by Amy Spalding
“Oh, good, you’re home,” Mom says without looking up from her computer. “I thought you might be able to—Abby, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I spent the night at Maliah’s, and had to sleep in this dress because I can’t fit into any of her pajamas, and yes, I know if I were thin then I could have and all my other life problems would be solved, too.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Dad walks into the room. “What’s up?”
“Jordi and I broke up. I’m going to my room.”
I push past him, lock my door behind me, and pull my dress over my head. It looks wilted on my floor but that’s exactly how my insides feel, so I kick off my shoes and leave everything as it falls.
My phone buzzes and I guess I expect three more messages from Jordi, but it’s magically Rachel.
Are you okay? Mom just told me to check in on you.
When people ask if you’re okay, it always sounds like they want you to do anything in the whole world but say no.
But it’s Rachel. Finally. So I tell her the truth. It actually takes me ten separate texts to tell her the full truth.
Then I hear from Jax. how was jordi’s thing?
I tell him everything, too.
Shit abbs. That sux.
Yeah. It sux indeed.
CHAPTER 23
I want to sleep for the indefinite future, but my phone makes a bunch of noise on Sunday morning. Maliah, Brooke, and Zoe have all texted about brunch, and so I guess I have to face the world. I have to face Modern Eats and my friends, at least.
Maliah picks me up and glances my way as she speeds off down the street. “You look better than expected.”
“Thanks a lot.” I did manage to take a quick shower and pull on a dress that requires no effort or accessorizing. My neck feels bare without my pineapple necklace and I wish I’d put something else on in its place. Or should I make myself feel this emptiness around my neck, too?
We get a table right away at the restaurant, and I stare at my menu instead of at my friends’ sad faces. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. This is our first real breakup.
“If it makes you feel better,” Brooke says, “Henry tagged Jordi in some photos last night, and she looked miserable.”
Why doesn’t that make me feel better?
“We’ll figure out who else likes girls,” Zoe says. “It can’t just be you and Jordi in the whole school, or even the whole class.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t want to go out with anyone else.”
“Well, not now,” Maliah says. “Eventually. This is our senior year. We’re all going to prom.”
“I’ll take you to prom,” Brooke tells me. “Even if I have a boyfriend by then. He’ll have to understand.”
“Same,” Zoe says. “You’ll have the best dress of anyone there anyway.”
“You’re both screwing up my point,” Maliah says. “My point is you’ll feel better at some point. And by that point, we’ll have figured out who’s available. And hopefully whoever it is …”
“Likes me?”
“Oh shut your face,” Maliah says. “Is good enough for you. Unlike Jordi.”
I open my mouth to defend Jordi. And then of course I don’t.
No one can decide what to get, so we order four things (pancakes, waffles, an omelet, and a vegan breakfast burrito) with the plan of splitting everything. But just like last night, no matter how good comfort food sounds, I barely take a bite of anything.
“Do you want to go shopping after this?” Maliah asks. “I can clear my whole day.”
“Me too,” Zoe says.
“I have nothing to clear,” Brooke says. “Let’s do it.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but …” I try another bite of pancake. It tastes like nothing. “I don’t want to go shopping.”
“We’ll do whatever you do want,” Zoe says. “What sounds good to you, Abby?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Thanks for making me come to brunch, really, but now I just need to go back home and collapse. Okay?”
They look at each other like they don’t know if it is.
“It’s only been like thirty-six hours,” I say. “I’m allowed to want to lie in bed and feel like crap. I have to see her tomorrow at work and …”
My voice breaks, and Maliah puts her hand on my shoulder. Being visibly shattered is a strange feeling; I would have guessed it would be horrible, but I don’t even have any control right now. Everything’s ruined so who cares if everyone knows that?
“Can you skip work?” Zoe asks. “Say you’re sick?”
“They’re not even paying you,” Maliah says. “You should absolutely play sick.”
“No, I … I should get it over with. And I really can’t let Jordi win now. If she did this and gets the job …”
“You’re brave,” Brooke tells me.
But that is one thing I don’t feel at all.
I leave early on Monday morning so that there’s less chance of running into Jordi on my way, and luckily I make it safely to Lemonberry. Laine sees me and runs over to open the door.
“You’re early,” she says. “How was your weekend? How did Jordi’s opening go?”
“Fine,” I say. “I think people really liked it. And it was crowded.”
“That’s great! I think Maggie and I are going tomorrow. Will we be the oldest people there? By decades?”
I force a smile. “No, it’s not all people my age. I’m going to get some coffee.”
It feels safe in the back. I’ll have at least a few moments before Jordi could reach this room and I have to see her again. I don’t understand how I could ever again see her eyes, her neck, the way her hands are so delicate but hold her camera with all the world’s strength.
I guess a small part of me always knew we might not last forever. I might not get my happily ever after. But in these worst-case scenarios, it was always the job that would end us.
Somehow, I never saw this coming.
“Hey, Abby.” Maggie walks into the room with a coffee carrier full with cups. “I needed caffeine before I made it in, and I thought everyone might appreciate something better than my sad old coffeemaker’s best efforts.”
“Oh, thanks.” I take a cup from her. “That was really nice.”
“It’s too bad about Jordi,” she says.
What? “What?”
“I hate being sick during the summer,” she continues. “The worst.”
“So she’s out all day?” I ask.
“She is, sorry. Want to sit with me to think about this week’s orders?”
Of course I do, and by the time we’re debating if cardigans will keep selling as well as they have been, I feel a little more like myself again. Maggie even takes my advice on which print of a dress to order. And then I tweet how excited we are about our upcoming orders, and people start asking nearly immediately what we’re getting in.
And then I realize this is the perfect time to bring it up.
“Um, so of course Jordi’s photos are amazing,” I say. “She’s really talented. But when you look at a lot of really successful Instagram accounts, like corporate ones?”
“Oh god.” Maggie laughs. “Am I corporate?”
“Well, you know. Not personal accounts. Anyway, they still post things that look a little …” I shrug. “Amateur? Maybe that’s not the right word. But not like something you’d see in a fashion shoot or an official lookbook.”
Maggie nods. “I get what you’re saying. Like something you’d take with your phone.”
“Exactly. And maybe since Jordi’s sick today, I could try something? Just to see if it makes a difference. And if it doesn’t, I’ll delete it.”
“Sure. Just let me see it first. I don’t want it to look too amateur.”
Maybe I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’m a little afraid that too amateur is all I can manage. But after lunch (Mom’s leftovers because my life isn’t sad enough) I try a bunch of different shots and finally settle on
one of the jewelry display case with a caption about the current sale.
“Is this okay?” I bring my phone back to Maggie and let her review it. This is the most I’ve pushed myself to fully do what I think I’m good at here, but I try not to imbue this moment with too much meaning.
But luckily Maggie nods her approval, so I post. I’m not sure how much of a betrayal it really is; I should have brought this up a while ago, but I didn’t even want to chance hurting Jordi. It’s not as if Maggie won’t still need photos of clothes for the web site and a million other promotional things, though. But if my assessment is right, I was smarter about this, and it’ll be quantifiably certifiable. Sure, Jordi could switch from her fancy camera to her iPhone, but would she know what works best for the brand? Would she know just how to phrase a post about new styles?
Seriously, she can’t have done what she did and get the job. My heart can’t take it.
“Abby?” Laine leans into the back room. “You have a friend out here.”
I walk up front and find Jax examining a rack of crinoline skirts.
“What the hell are these?” he asks. “Old-fashioned underwear?”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be in San Francisco?”
“I just got back and thought I’d see how you’re holding up.” He looks me over. “You seem okay. Not your best, not your worst.”
I don’t even want to know when Jax saw me looking worse than two and a half days out from my only breakup.
“When do you get off?” he asks. “Let’s get fucked up and talk shit about crazy girls.”
“That sounds terrible. Can we just do the opposite of that?”
“I have no idea what that would be, but, sure. Anything you want, Abbs.”
We end up going to Patio Burgers because Jax says his dad is getting anxious about the app. I wonder how this would even work if Jax hadn’t teamed up with the daughter of someone currently anxious about a cookbook. I feel like most people have parents who worry about normal things.
“I’m pissed because you’re pissed,” Jax says. “But I don’t think it sounds that bad.”
“Are you serious? It was the worst. It was the hugest violation.”
“She wasn’t taking secret nannycam pics of you or whatnot,” he says. “Right? Every time I saw that girl she had a camera pointed at something. Usually you.”
“But I thought that was private,” I say. “Just for her.”
Jax shrugs. “Feels like the danger of going out with a photographer. You date Taylor Swift, she writes a mean song about you. You date Jordi, your picture’s gonna be on a wall in some gallery.”
“First, you have to accept that you’re never, ever going to date Taylor Swift,” I say. “Second, no. People shouldn’t assume you’re a public person just because they are.”
“Have you talked to her?” he asks.
“No, and I’m not going to,” I say. “It’s bad enough I’ll have to see her at the store on Wednesday. Luckily she faked sick today.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells me. “I see Tina Pang plenty, and she broke my goddamn heart.”
“I have no idea who that is,” I say. “But it’s interesting you have a heart to be broken.”
“Had a heart,” he says with a grin. “Once upon a time. Just like you.”
Sometimes I literally hate myself for how happy I am that Jax is my friend.
Mom’s still at her computer when I get home, and she actually pauses what she’s doing and glances up at me. “Hi, Abby. How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” I say.
“I’m really sorry to hear about Jordi,” she says.
“Are you?” I walk into my room and flop on my bed. Unfortunately, Mom’s followed me in.
“Of course I am,” she says. “I’m not sure why you always assume I don’t …”
“… don’t dislike everything about me? Just paying attention, Mom, that’s all.”
She sits down next to me on the bed. “That’s an unfair thing to say.”
“Seriously? You hoped I was going out with Jax. You wanted me to lose weight so I’d be pretty. Like if only I was a thin straight girl, you could love me. But I’m neither, so.” I shove my face into my pillow so that hopefully she can’t tell I’m crying. I really had no idea just how much I could cry. It’s sort of gross. Can my head lose too much moisture? And if it does, will that hurt my brain? Considering how stupid that sounds, I worry this process has already begun.
“Of course I love you,” Mom says.
“Well, then like me.”
“Oh, Abby.” She somehow gets me to turn my face to look at her. “I just want your life to be easy.”
“Can’t I just be me? I feel like that’s the easiest option.”
She watches me for a few moments. “I was seventeen when I went through my first breakup, too.”
“You had a boyfriend in high school?” I ask.
“Two. One my junior year—that was the breakup—and one senior year. That one took me to prom.”
I remember seeing Mom’s prom picture. When I was little, I thought she looked exactly like Cinderella, and so I did think for a while the guy might have been a prince. It now seems unlikely this was the case.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He kissed my best friend at a bonfire,” she says.
“No.” I stare at her. “That’s horrible. Jordi didn’t do anything that horrible.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Mom says. “She’s always so polite.”
I guess my heart is still a little behind on recent news because I feel a warmth in me that Mom thought something nice about Jordi.
“I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” I say, which makes Mom laugh.
“Well, I’m over it now! That took a while, though.”
“Did you forgive your friend?” I ask.
“Eventually. Sort of.” Mom strokes my hair. “What if you tried a nice strawberry blonde? That would look so cute on you.”
“I like it pink,” I say. “Pink’s my favorite color. Why can’t my hair be my favorite color? That’s the thing you always do! You try to change everything about me. I know you wish I was more like Rachel. I’m just not. I’m not going to be.”
“Honey, no.” She sighs. “I don’t know why things always come out like that.”
“Well, because you say them.” I turn over so I’m facing the wall instead. My bulletin board looks ransacked because I pulled off every photo of or by Jordi. It’s strange how in just a couple months, one person can become so much of your world.
Which means when your world’s been expanded, when that person’s gone, it feels like mass extinction.
“I’m better with food,” Mom says.
“Than with people?” I turn back to her, and I feel bad that I laugh when she nods. “Mom, that’s not a thing.”
“Well, with you then. I always seem to say the wrong thing. When I’m writing for this book or for my site, my meaning always seems to come across correctly. With us …”
I think about how easy it is to be myself as I’m posting style photos of other people. Easier than this, for sure.
“Mom?” I look down at my hands. “I really thought you were going to ask me to run your social media this summer.”
“Oh, Abby … honey, that’s a big job. I was aiming to get this book deal, and we’ve had so many near-offers on a Food Network show.”
“I guess I get it,” I say. “At least why you needed it to be … not a teenager. But—”
“I never meant to hurt your feelings. I thought—we’re just so different, honey. When I was your age, I thought if I wasn’t like my friends the world would end.”
“The world did end.” I look over to my bulletin board. “But not because of that. And my friends and I are all different. I know you see it as the skinny straight ones and then me, but that’s not how they see me, you know.”
Mom nods, though I don’t think she believes me. “I
promise things get easier after a breakup. You just need some time.”
I nod, too, though I don’t believe her either.
CHAPTER 24
I’m early again to work on Wednesday, but Jordi was earlier, because she’s already chatting with Paige when I walk in. I try not to make eye contact but her gaze sweeps over me. I can’t find my way out of it.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi. Good morning.” I walk to the back to get coffee and hope that Maggie’s already here so that I have a reason to stay back here. Since she’s not, I just make this the most thoughtful cup of coffee I’ve ever poured or mixed.
I guess this is why people say you shouldn’t date in the workplace. It just sounded like a thing that affected business executives, not Jordi or me.
“Abby.” She walks into the backroom. “Please. Can we talk?”
“I seriously have no idea what you want to talk about,” I say. “I just want to work. Okay?”
Maggie walks into the room. “Hi, girls. Jordi, are you feeling better?”
She shrugs while staring at the floor. Jordi looks so small and frail, and it’s hard not to want to do something about that. Something I guess I hadn’t foreseen about falling in love with someone is how much your heart can ache to take away their pain. You hear about the inability to think about anyone else or how happy you can be just to be near someone and of course how mind-blowing the tiniest bit of physical contact can be. But the safety you can feel and you can be while in someone’s arms is something I didn’t anticipate.
So it almost doesn’t make sense that I can’t provide that to Jordi right now. Which is nuts! She’s upset because I broke up with her, and I broke up with her because of her.
I still do my best to avoid looking at her for the rest of the day. Of course we have to walk in the same direction after we’re off. Sometimes I’d wondered, if we hadn’t had time alone before and after Lemonberry, if we would have ended up together when we did. Then, it felt like a gift.
Now, less so.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Jordi says. “Can you at least listen?”