Nilusha and I spent the rest of the afternoon dipping churros into hot chocolate and talking about how Rowan and I went from dreadingthe sight of each other to spending hours talking under the stars. She couldn’t really help me figure out what he was thinking or help me decide if I should fight to keep our relationship in Toronto, but this was the first time I’d really told someone how I felt about Rowan, and it was nice to say aloud how much he meant to me.
Nilusha smiled. “He sounds utterly lovely. And now I miss Didier. There is something so affirming about being with someone from outside your industry who still respects your abilities, you know? It’s too bad mine lives in Paris.” She exhaled. “It’s those quiet moments that really feed your soul.” She took a big bite of her churro drenched in chocolate. “That, and chocolate, of course.”
I agreed, licking the chocolate off my fingers.
I eventually headed home, taking the streetcar and then hopping on the subway, and got there as Dad and Samaya were setting the table for dinner. I could hear Mom in the kitchen.
“Hey, I thought you and Mom were going to be out until late tonight.”
“Your mother came home early from Hamilton so she could make you dinner, and I’m officially taking the weekend off. I’ve barely seen my firstborn all summer.” He kissed my forehead. This was really rare—all the Janmohammads at home for dinner.
Mom brought the food to the table. She’d made my favorite, her famous kuku paka—East African chicken in coconut gravy. I poured a big ladleful on top of the basmati rice on my plate.
“So how was the photo shoot today?” Mom asked.
“It was fine.”
“The profile is tomorrow, right?”
I nodded. “I’m meeting Dasha at that gelato place at Queen and Spadina at one.”
“What are you wearing?”
“My black biker jacket with those yellow wide-leg trousers I made.”
Mom nodded. “That would work. Make sure you wear a House of Tahira blouse, too.”
I shrugged.
Dad looked at me carefully. I hadn’t really seen much of him this summer, since it was usually Mom who FaceTimed. It was always harder to hide what I was thinking from him, especially when he was watching me like that. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound excited about this photo shoot today.”
I exhaled. I’d thought about my conversation with Nilusha the whole way home. And about how I would bring it up with Mom and Dad. I took a deep breath. “Guys, what if I don’t go to FIT?”
Mom put her spoon down. “Youwillget into FIT. Your grades are high enough; Sharmin’s been telling me about the success at the store. Even if you didn’t redo Lilybuds, I think it would work to focus your application on the success of the Lily line. You’ll have to do a real deep dive—”
“No, Mom. I’m not saying I won’t get in, but...would you guys be okay if I chosenotto go there? If I went to another school for fashion?”
Samaya whistled the sound of a bomb dropping.
Mom glared at her, then turned to me. “But FIT has always been what you wanted,” she said, straightening her spine to look down at me. “It’s the best fashion school in the world.”
I rubbed my hand. “It’s the best, but the biggest, too. In a new city—a new country, even. I’m just...”
Just what? I wasn’t afraid of not being good enough for New York—that wasn’t it. I didn’t really know how to explain it. All I could think about was how Gia was acting today. Putting others down so she could stand out as a model in a shoot with twenty-five other models.
I tried to smile. “Have you guys ever looked at the stars outside of the city?”
“The stars in New York are pretty much the same as here,” Samaya said. “Same hemisphere.”
“No, I’m talking about out in the country, not New York City. Where there is less light pollution, and you can see hundreds more stars. Thousands.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Remember when we rented that cottage in Muskoka a few years ago? The night skies there were spectacular.”
I smiled. “Bakewell’s like that. It freaked me out at first—I didn’t think it was right for there to be so many stars. But...those stars, they’re here in the city, too; you just can’t see them. Because there is so much else going on, these ridiculously bright things can’t even be seen. That’s what I’m afraid of in New York.”
“But, Tahira, the brightest stars will always be seen,” Mom said. “You have to believe in yourself.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t a low-self-confidence thing. It’s just...the fashion world is cutthroat. I know that with hard work and hustle, I can make a name for myself. But all that hustle—for fame, followers, for bigger platforms—none of that is why I want to be a designer.”
