Page 25 of Tilly in Technicolor
“Enough!” Mona snaps at Tilly. “Oliver,” she says, turning to me, “get yourself ready, we need to leave for the meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” Tilly says, her voice rising an octave. “But I wanted to shower.”
Mona blinks at her. “Then shower? I don’t get your point.”
“I won’t have time to shower and do my hair if we’re leaving in twenty minutes!”
Mona opens and closes her mouth a few times. It reminds me of fish reluctantly trying to survive. “We?” Mona says at last. “You know you aren’t going, right?”
Tilly’s head jerks back. “What? Yes I am.”
“Why in God’s name would you go?” Mona asks, fisting her hands in her hair.
“Oliver’s going,” Tilly says, jerking her thumb at me. Oh God, please don’t drag me into this.
“Oliver is running our social media and design! He’s a contributing member of the team. His input matters.”
Tilly flinches, and I stare down at the ugly carpet with its faded paisley pattern. I don’t exactly like Tilly but even I can admit that was a bit harsh.
“Yeah, well, as far as I can tell, I’m the only one wearing your stupid polish,” Tilly says, flicking both her ring fingers at Mona like she’s making a rude gesture. They’re painted a canary yellow today, and the color hooks my attention. I follow her hands as they swoop through the air while she continues to fight with her sister. “So maybe I can be a character witness so people actually want to buy the things.”
“Tilly, I’m not trying to fight with you right now,” Mona says, “but you have literally nothing to add to this meeting. You aren’t going.”
It’s actually rather astounding how quickly Tilly shows emotions; they light her up brighter than a spotlight. And right now, hurt is the most obvious one. Her eyes are shiny, fat teardrops brimming at the pale pink edges while red blotches stain her cheeks, her shoulders hunched close to her ears.
“Charisma.”
There’s an extended moment of silence, and I’m trying to figure out who said that.
Wait. Was it me? Must’ve been because all three women have their eyes on me.
“What’s that, darling?” Amina asks, tilting her head.
Oh hell. I guess I’m supposed to keep talking. “Charisma,” I repeat, coughing at the end of the word. “Tilly has charisma. She should be in the meeting.”
Right. What the hell am I doing? Where are these thoughts coming from?
“Are you serious?” Mona asks, her lips tilting into a grimace. She’s wearing deep red lipstick. Pantone 19–2429, Plum Caspia, probably. My eyes dart to Tilly for half a second, and all I see is her jaw dangling open before I focus back on the carpeting.
“I believe so,” I say, but I’m not actually sure. “She’s energetic and charismatic and could add a certain… charm, perhaps? If nothing else, she could be an example of penetrating the Gen Z market. Everyone’s always trying to figure out how to sell us stuff.Forbeswrites at least a dozen articles about it a year.”
Amina walks over to Mona, placing her hands on Mona’s tense shoulders and rubbing gently. “Oliver has a point,” Amina says. “Let her sit in, darling. It will be such a great learning experience for her to see how meetings like this work. She is our intern, after all. Plus, she’ll be witnessing presentation skills from the very best,” Amina adds, giving Mona’s shoulders an extra squeeze and shooting Tilly a wink.
Mona’s plum lips are pressed into a firm line, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Fine,” she says at last, but the word sounds anything but. “I have rules, though,” she adds, pointing at Tilly.
“Color me surprised,” Tilly whispers.
“I don’t want you to talk unless they ask you a direct question. No fidgeting. No obscenities. No burping. No farting. No—”
“Wow. You know what? Forget it,” Tilly says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Excuse me?” Mona says, head pulling back.
“Believe it or not, Mo, I’m actually an eighteen-year-oldadultwith feelings and a modicum of self-respect, and yourlittle pep talk doesn’t do much to honor any of that. So, yeah. I’m gonna be staying back. And looking into flights away from you.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Mona snaps.
