I missed all of him. So much.
Also, damn, this write-up was a big deal. This was the kind of press that actually translated into jobs. I could put this quote on the front page of my website, follow up with some of my old design contacts from Spayce and share the article. My brain was plotting and scheming about work for what felt like the first time in forever. Excitement was creeping back into my body. God, I’d loved designing the Arbor office. I wasn’t ready to give up on that feeling. I wanted it back.
“My mom’s friends are asking me for your contact info,” Cleo said excitedly.
“Seriously?” I asked. All of this good news felt surreal.
“Yes, they’ve all been obsessed with you since the gala, and now that they’ve seen your work they’re chomping at the bit. I just wanted to make sure it was okay before I passed on your phone number. I know you’ve got stuff going on with your mom.”
“Yes, oh my god, it’s more than okay.” I looked at my friends with a stupid smile on my face. “That would be amazing.”
“Man, I’ve missed you,” Lola said, smiling back.
“I’ve missed you too. Both of you.” I wanted to wrap my arms around them and never let them go. “When are you supposed to go back to the city?”
“Our train’s in a couple hours,” Lola said, glancing at her phone for the time. “We thought we could hang out here and bug you for a little bit.”
That sounded nice. But what I really wanted, more than anything, was to go back home to Brooklyn. I wanted to put everything I had into getting my business off the ground, and to find the right words to express to Hayes how sorry I was about how things had ended between us. I was ready to make myself proud.
“Or…，” I said to my friends, a plan forming clearly in my mind. “Could you help me pack?”
*
“Wow, Franny, you got yourself real diamonds?” Lola cooed, an inch from my face, reaching up to touch the tiny stud dotting my earlobe. We were standing in my apartment, toasting my return to the city. I was still on a tight budget, but to commemorate this shift I’d started feeling in myself, this next step forward, I’d allowed myself one tiny splurge.
“I just wanted to do something to celebrate,” I said, swatting at her. “They weren’t that much. It was either this or get bangs.”
“Oh, you definitely made the right choice,” she said, leaning in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me too,” I said. Last week, I’d been written about on Town & Country’s website, with a slideshow about my work designing an art-focused playroom for a summer home in Sag Harbor. The house belonged to the niece of Duffy, one of the women I’d met at the gala thanks to Cleo’s mom. And next week, I had my first meeting with Serena about redecorating her entire apartment, which she seemed very excited to go over budget on. When I saw the small diamond earrings at Catbird, a jewelry boutique I loved in Williamsburg, after brunch last weekend, it had felt like a sign. A splurge I not only wanted but could afford. Something just for me.
“Wait, hold still—you have, like, the smallest bit of mascara under your eye.” Lola was studying my face with the seriousness of a forensic investigator. “Oh, no, it’s just an eyelash.”
She pressed a finger against the soft skin under my eye and pulled away with the eyelash stuck to the top of her index finger.
“Make a wish,” she said, holding her hand directly in front of my mouth. I paused for a moment, considering my options. Franny Doyle Design was starting to truly take shape. Lola was engaged. And Anna and I had been video-chatting weekly, learning more about each other and our parallel lives. We’d even been swapping career advice, sharing work tips and client horror stories. Everything was in its correct place
Well, almost everything. I inhaled and huffed out a breath. For the last few weeks, I’d written emails to Hayes that I never sent, started and deleted text messages, and role-played with my girlfriends about how to best apologize to him. But nothing had ever felt exactly right. And every time I felt brave enough to hit SEND, I panicked or second-guessed myself—and my words. But tonight we were going to be in the same room together, and I couldn’t push it off any longer. I promised myself that when I got the chance, I would tell Hayes exactly what I felt: I’d screwed up. I was sorry. And I’d give anything to try it all again.
It didn’t mean I wasn’t still scared. I knew now that I’d always experience doubt and fear, that I’d second-guess myself again. But I was also Franny Doyle. I was, as Hayes once told me, a woman who didn’t take shit from anyone, and that included myself.