“One thousand percent no. I can only take so much in one minivan trip.”
“That’s fair,” my sister says. “Now, back to your game plan moving forward. What is it?”
I take another cleansing breath and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I guess I have to come up with a whole new collection without any money to do it. I spent almost my entire budget on fabric I bought in Rome. Any chance a rich relative we never knew remembered me in their will while I was away?”
My sister gives me a small smile and takes a second before replying. “If you need money, you know I can help you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t let you do that. I’m already staying at your house. I can earn it, though. Maybe I can babysit or something?”
“Are you serious?” Daniella asks with a flash of desperation in her eyes. “Like, how often can you babysit? And when can you start?”
“Well, I’m not going back to work at the restaurant until next month, so I can probably watch them during most of my off hours when I’m not designing or at school. Maybe early in the morning and then later again in the evening? I can get the kids ready before camp and daycare, drop them off and then help with dinner and bed when I get home?”
And as simple as that, I’m no longer the only person with tears in their eyes in this minivan. Daniella’s tears are the happy kind as she heartily nods.
“Yes. I accept that offer. And yes, I will pay you so, so much money.”
“It doesn’t have to be exorbitant,” I tell her, growing a little concerned over her enthusiasm. “We can just do whatever’s fair.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a babysitter around here?” she asks. “Let me tell you, it is cutthroat. If one of the moms in Jayden’s grade even caught a whiff of you, they’d immediately offer to pay you in gold, give you full medical and dental, and throw in a night with their husbands to sweeten the pot.”
“Ew,” I say with a shudder. “Just working for you will be great.”
Daniella is still basking in her soon-to-be freedom that’s now within her grasp.
“You know, since Jayden was born, I’ve had this fantasy where I wake up really early in the morning, I sit up in bed and I think about everything I have to do, but then I just lie back down, and I don’t do it. I kick Calvin out of bed, I lock the door to our room and I listen to the chaos ensuing on the other side. I’d listen to it for a few seconds and then I’d put on headphones and go back to sleep. I feel like now that you’re watching them, I can finally live out that fantasy.”
I place my hand on top of Daniella’s as it sits on the center console.
“How does that fantasy sound completely reasonable yet also deeply scary at the same time?”
“Probably because it is.”
I nod. “In that case, I’m glad I can help you make it come true. And thank you for the tough love, by the way. I needed it.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Daniella says, putting her other hand on top of mine and giving it a pat. “But seriously, though. Are you open to watching the kids today or is this a tomorrow kind of thing?”
My nonanswer is answer enough, and Daniella nods in acceptance as she starts the car up once again.
“Can’t blame me for trying,” she mutters.
An hour later I’ve arrived at Daniella’s house and after spending some time with the kids, I’m sitting on the guest room bed, which has now become my new room slash design studio. It’s pretty and gets a lot of natural light, and even though there’s a huge exercise bike in the corner, Daniella promised to have Calvin move it out tomorrow to make room for my sewing machine and my dress form.
I’m struck again with just how lucky I am to be here. Not everyone would allow their struggling younger sibling to stay with them, and I intend to prove to Daniella just how grateful I am every day that I’m here. I’m going to Mary Poppins the hell out of this place.
Eyeing my suitcase sitting on the bed beside me, I drag it in front of my crossed legs and swing it open. My clothes are a mess. I packed and behaved like a toddler and the more I think back on it, the more remorseful I am. Matt put up a good performance the next day when his mom insisted that he say goodbye to the three of us. And by good performance, I mean he shook my hand and bid me a safe flight like if he never saw me again, it would be too soon. That’s exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it?
Doing my best to compartmentalize that question and memory, I pull one of my sketchbooks out of the suitcase and open it to a clean page. I pick up the pencil that I had tucked inside, and I twist it around in my hand as I let it hover over the paper. I try to clear my mind as I think of what I should make in my next collection attempt. It should be something new. Something never done before.
I start to sketch an idea for a structural jacket but then rip the page out of the book and toss it to the floor a second later. I’m doing it again. I’m designing what I think Ishouldmake and not designing what Iwantto make. I try to look inside me again, but this time into the creases and crevices that were almost forgotten. In a world without rules—in a world without limits—what would I design?
I don’t know.
I still don’t know.
I look down at the paper and start to sketch, anyway. I have no idea if what I’m about to make will be a success or not, but I do know that I am willing to die trying.
20
