DYLAN
I can’t sleepwith my eyes open. Believe me, I’ve tried. But it sure would be handy to have that skill right about now. Because listening to my sister Alex’s girlfriend, Libby, drone on and on about business this, and markups that, and cost-analysis or whatever the shit she just said makes me want to press snooze on the whole world and sleep for a month.
I hadn’t planned on being roped into this today, but here we are, hanging out in the back office of Kings superstore. And the shit thing is, I can’t even leave because I rode here with Alex. I’m supposed to be babysitting Ella, but Iris called early this morning to say my niece was running a fever and needed to go to the pediatrician.
I offered to take her, but Iris had been pretty insistent that I should hang out with Alex and Libby instead since the three of us hardly ever get the chance. I thought we could go for lunch or a hike down at the springs, but instead, I’m staring at numbers on charts, pretending I know what they mean.
Dad and Mom were always hands-on with their businesses, which was great for them because they both had degrees in management and marketing and years of experience. My liberal arts degree, however, means jack shit in this world.
The four other people in the room nod like bobblehead dolls as Libby clicks through to the next slide. When we finish up here, I have a date with Lightroom and Photoshop. The new enlarger and cheap daylight tank I ordered should arrive tomorrow. There’s plenty of shit to photograph around here, plus the evenings kinda drag without anyone to hang out with.
Libby moves on to a chart with a bunch of numbers, most of them red. Man, she has a sweet mohawk. I always wanted to be able to pull off a mohawk. Tried it once in middle school. Did not go well.
Focus, Dylan.
From what I gather, this store isn’t hitting its third-quarter targets.
“So, the store isn’t doing well?” I say in an effort to be somewhat engaging.
Everyone turns toward me in unison.
Libby’s smile screams “placating” as she shakes her head. “With a recession on the horizon, no one is doing well. But we’re prepared for the impact of an economic downturn. I’m in the process of renegotiating with some of our suppliers regarding discounts on some staple goods that should significantly increase our profit margins. If we can dump some of our surplus stock that doesn’t sell as well, we should be looking at a nice increase over the last quarter.”
She may as well be speaking Latin, for all I understand. But I nod anyway. “That’s good?”
“It’s very good. And we’re hoping the influx of customers for Fall Fest will kick off the Christmas season with a bang.”
“Christmas isn’t for another three months.”
For some reason, that makes everyone in the office laugh.
“Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. Christmas is already here.”
Last I checked, it was only September, but whatever. I guess the “planning” mentality meant always looking forward instead of being in the moment. I’ve always preferred the latter. It’s probably why I love photography so much. Capturing fleeting moments in time and saving them forever.
The meeting ends without me contributing anything beyond my presence. Everyone else sticks around for coffee and donuts from the break room, but I’m not one for idle chit-chat, so I head straight for the exit.
I’m about to reach for the doorknob when Libby calls me back.
Thankfully, she’s on her own and knows better than to ask me how I’m doing. “You gotta sec?” she asks. “Alex wanted me to talk to you about something.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
She runs a hand down the shaved side of her head. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Sunny Gillespie is going to be doing a feature on Still Springs.”
The name doesn’t sound familiar, but then again, sometimes my family forgets I haven’t lived here in years. “Should I know who that is?”
Laughing, she drags her phone out of her pocket and opens her Instagram account. A moment later, I’m staring at a petite brunette with doe-eyes and a megawatt smile that belongs in a toothpaste commercial.
“Recognize her now?” Libby asks.
“Sure don’t.”
“Sunny Gillespie,” she repeats.
“Oh yeah, Sunny Gillespie.”
“So you do remember her.”
