Chapter 39
Tessa
Itransfer all the garment bags to one arm and push open the main door to Lamont’s brick building.
Turning right for the stairwell, I walk up three flights until I reach our floor.
I take a few deep breaths and wait on the landing in silence.
The walk outside helped, but I still feel weak—hollow, even—after the phone call in Gio’s shop.
When I gather enough fortitude to push the door open, I’m met with the regular hustle and bustle of Lamont. It’s not even a work day, but per usual, nearly everyone is present.
“Hey, Tess!” Shondra waves at me from behind a garment rack.
“Love your shoes,” Brooke compliments from her seat.
“Lamont’s in a mood,” Peyton warns, raising her eyebrows.
My face splits into a lopsided grin as I give everyone a wave. Lamont will always feel familiar, like family, which is why the thought of leaving feels risky. But there’s a certain irony in how quickly someone can outgrow their home, be it work or childhood.
I hang the garments up on Lamont’s personal rack before returning to the junior design team’s shared space.
Peyton turns her chair toward me, giving me her full attention, when I sit down next to her.
I clap my hands together. “So, how are you guys?”
Three very confused, expectant faces stare blink at me.
My brows furrow. “What?”
Peyton snorts. “What? Girl. Milan Fashion Week is what. You know, the thing that you got to go to that none of us did? I’m still mad at you for that, by the way.”
“Tolerable, Tessa.” Shondra sounds exactly like Lamont as she pins me with a look. “Ring any bells?”
I squint at her. “Damn. You’ve really got his voice down now, Shon. Like, it’s shockingly good. I have goosebumps.”
Brooke laughs. “She’s had time to perfect it. Because you’ve been giving us approximately nothing. We’ve had to live vicariously through Esme’s socials.” She sighs. “Her pictures may have been mostly statues and old doors, but at least she posted daily.”
“Unlike someone else we know.” Peyton rolls her chair closer to mine and nudges my shoulder. “A zoomed-in picture of the inside of a fig one day post-show? What’re we supposed to do with that, Tess?”
“I was fine with the fig. It was the picture of the pigeon two days later that made me think she needed to be saved…” Shondra chimes in.
Ah, Giuseppe. I miss that little bird. Doubling over with silent laughter, I manage to get out, “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”
Peyton shakes her head with a smile. “Nah, we’re just happy you’re back.”
“Shit.” Shondra suddenly stands. “I didn’t realize it was already after ten. Brooke and I are presenting to the textile department on trends in less than fifteen minutes. We gotta go.” Brooke hurriedly gathers her things.
“Don’t tell Peyton anything too juicy without us, though!” Shondra calls as they walk out of our space.
Peyton looks at me. “Ignore her. Obviously, I need all of the juice. Extra pulp.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but my smile grows wider. “There’s honestly so much pulp, it’s hard to know where to start.”
“The fashion. It’s always best to start with fashion.”
I try to push thoughts of Giovanni to the back of my mind before launching into a mini fashion week recap, covering all the highlights, from the audience reaction on our appliqué to which brand was the most chaotic backstage.
Peyton is hanging on my every word, and I start to feel guilty about sharing this next part with her.
“So, while I was there… I sort of ran into Simone Santerre.”
Peyton touches her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I must have a raging fever. Because there’s no way you just told me you casually ran into your dream designer.”
I release a happy sigh. “It’s true, and it was amazing.
I emailed her assistant yesterday to schedule a meeting with her next week.
I plan on bringing my portfolio and expressing my interest in working for her house.
It’s not a guarantee, but if something opens up and I get an offer, I’m saying yes. ”
Peyton freezes. “So you’d leave Lamont?”
I shift in my seat and nod.
There’s a beat of silence before— “Oh thank GOD. I thought it was going to take a crane and one very threatening session with my psychic to force you out of here.”
My jaw drops. “You’re not disappointed we won’t work together anymore?”
She snorts. “Girl, I’m leaving, too.”
My eyes widen. “Wait. What?”
“I just… This house isn’t for me. Lamont hasn’t ever and will never appreciate my classic, feminine style. He thinks it’s boring.”
“It’s not bor—”
Peyton shakes her head. “You don’t need to placate me. I never even wanted to design. Fashion just happened to me with my history of modeling. With all the pageants… I mean, you already know.”
I nod, studying her face. Peyton is maybe the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen up close. Her long, thick blonde hair, big sage-colored eyes, and perfect figure by today’s standards made her very popular as a model, even though I know it wasn’t her thing.
I give her arm a supportive squeeze. “So what’s next for you?”
She tugs on the cuff of her preppy sweater. “Don’t freak out, but I think I’m going to move.”
“Where?”
“To northwest Ohio. My grandparents were from there, and we used to visit regularly growing up. I’m craving a change of pace. And I think this city has worn me out.” She gives a soft smile.
I grin, leaning forward in my chair. “Well, from a former Ohio girl to a future Ohio girl, I love this for you. Next time I visit home, I’m driving up to see you.” I pause. “You’ll bloom wherever you go, Peyton Moore.”
We scoot our chairs closer at the same time and wrap each other in a hug.
After a few moments, I pull back. “Wait. What are you going to do about Mr. Actuary Boyfriend, though?”
Peyton looks down and away, suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, we can talk about it another time.”
I don’t want to push, so I give her one last squeeze and get to work.
* * *
By the time I’ve finished my tasks, I’ve accomplished a little work and a lot of missing Gio.
It drizzles on the walk back to my apartment, and on the way, I step directly in a puddle, break a nail while reaching for my favorite lip gloss in my purse, and drop said favorite lip gloss down a sewer grate.
When I arrive at my tiny apartment, damp, tired, and lip-gloss-less, I unlock two of my door locks and jiggle the knob before remembering I have three door locks.
Then, I unlock the last fucking lock, drag myself through the threshold, take one look at the twin bed waiting for me, and immediately video call my mom.
I sigh in relief as soon as her hazel eyes and jet-black hair pop up on the screen. After a long day of drowning in my own emotions, the sight of her is like coming up for fresh air.
She grins, and our cheek dimples match. “Hey, Fashion Fairy.”
“Hey, Mom. I’ve missed you so much. How are—” I stare daggers at the food she just forked in her mouth— “Is that a cinnamon roll?”
She looks almost guilty. Her homemade cinnamon rolls are my favorite. Mom used to make them as a pick-me-up treat the morning after Daniel’s team lost a game, but, unfortunately for me, he’s retired now.
She swallows. “It’s not like you could eat them anyway. Even if you leave now, you won’t make it to Ohio before Roger and I finish the last of them.” Her eyes dart to the side. “Right, Roger?” She looks back at me. “He nodded.”
“Damn. Even Roger is betraying me?” I put a hand on my chest like I’ve been wounded. “Tell him I no longer consent to your wedding. He asked me for permission, you know.”
Roger’s voice echoes in the background. “And he regrets it every day since.”
My jaw drops. “Hey!”
“You can’t blame him, Tessie. You threaten to rescind your permission all the time for the most absurd reasons. The wedding’s already booked and it’s only eighty percent refundable. It’s… What am I saying?” Mom points at me. “Stop distracting me!”
I feign innocence. “What? I’m not distracting you.”
“Yes, you are. I was about to ask why you look like you just lost your favorite lip gloss, and then you started talking about things like cinnamon rolls and Roger—two topics you know I can’t resist!” Her gaze narrows. “Tell me. What’s going on?”
“I did lose my favorite lip gloss,” I mutter. “Down a sewer grate.”
Mom squints. “...an emotional sewer grate? In your mind?”
I shake my head. “No. Sorry. I just…”
Hesitation around Dad as a topic causes me to pause for a moment.
Though we rarely talk about him, Mom’s always been open about the divorce.
She’s never said a bad word about him, even though there are many to be said, and she’s never kept us from him.
It turned out she didn’t need to actively keep us from him, anyway. He kept himself from us—me—just fine.
The idea of telling her about my “relationship” with Dad has been sitting heavy in my chest for weeks. Like I told Gio, I need to reckon with all of this sooner rather than later. I swallow and straighten. “Dad calls me. From time to time. And I’ve… answered.”
I catch a small hint of surprise in Mom’s raised eyebrow, but she says nothing. Instead, she picks up her mug and takes a sip of tea.
Unable to look her in the eye for this next part, I stare at the floor. “But most of our conversations end with him wanting information about Daniel. Daniel’s contact info, if I could invite Daniel to lunch, tickets to alumni events, the like.”
When I brave a glance at my phone, I watch her set down her mug with a frown on her lips. “How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? Not good. I’ve just always been hopeful for some type of a relationship with him. Daniel had years with him, and I guess I wanted to know what it’d be like.” I take a deep breath. “But now I’m worried that my own insecurities with Dad are hurting my relationship with Gio.”
She gives a small shake of her head. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”