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But my mind isn’t only on the shows and the day that lies ahead of me.
I can’t stop thinking about Noah.
And not just about our night together last night—which was incredible, as it always is with him—but about waking up in his arms this morning.
It was at the crack of dawn. He had his arms wrapped around me, and we were pressed together tightly, limbs pretzeled as if that was how we belonged.
I know it’s not how it’s meant to be between us, but it’s hard to shake that feeling that I was exactly where I needed to be.
“Okay, I’ve taken care of the garments, but I need you to review jewelry. I think that woman is dead on her feet today so just make sure she knows what’s going on.” Michelle pushes a cup of coffee into my hand.
I nod and sip while she talks.
“And when you talk to the makeup artist, you might want to revise the style, I think the liner is too heavy for the butterfly piece and we need to…hey.”
I blink at Michelle. “What?”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course. Jewelry and makeup. We’ve got this.” I take another sip.
Michelle narrows her eyes at me. “You’ve been very distracted.”
I shrug. “I’m just tired; it’s been a long week. And I’m eager to get home.”
“Are you?”
I frown at her over the rim of my cup. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Michelle shakes her head. “I know you’re eager to go see Ava, but I mean, you’re leaving an awful lot behind, here.”
My eyes suddenly well with tears. It surprises me just as much as it surprises Michelle.
“We don’t have time to talk now, but tonight is girls’ night. You and me—we’re figuring thing out.”
I nod. Michelle is a star. I want to see Noah tonight, but for the very same reason, I also don’t want to see him. He’s going to watch a game his team is playing, and he’s asked me to join him. I’m going to say no. I need to clear my head and Michelle is the only person that can help me do that.
I force back my tears, feeling like an idiot for crying—what’s that all about? We hurry to get to the models, to take care of business. We have to make this last day count. The whole week has been great but I don’t want to ride on the wave we created in the beginning this week. Today has to be the day where they all say, “wow, she still has more to give.”
Michelle and I work like together like an old married couple. We know each other’s movements, we know exactly what our roles are, and we do it without talking, without questioning, without wondering.
We’re one of the first shows, and one of the last, so it’s a full day. The models are cranky—they’re even more exhausted than we are. The designers are fussy—everything has to be perfect. But this is Fashion Week. In some ways, it’s very different from Paris Fashion Week. And in some ways, it’s completely the same.
I push everything aside, from my uncertainty about Noah to my homesickness with Ava so far to my worry about Jean-Pierre. I don’t let myself think about any of it. I focus on my work, and the fact that this is a dream come true.
Five years ago, I was nothing and no one. Now, when I walk in, designers nod at me in respect. Fashion reporters and bloggers recognize me on sight. The seats fill up when my shows come on—they all want to see what I have to offer.
And after this show, when orders start rolling in, I’ll know if I can expand my business and open a branch right here in New York. Being world-renowned was always the dream.
And it’s starting to look like it might become a reality.
Both shows are incredible. When I step onto the catwalk myself after the models slink their way back behind the scenes, the crowd erupts in applause and the cameras flashing blinds me. I smile and wave and they cheer.
When it’s all over, Michelle and I pour glasses of champagne for the models, the jewelry designers, and the makeup team. They talk excitedly about the week, their crankiness and fatigue momentarily driven away by the excitement of success.
I lift my glass and everyone falls quiet.
“I just want to say thank you to each and every one of you for making this week happen for us. We create the pieces and we put them together, but without you guys, I couldn’t have pulled off this show. You’re all beautiful people and I’m sad to leave you behind.” My voice cracks a little and a lump rises in my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper.
