Page 145 of Road Trip to Forever
“Never alone,” I answer. I squeeze his hand and we march on.
* * *
My cheeks hurtfrom grinning so much.
These are my people. A collection of individuals who love the fashion industry and enjoy sharing that love with anyone who will listen. The questions each magazine editor asks me are poignant and important, carefully thought out to show that our jobs aren’t just about clothes.
It’s so much deeper than a shirt and some pants or fabric stitched together and thrown on a mannequin to make a profit. It’s about inclusivity, creativity, and affordability. The power we have to shape style for generations down the road.
The conversation is unfiltered, raw and honest about the rise and fall of the economy and how we all prioritize different things to spend our hard-earned money on. We talk about the dark world of fast fashion, how companies are putting profits over people, and the toll it takes on smaller artists just trying to make a living.
When the heavy conversation shifts to lighter topics like my personal life and my plans for the future, Patrick joins me on the ottoman I’m perched on.
“You’re doing great,” he whispers. His hand rests on my knee and his thigh presses against mine. “A natural. Definitely not a blowhard.”
“Shh,” I whisper back. “You’re going to distract me.”
“I know other ways I could distract you,” he says, trailing his hand up my leg before I swat him away.
I talk about the store, the knowledge that I could fail and go bankrupt in three years, but dammit, I’m going to try anyway. I pose for pictures with Patrick by my side. I rest my head on his shoulder. He holds my hand, and we smile so brightly, we could block out the sun.
“Did you make this dress?” Jeremiah, one of the photographers, asks. He kneels down and snaps an up-close photo of the sequined outfit.
I nearly hyperventilated when he introduced himself. He gained popularity a couple months back after his photoshoot with two strangers went viral. The pictures werehot, to say the least.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s going to be the first dress I carry in the store.”
“It’s so unique.” A flash goes off in my face, and I blink away dots from my vision. “A mix of vintage and modern. Genius.”
I blush furiously at the praise, still not used to people seeing my designs out in the world andlikingthem.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
“I think that’s a wrap,” Janet says.
She flew in for the day, greeting me with a big hug and telling me how proud she was to hear my name as the up-and-coming winner of the show, adamant the Council of Fashion Designers made the right pick.
“This was fun,” I admit. “I’m not sure I could make it my full-time gig, but for an afternoon? I had a blast.”
“You have my card, right?” Janet asks. “Call me anytime. And let me know when you plan to open the store. Vivian and I want to be there for your big day.”
Vivian’s been a godsend in the weeks since the show, emailing me late into the night and letting me bounce ideas off of her. She’s given me the contact information for her connections in the industry, and we have a call set up next month to strategize my next year as a business owner.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling Janet into a hug. “I appreciate you.”
Patrick waits for me on the other side of the room, his lips turning up into a smile as I approach him. He’s leaning against the wall with his suit jacket draped over his shoulder.
That handsome man ismine.
I answer his smile with a grin of my own.
“Hey,” he says.
“You’re entirely too good-looking,” I say. “Thank you for being here with me.”
“As if there were anywhere else I’d rather be. Are you ready?”
“Take me home, sweet boyfriend of mine.”
