Tahira in Bloom

by Heron, Farah

  I sat up straight, scolding myself for that train of thought. Everything would be fine once I was back in Toronto. The tall buildings. Busy sidewalks. Street art. It was enough for me before, and it would be enough for me again.

  We reached the city, and Matteo drove Gia straight to her salon for her hair appointment.

  “Thanks,” she told Matteo, jumping out of the car. “I’ll take an Uber to my parents’ when I’m finished here.”

  Matteo leaned back to look at me sitting in the back seat. “You want to come up here, or you gonna make me drive you around like I’m a chauffeur or something?”

  I sighed and took the seat that Gia had just vacated.

  “That’s better,” he said as he got back on the road. “You’re looking good, Tahira. I think the country was good for your skin.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I expected you to post pictures from out there more often,” he said. “I mean, Gia posted so much flowers and crap on her page, but yours was pretty empty.”

  “My feed is to show off my designs, and I was too busy to design much this summer.”

  “You did have those shots with your new guy, though. Loved the ones in that glass building. You take pictures of him a lot?” His tone had completely changed since I first got in the car. He seemed to be trying to be nice now. I didn’t trust his motivation.

  “No. Not really.”

  “He take pictures of you?”

  I turned to look at him. “What’s your point, Matteo?”

  He chuckled. “Just talking. Nothing else.”

  I snorted. There was a time when I thought I could see through this person to his inner self. Now I knew there wasn’t much worth seeing in there. “Bullshit,” I said.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, I deserved that. I know you’re pissed at me, and I don’t blame you. I just . . .” He sighed. “I regret breaking it off with you.”

  I blinked. “I broke up with you, remember? When you cheated on me, and claimed we weren’t exclusive when we were.”

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “Alyssa, she trapped me. You know how it is, fame, followers, being recognized. She tempted me with parties and being seen with the right people.”

  “Inviting you to a party is not trapping you.”

  “It is, though. I lost sight of who I wanna be.”

  I raised a brow. Now Matteo was having an existential crisis? I didn’t think he had it in him.

  “But you and me,” he continued. “We were more than that. It was, like, real. I know you felt it, too.”

  “What actually happened to your other girl?”

  “Nothing happened. I broke it off because she wasn’t you.”

  I turned to him. Back then I had felt it, too. Yeah, Matteo and I mostly were about the photo shoots and the fashion scene, but we were honest to each other about our dreams and about our insecurities that we wouldn’t get where we wanted to be. At least I was honest. And there were moments with him in the city when all the pressure and the drive faded, and we were just us, together. He was the first person I ever had that with. But maybe I hadn’t actually been real with him. Because I’d been a lot more open with Rowan than I ever had with Matteo. I never really told Matteo why I wanted to be in fashion, though. Like I’d told Rowan.

  “You got all sides of me,” he said. “You understood this life and all that, but you also understood more.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Shoot, I’m not saying this right. I guess I’m wondering how serious you are with that guy?”

  I exhaled. I had not seen this coming. Matteo? Self-reflecting and contrite?

  But the truth was, Matteo and I did make sense on many levels. He understood how important it was to have the right shade of lipstick in a picture, and how amazing it was to look flawless without a filter. He understood what I was working toward and was helping me get there. He wouldn’t have been grumpy about me leaving for this photo shoot the way Rowan was.

  “Rowan and I haven’t been together that long,” I said.

  “But you’re really into him, aren’t you?”

  Yeah, I was. Right now, it felt stronger than it ever had with Matteo. But was there a future for Rowan and me? I couldn’t forget what Leanne had said. Rowan deserved someone who was all in. And if I went all in, what would happen to my Plan?

  And also? After that goodbye, I was pretty sure that it didn’t matter what I wanted, anyway. Rowan had already tapped out.

  “You and me? We got a few days together now,” Matteo said. “Like old times. I’m not going to pester you for a chance or anything, but now you know where I stand. Maybe you’ll feel the same.”

  “I don’t think that will happen,” I said. But then again, I hadn’t thought I’d fall so hard for Rowan Johnston, of all people, back when I first met him two months ago. But even if I hadn’t fallen for Rowan, Matteo no longer had any appeal for me. Because when things got hard and the stars closed in, I didn’t picture Matteo as the one holding my hand.

  As expected, my parents weren’t home when Matteo dropped me off. My sister was playing video games in the living room.

  “Hey, Samaya,” I said, dropping my bags on the floor.

  Samaya was a year younger than me but looked nothing like me. She was kind of tiny, with eyes that were borderline too big for her face. She usually kept her hair no longer than chin length, which gave her a vague Dora the Explorer innocence, even though her attitude was saltier than poutine. Most people were surprised I had a sister so close to my age. They were even more surprised when they met her.

  Samaya’s already ridiculously wide eyes went wider, and she spoke into her headset. “Gotta go, crew. A living ghost just walked in.”

  She took off her headset and stared at me.

  “Nice to see you, too, sis,” I said sarcastically, plopping on the couch next to her.

  She was still staring at me. “I guess I forgot what you look like,” she said. “Or sound like.”

  “What? We’ve FaceTimed this summer,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’ve answered maybe every third time I’ve called you.”

  “I’ve been busy!”

  “Why are you home? I thought you had another week over there in . . . where was it? Bakingville?”

  “Bakewell.”

  She shrugged. “Geography isn’t my thing.”

  “I told Mom and Dad yesterday that I’d be home for a few days . . . they didn’t tell you?”

  “That assumes I saw them yesterday. Mom only texted me when she left on that business trip. I’m pretty sure they’re avoiding me. Mom’s got it in her head that I should be applying for this Oxford bursary or something. I am so done with their inane pressure, so I’ve been exclusively speaking to them with a British accent so they know what to expect if they ship me off to the UK.” She demonstrated: “Pip, pip, cheerio!”

  I chuckled. Samaya had the driest humor for a math nerd. Self-proclaimed math nerd, by the way. She actually had several shirts identifying herself as such. I wondered if she bought them at the same ironic-shirt store Rowan shopped at.

  “So why are you here, anyway?” she asked.

  I leaned back on the couch. “I have a photo shoot. I’m here until Sunday. How’s math camp?”

  “You know. Math-y. I’m also taking grade-twelve algebra online so I can switch to college level when I’m in grade twelve. Oh, and Devin and the crew and I started playing this new online role-playing game.”

  “That sounds cool. How are Devin and your friends?”

  Samaya shrugged. She’d been seeing Devin, her boyfriend, since grade nine. He was just like her—obsessed with math and science. All her friends were academically inclined. Honestly, sometimes I was low-key jealous of Samaya’s little crew. They were such a tight group. I was sure none of them would ever use one of their friends for their influence, or for anything else.

  She indicated her game. “Were you, like, looking to have a Hallmark sisters’ moment or some
thing? Because I can tell them all to hold tight until later so you and me can have our bonding. You usually don’t have time to talk to anyone but your model and influencer-y friends, but I’m game.”

  I cringed. “Am I that bad?”

  She laughed. “Eh, you can be. But it’s not like I’ve been around much, either. No worries. You do you, and I do me. You mind if I get back to my game? You’re welcome to watch. Or I could set you up with a character. There’s a weaver class that would suit you.”

  I stood and brushed Samaya’s hair off her face. “Nah, maybe another time. It’s good to see you, though. Let’s try and squeeze in time for coffee or something while we’re here. Seriously. Without Mom and Dad.”

  “Yes, please,” she said, putting her headset back on. “The British accent is getting tedious to keep up, honestly.”

  I grabbed my stuff and went upstairs. I loved my room—but it seemed strange to me now. Yes, Ruby my dress form and my sewing machine weren’t here, but other than that, it looked just the same. The simple modern furniture. The black accent wall, which had been a royal pain to paint. One wall covered with the best sketches I’d done last year. Big plastic bins of fabric and sewing supplies lining another wall. My low platform bed. My closet still full of clothes, even though I’d taken so much with me to Bakewell. It was like everything here had been stuck in time, while I hadn’t.

  I dropped the bags on my bed and pulled my hair into a bun. The most important photo shoot of my life was tomorrow morning, and I didn’t have the time to mope, be sullen, or cry. It was already past four—I only had a few hours tonight to prepare. I pulled pieces out of my closet and my bags. I’d come this far. I’d left Bakewell and the Bloom. I needed to make this photo shoot worth my while.

  25

  THE MEGA PHOTO SHOOT

  The group photo shoot for the most important style influencers in Toronto was being held in the Distillery District, a cute little shopping area downtown with cobblestone streets, old-timey brick buildings, and cafés with patios spilling out onto the sidewalks. It was a popular place for fashion spreads, if a little predictable. Gia and I took an Uber downtown to the meeting place and easily found the group. It wasn’t hard—twenty people wearing clothes that to the uninformed would look like regular upper-teen, lower-twenties casual wear, but we recognized them as some of the hottest brands right now. Matteo spotted us immediately and came over.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to talk to him long.

  “Tahira! Look at you, gorgeous!” Nilusha said, hobbling toward me while managing cobblestones and a cane with no problem. Probably thanks to her weeks in Paris. She kissed both my cheeks and stood back, looking at me while holding one of my hands. “Did you make that shirt? I adore it.”

  I grinned. The sweatshirt had turned out so cool. I’d cropped it really short (I was wearing it with a tight cami underneath) and used bright-green grosgrain ribbon for the epaulets on the shoulders. “Of course I did.”

  She shook her head. “To think, I could have had all that talent working for me this summer. Instead, all I have is a designer walking cane.”

  “Your cane is designer?”

  She shrugged. “I’m a designer, and I designed it.”

  I laughed. I introduced her to Matteo and Gia, who both complimented her outfit and her fashion line right away. To be fair, Nilusha was absolutely stunning in a tight black scoop-neck top paired with loose black trousers. She’d cut her hair. It was now above her shoulders with a cute flip out at the bottom, and she was wearing a black beret.

  “I like that hat,” I said.

  “I’m making berets for the fall. Seriously, my whole line will be Paris inspired next season. Come, let me introduce you to Dasha Payne.”

  “Oh, I already know her,” Matteo said as he followed me anyway. Gia squealed with glee, and I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

  Dasha Payne was a tall white woman with wavy brown hair, wearing a bright floral oversize blazer and matching ankle-length pants. After Nilusha introduced us, Dasha told us how thrilled she was that we were here. She was gorgeous, of course, and friendly enough. I could see why she was the hottest thing right now. She had the attention span of Strawberry the bunny, though.

  “Tahira! I’m so excited to hang out with you tomorrow—I need you to be my tour guide.” She turned to the person standing behind her. “We have to make sure we get to that haberdashery Amber mentioned.” She turned back at me. “I’ve been stalking your Insta. I’m going to need you to tell me where all that street art is. And that sunflower field. Is that near where we’re shopping?”

  I shook my head. “No. The sunflowers are a few hours away. I’ve spent the summer in a small town near a bunch of flower farms.”

  Her face brightened. “Seriously? Oh, that reminds me.” She called out to another person behind her. “Did you call the aquarium to see if we can use it after closing?” Then she was back to me. “Florals are hot next season, but, like, you know, done modern. Urban.”

  “Tahira doesn’t use natural stuff in her designs,” Matteo said. “Her aesthetic is more industrial, you know?”

  Dasha nodded. “Fish are happening, too. Flowers and fish. But not, like, to eat. I do ketogenic but with intermittent fasting. I have no idea what I’ll eat tomorrow. Do they have keto in Canada? Oh, there’s Savannah!”

  Dasha wandered away without another word. She was actually far from the flightiest person I’d met in fashion.

  But interesting that she’d noticed the sunflower pictures. Now that Rowan and I were . . . whatever, should I have taken those pictures down from my Insta? I mean, the whole flower thing was against my aesthetic, and I needed to keep my design sensibilities consistent. Plus, at this point there were a few too many ex-boyfriends on my feed.

  And I didn’t love being reminded of that perfect day every time I looked at my page.

  I stayed true to my promise to Leanne last night and didn’t text Rowan. Part of me expected him to contact me—but he didn’t. Nothing this morning, either.

  “What do you think, Tahira?” Nilusha asked.

  Jolted out of my thoughts, I turned to her. What were they talking about?

  “Wow, you were out of it there.” Nilusha smiled. “We were trying to figure out what Dasha meant when she said fish are happening. Like, aquatic prints? Or, like, fish scales? I’ve never heard of this trend. Have you seen any fish stuff?”

  I shook my head. I needed to get a grip. This was important. I needed to stay focused right now, or the Plan would come apart.

  The shoot was fine, I guess. I managed to stay mostly out of my head. It was great to get a picture with Nilusha. Less great that Dasha insisted on a shot of Matteo and me alone to use for our interview for her site tomorrow. Also, it was annoying to have to listen to Gia go on about how she wished someone had told her we’d be on cobblestones because her shoes were all wrong.

  Both Matteo and Gia were kind of sucking up to Dasha. Gia told her three times how great the DashStyle site was, and Matteo wouldn’t shut up about how stoked he was to hang with her tomorrow. He even told her to let him know if there was anything special she wanted him to procure or make happen, because he knew all the right people in this city.

  I understood why they were sucking up—I mean, we were all here because Dasha was so influential. But they seemed to be so extreme about it. Was that what I seemed like with people I looked up to? I remembered Rowan calling me pouty and Thirst Trap when we met. And, of course, Samaya’s comment about me only having time for models and influencers. Matteo’s and Gia’s behavior shouldn’t have bothered me so much, but it did.

  The photo shoot was as long and tedious as these things usually were. By the time we were done, it was past one and I was irritable and tired. The stunning day in Toronto surrounded by so many cool people (Matteo excluded) should have been a dream, but it wasn’t.

  After the shoot, we were all treated to a buffet on the patio of this Mexican restaurant in the middle of the Distillery
District. It was really swanky—low tables with brightly colored bench seats and enormous urns filled with hibiscus flowers. I took a picture with my phone and almost sent it to Rowan because he’d love the hibiscus, but I didn’t.

  We were all sitting together at this huge table. I had Gia on one side of me and Nilusha on the other, with Matteo, Dasha, the photographer (Angie), and this guy Marcus near us. He’d introduced himself to us earlier today by saying he had fifty thousand followers on Instagram and even more on TikTok. Since then, he’d been following Gia around like a puppy.

  “This place is so beautiful,” Nilusha said, snapping a picture of the patio. “It makes me miss Paris, though. There was this one bistro where I had the most amazing little pistachio falafel . . . Tahira, you would have loved the floral arrangements there. It was a complete explosion of flowers in the planter boxes, like so many Paris patios, but they were all monochromatic white like the stuff you’ve been designing. It was such a departure from the more colorful arrangements everywhere else.”

  “Oh,” Dasha said, smiling at me. “Are you into floral design? I thought Matteo said you weren’t into naturals?”

  Gia snorted before I could answer. “She’s totally not normally into flowers, but when in Rome! We’ve been roughing it in the sticks all summer. Seriously, a total cow town. We came back for this shoot.”

  I frowned at Gia. Yeah, I’d thought the same thing about Bakewell at first, but I knew she didn’t still think about it that way.

  “And you’ve been flower arranging there?” Dasha asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “My . . . friend has been teaching me. I kind of love it.” I looked again at the hibiscus arrangements. The big blooms were accented with philodendron leaves, but I thought the large greenery didn’t do anything for the flowers. I would have used more delicate ferns.

  I smiled at Dasha. “Mostly I’ve been working in my aunt’s boutique, though. She wanted to bring in a new younger line, and I was helping her roll it out. Branding, buying, merchandising. It’s been fun.”