by Amy Spalding
“I can’t stop you from talking.” It’s something I never could have pictured myself saying. Quiet, steady Jordi. Her words had been everything in the world to me.
But now she can say whatever she wants. She won’t get my words in return.
“I never would have … Abby, I thought if you could just see the photos, you’d see.”
“See what?” Ugh, not talking is so hard. “See that you didn’t really care about me? Not like you said, at least. Not if it doesn’t ultimately benefit you.”
“Why won’t you believe me?” Jordi stops walking, and I do, too. “I made a mistake and I know that, Abby. Why don’t you have any faith in me?”
I stare at my feet. Today I’m wearing pink flats decorated with white leather flowers, which I clearly remember wearing when we sat on a blanket together at Hollywood Forever.
But that feels like a long time ago. So I walk home without another look back to Jordi. When I watched romcoms and saw main characters storm off from the person they once loved, I sometimes couldn’t handle it. It always seemed so silly not to just give someone a chance. I had no idea how this could feel, though. I didn’t know that the thing that would seem silliest is the idea of giving someone the chance to hurt you again.
Jax makes me go out with him to lunch on Thursday even though I still don’t quite feel like a normal day is what I need. Maybe if I did know what I’d need I’d just go do that, but it’s not as if anything else feels right either. My time feels too big and unfillable, which is exactly how I felt in June, too. And I guess I was making it work or at least getting there.
And then I didn’t have to, because there was Jordi.
“You still look like shit, Abbs,” Jax says while I’m looking over the menu at Fusion Burgers. “What the hell is aillade?”
“Garlic puree,” I say, and he raises his eyebrows. “When your mom’s entire life is cooking and weird food combinations, you learn a lot.”
“Oh yeah, the great Norah of Eating Fancy with Norah,” he says.
“It’s Eat Healthy with Norah, exclamation point,” I say. “The exclamation point is very important to the brand.”
“‘Boschetto a la tartufo remolade,’” Jax reads. “I literally don’t understand one word I just said.”
“I thought you were smart,” I say, and he cracks up.
“Seriously,” he says. “You doing okay?”
I shrug. “Seriously? Probably not. I lost my only chance to be in love.”
“Shut the hell up,” he says. “There’s a new chance to love every goddamn day. Look at me, no luck at all this summer, and I’m not worried. Going to a party tonight, who knows what could happen. Hey!”
I rack my brain for an excuse before he even asks.
“Come with,” he says. “We’ll find you a new girl. And me. We’ll find me a girl, too. You’ll wingman—wingwoman me. It’ll be awesome.”
“Jax,” I say. “Can I have at least, I don’t know, a week? Two? Until school starts? I still feel … I don’t know how I feel. Not good. Not party-ready.”
“The best days of your youth are passing right by you,” Jax says.
“I find that very hard to believe.”
So I go home after rating the super spicy Dan’s Inferno and sweet salty Mexican BBQ burgers that Jax and I split. I convince Jax to head off to the party on his own, and I spend the evening in my room. The photos and cut outs from magazines that used to decorate my bulletin board, pre-Jordi, are still in my desk drawer, so I take them out and fill the empty space. Before long, my room looks just like it used to, and between that and the burgers actually tasting like something today, maybe I’m doing better.
Jax texts while I’m slowly putting together a post about maxi dresses for +style. wuts the deal w ur friend brooke.
Even after all this time, his flexibility with the English language really pains me.
What do you mean by ‘the deal’? I respond, and then go back to posting photos from my usual collection of shops. It feels foreign doing this in my bedroom and not on the Perezes’ living room couch. It’s weird that my soundtrack is one of my favorite playlists, not Christian playing The Last Guardian.
she’s cute, & i assume u have good taste in friends.
Oh, this is just what I need.
What about that barista? I text. Weren’t you just concerned about her deal very recently?
I try again, very hard, to concentrate on prints versus solids instead of watching my phone. But of course it buzzes again.
that went nowhere. new plan. And then: ur girl is here. she looks like shit too.
It offends me that Jordi’s ready to be at a party less than a week out from our breakup. And what offends me more is that that’s a thought I have. Forget about Jordi, forget about Jordi, forget about Jordi.
As a compromise, I picture how terrible she must look, and then I try to put whatever party stuff is going on completely out of my mind and focus on +style instead. It only sort of works, but for now, sort of is more than enough.
Maggie’s already in when I arrive at work the next morning, and she greets me by holding her arms out to her sides. Hopefully I’m not supposed to hug her? The gesture is vaguer than she must think.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
Oh, no.
“You were absolutely right about Instagram,” she says. “We had so many new comments and followers since Monday. I can’t believe you didn’t mention it Wednesday.”
Oh, yes, Wednesday, the day I tried not to look at or think about Jordi. That must have taken up more of my brainpower than I’d realized. Why am I letting my professional responsibilities slip by me yet again?
“I’ll chat with Jordi once she’s here, but, yes, absolutely, effective immediately let’s try to post as many candids as possible. Keep checking in with me, but, Abby, this is really in your hands. I’m so impressed with your analysis.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll come up with more today, and we can even schedule things to run when I’m not here, if that helps, and—”
“Absolutely,” she says with a smile. “Really great work. Also, we got the Bella dress in a new print, and I made sure there was an extra in your size for you.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say. “I can’t really afford to get a new dress right now but—”
“It’s a gift.” Maggie digs through a nearby box and pulls out the dress. It’s a tropical old-school floral—something that would fit in at a tiki hut—and even has little hibiscus flowers that match my hair. It couldn’t be more Abby if it tried. “I wanted to guarantee you’d have it.”
“Thank you so much, I—”
Jordi walks into the room and flicks her eyes in my direction for the briefest of moments. “Hi.”
“Jordi, come on back to my office for a moment,” Maggie says, and I realize it’s going to happen now. Jordi will have less to do for Lemonberry, and there’s no way I won’t at least right now seem like a more viable candidate for the fall job.
A more viable candidate? Who even am I?
Jordi walks past me a few moments later. Somehow she seems even smaller than Wednesday when she stood on the sidewalk down the block from her home. “I guess you’re taking pictures now.”
“Just for social media,” I say. “The rest are all for you to do.”
Wait, why am I trying to make her feel better?
She takes her camera out of her bag, hangs her bag on the usual hook, and heads out to the storefront. This is, no contest, a round I won.
But I think back to Jordi’s proposal. Proposal. Now there will definitely be no Ives-Perezes or custom dress made by Maggie or fight between Maliah and Rachel for who would be my maid of honor. Obviously none of those things were guaranteed or in the imminent future, but back then they felt like a dream I wanted to have.
And now the dream is over and, even if I deserved to, I’m the one who violated our terms.
That said, I spend all morning taking pictures until I sett
le on one of the new Bella dresses with Laine in the corner of the shot. There’s something about her smile that seems to capture her energy. I think of Jordi telling me that taking a photograph means that you can make everyone else see the world the way you do.
I don’t know why, but I walk back and hold out my phone to Jordi. “Do you think it looks okay?”
She looks up from whatever she’s doing in Photoshop. “The framing’s good, the lighting … could be better. Do you want me to show you?”
“I don’t want to interrupt you,” I say. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”
I tell Dad about my work success when I get home because he seems likeliest to be impressed by it. Mom comes in during the midst of our discussion with two hangers that hold two really beautiful dresses I’ve never seen before. For a moment, I’m hopeful, but they’re tiny. These are definitely not for me.
“Abby, I’m so glad you’re home,” she says.
“Abby was just telling me about her big social media triumph at work,” Dad says. “We should get the full household involved in this operation.”
“Greg, not now, this is an emergency,” Mom says with a sigh and then looks back to me. “I’m having photos taken by the LA Times tomorrow morning, and I’m not sure which of these will look better on camera. If either of them even will.”
“The green and white one,” I say. “Your hair will look better against it, and I think the print will be good on camera, not too distracting.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she says. “What’s that?”
“Oh my god, Maggie gave me this,” I say. “I mean, I heard you end up getting something free with the internship, but … I guess I thought it might just be something extra lying around that no one wanted to buy.”
I show Mom the dress but of course I hold my breath that she won’t ruin one of the only good things to happen this week.
“Wow,” she says, which doesn’t sound like the most hopeful of beginnings. “That’s really fun, Abby. The flowers match your hair.”
“I thought the same thing!” I decide to hurry to my room instead of chancing the moment any further. But then I have another smart thought and lean back into the hallway. “Mom? Can I be your stylist?”
She walks down the hallway. “Well, it’s not exactly a full-time job, but, sure.”
Now I definitely have to halt all contact with my mother because there’s no way she won’t somehow screw up before the day ends.
Jax insists on going out for burgers the next day. I’m still really not feeling up for so much socializing, so we compromise on driving through Fatburger in Los Feliz. Jax pulls his BMW into a parking spot and rips open the bag.
“You could just open that like a normal person,” I tell him.
“Nah, let’s get to the good stuff fast.” He hands me my Small Fatburger and fries. “How’re you doing or whatever?”
“Your concern is overwhelming.” I bite a fry in half. “I’m fine or whatever.”
“Hey, I’m concerned. I let you trap us in this car with all your feelings.”
I realize I’m smiling.
“You get the job yet?” he asks me.
“No, but …” I shrug. “I did some good work this week. Hopefully it wasn’t unethical.”
“Nothing’s unethical in business,” Jax says. “Or so Jackson Stockton the First says.”
“Gross,” I say, and then, “I’m sorry.”
“You ready to meet new girls yet?”
“Emphatically no.” I decide not even to bring up how unlikely that possibility seems. Even if there were girls who’d be interested—which by no means feels like the reality I live in—what does it matter when my heart is this broken? Can hearts stay broken forever? Is that me from now on—just broken?
“Are you crying?” Jax asks with a horrified edge to his voice.
“No!” I am lying. Lying and crying.
He sort of scatters extra napkins near my face, which—despite my tears—makes me burst into laughter.
“Why are boys so scared of girl feelings?” I ask.
“Abbs, I’m a feminist,” he says. “I’m equally scared of all feelings.”
CHAPTER 25
Someone taps on my door on Saturday morning while I’m still in bed. I try ignoring it, but it keeps getting louder. I turn to face the wall, because Mom and/or Dad should know better, but then I hear footsteps in my room.
“Get up, lazy butt,” says a voice so familiar I can’t believe it’s even real. But I turn around and Rachel’s in my room.
“I took a red eye.” She flops onto the bed next to me. “Surprise.”
“Oh my god.” I sit up in a flash. “I can’t believe you’re here. I haven’t seen you since Christmas. Did you come home because of my breakup? Is it that big of a disaster? Also, did you just say lazy butt?”
“No, I just …” She rolls her eyes. “I missed you. I even missed Mom and Dad. And the internship’s … fine.”
“How’s Paul?” I ask. I’d like to say that after falling in love this summer I’m more understanding about the choices people make in relationships, but I still think that Paul’s a goober. Hopefully this doesn’t make me overly judgmental or hypocritical.
“He’s fine,” she says. “I don’t know. Relationships are hard, Abby.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, and she laughs.
“You’re my baby sister. You’re not allowed to be the jaded one.” She stretches her arms out above her head. “I need to finish sleeping. Wait, what’s on my bed?”
“Tote bags,” I say. “Eat Healthy With Norah! branded tote bags.”
“I’ve definitely been gone too long.” She settles under my covers. “Move over. You’re taking up too much space.”
“You’re in my bed!” But I shift closer to the wall. “Actually, I don’t even care if you came home because I’m sad and pathetic. I’m really glad.”
Rachel smiles with her eyes closed. “Your being sad and pathetic is just a lucky coincidence.”
“I’m so glad you’re home,” I say. “It’s been so weird without you here.”
Somehow, she’s already asleep.
Mom and Dad force us up at a reasonable hour, and Mom makes a huge welcome-home breakfast. I’m set to mutually eye-roll with Rachel over whatever solution Mom’s invented today, but there are mixed greens and a fruit salad and the most delicious egg white frittata I’ve ever had. Okay, potentially it’s the only egg white frittata I’ve ever had, but I can’t imagine any others would even be in the running.
Mom’s cooking doesn’t feel like a solution today, even though everything’s healthy. For a moment, I think about the day in Jordi’s family’s kitchen, racing to seal empanadas, but I shake loose the memory.
I know Rachel being home is for a very limited time, but having all four of us around the table makes a lot feel right again. Maybe some stuff has been going right anyway, but it’s easier to feel it with Rachel in the house. Of course, after next year, I’ll be away, too, but right now that feels a very long time from now. I have to get through the rest of August, after all, before I can even think about next year.
Maliah meets me at Lemonberry when I get off work on Monday. Jordi has to walk by her to leave, and for once I look forward to the glare I expect from my best friend in Jordi’s direction. But for once, it doesn’t come.
“I always thought this would look cute on you,” I tell Maliah, holding up a short white dress with an asymmetrical neckline. “And it’s on sale!”
She takes the dress from me. “When I’m successful, I’m hiring you as my stylist.”
“If you can even afford me,” I say, which makes her laugh. “Do you want to try it on?”
“Next time,” she says. “Or whichever time I’m not wearing neon red underwear.”
“I didn’t even realize that red could be neon,” I say and wave good-bye to an unimpressed Paige before walking out into the late afternoon sunshine. “Where are we going? Did you plan something?�
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“Who am I, Jax?” She points to her car. “I’m not the one who has weird elaborate little activities lined up.”
“They aren’t weird or elaborate,” I say. “They’re literally eating burgers at a bunch of places. If we do anything else it’s because of me, because I don’t want to die of a heart attack at seventeen from all these burgers. Hikes and walks are necessary.”
“I think it bothers Trevor that Jax didn’t ask him to eat all those burgers,” Maliah says. “But he’s being such a boy about his feelings and not wanting to admit it.”
“I think Jax was the same way about all the time Trevor spends with you, though,” I say. “I don’t know if it’s just a boy thing, though. Sometimes talking about your feelings is really hard.”
Maliah shrugs. “You know my opinion on that.”
“Yeah, but … some stuff’s private. It’s not about keeping secrets, it’s about … I don’t know. Sometimes I need things to exist in my own head for a while.”
“I guess,” Maliah says. “Do you want to take a walk around the Reservoir and then get a snack at LAMILL?”
“Perfect. I’m even wearing comfy flats today.”
“Oh, please, like I haven’t seen you walk a mile in heels,” she says with a smile. “Your feet are tougher than mine.”
Maliah drives over to Silver Lake and parks the car down a side street near the dog park. We take off on foot and I do my very best not to think about being here with Jordi. It’s crazy how much of LA now reminds me of her, even though it’s been my city since I was born.
“So …” Maliah puts on her sunglasses. “Have you talked to Jordi?”
“No more than necessary at work,” I say. “Why?”
“I just thought maybe you’d calm down a little,” she says.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Abbs. She just took your photo. God knows I’m not Jordi Perez’s biggest fan, but I really feel like you have to give her another chance.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I say.
“She thinks you’re hot,” Maliah says.
