Page 14 of Tilly in Technicolor
Sigh.
I’m apparently always too blunt. I try to be mindful of it, I truly do, but why say something in fifty “gentler” words when the point can be made in a dozen concise ones?
“Isn’t he the charmer,” Tilly says, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry. That came out… er… badly.”
Mona blinks at me for a moment before straightening her shoulders. “Okay. Pause. It’s only been five minutes and this entire thing feels like a derailed train shooting off a cliff.”
“That was beautiful, Mo,” Tilly says.
Mona shoots her a dirty look. “Oliver,” she says, turning to me with a smile. “Let’s start over. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
“We’re so thrilled to have you on the team,” Amina says, walking over and shaking my hand.
“This is my sister, Tilly, and she’s sorry for being so abrasive,” Mona says, glancing at Tilly with a warning look. Tilly crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s our other intern thissummer. My parents and I agreed it would be a good opportunity for her to get some life experiences before she starts college. She’ll also do some modeling of the lacquers while she’s with us.”
There’s an energy shift, like Tilly is physically dimming at Mona’s words, her shoulders curling and arms sliding down to hug around her middle.
“Where are you going to university?” I ask, trying my best to offer an olive branch of small talk despite how much I hate it.
Tilly frowns at me like I just shat on her shoes. “I’m not.”
Mona glares at Tilly, and Tilly glares back, something sharp and biting that I can’t read being said with their looks.
“And what school will you be attending, Oliver?” Mona asks, eyes still glued on her sister.
“University of the Arts,” I answer, that huge swell of anticipation shooting up my spine and down my limbs, making my fingers tap in excitement. “They’re allowing me to design an accelerated dual-degree program merging photography and digital media curation for businesses, all with an emphasis on color theory and psychological applications in marketing and advertisements. You see, it will take the fundamentalist concepts of art and design applied to marketing, but with studies into broad appeal versus regional and cultural implications of color psychology. Because even Pantone, this massive authority that has created a universal language on color, chooses their color of the year, right? And that color then influences everything from smartphones to fashion on a global scale. But can we really do that? Find a single color, maybe two, that should be implemented into global design? Is that truly thebestbranding strategy for a company? Or should they look on a more micro scale when executing their goals? You see—”
It’s at this point that I realize I’m rambling like an absolutegit, so I slam my mouth shut. I can tell by the deep furrow in Amina’s and Mona’s brows and the way their eyes are bouncing back and forth like they’re chasing after my words. Cubby, my twin sister, helped me learn this cue and advised me that, when I see it, I’ve probably lost everyone.
“Well?” Tilly says, her voice quieter than I’ve heard it before. I glance at her. Her jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes wide and focused on me. “Should they?”
“W-what?” I ask, caught off guard.
“Should they implement a more micro perspective?”
I blink rapidly then open my mouth, excited words bubbling up my throat as I’m about to tell her my theories on the effect, but I stop myself. Part of having autism means, for some of us, that we can’t read what people actually mean versus what they say.
There have been so many humiliating times where I mistook sarcasm for genuine interest, excitedly infodumping about something only to realize the listeners are having a laugh at my expense. It was particularly awful in primary school, being branded as some weird freak for talking nonstop about my latest obsession, but I’ve learned to mask it in most situations, usually only letting go for my mums, Cubby, or my best friend, Marcus. I don’t know why I just slipped up so dreadfully in front of these three women who are virtually strangers.
“Never mind,” I say, running a hand across the back of my heated neck. I risk another quick glance at Tilly, and her face falls into a frown. Like I’ve disappointed her.
I can’t understand why.
“Anyway,” Mona says after a moment, clapping her hands together and moving so we’re all in a small circle. “Today marks the official start on our sales tour, and I truly am glad to have both of you here.” I catch Tilly shooting a skeptical glance at Mona.
“We leave for Paris tomorrow for our meeting with Toussaint’s,” Mona says, thumbing through her phone.
Toussaint’s is a boutique chain with locations scattered across Paris and a few locations in London. A cursory Google search told me it’s popular with both locals and tourists, and Mona CC’ed me on a briefing that detailed how important getting an account with them would be. I don’t really have a stake in Ruhe—I’m using this as a minimum-wage résumé builder—but there are few things I hate more than losing, so I’m invested in their success.
“I’d like for us to dedicate today to stocking up on social media posts,” Mona continues, looking at me. I nod. I’ve already thought of some decadently colorful spots across the city we can use as a backdrop for photos. “Oliver, you and Amina can discuss ideas while I paint Tilly’s nails.”
“Go team,” Tilly says with lackluster enthusiasm, following Mona across the room.
“Want an espresso?” Amina asks me, already preparing one.
“Please.” I’ll need an IV drip of caffeine to keep up with Tilly. She slides the cup across the kitchen bar, and I sip it.
