Page 59 of Tilly in Technicolor
“Let’s try and get on the next flight out if we can. And that hotel we stayed at while we were there was relatively cheap, so hopefully they have another room open.”
“I’ll sleep on a bench near the canals if it means securing this deal,” Amina says, pulling out her laptop and typing away. “Christ, the connection in here is awful,” she says, swinging her laptop from side to side. “I can’t get a site to load. I’m going to run downstairs to the desk and see if they can help.” Amina jumps up and bolts toward the door.
“Wait,” Mona says as Amina reaches for the handle. Mona glances at me. “Tilly, can you give us a minute?”
“And gowhere?” I ask, gesturing around the shoebox-sized room.
“The hall?”
“No, thank you,” I say, sitting primly on the bed.
Mona looks like she’s going to pop the vein bulging in her forehead, but she finds her cool. “Fine.” She turns back to Amina. “Just get tickets for you and me. Coming back after the meeting tomorrow if possible so we don’t need to get a room for two nights.”
“Got it,” Amina says, leaving the room.
Everything is quiet for a moment.
“You’re abandoning us?” I cry.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Mona says, moving like a well-dressed tornado through the hotel room as she gathers up her things. “Amina and I will likely be back tomorrow. Do you really think you can’t handle one night without adult supervision?”
I straighten my shoulders, trying to look mature and wise and justifiably indignant. “Of course I can.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I just don’t getwhyyou wouldn’t take me and Ollie with you. I really liked Amsterdam. I wouldn’t mind going back.”
“Hate to break it to you, but this isn’t actually about you,” Mona says, zipping up her makeup bag.
I give her a haughty sniff. “Well, that’s simply not true. I have big main character energy. So what’s your next excuse? Is this all a ploy to have a secret rendezvous with Amina? You don’t have to pretend like you don’t have feelings for her. We all see it.”
“Would you stop?” Mona says, voice raised as she slams her handful of toiletries into her suitcase. “Not everything is a joke.”
“Oh my God, why are you yelling?” I yell. “It was just a question.”
“It’s because I’m running out of money, okay?” Mona says, glaring at me. “There. Does that make you happy?”
“You’re… what?”
“Running. Out. Of. Money,” she says through gritted teeth. “My business isfailing,Tilly. I can’t afford to fly you and Oliver back to Amsterdam for the second meeting without going over budget. And I’m sure you can’t wait to rub it in. So go ahead, let’s have it.” Mona crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrows furrowed and a deep frown curling her mouth.
“Why do you think I’d rub that in?” I ask, taking a step toward her.
“I… I don’t know,” she says, staring down at her shiny leather heels. “You act like I’m supposed to be perfect. Like you can’t wait to catch me failing. And I’m… I’m just not. It’s embarrassing.”
I look at her, my heart cracking. “Mo, that’s not true. Like, at all. You’re the most successful person I know, and I love seeing you absolutely kill it. But you know you don’t have to be perfect, right?”
Mona rolls her eyes then blinks rapidly, looking off to the side. “It’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s always been so much pressure on me to be some sort of success. Dad’s been telling me I’d make the lists of influential people under thirty since I could walk.” She takes a deep breath, using one hand to cup her forehead and shield her expression. “Then going off to Yale was weird. I was surrounded by these wildly high-achieving, rich, successful people and there’s this constant undercurrent of competition and no matter how hard I worked, I felt like I was coming in last.”
Her voice fractures, and she sinks onto the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped in a protective curve around her ears.“Nothing was ever good enough. I felt like there was this other person I was supposed to be—someone serious and driven—and the more I leaned into it, the more Mom and Dad seemed happy with me. I don’t know… sometimes I feel like I don’t even know who I really am anymore. If I’m not perfect, if I’m not a business mogul or innovator or whatever else people expect me to be, then what am I?”
“You’re my Mo-Mo,” I say, reaching out and grabbing her hand. I hold it tight even though her fingers are stiff. “You’re my force-of-nature big sister. You’re the smartest person in the room. The girl who laughed and sang Taylor Swift songs with me while painting my nails. The person who loses their shit looking at pictures of baby elephants.”
Two tears roll down Mona’s cheeks, and she gives me a watery smile. “I really do love when they give bottles to baby elephants.”
