Page 29 of Free to Believe
Corinna snickers. “That’s a sucker bet. I’m not taking that.” Holly sticks her tongue out.
Phil stands up and reaches over for the iPad much to my sisters’ protests. “Children, calm down. I would like to actually find out how our Em is doing and not roast her tonight.” My heart melts a little at the uncommon show of brotherly concern when Phil tacks on, “We can save that for when she’s feeling better.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m totally feeling the love here, people.”
Phil sits back down and flashes me a grin. “You wouldn’t have us any other way.”
True. “Can someone at least pretend to feel some sympathy? I’m sitting here in pain, and I want to finish this call so I can go drink some wine. If I’m even allowed to,” I pout petulantly.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll ping Jace when I’m done talking with you. Now, honestly, how are you?” The look of concern on Phil’s face makes my heart melt even as my stomach starts to knot.
I push a hand through my wet curls. “One minute I’m so exhausted, I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. The next, I’m so angry about everything, all I want to do is scream. I can’t find my balance.”Nor can I find an outlet as I haven’t picked up a single chalk to design since I got here days ago, I think to myself.
Phil purses his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know whether we should tell you everything or not now.”
The feeling in my stomach is now closer to feeling like someone has put it through a meat grinder. “Better you tell me now than I find out, Phillip,” I warn him.
“Here, talk to Cass.”
Shit.
“Cassidy, tell me what the hell is going on. Right. Now,” I demand.
My older sister takes a deep breath. “The thing is…”
Ali interrupts her, lifting a yellow manila envelope on the table. “These are the days I hate my job.”
I hazard a guess. “Patrick?” I say, naming the designer whose place I took at Fashion Week.
“Got it in one,” Ali says grimly. “Turns out he decided to countersue for defamation of character. His lawyers are arguing that you only went after him because of his spot in the lineup, not the designs.”
I cut her off. What a load of crap. “What does this mean for me, Ali?”
“It means I have to tread more carefully in my arguments, but ultimately nothing against the case,” Ali says patiently. “Because of the fact Patrick’s a lying shit who stole your proprietary information and sold them for gain. Which we have him on cold.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Has there been any word from the CFDA attorneys involved?” Maybe I don’t need to be worrying about finding my creative juices if they’re going to yank my first Fashion Week out from under me.
Ali nods. “Regardless of what happens with Patrick—which I’m handling—what he did to you still was grounds for the actions they took. The show is still on. In fact, your name appearing in the newspaper—” She upends the manila folder. I can’t even count the number of clippings that fall out. “—is just generating more free publicity for the show every time they call for comment. They think it’s going to be the most highly attended fashion show next to Reem Acra’s.” Her cobalt-blue eyes gleam. “So, I hope whatever you’re working on is going to rock the runway.”
“Yeah, no pressure there.” Now the throbbing has moved from my leg to my head and my heart.
Cassidy’s face appears square in the feed. “Em, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Cass. Everything’s just fine.” In fact, it’s so fine, I think the last time I felt this empty hollowness was when Aunt Dee passed away.
“Well, this should cheer you up. Phil’s on his phone with Jason, and judging by the hand gestures, I say you’re good for a couple of glasses of wine.” Cassidy turns the video toward Phil, who’s pantomiming drinking with his thumb and pinky finger out. He then holds up two fingers and a thumbs-up.
“If I’m translating big brother correctly, Jason is telling him you’re good for two glasses of wine, no more,” Cassidy says wryly. She laughs as Phil applauds her correct charades interpretation.
“Trust me, unless it was going to kill me, I was planning on drinking anyway.”
Joining my family in laughter, I feel an easement in my soul. Maybe burying all of these emotions isn’t the answer. It wasn’t when my parents died nor when Dee did. Tonight, I’ll grab my journal and draw out my wounds in order to shine a light on them. Maybe they won’t end up being the designs that wind up in the show, but maybe it will be the first step to healing. To finding my soul.
And believing in myself again enough to knock the fashion world on its ass.
17
Jake
