My work. Mydesigns. Becoming a tool someone used to express their true selves.
I still wanted that.
But I also wanted to lie out on a clear night with so many stars in the sky that I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted to watch sunsets in the middle of farmers’ fields with my friends. I wanted to take pictures, of gardens, of cities, of people I loved. I wanted to stop and smell the flowers a little more often.
Problem was, I had no idea how to have it all. Or whether it was even possible.
26
CHOCOLATE, CHURROS, AND HEART-TO-HEARTS
After we finished eating, everyone talked about heading to a lounge of some sort, but I didn’t feel like going, so I made an excuse. Matteo and Gia seemed super enthusiastic, though, so I resigned myself to taking the subway alone back to Scarborough. After saying a quick goodbye, I headed toward the nearest streetcar stop.
But Nilusha called out: “Wait up, Tahira!” She tapped her cane on a nearby light post. “I’m not in the mood to join the others if it means navigating those narrow ‘lounges’ with this. I told everyone I’d see them at the party tomorrow. Want to have that coffee before you head home?”
I wasn’t sure. Nilusha wasn’t annoying me like Gia and Matteo were, probably because she didn’t need to suck up to these people, but she was a part of this whole scene that was getting under my skin today. Still, she was my mentor, and I knew what Mom would say: that an existential career crisis was exactly the stuff you were supposed to talk to your mentor about.
“Okay.”
“C’mon,” Nilusha said, motioning for me to follow her back into the Distillery District. “There is a place over here which has chocolat chaud almost as good as Paris.”
The hot chocolate smelled good. The place was adorbs. Nilusha was as warm, open, and kind as ever. But still. I wanted to go home. Maybe watch Netflix and chill. Maybe stare at those pictures from the sunflower field. Maybe wait for my phone to buzz with a text from Rowan that would never come.
Pretty pathetic.
“Here, share with me,” Nilusha said, holding her plate out to me. “I didn’t realize an order of churros would have so many.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“I miss the patisseries in France so much,” she said, taking a churro for herself. “Didier sent me some pictures of beautiful pâte à choux puffs that were decorated with gold leaf yesterday.”
“Are you still seeing him?” How could they possibly still be together? A nurse in a busy Paris hospital and a Toronto fashion designer were about as far apart as you could get. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their love of pastries.
“No, not technically.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Just friends now. It would be nice to keep someone as steady as him around, but I’m honest with myself. I don’t have the time to devote to a relationship when I’m getting my brand off the ground. It was a holiday fling, like yours with that garden boy.”
A holiday fling. She made it sound so insignificant.
Nilusha tilted her head. “I detected a bit of tension between you and your friend there—what’s her name, Gina?”
“Gia.” I blew out a puff of air, looking at one of the old French chocolate posters on the wall. “What she said was wrong. Therearea lot of cool people in Bakewell. And I wasn’t using Rowan for hits on my social.”
“No, you don’t seem the type.” Nilusha dipped another churro into her single-origin steamed chocolate.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Gia was the type, either. She was all over this guy in Bakewell. Why make it seem to Dasha like there was no onethere of any substance? I mean, I know she can be a bit extra, but I’ve never seen herthatphony. I don’t know why she was acting like that.”
Nilusha tilted her head. “Don’t you?”
“You think she was just trying to be, I don’t know, cool for the cool kids or something?”
Nilusha smiled, shrugging. “This industry brings out the worst in a lot of people. You must have seen that before.”
Of course I had. I’d seen backstabbing when I was working on Yorkville or applying for internships. A girl intentionally spilled foundation on another girl’s dress at the audition for that TV show. And I’d heard stories much worse. People would throw their own grandmother under a bus if it meant they could be a little closer to fame and the limelight.
But I wasn’t like those people. And I didn’t think my friends were, either.
Nilusha sipped her chocolate. “It’s such a shame you and I couldn’t work together this summer. I could have helped you figure out who is genuine. Let me give you a hint...” She leaned in close. “None of us are.”
“That can’t be true. You’re not like that.”
