Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ISABELLE
“And that’s a wrap!” I say to my models and clasp my hands together as we wrap up our final rehearsal. “Thanks again for all your work, everyone. I’m excited for the big day!”
Cheering and applause thunders in the warehouse, and I say goodbye to everyone as they depart.
One of my model’s boyfriend picks her up, and I watch as they embrace, overhearing him tell her that he’s proud of her.
I’m happy for them, but I can’t help the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the heartbreak that’s stitched onto my skin.
It’s been somewhat better during the day, but at night, when I’m in bed with my eyes shut, all the memories of me and Jackson together come floating back.
Somehow, the happier memories hurt more than the one of him ending things with me.
I’ve been dreaming of Jackson most nights, too. Dreaming about him holding me, hugging me, saying sweet nothings to me. It all feels so real, until I wake up alone in my bed and realize it isn’t.
If only there were an easy fix to heartbreak.
I haven’t heard from Jackson since that day at The Daily Brew, and I haven’t reached out to him, either, because I want to give him the space he needs.
But I miss him. Miss his presence, his face, his kisses and hugs, his jokes and just … being with him. I wonder how he’s doing, and I hope he’s okay.
I don’t know whether he’s still coming to my fashion show, but I want to think—or hope—that he’ll show up to support me.
I’m trying to tell myself that our breakup isn’t about me, but rather about him and his current state because of the devastating news that hit him. That maybe he doesn’t really want to end things with me and he’ll come around, like Jen has said.
The more time passes, the more I realize I can’t control other people’s actions, and I have to be okay with that, no matter what. I have to be okay, even if Jackson doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
Over the next few days, I continue pouring myself into work, maintaining a steady routine. Attend my shifts at The Daily Brew. Make clothes and pack orders at home. Prepare for my fashion show.
Business has been booming—which I’m almost scared to admit, in case I jinx myself—and with my growing income, I’ve temporarily hired two seamstresses to help me.
I’ve pulled lots of caffeine-induced late nights and sacrificed my sleep schedule more than I should, but it’s been worth it because this is my dream—and no one can take it from me.
And then finally, after months of designing dresses, planning, organizing, and many moments of doubting myself, the big day is finally here.
My first-ever fashion show.
It’s five thirty p.m., and my models are getting their makeup done while my videographer and photographer are capturing all the magic happening behind-the-scenes preshow.
I’ve been here since after lunch, setting up and getting ready for tonight. Jen’s been helping me, and she’s ducked out now to change into a different outfit.
We’ve transformed a simple warehouse into a functional space for a fashion show.
Rows of plastic chairs are neatly lined up on two sides, creating space for a runway in the center.
Near the back, makeshift makeup stations with small vanity mirrors are set up, and there’s two large tables for finger food and drinks.
Bright, warm lighting illuminates the venue.
Tonight’s attendees are already starting to trickle in. I’m expecting one hundred people because we managed to sell out every ticket. I still can’t believe it, and I’ve refreshed my ticket sales page more times than I should to make sure it’s not just a glitch in the system.
But it’s real. This is all real.
“There she is!”
Turning to the source of the voice, I spot my parents and Ivy approaching me, wearing identical T-shirts that read TEAM ISABELLE with a photo of my face on it.
“Oh my God.” I let out a laugh. “Where’d you get that?”
A small part of me feared my family wouldn’t show up, even though they’d all been supportive in the final lead-up to the day. Mom even circulated my event page to her colleagues, and Ivy asked if I needed any assistance with final preparations.
“Jackson mailed these out to us,” Dad explains.
A tingly feeling permeates my limbs. I haven’t told my parents I’m no longer together with Jackson. “He did? When?”
That’s a sign he has to be coming, right?
“Around back in September,” Dad answers. “He didn’t tell you?”
My ribs grow tight, my heart feeling like it’s shrinking. September was before Jackson broke things off with me.
“No,” I say.
“We’d better take our seats,” Mom says. “It looks like more people are starting to arrive.” She gives me an encouraging nod. “I’m looking forward to the show, Isabelle.”
Ivy gives me a small smile. “This looks really exciting.” She’s looking more like her usual self again compared to the last time I saw her at the coffee shop.
I muster a smile. “Thanks, everyone.”
As my family finds their seats, I grab my clipboard and do a check of everything on my to-do list for the umpteenth time today.
Lighting. Check.
Models. Check.
Speakers and microphone. Check.
Food and drinks. Check.
“Surprise!”
I glance up from my checklist to see a grinning Jen and Aaron walking over, both wearing the same T-shirts my family is sporting.
“Hey.” A smile tugs on my lips. “Did Jackson get you those shirts as well?”
A grin plays on Aaron’s lips. “Sure did.” He glances around. “Is he here yet?”
I bite my lip. “No.”
The event details say to arrive by five fifty p.m., so the show can start at six p.m. sharp.
Aaron and Jen exchange a knowing glance, like they know something I don’t.
“Did he tell you whether he’s coming?” I ask Aaron.
“No, but don’t worry. There’s no way he’s gonna miss this,” Aaron says. “If he doesn’t show up, I’ll put a fake spider in his bed.”
“There’s still time before the show starts,” Jen adds, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he’s just stuck in traffic or something.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, glancing down at the floor. “Maybe.”
Jen pulls me into a warm embrace, her vanilla perfume wrapping around me. “Hey, the show will be so amazing tonight, Belle. You’ve got this.”
“Love you,” I say, feeling less tense. “Thank you for all your help.”
No matter what, I can always count on her to be here for me, and our friendship isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted.
Jen and Aaron find their seats, and my final preparations for the show keep me busy, serving as a distraction from thoughts about Jackson. I run around to check the setup again and then do another check-in with my models to make sure they’re feeling ready and comfortable.
More people start to arrive, and when five fifty p.m. rolls around, most of the seats are full.
Lucy and her family turn up, giving me a smile and wave when they see me.
Then there are my coworkers from The Daily Brew, some former classmates from fashion school, and even Hilary from the Wonderland Marketing Awards, who somehow also bought a ticket and showed up with a date.
But there’s no sign of Jackson.
Time continues ticking, my heart growing heavier with each passing minute.
By five fifty-five p.m., a few other people trickle in—not Jackson.
By five fifty-nine p.m., I’m still waiting for him.
I stare at the empty seat I reserved for him in the front row, a burning sensation forming at the back of my eyes.
We’re not together anymore, so why would he come? I was naive to think he’d maybe still want to support me, even as a friend. Not that I want to be just his friend.
Excited chatter buzzes through the atmosphere, but the one person I want here isn’t.
I blink away the stinging sensation in my eyes. It’s okay. No more waiting, Isabelle.
Even if Jackson doesn’t show up, I’m not going to let that detract from tonight. I’ve worked too hard for this.
Pushing past the pang in my chest, I grab a microphone and walk to the center of the runway, preparing to commence my welcoming address.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar flash of brown hair.
I do a double take, but I’m not imagining things—or him.
It’s Jackson bursting into the venue and shuffling into his seat, looking out of breath, his brown hair disheveled, like he’s run his hand through it several times. He’s holding a bouquet of peonies, a garment bag, and a paper bag, a TEAM ISABELLE shirt fitting perfectly against his broad chest.
The tension drops from my shoulders.
He came. He made it.
Jackson’s gaze locks with mine, unspoken words swimming in his eyes. I’m so sorry.
I give him a small half smile before tapping my microphone and facing the audience. We’ll talk later. For now, the show must start.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming tonight,” I say. “I’m delighted to present to you the latest collection of Designed by Isabelle, called Imperfectly Perfect, which is inspired by my love for florals. Hope you enjoy the show!”
Applause echoes in the warehouse as I step to the side, and pop music blasts through the speakers, an energetic beat bringing the venue to life.
My first model takes the runway, wearing my champagne-gold dress with a design of a Chinese phoenix on the bodice and white flowers sewn throughout the skirt of the dress. There are some oohs and aahs in the audience, and several people grab their phones to take a photo.
And then my second model shows off the same lilac floral dress I wore to the gala, followed by my third model wearing my white floral minidress that was inspired by the cheongsam, and fourth, and so on.
Pride bursts in my chest as I watch everyone rock the runway with their heads held high and shoulders back, wearing the pieces I designed. We’ve rehearsed this so many times, and they’re all crushing it.
It’s surreal to think I was a teenager doodling in math class when I dreamed of hosting a fashion show for the first time, and now it’s happening.
When the show’s over, loud applause thunders through the venue, and I step into the center and bow, feeling like I’m on top of the Empire State Building right now. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I reach for the microphone again, unable to contain the big smile on my face.
“While Perfectly Imperfect was inspired by my love for florals, I chose this name because it reflected the doubts I’d had in myself over the years.
But I’ve learned that there’s no linear pathway to success.
No one’s perfect, and as long as we’re putting our all into something, we deserve to be proud of ourselves.
“To host my first fashion show is a dream come true, and I’m here to say if I can do it, so can you, whether that’s career-wise, a hobby, or a passion project you’ve always wanted to start.
“Thank you all for coming and for sharing this special milestone with me. A huge thank-you to my amazing models, team, and loved ones for their support. Hope you all enjoy the rest of tonight!”
Another round of applause erupts, and I scan the audience, seeing large grins on my family’s and friends’ faces. And Jackson’s face, too.
I did it.
I successfully hosted my first fashion show. Joy traces every inch and corner of my heart, and I know sixteen-year-old Isabelle would be proud of me, too.