Lamont pushes open the frosted door to his office and sits in the black leather chair behind his desk. He slides a new pair of blue-tinted glasses up the bridge of his nose, making it even more difficult than normal to piece out any facial expressions.
“We’re very close to Milan, and the tasks are going to double.” He speaks at a volume so quiet I almost miss it.
“No problem!” I reply cheerily.
Many problems.
He wiggles his mouse to log into his desktop computer. I open my notebook and poise my pen.
Typing, he continues, “I had to take a call before I could discuss design details on Look Four with Giovanni. I need his opinions on the hem design.” Opening up his desk drawer and retrieving a file, he quickly flips through it and hands it to me.
“Oh, I’m happy to take a look at the renderings.” I set down my pen and pick up the file, flipping it open.
Lamont’s hand stops mine. “After Giovanni. It would be a waste to give your opinions now, before his thoughts are considered.”
I deflate. “Got it.”
“I know it’s Sunday, but I need you to deliver these.”
And the “fast moving” day just got much, much slower.
“Oh. Um, I have lunch with my brother scheduled after the shoot. But I guess I could swing by Cattaneo’s after that?” I swoop up my tone at the end of the sentence, hoping it sounds like a question instead of a plan. Maybe he can send one of the apprentices.
“Mhm.”
Lamont resumes typing on his desktop, leaving me to awkwardly hover, unsure if I should stay or go. His fingers don’t stop flying across the keyboard, and his gaze stays glued to the screen.
“That’s all.” A quiet dismissal.
Packing everything up, I’m careful not to drop any of the sketches out of the folder before hustling out of the room for lunch with Daniel.
* * *
“So about your apartment for ants…” My brother trails off, looking at me with hopeful eyes.
“Daniel, I will hire an Etsy witch to put a curse on you if you finish that sentence. I’m fine. I don’t want your money.”
He sighs in frustration, poking at a lettuce leaf on his plate. “At least let me buy your groceries from time to time.”
“I don’t need groceries. I stay hydrated by lapping up my tears of stress, and my stomach is already full of excitement for Milan.” I shovel a forkful of salad in my mouth, mumbling, “They wouldn’t fit in my half-fridge anyways.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Tessie, but you can’t stop me from worrying. I want you to have everything you need.”
“And I almost do. Or, I will, once I start my own fashion house one day,” I reply wistfully, staring out the foggy window of the fancy restaurant. With all of my creative energy flowing toLamont, my personal sketchbook is as dusty as my hopes and dreams.
“If anyone can do it, it’s you. You were sketching designs before you could talk.” He smiles proudly, and the thin gap between his two front teeth makes an appearance. Even though Daniel is six years older than me, we share similar features, from the top of our thick, wavy black hair to the bottom of our bigger-than-average feet.
Daniel clears his throat. “You know I’d be happy to invest in your future line.”
“I know. But I want to make it on my own. And, one day, if you did invest, I’d want to be confident I can give you a good return.” Quickly changing the subject, as I always do when he offers me money, I lower my voice. “Why are we at this fancy restaurant instead of the diner? You’ll get recognized here.”
Even though he retired from the New York Mustangs at the end of last season as their top wide receiver, Daniel still gets stopped by fans. And with the hype around game day fits and athleisure, the football and fashion worlds cross over more than anyone realizes. I want to succeed on my own merits. I don’t even use my real last name at work out of worry I’ll be given some sort of undeserved leg up.
“I wanted to take you somewhere Italian now, since I’m in town and won’t be able to celebrate with you in Milan. This place is only open on weekends, so it lined up perfectly.”
Daniel’s always been thoughtful and considerate like this. His constant encouragement, as the only father figure I’ve ever had, meant the world to me growing up. Between his nurturing and Mom’s unconditional love, I rarely wanted for more. But I still couldn’t quite soothe that tiny-but-persistent ache in my heart, the one that wondered what a bond with a father would’ve felt like.
He frowns, eyes downcast. “I hate that Mom and I can’t be at your show.”
