6. Willa
CHAPTER SIX
WILLA
M y phone dings right as I decide to lock it inside my computer desk.
Emily and I are the only ones in the studio this morning, so I can’t even blame my employees for my distraction today.
Ironclad focus at work is a superpower I pride myself on, but everything has been stealing my attention.
I take another impulsive peek at the screen as I turn off the sound.
Passport Application Received sits at the top of my inbox, sending a flurry of excitement through me.
I’m actually doing it . This dream of photographing my way through Europe is really happening. All thanks to Trevor …
His stupid smile flashes in my head, and I sneer. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I’ve been working toward this trip ever since he told me to “let it go” at Crystal Beach a few years ago. He planted the seed, and he was righ— Whatthefuck ?
I set my phone on my desk for the umpteenth time, pushing it away for good measure. It’s hazardous to my mental health, clearly . Never in my life have I thought about that man so much. Maybe I’m getting sick .
My phone buzzes again, and it’s in my hands before I realize it.
Ash
Spook Fest tickets just went on sale.
Me
What does that have to do with me?
Ash
Commmme withhhh ussssss! It’ll be fun.
Fun like a punch in the ovary , maybe . I think I’ve officially reached the age where staying my ass at home is more appealing than noise and nonsense. And one-night stands …
Goddammit it . I press my lips together as if I wasn’t just biting the lower one.
It does nothing to stop the memory of Trevor’s tongue mapping my body.
Doesn’t erase the warmth of his hands eclipsing my thighs like I’m some dainty maiden.
Won’t undo the shudder traveling down my spine at the thought of him whispering in my ear— Ugh . Let it fucking go !
It’s been weeks since I lost my mind in San Diego, and those fucking dimples have been a prominent part of my dreams ever since.
I wasted three full days trying to get back into my routine after that night.
It’s pissing me off that I still can’t control my thoughts.
Maybe it’s guilt from blowing him off the morning after, or maybe I was lonelier than I realized .
Either way, I’m sick of the reminder that I let myself get out of control.
Too much followed me home from that trip, including the sand I keep finding in my house. Lesson learned. It won’t happen again.
Me
I’d rather scoot my bare ass over every cactus in Death Valley.
Ash
You’re too young to be this grumpy. Speaking of…
Mom wants to know if you’re coming for Thanksgiving.
Me
Ooh, totally!
Ash
Really?!
Me
HELL NO.
Ash
Please, Wills? It might be different this year.
Me
Golden Child says what?
Ash
Don’t call me that…
Despite the three-year age gap, it’s always been clear my younger sister is the preferred child.
Even our names scream favoritism. Ashlie got the cutesy, popular moniker, while I was saddled with the drab Wilhelmina .
My parents claim it’s a namesake from some distant grand relative—that I should be proud—but I don’t give two shits.
No one gives a child this name unless she’s expected to be holed up in a library with no social life.
Enter me: the shy, chubby genius. Our parents focused on my path to the Ivy Leagues, while remaining adamant about clearing all possible obstacles in my sister’s path.
If she even looked like she would struggle, they jumped to her aid.
But that’s not Ashlie’s fault; she’s had her own issues with them. I’m just in a weird mood.
Sighing, I shoot off an apology and stick my phone in my desk.
That’s my whole reason for this vacation to Europe.
I’m pent up and making bad decisions because of it.
Doing something just for me is long overdue.
I’ve started talking with potential guest photographers for the studio, and already gave a heads-up to TAILA.
Once I replace the money used for the festival, I’ll be ready to pick a date and find accommodations. It’ll be a trip of a lifetime.
“Ms. Willa, can I have some chocolate now?” five-year-old Maddie Johnson asks.
She’s been eyeing the candy bowl since she came in.
Between her afro puffs and the black and purple tutu, I can’t decide which is cuter.
The Johnson family has been coming to me since before she was born.
They’re always the first to schedule a Halloween session, so I’ve gotten to see each one of her adorable costumes through the years.
“Let’s make sure it’s okay with your mom first.”
“Mommy, please ! I smiled in every single picture.”
She did. Even the serious ones feature a toothless vampire-ballerina grin—much different from her usual pout.
Mrs. Johnson nods while her husband chats with my assistant. I slide the candy bowl over, laughing at the elated jumps exploding out of Maddie. Even as an infant, she was full of sass and attitude. It’s always been in the back of my mind that if I ever had a little girl, she’d be exactly the same.
“I’ll get the sneak peeks back in forty-eight hours, but I just have to show you this one. It’s too cute,” I say, whipping the camera strap over my head. As soon as I turn the screen toward Shawna Johnson, she covers a cackle. Maddie took my direction to be “fierce” and went fully vogue.
“She’s obsessed with that new modeling show on NetVids. I keep finding my makeup in her backpack.”
“Ooh! She. Is. Ready.” I snap my fingers with each word, Z formation.
“And then some! Thanks, Willa. We’ll be back for our Christmas card.”
They walk to their car, and my heart nearly explodes when the chocolate-covered kiddo turns and waves at me. I wave back with a smile and head to my desk to edit.
October is officially the start of my holiday family photoshoots, and all the toddlers zooming around my little studio today have been shredding my ovaries.
Watching them grow into their personalities is a bonus that makes my heart squeeze.
The missing teeth, the squeals of happiness, and even the puppy dog eyes when they find my candy bowl make for a fun and rewarding work experience.
Walking back to my desk, I can’t help but feel proud.
Life is exactly how I dreamed it would be.
My client following is steadily growing.
I have employees I can trust. I’m even planning on advancing Cara to a lead photographer position when I go to Europe.
There’s nothing I would change about any part of my life right now, but a break probably should’ve happened a while ago.
I’m comfortable, and now it’s time for me to give over some responsibilities after doing it all for the last several years.
Scrolling through the RAW files from the Kimball’s shoot has my eyes misty.
What the hell ? This is the fifth time today where emotion has tried to leak down my face.
I’m no crier, no matter how attached I get to my clients.
I’d blame PMS, but I just had my period a week ago.
Maybe getting older is turning me into a sap.
You get a minute over thirty-one and everything in your body goes haywire. Another sign I need a break .
My stomach growls as I open my photo editing program. Since my bookings have been back-to-back this afternoon, I’ve eaten nothing except for a granola bar on my drive to work. I just want to get these sneak peeks ready, and then I’ll dig the peanut butter crackers out of my bag.
“Hey, Willa, what’s $92.56 times three?” Emily asks from the front desk.
“$277.68,” I mumble around the stylus hanging out of my mouth.
“Thanks. And what’s $143.00 divided by seven?”
“$20.43, rounded up to the nearest penny.”
“Cool. And $26.50 plus?—”
“Emily, find a calculator.” I reach for my stainless-steel water bottle, and even though I just filled it up, the water tastes tinny already.
“You’re faster than a calculator, though.”
“But I pay you to use a calculator. I’ve had to fiddle with the saturation three times on this photo because of you.” I shake my head like she’s the reason I’ve been distracted all day. Why ’ s it so hot in here ?
“You’re, like, a genius though. I’m trying to work smarter, not harder.”
Rolling my eyes, I focus back on the screen in front of me.
She’s not wrong. I taught myself to read by age three and surpassed everyone in my gifted classes by second grade.
But I didn’t speak much as a child. I’d rather click through grainy photos on the old slide projector or read classic novels than play outside.
Moby Dick was less frustrating than making friends.
My parents were fine with anything that kept me out of their way, so they didn’t see any issues back then.
I learned to hide most of my social problems by leaning into bluntness and sarcasm by the time I reached middle school, but my parents still expected me to play the “studious older daughter” role.
When we moved from Vegas to Fort Bender, I was the perfect overachiever with a 4.
3 GPA. I was a polyglot on the fast track to pre-med during high school.
The only parent-approved extracurriculars were college courses and accounting club.
In their eyes, books and straight A ’s were the only companions I needed.
But when it came time to apply to universities, I couldn’t do it.
It wasn’t what I wanted for myself. Everything I’d worked so hard to achieve was my parents’ dream.
When I gave it all up, they insisted I was throwing my life away and refused to support me in it.
They still don’t. But even after a decade long estrangement, I regret nothing.
I’ll take studio time over organic chemistry any day of the week.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask, more to myself than to Emily.
The AC is running, but I’m still dripping sweat under my arms. My heart’s beating a little fast too.
I pull at the collar of my dress repeatedly, trying to fan my face.
Maybe I’m catching that flu that’s been going around.
One downside of working with young families, they bring chubby cheeks and all their little germs.
“Nope. Thermostat’s where it usually is.”
My stomach rumbles, clearly missing the memo that I have more important things to worry about.
I ignore it, checking the time on the digital wall clock.
Thirty minutes until my last family . Another swig from my water makes me gag, so I set it on the far edge of my desk while working the metal taste out of my mouth.
Edits , Willa . EDITS .
Shifting my attention back to my computer, I get as far as selecting the next file before my stomach gurgles.
My thoughts drift to what food could possibly be in the fridge in the back, which reminds me the Craft family requested a smoky effect in their pictures.
I’ll need to have Emily grab the dry ice out of the freezer a little before they get— Why can’t I fucking focus ?
The sheer volume of my stomach’s revolt gets me out of my chair.
Fine. Whatever. Just a quick snack. And then edits.
I take a step toward the front desk for my bag when black spots dance across my vision.
Swaying briefly, I grab the back of my chair, blinking a few times to clear the haze.
When I try to take another step, my head squeezes tightly, and I reach for my temples.
“You okay, Boss Lady?”
“I—yeah. I’m just dizzy, and I?—”
My knees give out, and I crumple to the floor. The last thing I hear is Emily yelling my name and something clattering to the tiles.