Chapter 7
Tilly
“Let me see what you packed,” Yana says, flopping down on my bed like she owns the place, which, honestly, at this point, she kind of does.
“Why?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean, why? No one in this house knows fashion better than me. I bet you packed nothing but bikinis, shorts, and your five-step morning routine!”
I blink. “Yeah… well, what else do I need? It’s just a three-week trip.” I shrug, trying to sound casual.
All a girl needs for a volleyball tournament is shorts, a couple of swimsuits, sunscreen, and maybe one hoodie for the flight.
“You'd better tell me you’re joking right now.” She gapes at me.
“Enlighten me.” I lean against the headboard.
I was reading a depressing book about a girl and her toxic family when she interrupted me.
Sure, I might have forgotten some things, but it’s no biggie if I did. It’s not like New York doesn’t have a toothbrush.
“Tilly,” she says slowly, like she’s about to drop something very important, “We are going to America for,” she uses her fingers for a dramatic effect. “ Three weeks.”
“Yeah, for a volleyball tournament,” I say cautiously, squinting at her as if she is obsessing over this too much, because she is.
Yana shakes me. “Are you even hearing me? You need makeup in case we go to a fancy event. You need dresses. Clothes. Perfume. Bags. Shoes. Think about New York. California. We won’t spend every hour sweating on sand. We’ll be exploring, eating, and taking photos!
She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks at me seriously. “Sure, it’s a business trip, but we’re lucky. Our work is flexible and not time-consuming. We’re allowed to have fun.”
She is right.
I bite my lip while I think over it.
I seem like a boring, un-girly person when I compare myself to Yana. But in reality, I love to doll up sometimes.
I can remember myself at five walking around in my mom’s makeup and skirts that were basically dresses for me.
I just feel a little less with her around.
It’s not her fault, more like my insecurities talking, but every time I look at Yana, instead of seeing how beautiful she is, I see how not beautiful I am, and I feel like a horrible friend.
“But wouldn’t that take up so much space?” I tell her, still unsure.
“Yeah… that’s why I’m here.” She tosses her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial. “Because, unlike you, I’ve had my whole life to perfect convenient packing.”
I don’t blame her.
I spent my whole life in Australia, and when I moved here, it was only a train ride.
She had to move her whole life to come here.
“Oh Lord help me,” she mutters, unzipping my suitcase like a bomb squad officer defusing a very fragile situation. “Tilly, what the hell is this?” She looks horrified.
“What?” I ask innocently, leaning back like I have no clue what she’s on about.
“I was being sarcastic when I said all you packed was shorts, bikinis, and your five-step makeup routine. Apparently, I was seriously underestimating you!” She looks at me disheartened.
“Well, I packed two books as well.” I scrunch my nose, realizing how bad that sounds.
“You didn’t even pack pajamas, Tills. Not even your pajamas!” Yana throws her hands up and stands up.
“We leave in less than twenty-four hours, and you’re… not even one-third packed according to my packing list!” She waves a very official-looking notebook in my direction.
“Well, I don’t have a packing list, which means I’m always one hundred percent packed.” I joke, then frown when I realize I’m not doing anything to help my case.
“Tilly… you are very, very lucky I am done packing,” she shakes her head in utter dismay.
I follow her to my wardrobe. “Let’s see what we can create.”
Yana dives into my drawers, my hanging clothes, and my shelves. Jackets, shoes, dresses, skirts, jumpers — the bed quickly becomes a table for the huge pile of clothes that I know won’t fit into my suitcase.
“Not enough,” she announces flatly.
“Huh?” I blink, because there’s no way I heard correctly.
“This is not enough outfits for all the events,” she explains, massaging her temples. “We’re going to New York Fashion Week, influencer parties, special dinners, brunches, casual days… you cannot wear the same outfit twice.”
“What?” I ask, genuinely overwhelmed.
“You don’t know what thrifting is?!” Her eyes widen in horror.
“Yana. I might not use eyeshadow in my routine, but I’m still a girl who likes to look good. Of course, I know what thrifting is,” I render, feeling slightly betrayed.
She isn’t trying to make me feel dumb, but the way she dives into her element of expertise always made me feel a little… less.
Less fashionable, less prepared, less like I can handle my own life.
I might not be as precise as Yana, or as effortlessly wild as Zara, but I still care.
I still put effort into my outfits, even if it doesn’t always pay off.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she groans. “Sometimes I forget that being experienced in something doesn’t mean everyone else knows nothing. Forgive me?” She sits down next to me on the bed and hugs me.
“Yeah,” I say, hugging her back. “But don’t make me wear anything I don’t feel comfortable in.”
“I promise.”
“What about Zara? Aren’t you going to help her?”
“Zara is a fashion beast,” Yana says with a laugh. “If I try to tame her, she’ll just look… wrong. She’s already perfect in her own chaos.”
I laugh. “That’s the best description I’ve ever heard anyone give.”
“Now, let’s go thrifting!” Yana grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door, practically skipping.
As we pass the living room, Luca leans against the wall, one leg propped up casually, scrolling on his phone.
I catch his eye, and for a split second, he smiles.
“Hey Luca, how’s packing going?” Yana asks cheerfully, totally oblivious to my inner meltdown.
“Well enough. I don’t need your help,” he replies, eyes never leaving the screen.
We’re all going to different tournaments this time — he and Matt on the boys’ tourney, and Yana, Zara, and I are on the girls’. It feels… weird. For the first time in a while, I won’t have him around constantly. And honestly, part of me is relieved.
“I’m taking Tills on a thrifting spree. She needs some new items. Want to come?” Yana asks.
I know she’s only teasing, because we both know Luca would rather die.
“To be stuck in a dressing room trying on identical shirts? I’ll pass.”
“Your loss. Come on, Tilly-bean, this will be so fun!” Yana practically drags me out the door.
***
Goodwill is absolute chaos. But a fun, messy kind of chaos.
Three hours later, we have barely cleaned out the belt and skirt sections.
“How long are we planning to stay here?” I ask, slightly out of breath.
I am obsessed with everything in our cart, which is a relief. I feel like we are going to Coachella with all the crazy pieces, but New York Fashion Week sounds kinda appropriate for crazy outfits, maybe slightly more fancy than Coachella.
“I don’t know. We don’t have to leave the apartment before two a.m., so let’s go back at six?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“After shopping, I’m thinking coffee and some food?”
“Omg, I found this adorable restaurant last week and still need to check it out.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She pushes the cart to the top section.
I hold up a black off-shoulder jersey with a random number.
“I love this!”
I can see the wheels turning in her head, probably already envisioning the outfit.
“Oh yeah, we are getting this.”
I laugh. “Without you, my outfits would look like… that mannequin over there.” I gesture at a white tub top with light jeans.
“Please. Do you remember what you were wearing three years ago?”
“Yeah, and compared to now… it was kind of boring,” I admit.
“Exactly. Fashion is art,” she tells me, looking at a top that I know she hates. “Just like Zara paints, and you read, I form outfits. You can’t have everything — I can’t paint to save my life, and books make me sleepy.”
We spend another two hours hunting through racks, filling ourselves in.
We talk a lot, because we literally live together, but sometimes I feel like we have a whole life we don’t know about.
We talk at meals, but more often than not, our duties call and take away all the special time.
I am grateful for moments like these when we get to actually talk and spend time together, instead of passing by each other and filling ourselves in when time allows it.
We have this mutual understanding of our situations, which helps with the lack of time, but I’m lucky, because I can’t imagine having a friend in a different field of profession than me.
I would feel so guilty for not being able to spend enough time with them.
With all the practice, training, and travelling, having friends would be impossible.
Which is why I am eternally grateful that I have amazing friends who understand it all and get to do it with me.
Instead of being busy and not being able to hang out, the busy becomes the hangout, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
By the time we make it to the restaurant, I’m exhausted in the best way possible.
Yana orders while I pick out a table next to a large window overlooking the city.
The sunset paints everything a beautiful pink hue, and the pink mixed with the green and beige decor in the restaurant paints a stunning view.
I sit down and take a picture for Zara because I know she will appreciate it.
“This is why you always pick seats, T,” Yana tells me, sitting down across from me.
She takes photos, and I already know they will be posted on her profile by tomorrow.
Social media isn’t my life, but Yana loves it.
“So, tell me, what’s going on?” she asks while putting her phone away.
“Nothing much,” I lie.
I literally hate lying to her, but I just don’t know if I can handle her habit of making things bigger than they are about this.
“What about you?”
She smiles dreamily. “I’ve got three events lined up in America. Content creation is going really well, and I love it. Volleyball is amazing, but this is something I actually see myself doing.”
I nod.
I can see her doing it as well.
I can’t imagine putting my face on socials more than it is already with volleyball, and for that, I do respect Yana.
“And I know you’re lying.”
I look at her, and she narrows her eyes.“You’re not telling me something, T.”
“The world may never know.” I tease, but when she doesn’t look amused, I add, “I promise I’m fine, Yana.”
“None of us is fine, Tilly. That’s the thing about people, they are never fine.” She looks at me seriously and takes my hand in her’s.
“We all have our issues. It makes us human.”
I look out the window. The restaurant is in the mall, and we are pretty high up. I can see thousands of buildings, taller and shorter, and each one filled with people.
So many people, everyone in a different situation right now. In different chapters of their life.
Someone might be celebrating a birth, and someone might be mourning the loss of a loved one.
It’s a bittersweet feeling knowing so many new lives are created will many others are lost.
The same doctor who just lost a life could also be delivering one the same day.
It’s the circle of life, a very messy and beautiful process.
“You know, I am so lucky to have met you.” I turn to Yana. “Millions of people, and we’re still sitting across from each other.”
She smiles. “I think you’re right.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Love you, Yana.”
“Love you too, Tilly-bean.”
I look at her and realize this is a friendship I’m not willing to lose.
“Hey Yana, I–”
The server comes and brings us our food, breaking my confidence boost.
“Thank you.” She tells him as he walks away, and we start eating.
“You were saying?”
“Oh, uh, it was something about the flight, I don’t remember now.”
I meet her eyes and smile, even though I know I’m making things worse.
Be careful, Tilly, this is a dangerous game you’re playing .