Page 10 of The Design of Goodbye
They probably never would be.
She’d always been honest with me. According to her, honesty was what was best for me. She was always obsessed with what wasbestfor me.
At first, I ignored her, because designing wedding dresses was my passion. It kind of felt like who I was meant to be.
But my mom had always been convincing.
It took me until the summer before sophomore year of high school to accept she was right, and I had to let my dream of designing wedding dresses go. If I wanted to become a fashion designer—enter the Harbor Fashion Show—I needed to stop pining over what could have been and discover who I was meant tobe.
So, I’d stopped collecting pictures of wedding dresses and researching new bridal collections. I stored those precious binders in a container in the back of my closet—out of sight. Then I stopped sketching. The ideas were harder to turn off—I couldn’t bury those in my closet. For months, I found myself randomly sketching designs on my homework, or with my fingertip on the kitchen table. Slowly, though, my inspiration—without the fuel it needed—faded.
It’d been a little more than two years since then, and I was still trying to find who I was as a fashion designer. I’d attempted ready-to-wear, haute couture, even mass market... but they never gave me those goose bumps. And without those, I had no ideas. Nothing. But, every night, I sketched because I was determined. I still remembered how I’d felt when designing wedding dresses, and I was desperate to get that feeling back. I liked to think being a fashion designer was an innate part of me—like my mom—but, most days, I wondered if I could even call myself one.
My mom had always told me true fashion designers had so many ideas they didn’t have enough time to complete them all. She excelled at ideas. She had sketchbooks filled with designs in hopes she’d get the opportunity to create every single one, but she’d never come close to finishing them all.
I grabbed one of my mom’s sketchbooks and opened to a blank page. Every night, a tiny bit of hope filled me when I started sketching. Maybe tonight, an idea would come. I welcomed this flickering hope. But the hope never lasted long, and it eventually turned to hopelessness.
It was dark by the time I gave up—like I couldn’t mentally stop until the darkness took over and the wastebasket bin in the corner overflowed with crumpled pieces of paper.
By the time I put the colored pencils away and the sketchbook back in her drawer, the room felt stifling, like it was mid-August instead of October. I snuck out of my house, letting the cold air soak into me. I walked until I could breathe again, and it didn’t feel like something was pushing against my chest, trying to crush me.
chapter five
On Friday, Jules brought us all cupcakes for lunch because she’d finally hit twenty thousand followers on Whirl. She’d kept me up until after midnight brainstorming ideas for a celebratory photo shoot, but all we’d agreed on so far was the location—her favorite lighthouse on Lake Michigan.
“Here,” said Jules, handing me a stack of paper. “After you went to sleep last night, I found some outfit ideas—”
“This issome?” I asked.
The stack was an inch thick and only Ruby June pieces. Ruby June designed clothes every girl in my school wanted to wear. Her designs were unique, stylish, and contained a certain magic I hoped to possess someday. My mom had never let me buy a Ruby June piece because, according to her, Ruby was a terrible designer. I’d never understood it because Ruby wasincredible. If my fashion design career ended up half as amazing as Ruby’s, I’d be happy.
“My photo shoot has to be perfect, Madison. Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?”
Jules had been obsessed with Whirl since it released the summer before our junior year. I’d never grown to love Whirl like my friends did. I hated posting pictures of myself and was too shy to post videos. I still had my profile, of course, but I only used it to follow my friends and favorite fashion designers.
“Since last summer,” I said, remembering. “I know how important this is to you.” While I saw the importance Whirl had on her life, I didn’t really understand it.
“Good,” she said. “Go through them while you eat. Mom said I could get anything I wanted.”
“Go through what?” asked Claire. She tossed her enormous purse on the table, and tubes of red lip stain and Jolly Ranchers spilled out. Alex stole a Jolly Rancher, popping it in his mouth before she could stop him.
“Alex!” cried Claire. “That was my last grape!”
“Sorry.” He laughed. He was half asleep and slightly hungover. Apparently, Thursday-night partying was a thing now.
Claire glared. Alex cowered slightly, but the grin didn’t leave his face.
When Claire finally sat down, Jules handed her a stack like mine. “I need you to pick your favorite outfit for my twenty-thousand-follower celebration photo shoot.”
The difference between my and Claire’s reaction was startling. Claire squealed before excitedly thumbing through the stack. I’d barely glanced through mine. I should’ve been excited to look at clothes, but, lately, I had a hard time being excited about much.
“C’mon, Madison,” said Jules, “this is literally life or death. If I wear the wrong thing, people might unfollow me.”
I wondered what it would be like if my biggest worry was losing followers. While I ate my salad, I shuffled through the stack. It was hard to pick my favorite because Jules and I hadverydifferent tastes. Jules preferred the whole less-is-more bandwagon.
“So,” asked Jules impatiently, less than five minutes later, “which one do you like?”
Claire and I slid the paper with our favorite outfit in front of Jules. Claire had chosen an incredibly short emerald-green velvet dress with four-inch silver heels. I’d picked a mustard-yellow skirt, black tights, and a black turtleneck with suede booties.
