“I don’t know. The way you’re sayingGregjust sounds different.”
I try to think of what he could mean, and as I do, I begin to realize that after a month of Matt saying the wordGreglike he was referring to a putrid, slow-growing fungus, I may have subconsciously picked up on the habit myself.
Holding back my smile is extremely difficult as I carefully answer Greg’s question.
“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
22
One year later
It’s an unusually calm day at Violetta Mira. Usually, I’m overwhelmed with work, but today I feel like I can finally breathe a little. Maybe it’s because we hired two more employees: another pattern maker and a digital manager.
My life is almost unrecognizable from what it was a year ago. Some days I wake up feeling like I’m playing a part in a one-woman show that’s about to end at any minute. That there’s no way this is reality. But then I get up, I go about my day, and through the messes and highs and lows and victories and losses it becomes chaotically, wonderfully clear that this is, in fact, reality. I’m the creative director of a lingerie label that I cofounded with Mira, and we’re slowly but surely expanding, learning and growing month after month.
I approached Mira with the idea the same day as the fashion show. The same day I saw Greg. I had started drafting a business plan when Mira first dropped off Louisa’s fabric at school and I kept adding to it whenever I wasn’t sewing or working on my collection—so basically from 1:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. every morning. I knew my plan could use plenty of improvement when I presented it to her, but the more we discussed our individual visions, the more we discovered how cohesive they were. For the rest of Mira’s vacation, we spent almost every second strengthening our business model and setting feasible goals. Her brilliance in logistics helped us establish a comprehensive strategy and I sketched, made tech packs and drew up fashion illustrations until my fingers blistered over.
Near the end of her trip, we met with Mira’s father. He was unreadable and surprisingly tough, but he ultimately agreed to invest in our venture. Thanks to Mira’s dual citizenship, she had little issues in relocating to New York, and up until a month ago we were working exclusively out of her apartment, selling all our pieces direct to consumer through our website. When our new line was complete, we staged a presentation in a Brooklyn warehouse since we didn’t have the money or the pull to produce a show, and it wound up being a huge success. Our online sales picked up in a big way thanks to the social media exposure it garnered, and we’re finally getting orders from large retailers and are being asked to participate in pop-up shops.
Are we profitable yet? That’s a no. Do I still live with Daniella on Long Island? I sure do. But we keep pushing forward, we work ourselves to the bone and we’re steadily making our dream life our daily life.
Of course dreams have a funny way of being different than you imagined. I only spend about thirty percent of each day designing, and the rest is dedicated to problem solving, organizing, examining garments, conferring with other departments and Mira, our managing director, and emailing back and forth with my manufacturers. Oh, how emails vindictively dominate my life.
At the moment I’m just finishing up with a rather lengthy email when I hear a ding from my cell phone. I pick it up and find a text from Marco. All it says is:
Thoughts?
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he then sends along a link. I click it and am brought to a NYC Comic Con events page—one that gives the information for an autograph panel featuring the cast ofOperation Starship. I get the same nervous, queasy feeling I always get when I see anything having to do with the show. I keep reading, skimming through the details, until I see the list of everyone participating. It’s most of the lead characters, the show’s executive producer...and Matt.
Matt is going to be there. Matt is going to behere. In New York. At Comic Con. At an autograph session that starts four hours from now. I haven’t even processed the news when I get a FaceTime call from none other than Marco. I pick it up even though I’m still in a daze.
“Did you get my text?” he asks, not bothering with a hello.
“I did,” I tell him.
“And?”
“And...it’s a very interesting development.”
“An interesting development? You’ve been mooning over this guy for the past year. I have to physically wrestle the phone out of your hand every time you try to drunk-dial him, and all you have to say about him currently being twenty minutes away from your office is that it’s an interesting development?”
My breathing becomes heavier as I look at Matt’s picture beside his name on the events page. If I’m being honest, barely a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about him. I get so close to reaching out but then I remember the last time I called him a couple of weeks before my school fashion show. He wasn’t interested. He sounded so final. I don’t want to go through that again, and I’m sure Matt doesn’t want to be bothered.
Marco isn’t going to be happy with what I’m about to say next. “There’s no point in rehashing things with Matt. He told me exactly what he thought the last time we spoke and if he ever wanted to reconnect again, he would have called.”
“Right,” he scoffs. “Because Matt’s such a big talker.” I don’t immediately answer, and Marco goes on, “Text him, then, or message him on social media, at least.”
“He isn’t active on social media. We followed each other on Instagram while we were in Rome, and all he had was two grainy pictures from five years ago. I’m still convinced it was a bot account.”
“I don’t care if you send him a damn carrier pigeon, Violet. Just do something. Think about it and let me know.”
He hangs up without another word, leaving me to decide if I should follow his advice or not. I make decisions all day long. Big ones. Small ones. Most work related and some personal. This one somehow seems more than personal. More important than all the other menial decisions.
I should probably leave what we had alone. I should lock our memories away somewhere inside me where I can’t ever find them. Finding them always hurts. All the more reason to accept defeat.
But then I look at the space around me. I look at the logo on the wall that Mira and I created and the company ecosystem that’s now pulsing around us, and I never should have had any of this. If I were a different person, I would have accepted my life for what it most likely should have been. The life of someone who gave up on what they truly wanted because going after it was just too hard. It was too exhausting. But I’m not that person. I proved that fact to the world and more importantly, to myself. And if going after what I want is how I live, then there’s nothing to stop me from doing it now. As in, right now.
After some consideration, I know I won’t call or text Matt. I’m brave, but I’m notthatbrave. But a casual hi on social media feels okay. Not a full something, but more than nothing.
