“Yes, and I don’t like them.” He took a calm bite of his food while I stared at him in disbelief.
“I take back what I said. Your soul is definitely suspect. It’s not normal for someone not to like dessert.” I searched for a plausible explanation. “Maybe you haven’t met the right dessert yet.”
Who could hate baklava, cheesecake, and ice cream? The devil, that was who.
“Perhaps I’ll meet it at the same time I meet my soulmate,” Christian deadpanned.
“You joke, but it could happen. And when it does, I’ll…” I faltered.
Threats weren’t my forte.
“Yes?” He sounded like he was holding back another laugh.
“I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
“Looking forward to it.” Christian took pity on me after my lame response and switched subjects. “Time to reciprocate, Butterfly. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“Can’t you look up everything you want to know on one of your fancy computers?” I was only half joking.
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
For some reason, that sent a flutter through my chest.
I’d planned on sharing something silly and lighthearted, like how I watched YouTube tarot readings when I felt down because the readers always put such a positive spin on things or how I color-coded my closet for fun because the result was so aesthetically pleasing.
Instead, I said, “Sometimes, I fantasize about finding out I was adopted.”
Shame curdled in my gut. I’d never, ever shared that sentiment with anyone, and hearing it aloud made my skin prickle with guilt.
I didn’t come from a bad family. They were judgmental and had high expectations, but they weren’t physically abusive. They’d paid for my college education in full, and I grew up in a nice house with nice clothes and nice vacations. Compared to a majority of people, I lived an incredibly privileged life.
But our lives were our own. There would always be people who were better and worse off than us. That didn’t make our feelings any less valid. We could acknowledge how good we had it in some respects while criticizing other parts.
To his credit, Christian didn’t condemn me for being an ungrateful brat. He didn’t say anything at all.
Instead, he waited for me to finish with no judgment in his eyes.
“I would freak out if that actually happened, but it’s the fantasy of having another family out there that’s more…like a family, I guess. Less competition, more emotional support.” I traced the rim of my mug with my finger. “Sometimes, I wonder if my sister and I would be closer if my parents hadn’t pitted us against each other so much. They didn’t spend a lot of time with us because they were so busy with work, and the time they did spend with us was focused on whichever child they could brag about the most. The one who had the best grades, the most impressive extracurriculars and college acceptances…Natalia and I were so busy trying to outshine each other growing up that we never connected with each other.”
A sad smile touched my lips. “Now she’s a vice president at the World Bank and I’m unemployed, so…” I shrugged, trying not to picture dozens more family dinners where I sat in shame while my parents gushed over my sister.
That was, if I was even invited to future dinners. After my fight with them, I wasn’t so sure.
“I never fit in with my family even when I was employed, anyway. They’re the practical ones. I’m the one who spent my childhood staring out the window daydreaming about fashion and travel instead of stacking my resume with college-boosting activities. When I was fifteen, I created a manifestation board for Parsons, my dream college, and covered it with photos of the campus and a mock acceptance letter I typed up.”
My smile turned wistful at the memory of my optimistic teenage self. “It worked. I received an actual acceptance letter my senior year, but I had to turn them down because my parents refused to pay for such an ‘impractical degree.’ So I ended up at Thayer.”
I didn’t regret it. If I hadn’t attended Thayer, I would’ve never met Ava, Bridget, and Jules.
Still, sometimes I wondered what would’ve happened had I attended Parsons. Would I have skipped the D.C. Style chapter of my life? Maybe. Would I already be a designer with multiple fashion shows under my belt? Less certain but probably.
“Take this from someone who’s seen plenty of competitors come and go over the years,” Christian said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You can’t measure your success based on someone else’s progress. And I’ve met your family. Trust me, it’s better that you don’t fit in.”
I let out a small laugh. “Perhaps.”
It felt good to get all that off my chest, and it helped that Christian and I weren’t as close as I was to my girlfriends. It made me less self-conscious about the things I was sharing.
Sleep tugged at the edges of my consciousness, but I didn’t want to go to bed when Christian and I were finally having a real conversation.
The shoot didn’t start until late morning tomorrow anyway.
Just half an hour more. Then I’ll go to sleep.
“What about your family?” I took another sip of tea. “What are they like?”
Christian never talked about his parents, and I hadn’t spotted a single photo of them in his house.
“Dead.”
The tea went down the wrong pipe. I spluttered out a series of coughs while Christian finished his dinner like he hadn’t dropped a bombshell with the casualness of someone mentioning their family was out of town for the weekend.
“I’m so sorry,” I said once I recovered. I blinked away the tears from my coughing fit. “I…I didn’t know.”
It was an inane thing to say because of course I hadn’t known, or I wouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t think of a better response.
I’d assumed Christian’s parents lived in another city and/or he had a bad relationship with them. I never would have guessed he was an orphan.
“It happened when I was thirteen, so don’t feel too bad for me. It was a long time ago.” Despite his casual tone, his tight jaw and rigid shoulders told me he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.
A deep ache blossomed in my chest. Thirteen was too young to lose one’s parents. Any age was too young.
I might be upset and frustrated with my family, but if I lost any of them, I would be devastated.
“They were your parents. There’s no time limit to grieving the loss of family,” I said gently. I hesitated, then asked, “Who did you live with after they…”
“My aunt raised me until she died when I was in college.” Christian answered my unfinished question. “I’ve been on my own since.”