Chapter 45
“Okay,” I say on another turn of my studio, “tell me where we are.”
It’s early in the morning, with five days to go until I show at Fashion Week. The pressure is on. The coffee in my hand and the sun spilling through my wall of windows do nothing to calm my crackling nerves.
“Dresses two, seven, thirteen, and eighteen were finished and bagged up yesterday,” Ruby informs me, swiping at her tablet.
Kit was right about me needing help, and he’d already paid for some. After Jamie reviewed my plans and said he was in, he came with reinforcements, bringing Ruby and Catarina along with him. I have an actual team, and while it comes with new stresses, it does mean I can delegate.
“That means dresses one through ten are done, completely.” Catarina crosses off a couple of lines in her notebook. “I have a lineup of models coming through tomorrow, and you can make your final choices.”
“This has to be perfect,” I say for the thousandth time this week. Jamie nods knowingly from one of the dress forms, where he’s working on completing the beading on a bodice.
Ruby and Catarina don’t comment on my neuroses. They’ve seen enough of it by now to know it has nothing to do with them; they do some goddamn amazing work. They keep their heads down and their focus sharp. I love them for it. Where did Jamie find them?
“We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to make your appointment this afternoon,” Catarina keeps going.
He’s not here to see it, but I imagine Kit would be proud I squeezed in some time for self-care in the days leading up to the main event. In addition to going to bed by ten every night, I’ve been building in time for myself during the day. Yesterday, I had my hair done. Tonight, it’s a manicure. Maybe one day I’ll be able to erase his touch from my skin.
My heart throbs with the thought of him. Everything is so raw, still. Even now, I look at the windows and think of him begging me to let him in, to let him know what I need. I wish I’d been better at expressing it that night, or even by our fight before decision day.
Maybe he’d have chosen to stay if I had.
Yesterday, Optimax emailed saying they would cut me a check for damages as soon as a copy of the divorce papers was returned to them. But only with both signatures. Kit hasn’t signed. Or at least, he hasn’t done me a solid and sent the document to the show’s lawyers. It’s one last, tenuous connection to him, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
My eyes fall to his drawing on hotel paper; I taped it to my drafting table after we moved out of our tiny apartment, and I can’t bring myself to remove it.
“Hey,” Jamie acknowledges me when I walk over to observe his work. It’s perfect. Because of course it is.
“Hi.” I force a smile. “Have I told you today that you’re a lifesaver?”
He laughs as he pulls his thread taut. “Only twice.”
I chew on my lip as he threads another bead and tacks it to the bodice.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Stressed,” I admit. That’s another change I’ve made since Kit left. I don’t tell people I’m fine when I’m clearly not.
Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Just about Fashion Week?”
“No.” I grab a metal stool from a few feet away and take a seat next to him. “Have you heard from Kit?”
He offers a kind smile. “We’ve tried to reach him. He’s texted back, so I know he’s alive, but no, we haven’t talked.”
I let out a sigh and tap my fingers against my mug. It’s too much to ask for him to reach out after I sent him an invitation to Fashion Week, right?
“I’m sorry, Andie.” Jamie shakes his head. “I really thought you two were going to make it. We all did.”
I shrug and try to keep my voice from breaking. “Me too.”
Catarina waves a small envelope from across the room. “This came for you.”
Desperate as I am for some word from Kit, I practically run across the studio and snatch it from her fingers. She doesn’t flinch, but she does smile. I hope I can afford to keep her on after the time Kit already paid for runs out.
There’s no return address. I rip open the envelope and pull out the contents. It’s a note card from a hotel in the Florida Keys and a glossy photo of my mom and Jim. They’re swimming in a lagoon in life vests, smiling while they pet a dolphin who’s poking his snout out of the water.
I’ve never seen my mom swimming. It’s such a stupid thought to have now, but growing up, bathing suits were worn to be seen, to draw attention to the best parts of her body. Not for actually swimming.
Frowning, I look at the notecard. It’s one sentence scrawled in my mom’s handwriting: It’s different this time.
Tears nip at the corners of my eyes, and I take in a deep breath, only for it to get snagged in my throat. A tear falls and I wipe it away with the heel of my hand.
The knot in my chest I wished Kit could untangle just loosened another degree. Every seam I stitched together for this line has been doing the work too. I’ve been digging my raw fingertips into the mass of fear and teasing out the truth, little by little. Maybe one day I’ll have solved it completely.
I sniff and read the note again, running my fingers over the words. “It’s different this time.”
“Hmm?” Ruby looks up from her tablet. “Did you say something?”
I shake my head, clearing my throat. “No. Nothing. Except—”
Both women and Jamie look at me expectantly.
Clutching the note and the picture to my chest, I ask them all, “Would it be crazy to attempt just one more design?”