De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  “She’s in the car.”

  Still, I hesitate.

  “Do you think I’m going to try to kidnap you?” He shakes his head. “It’s a limo, Natasha, not a windowless white van.”

  “That’s an oddly specific detail.”

  “No, it’s foreshadowing.” He walks back to me and grabs my hand and practically drags me behind him. “When I kidnap you one day, I’ll get a white van. Today, your friend needs to tell you something. Stop being so bizarre.”

  “I’m not bizarre,” I huff.

  “You are, and most days it’s cute. But not today.”

  He thinks I’m cute, rings in my head, in a Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer voice.

  I feel a blush begin to cover my body. The sensation stops immediately when he opens the door and I see a red-nosed… Stella, wiping her tears. Elijah is beside her.

  I drop his hand without paying mind to the fact that a boy… just held my hand, while telling me I’m cute… and climb in the car. I slide across the seat and hug her.

  “Don’t be mad at me, but I’m dropping out.”

  I hug her tighter. “But why, Stella? We have only a few months to go.”

  She begins silently crying, her whole body shaking and I hug her tighter.

  Elijah rubs his hand up and down her back. “Her father’s been ill for a while. She just found out yesterday, when he told her he has six months.”

  Confused, I ask, “Six months for what?”

  “To live,” Aaron whispers.

  “What can I do to help?” My eyes fill with tears for my friend. “I’ll do anything you want, Stella.” Tears spill as a sob escapes her. “Anything at all.”

  After a few moments, her sobs silence, and she whispers, “Be my friend, no matter where we are. Be my friend, Natasha.”

  To say my senior year was all I had dreamed it would be, would be like confessing I don’t spend my days dreaming of the moment my life actually begins. In other words, it would be a lie. Without Stella, I felt more alone than I had before I met her. So here I am, back to being the old me, but feeling empty, and so much pain for her. It’s overwhelming to say the least.

  You know the saying, ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ There’s a great possibility it’s the truth.

  Once again, I live for the moments when I can get lost in my head, where I can create something beautiful, something that enhances the natural beauty of those whose inner beauty has yet to shine, from the inside out.

  I know it’s unrealistic for most to believe that sometimes happens. Sometimes our inner beauty gets pulled out when we wear a beautiful dress, heels, a necklace or those days when our hair looks great, or our makeup is popping.

  I implore the unbelievers to look on IG, Twitter, or Facebook and see the millions of photos posted when a person feels their best, eight times out of ten, it’s true. The ninth time out of ten is when one's inner beauty shines in a shared moment with someone else who made or makes them feel beautiful, full of joy, important, happy, and that person draws out the inner beauty of the person in the photo. Then the other time, is when there is a cry for help.

  Those moments break my heart. It breaks my heart because if one person had been kind to them in their most desperate moment, then their cry for help wouldn’t be the butt of a joke, or judged by tens, or hundreds, or thousands of people.

  I can almost feel the wind hit my face from the collaborative huffs beyond the screen, almost hear the mixed snickers of the multitudes, and feel the weight of judgment others give as they reply to someone’s painful plea for help. But most of all, I can feel the tightening in my chest of a mix of anxiety and heartbreak for all of them, because I know all too well how it feels to be judged.

  Not only do I know how it feels, but I hurt for those I don’t even know, or see, but I hear the gossip, the jokes made at their expense, and it hurts my heart.

  When the whispers were about my friend, about the girl who dropped out, about Stella, it enraged me.

  Luckily, Aaron was where he tended to be, when moving from class to class, near me. “Fancy Face, they don’t deserve to know her, let alone her reasoning. Fuck them.”

  “But–”

  “Don’t fuel the fire, eventually it’ll burn out.”

  I gave him a dirty look.

  “Fuck them,” he reminds me.

  Lunch became a quiet affair as we all felt the loss of the glue that bound us altogether as a group.

  The rest of my senior year at the fashion school is spent with earbuds in my ears, and a pencil in my hand. Creating beauty. Creating love.

  I spend my free time with Mom, Autumn, Dad, and on the phone with Stella, being her friend, which was not difficult to do. Her heart is so big.

  Chapter Eight

  Angela

  The past year has been tumultuous to say the least.

  Jean-Paul de la Porte passed away unexpectedly. To say it was devastating to the community in which I work is an understatement. To say that the loss wasn’t even more profound to me personally would be a lie. Jean was more than just a boss, he was a mentor, someone I respected, and cherished.

  No one was sure what would happen with the company; his last will and testament was more complicated than the average Joe. With billions of dollars in assets, and no next of kin, it was understandable.

  I held my position with professionalism, as he would have expected of me. I didn’t take offense to the erratic nature of the board, employees, or shareholders. Not because I didn’t care, but because I learned, from Jean, how important prioritizing was.

  My daughter was first. She had always been, but at this time in her life, it was of the utmost importance that my focus was on continuing to nurture her growth as she became virtually independent.

  In spite of all of the issues she had faced, and was still facing, Natasha had grown so much stronger in the last year.

  She’d stood up for herself with her father. Something that needed to be done, but is never easy. But she did it, she told him he hurt her, and she told him in words and actions what was acceptable to her within their relationship.

  To say it was a proud moment for me, would be like standing in front of the ocean for the very first time and saying it was just okay.

  Every mother wants her child to have and do better than she did. To grow beyond what is not within their control, and do it with class, and in Natasha’s case, with an elegance that cannot be assumed. One she was naturally born with.

  She did that in spades. Even if she wasn’t aware.

  She formed friendships, and even though they have been rocked by a force no one can change, fate, they have remained.

  She still buries herself in her own creativity, more often than not, and some people would be concerned with her less than social tendencies, but that’s because most people don’t make the effort to fully understand what drives a person. They judge, and they do it harshly. And they do it to feel better about themselves. It’s pathetic. Completely and totally pathetic.

  What most people don’t notice is when a person has blocked out the outside, sat in solitude, and allowed an inner voice to drive their passion. They become who they were meant to become. Like Natasha has been doing.

  Society’s hymns are of the utmost importance to the masses, it’s saddening. If we waiver from what society deems normal, we are freaks, taunted, picked on, and judged harsher than those who put themselves out there for their fifteen minutes of fame for attention.

  I’m beyond blessed that society has yet to penetrate her acceptance of herself, her ever growing love of herself, and her passion for what her heart, or God, or whatever she believes in, is driving her toward.

  Two days before the day every mother dreads, her child leaving for college, I sit in the living room and watch through her open door as she sleeps. My head is screaming, tell her she can’t go. She can’t live an ocean away from you, she needs you, stop her at all costs.

  But my heart, oh my heart, knows the truth without commerc
ialized fears.

  I have raised the best possible heart I can. I’ve raised a young woman who is mature and responsible. She’s ready, beyond ready, to allow her passion to drive her.

  I know it will be difficult past what I imagine right now, but nothing lasting, nothing worth working for, ever comes easy.

  Nothing.

  I open up the red journal that my best friend Autumn gave to us so long ago and read the lists I have written. Not for me. But for her. The one I will hide in her suitcase and she will find when she unpacks.

  Things every woman needs to remember

  Being nice isn’t the most important thing a girl can be

  Being too nice can sometimes put you in a place where you are taken advantage of. Empathy is far more important than being ‘nice.’ You’ve learned that from the time you can remember. You seek for a deeper understanding of people. Had you not, you could have turned out to be one of the many who made your life harder. You rose above. Continue rising, Natasha.

  It doesn’t matter if everyone likes you

  The truth is this, no matter what you do, there will be people who like you and those who don’t. The sooner you accept that and give up on winning everyone’s approval, the happier you’ll be.

  Although it never did happen, I was well-prepared to get called into the principal’s office because you stood up for yourself and mouthed off to some tyrant. That holds true for the rest of your life.

  Show them you’re strong, and that you don’t take disrespect from anyone. Even if it doesn’t make them stop, you stuck up for the most important person you could– you.

  Honor your friendships but don’t worship them

  Friendship is a gift, but not necessarily one that lasts forever. Cherish your friends. Share your food, hold each other’s secrets sacred, support and nurture each other’s dreams and be there in their time of need.

  But if your best friends separate from you, move away, betray you or otherwise fail to live up to your expectations, it's OK to be hurt. As much as you may not want to believe it, more friends will come along and replace them at different parts of your journey. There are friends that will be with you for an entire lifetime, but they're rare. That's what makes them gold. Not every girl you get along with is going to turn into your friendship soulmate, and that is okay.

  Your body is precious

  Your body is amazing. It can run, and jump, sing and dance, draw and create. It is what drives your soul. No one owns it but you. Allow no one to tell you how to feel about it. Cherish it, nurture it, love it, and respect it.

  Continue making lists

  With each step you take, each choice you make, each obstacle you conquer, your views will no doubt sway. All the things you want and dream will waver slightly. Make sure you take a look back and allow the inevitable change that comes with time. What is the most important to you right now, may not be tomorrow, and that is okay.

  After reading over the entry, I grab her red leather journal and smile at her kissing list. She is adamant that before she gives herself to someone that they deserve it. If they do, she’s sure this list will not deter them. She said if it does, they’re not meant to be hers.

  Totally adorable. And I silently pray she never changes that list.

  Sex. Yes, we’ve talked about it, but more about the emotional connection to the person and the precautions necessary to stay safe and healthy.

  Understand your body’s reaction to touch

  Pleasure comes from being touched. A kiss, a hug, holding hands, sitting close, a hand being stroked through your hair, etc.

  It makes you feel closer to a person, especially if you’re attracted to them.

  When you move beyond that, remember, caresses on the most intimate parts of your body can make you feel like he’s the only one that can make you feel that way.

  I’d love to say that’s true, however, it’s not.

  To drive the point further, I will tell you, studies show abuse victims feel shame because they felt ‘turned on’ by touch from their offenders. I want you to know the truth, it is a physical reaction that anyone can ignite, even yourself.

  Do not mistake a physical feeling with love. It’s just not true.

  The memories play like a movie in my mind, and I allow the tears to flow like an old film spilling from its container.

  I release tears of joy, sorrow, and pain at the memories that brought us to this truly beautiful milestone.

  Leaning forward, I grab the red box that matches the color of the journals Autumn had given us before Natasha started at Manhattan School of Art and Design. I open it and smile as I look at the simple silver bracelets I had engraved, one for her, and one for me, engraved with two words I hope she remembers above all. Be Present.

  Natasha

  Sitting in First Class, an upgrade Dad insisted upon. I knew it was his big move. An act to make up for all that had transpired. I accept it as such, but it was unnecessary.

  I look around the plane’s cabin. I’m anxious, but the excited kind, not the kind where I feel like my chest is going to implode. The excited kind that makes me want to smile without worrying about who may see me and judge me.

  No one does and no one will.

  This is a true new beginning.

  The bracelet Mom gave me and the words she had written for me made this day so much easier. Both of us have made promises to dream a little less while we live a little more.

  She believes in me, which makes me believe even more in myself.

  My roommate and I have corresponded via e-mail and after I made a new, grown up and unconnected to my high school account at all, IG account, we shared a lot about ourselves and what we aspired to be.

  I knew she would be the Oscar to my Felix, and I was certain it would make me feel less homesick.

  I grab my phone, knowing soon I would have to put it on airplane mode. I scroll through and find Stella’s number, just to check on her before leaving the country. I hit video call and wait.

  When she picks up, I gasp when I see her sitting between Elijah and Aaron.

  I hold my hand over my heart and smile.

  “Hey Natasha,” Stella greets and her smile is so genuine.

  Even though she is going through what I assume is the hardest time in her life, and I’m basically stealing her dream, she is still the brightest light I’ve ever encountered.

  “Fancy Face.” Aaron winks.

  Elijah lifts his chin, his own greeting.

  “Hi guys.” My voice comes out a bit broken as I try to hide my emotion.

  “Stella has something to tell you.” Aaron nudges her.

  “I’m coming soon, but don’t wait for me, okay? But don’t you dare treat me like you don’t know me when I get there.”

  “Like that’s even possible.” I cross my heart with a finger. “But I promise.”

  “What’s that shining on your wrist, Fancy Face?” Aaron asks leaning in.

  “A bracelet my mom gave me.” I don’t tell them what it says, I don’t want it to be misinterpreted, or for them to think my past isn’t precious to me. For an entirely too short period of time, it was everything.

  After just a few minutes and a million promises, we all say goodbye, except Aaron.

  He winks and says, “See you later, Fancy Face.”

  When the call ends, I sit back and look at a picture of Aaron on my phone from graduation.

  And he is the most beautiful boy I have ever met. Still.

  Chapter Nine

  Natasha

  When I arrived at W. Wyatt Court, my residence hall, two weeks before classes began for first-year orientation, there had been a bit of a mix-up. All the double rooms had been filled, and all that remained was suite with adjoining rooms.

  This meant Shana and I would still kind of be roommates, but we’d have much more privacy than we thought we would.

  Both Shana and I admitted our parents insisted it would make for a smoother transition into college life. We both understo
od it would, in fact, be nice to have someone to eat meals with, walk or ride to campus with, study with, and explore the city with.

  The single rooms were much smaller than the doubles with a single bed, a wardrobe, a wall-length desk with shelves above it. But the best part? My own bathroom.

  Win!

  Secretly, I was relieved, and later Shana admitted she was, too.

  We agreed not to stress our parents with the mix-up.

  Plus, Mom was at the de la Porte Labor Day weekend getaway. I could tell she was upholding our promise to be present by the shimmer in her eyes during our daily FaceTime calls.

  The first weekend, not only did my face hurt from smiling and laughing, but walking.

  Our neighbors had been so much fun from night one.

  Harry Winslow was almost as lovely to look at as Aaron. He was a couple inches taller, a bit thinner, but he had nearly the same Pillow Talk hair and blue eyes.

  While sitting in the outside commons at the residence hall, I admitted that I had never seen, nor read, the Harry Potter books. By all their reactions, you’d have thought I was going to have my student visa revoked if I didn’t know the simplest of Harry Potter trivia.

  I told them I’d add it to my ever growing to be read list.

  That wasn’t enough.

  It was decided, by them, that we watch the movies, one a night, until all eight, freaking eight, had been viewed.

  Although it was late, Harry and Shana decided there was no time like the present.

  Shana fell asleep halfway into The Chamber of Secrets, and Harry Winslow, not Harry Potter, sat next to me and told me things to take note of during the rest of the movie.

  When it ended, he asked me what I thought. I told him the truth, Harry would have been dead if it weren’t for Hermione in both movies.