Among grocery lists, work reminders, and other notes, are lines of things I’ve said over the years. Everything from silly quips to deeper topics grace dog-eared pages.
I’m shocked into silence. The effort he put in… how he always listened to me, even when we didn’t talk like we used to.
For a brief moment, I consider letting all of our past go. His emotions and intentions are clear. Yet at the same time, there’s one final thing we need to address.
“Do you genuinely like my designs?” I ask quietly.
Gio doesn’t just look confused. He looks disoriented, tilting his head like he’s trying to balance his thoughts. “What?”
I’ve always kept his not-so-secret opinions to myself, laced with a healthy dose of shame. I didn’t want him to know how much his words affected me, so I never brought them up to my friends out of fear it would tarnish their opinion of my work.
“Two years ago, you called me into your shop to talk about the mentorship role you had open. A role I was interested in.”
Rolling my neck a few times, I try to release some of the tension in my shoulders. We had a solid working relationship back then. I’d been running to Gio’s shop longer than anyone else at my level, and it felt like we were friends more than colleagues. The mentorship was open to anyone at the house. Everyone wanted it because the varied experience meant a stronger portfolio.Understanding the art of tailoring will make you a more valuable designer, Lamont had said at the time. And as the most tenured junior designer, I was so sure that I’d get the position. So hopeful.
I pull the blanket up underneath my armpits and avert my eyes. “But when I arrived at your shop to talk about the mentorship, it turned out you only wanted to ask me for Elio’s number. So you could encouragehimto apply for the position.”
At that point, I was so used to getting asked for someone else’s number by my father, I wasn’t surprised, just ashamed. Of course, it wasn’t mehe wanted. It wasn’t me who was good enough. I wasn’t even worthy of consideration.
My heart sinks to my stomach, remembering that day. How I stared at him, fighting back tears, counting down the seconds until I could leave. How I set the coffee I brought for him down on the table, cheeks burning with embarrassment. The way I beat myself up over it, mocking myself for even thinking that I had a chance.
I sigh, looking down. “You probably don’t even remember saying this, but, before I left, I worked up enough courage to tell you that I was also thinking about applying. And… Well, you laughed in my face. You scoffed and said, ‘Oh, this mentorship isn’t for someone likeyou.’”
The moment is embroidered into my body. Like a reinforced triple stitch, the disappointment is sewn into the fabric of who I am.
At first, I thought maybe Giovanni was in a bad mood, having an off-day. But then I remembered a phrase he’s repeated in years since:I don’t say things I don’t mean. And I knew it wasmethat was the issue.
My mortification at not even being entertained as an option slowly morphed into resentment. Utterly humiliated, I didn’t end up even submitting an application. Lamont continued assigning me the most menial tasks, like fetching fabrics and printing lookbooks. Since then, I’ve worked twice as hard to prove myself, giving the team all of my best designs over storing them away for my future collection.
When I feel brave enough to look up again, Gio wears a horrified expression. His face is pale, eyes wide. “That’swhy you hate me?”
“Hated—past tense now.” I give him a weak smile. “After getting to know you on a deeper level and seeing your appreciation for design, I understand why your standards are so high.” I clear my throat nervously. “Maybe Eliowasmore deserving than me. I never saw his work, so part of my reaction was out of bitterness. It just hurt, I guess, that you didn’t even want me to apply…” I trail off. “I knew we weren’t necessarilycloseat that time, but at least good colleagues and friends. And I, um, can’t lie. It’s affected my self-esteem over the years. It’s not you, honestly. It’s my own insecurities. But I think I’m starting to persuade you, because you mentioned you liked my work to Lu and your mom.” I pause. “Although, maybe youwerepretending, and?—”
“I’ve always lovedall your designs,” he chokes out.
I blink a few times before narrowing my eyes. “If you’re saying that to appease me because we’re closer now, that’s actually even more insulting, Giovanni.”
“The collection you pitched that year to Lamont was exquisite. The Op Art era-inspired geometric details were stunning. I never thought space age fashion could be presented in such a tight, focused story.” He rubs his eyes, closing them for a moment before staring into mine. “It was the most cohesive set of flats I’ve seen in quite some time.”
“But you didn’t?—”
“It wasexceptional, Tessa.”
I release a frustrated sigh.
“I recommended Elio apply, yes. Not because you weren’t talented enough for the mentorship, and certainly not because I didn’t want to work with you.”
I snap my eyes to his. “What?”
“It wasneverabout your designs.” His voice comes out hoarse. “I didn’t encourage you to apply because I thought you’d be up for a staff designer role in the next few months. It was well-known that Claudia was leavingLamontand her position would be opening.”
Gio’s eyes are wrought with sadness. “My mentorship is meant for beginners, Tessa. It would’ve only set you back, wasted your time. I laughed because I couldn’t fathom someone of your caliber even wanting to apply for an entry-level mentorship withme.The idea seemed… It seemedridiculous. ”
I sharply inhale. Confusion and indignation war in my head as a pit forms in my stomach. The expression on his face is pure devastation, and he lifts his hand to cradle my chin.
Gio releases a sigh. “I was shocked you didn’t apply for Claudia’s role, but now…”
“Yeah. I didn’t apply for her role because I thought I wasn’t good enough foryourrole. God, I was so hurt. But this changes…” I release a frustrated breath.
