Page 19 of Chasing Blue
“Who the fuck would?”
“Do I tell him before we start the job, at the end, or when?”
“I think you should just go with the flow. If there’s a moment, and it feels right, tell him. If the moment never happens, then he wasn’t meant to know. You just need to do you, boo. This is your story to tell; you went through it alone; you owe him no explanation for keeping him out of the loop.”
Despite being unsure as to whether this is how I will, in fact, handle the situation, I nod.
“I love you,” I tell Zoe.
“Don’t turn pussy on me now, I’ll cry. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“No idea. Takeout?”
“Sounds good. Chinese and wine, perfect. Here’s to Jack Motherfucking Cole, may the salty ocean rot his nob and it falls off inside some skanky ho.” She holds up her glass.
“Here’s to a successful fit-out and design, and an expanding client list.”
“That’s boring. Salty nobs dropping off are much more fun.”
“Salty nobs don’t earn us money.”
“His will, we’ll charge him extra just for being Jack Motherfucking Cole when we price the job.”
I let out a long sigh, feeling confused but grateful and nothing but love for my best friend.
* * *
I lean backin my chair and study the board I’ve pulled together for Jack’s bar and restaurant. Paint samples for the walls, fabric swatches for the chair coverings, timber for the tables, a polished concrete sample for the flooring, and a couple of images of lighting I want to run by him.
I’ve worked hard on this project every day this week and laid awake thinking about Jack every night. I’m exhausted; mentally, physically, and emotionally drained.
Matt has continued to call and text, and until this morning, I’d ignored him. He’s persistent though, and earlier today I replied telling him I’ll meet for a very quick drink tonight, purely because I want this done. I need to get through to him that we’re over.
I name the time, I name the place. He either listens or he doesn’t, but after tonight, we’re done. I’ll block his number, and he’ll no longer be able to contact me, not that he’ll likely want to once I’ve finished saying what I have to say to him.
As I stare at the board, I worry that the Matt stress, the Jack stress, and the lack of sleep are reflected in my work and that what I’ve pulled together to present to Jack is subpar.
I’m good at what I do, Zoe’s good, but I’m usually better, and she’d be the first to admit that.
Zoe started out in marketing for the company we both worked for in Melbourne but found herself more and more drawn to the design side of the business. When we decided to branch out on our own, she’d already taken a couple of online courses, and I taught her what I could.
Now she’s taking on more clients, we’ll soon have to take on someone new for the office or promote one of our sales team to run that side of things.
Zoe’s ideas and styles are very different from mine, but some of our best work has been done when we’ve collaborated. Sometimes a clash of styles is precisely what’s required to make a project meld and come together. It’s not one look or concept, but often a combination of things that according to the rules of design, shouldn’t work. We both have rebellious sides to our personalities, neither of us being fans of following rules, especially when it comes to our creativity. We’re making a name for ourselves locally because of this. A home we designed and dressed the interior of was featured in a magazine and went on to be sold in the millions. Since then, hotels, bars, and restaurants have sought us out.
We have an Instagram account where we offer design tips and tricks, with almost a million followers, and a blog with nearly as many subscribers. We’d researched the market extensively, put in the work, and it’s paid off. Not only is the design side of our business taking off, but so is the shop where we sell wall art, mirrors, knick-knacks, lamps, and small pieces of furniture we use in our designs and feature on our blog and Insta posts.
Rent is expensive where we chose to set up, but because we run both sides of the business from the one space, the retail side more than covers our outgoings. Not only are we in the black less than six months after starting up, but we’ve also both been able to draw a wage almost from the very beginning.
* * *
I’ve communicatedwith Jack through text a couple of times since my meeting, and we’re scheduled to meet back up at the bar tomorrow afternoon. I desperately want to get a good night’s sleep tonight before I face him again. That’s why I decided tonight would be the night to meet with Matt.
I need real, uninterrupted sleep before facing Jack again. Not the go home, eat nothing, drink a bottle of wine, and pass out cold until the alcohol wears off at three a.m., and then remain wide awake and overthinking until it’s time to go to work kind of sleep. More the kind where I eat a decent dinner, drink nothing but water, and watch a couple of shows on my laptop before reading for a half-hour and slowly drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep until my alarm goes off at seven a.m. I wake refreshed and ready to face the day . . . and to see Jack again.
I’m aware of movement over my shoulder and tilt my head to find Zoe standing behind my chair, head cocked to the side as she takes in what I’ve pulled together.
I watch her fold her arms across her chest, move her head to the opposite side and chew on the inside of her lip. My exhaustion allows that niggly little bitch paranoia to slither under my skin, and I demand, “What?” a little too aggressively.
