“Chloe, I love you, but you’re a terrible liar.” She pauses. “Listen, I know you’re a little behind on groceries money this month. I’ve seen the fridge. Have you been eating regularly? Real food, not just Ironclad cookies?”
Oh. That kind of question.
“Define ‘regularly,’” I hedge.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I had cereal yesterday! And a banana!” Both true. The cereal was the last of the box and the banana was extremely brown, but still. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a professional event planner living off dog-walking money.”
“It’s called a diversified income stream,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
“You could ask your family?—”
“No.” The word comes out sharp. Too sharp. I try to soften it. “I mean—that’s really sweet of you to suggest. But I can’t. They’re already helping so much! Maya hired me for her wedding! At a discount! That’s incredibly generous!”
“She hired you for a discount and then criticized your work in front of everyone.”
“She’s paying me to do a job, and she wants it done right. That’s reasonable! That’s normal!” I’m smiling again, even though she can’t see me. My face hurts. “Besides, if I ask for money, it’s just…My dad already introduces me as ‘our daughter who’s trying the event planning thing.’Trying. Like it’s a phase. Like I’m not drowning in debt trying to make this work.”
There’s a long silence on Jessa’s end.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing. Just…you matter, Chloe. Your work matters. Maya’s opinion doesn’t define your worth.”
Something in my chest cracks a little at that. “Yeah, well. Tell that to the four clients who rejected me this week.”
“Four?”
“Technically, three rejections and one ghosting, but I’m counting it.” I shake out the napkin again. “I got another email right before the dinner from hell. The couple I was really excited about? The New Year’s Eve wedding?”
I don’t have to pull up the email to remember the headline. I’ve heard enough of them to commit to memory. “‘Thank you, but we’ve decided to go in a different direction.’ Which is corporate speak for ‘You’re not good enough.’”
“That’s not?—”
“It’s okay.” Too bright again. Too cheerful. “Rejection is just redirection! That’s what all the Instagram motivational quotes say. Every no gets me closer to a yes! Growth mindset!”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I’m trying to!” My voice cracks slightly. “I’m really trying, Jess.”
The young couple in the corner booth is laughing about something, feeding each other bites of whatever dessert they’re sharing. They look so happy.
And suddenly I’m thinking about him. The Man I Will Not Mention.
Yeah, that guy. From Barcelona. The one who?—
Nope. He doesn’t deserve space in my brain.
Oh, who am I kidding? I could draw him in detail on my sketchpad. Again.
“You’re still thinking about him,” Jessa says, because she can read my mind.
“No.”
“Chloe.”
