celeste’s response comes in five minutes.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: First Set of Interviews
Yes.
-C
I let out a breath, simultaneously relieved and disappointed by her response. On one hand, since we’re communicating via email, I’m glad Celeste is being succinct and professional. But it also feels weird, especially after what happened last weekend.
I play along, anyway.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: First Set of Interviews
Great, I’ll reach out to the couples we’re interviewing and see what times work best for them.
I woke up in her bed this past weekend, and now she’s barely saying anything in response to my emails , I think.
I let out a small, exasperated laugh before I hit send.
Because the first group consists of college students, both the couples we’re interviewing ask if we can do Friday afternoon, after they get out of their classes for the week. It’s a little tight, but I make it happen.
Luckily, Celeste’s rented studio is close to our office. It’s in the Mission District, away from the tall skyscrapers and surrounded by colorful murals, trendy restaurants, and fancy bakeries.
When I follow Celeste’s emailed directions to the third floor of the building, I’m instantly hit with bright light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The studio is compact yet efficient, with a large open space and a small kitchen near a red-painted staircase. Celeste’s lights, stands, and other equipment are currently set up in the main area, and there’s also a pink tufted sofa for the guests and a sleek white armchair by the cameras for me.
“Hey.”
Celeste comes down the stairs. A high-end DSLR hangs from her neck, and she’s wearing what I know is her usual studio outfit: black cargo pants and a plain white T-shirt. It’s a simple enough outfit, but with the tattoos snaking down her arms, red lipstick, and hair tied back in a perfectly messy bun, she looks breathtakingly artistic and sexy, all at once.
“Hi” is all I manage to say.
She walks ahead of me and holds up one of the audio equipment sets she has laid out on the kitchen table.
“Here, I’ll get you set up.”
Her fingers brush against my bare skin as she mikes me up. I shiver, and not because I’m cold. In fact, I’m suddenly quite the opposite.
Thankfully, the studio door opens, and our first pair, a young white couple wearing matching University of San Francisco sweatshirts, walks in holding hands. Even without the college paraphernalia, both the girl and the guy give off an awkward, nervous energy that makes it obvious they’re in their early twenties, at most.
I wonder if I was also this squirrelly in college, but then I remember the old photo I’d found on Celeste’s Instagram. Yes, yes I was.
“Hi! I’m Sarah, she/her,” says the girl. “Sorry, I hope it’s okay that we’re early. We got out of class sooner than we thought we would.”
“Hey,” I reply. “No problem at all. I’m Gemma Cho from Horizon Magazine . She/her. Thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview.”
“For sure,” the guy replies. “My name is Will, he/him. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake both their hands.
Compared to how icy Celeste was with me, she’s five times warmer—and even bubbly —with the students as she introduces herself and mikes them up.
“I’ll be recording this interview with my video cameras over there,” she says, pointing at the two cameras she has set up in different angles. “While also occasionally snapping photos with this.” She holds up the camera hanging from her neck. “At any given moment, I might be moving around to check on the video cameras or to take photos, so please try your best to ignore me. We’re not doing any photos or videos of people looking directly at the cameras, so do your best not to glance over. Thank you so much!”
Will and Sarah nervously look at each other and nod.
The first interview goes as well as it could. As Celeste quietly walks around behind the cameras, I ask them about how they met (a science GE class during their first year), how they defined the relationship (he asked her to be his girlfriend during a date at the Rose Garden in Golden Gate Park), and their biggest struggles (communication and making time for one another despite their challenging academic and internship loads). Even though they’re young, I also ask them about their advice for other couples (don’t assume that the other person can read your mind) and their hopes and future plans (to get married after graduation and get jobs close to one another).
I wrap up by asking them one last question: “How do you define love?”
Sarah and Will look at each other, their gazes growing soft.
“The warm sunlight after a cold winter,” Sarah says.
“Wow,” Will says, genuinely impressed. “See, you can tell she’s an English major, because that was beautiful. I’m not as good with words, but I will say this. For me, love is Sarah. No one and nothing else.”
“Aw!” Sarah exclaims. “That’s so sweet!”
The two of them make me nostalgic about college, a relatively simple time where my biggest problems were passing a midterm or a final. And of course, a girl named Celeste, who was once the most important person in my life before she seemingly vanished into thin air.
Well, the latter is still one of my problems.
The next couple we have scheduled for the day is queer, with Shriya, a desi lesbian girl, and Case, a nonbinary East Asian individual. Shriya has long, dark hair that directly contrasts with Case’s buzz cut, which is dyed in all shades of the rainbow. Unlike the first couple, they’re not dressed in any college paraphernalia, but they still have the same nervous, youthful energy.
After Celeste gets them set up, I ask them the same questions I asked the first couple. Their answers start similarly to the previous ones, but things diverge when we get to the question about struggles.
“Honestly the biggest challenge for me in terms of our relationship was trying to figure out if they were into me as more than a friend in the first place,” says Shriya. “I didn’t even know they were into girls.”
“And I didn’t know she was into nonbinary people like me,” Case responds with a laugh. “I think what’s also hard is people often think we’re just two friends, instead of a romantic couple.”
“My family also still thinks Case is a girl, even though I’ve told them multiple times that they’re not,” Shriya adds. “It’s always a struggle whenever I go back home.”
When I ask them about their future plans, Case says, “We have no idea how our future will look. Ideally, we’ll stay here since SF is a nice little bubble apart from the rest of the country. I grew up in the Midwest, and it’s so different there.”
“Yeah, I’m figuring things out, too,” says Shriya. “Hopefully we’ll have a better idea when we start applying for jobs.”
They both look at each other and smile in a hopeful way that’s so sweet and familiar, it almost makes me sick.
“One last question,” I say. “How do you two define love?”
“Home,” Shriya says. “You know that saying, home can be another person? Well, that’s the case with me and Case. We accept each other unconditionally, like no one else has ever accepted us.”
“Damn,” says Case. “Definitely that! But also… shit. I don’t have anything substantial to add—wait, I know! Love is being there for each other, no matter what. Ah, sorry, that’s such a stereotypical answer.”
Shriya shrugs. “But it’s so true, though. Like, it’s not just having a crush or thinking someone is hot. It’s sticking together, through thick or thin.”
The sun is on the verge of setting by the time Shriya and Case leave. I stay behind to help Celeste pack up her equipment. And to hopefully thaw some of the ice between us. I want to keep things professional, but that doesn’t mean I want us to be so stiff and uncomfortable around each other.
The warm, cozy vibe of the studio is now gone, the waning light casting long shadows across the large open space. Everything takes on an almost haunted quality in the growing darkness, and Celeste turns on the overhead lights.
She has her back toward me, unplugging and wrapping wires around the studio, when I say, “What did you think about today’s interviews?”
“They were cute,” she replies. “Idealistic and naive, for sure, though. It reminded me of…”
She trails off and meets my eyes, glancing up at me from underneath her long, dark lashes. Just her looking at me like that is enough to make me warm up in places I shouldn’t even be thinking of right now.
“Yeah,” I say. “It made me think of us, too.”
I’d only meant to engage in friendly conversation, but it’s like there’s no middle ground between Celeste and me. One moment, there’s a big wall between us, and the next, my heart’s racing and about to burst.
Celeste takes a step toward me, before clearing her throat and turning away. “So, I’ll see you at the next shoot?”
“Actually,” I say. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime this weekend. With how important this project is, I could use your input as I work on the write-up. For this first one, at least. Just to make sure we’re on the same page about everything. And there’s a couple other things I want to talk about, too. Stuff related to work, of course.”
Celeste cocks her head to the side. A faint smile plays on her lips as she replies, “As long as it’s not anywhere that has alcohol.”
“Yeah no, of course,” I quickly say. “Let’s go somewhere that’s the complete opposite of a bar. Like a coffeehouse.”
“Sounds good. I’m free on Sunday.”