“No,” Margaux said, then paused, like she was remembering something. “You know, I think I did have them, but I gave them to Mom. She wanted a set of all of ours, just in case we had an emergency.” She looked at us and smiled. “Which is kind of what this is! So good planning on Mom’s part, huh?”
“You couldn’t have told us this before?” Matty asked.
“Ms. Lampitoc?” A girl wearing overalls, but somehow making them look incredibly chic, approached her timidly. “We’re getting questions about the next look.…”
“Right,” Margaux said, and it was like everything that was dreamy and fuzzy about her fell away. She handed Brad to Matty, then headed over to the farthest rack of clothes, motioning for us to follow. “Look, just call Mom,” she said, already flipping through the rack as I hobbled up. “And…” She stopped and frowned at me. “What’s wrong with your feet?”
“Oh,” I said. Matty shot me an I told you so look. “I—um—don’t think I broke my shoes in enough.”
Margaux winced in sympathy. “I have been there,” she said. “This one time I was in Tulum, and I forgot where I parked my bike… or maybe someone stole it.” She paused and tilted her head to the side, like this possibility had never occurred to her before. “Huh.” She grabbed a long, silky slip dress in red, and then what looked like basically the same dress in champagne, and handed them to the girl in overalls. “Options for Eight A,” she said. “There’s alternatives if it’s clashing with the painting. Let me know.”
“Absolutely,” the girl said, taking the dresses carefully.
“I’m going to call Mom,” Matty said, walking a few steps down the hallway.
“Tell her to come by,” Margaux called over her shoulder. “The more the merrier!” The girl in overalls visibly paled when she said this, but Margaux didn’t seem to notice. “Come on,” she said to me. She paused by the food table and picked out a small bag of regular Ruffles from the basket. “Here,” she said, handing it to me with a smile. I took them, a little baffled. “Oh,” Margaux said, frowning. “Sorry—I just thought you might be hungry and remembered you liked them. From that time when we were getting snacks at the deli by the apartment?”
I nodded, pressing my lips together, my thoughts spinning.
I had a theory—even though I’d never told anyone, not even Kat—that love was about paying attention. It’s the one thing you can’t buy or fake or make up for at the last minute. So the things that meant the most to me were the little details that told you someone had been paying attention, memorizing your random preferences, letting you know they cared. It was why it mattered to me when I met my mom for breakfast near the Pearce and she had my favorite scramble waiting for me, just the way I liked it. Why when Kat ordered my drink perfectly at Starbucks, it always made me smile. When Teri brought me a bag of sour peach slices, it was more than just bringing me a snack. It was saying, I see you. I know you. Have some candy.
I had just never thought that Margaux would have been one of those people, and I was suddenly ashamed of myself. “Thank you,” I said, pulling open the bag. “Want one?”
“Always,” Margaux said with a grin. She took a chip, then slung an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the curtained area. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
Five minutes later, I was feeling better than I had dreamed was possible. I’d taken off my shoes—and Margaux and the wardrobe assistants behind the curtain had let out gasps of sympathy at the blistery, bloody mess that my feet had become. But even though I knew I should be embarrassed, it was actually just such a relief to get my shoes off and have the pain stop that I didn’t really care my feet were horrifying fancy fashion people.
Margaux had jumped into action, getting first aid supplies from the kits she explained came to every shoot with them—Neosporin, Band-Aids, moleskin pads to put over the Band-Aids so they wouldn’t rub. It reminded me of when Kat had shown me her dance bag—which she was still holding on to despite the fact that she wasn’t still dancing, not that she seemed to like me to point that out.
Once my feet were patched up, Margaux had eyeballed them and procured a pair of flat leather boots for me to wear, made by a designer whose name I recognized but whose shoes I’d never actually seen in person. I tried to protest, but Margaux steamrolled me, giving me a pair of cashmere socks to wear with them, telling me to treat my feet gently for the rest of the night and assuring me they’d look great with my jumpsuit.
She gave me a canvas bag for my terrible heels, even though I was tempted to tell her to just throw them away, and when I’d pulled on the new boots, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “I think they look awesome.”
I nodded and tried to give her a smile, but then had to look away, blinking hard.
She was being so nice to me. So was Matty—coming all the way over here with me, trying to help me out. I had never given them any reason to be so kind, I knew with a kind of creeping shame. I had three siblings, and I’d been pushing them away for a year. And where had it gotten me?
Suddenly, I felt so small. Petty and jealous and young.
You stand in your own way. I’d been so furious at Kat when she’d said it. But she was right—this was just one more piece of proof. I could have had a year of inside jokes and text threads and known Brad’s secret identities and all about the Raptor. I could have had a year with my family, new and different and unexpected as it was.
But I was here now. And maybe that was enough to start?
“Thank you so much,” I said to Margaux. I didn’t know how to apologize, to explain all this to her. “I just,” I started, my voice choked. “I’m really…”
“Oh, no,” Margaux said, swooping in to hug me. “Oh, honey. I know, those things can really hurt. But it’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” I said, running my hand over my face and giving her a watery smile. “I hope so.”
“Margaux?” One of the people I had seen at the table with the laptops stuck his head around the curtain. “You’re needed.”
“Right,” she said, all business again, turning to follow him. She glanced back at me and winked. “See you out there.”
I hurried after her—I didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to ask what, exactly, I was doing with what I was sure were prohibitively expensive boots. In the hallway, I could see Matty leaning against the wall by a water fountain, one knee bent, talking on the phone, Brad flopped down at his feet. I walked over to join him just as he hung up.
I looked at his expression, trying to see if he’d gotten good news or bad. All at once, it was like whatever spell had been cast by the museum and Margaux was broken, and I was back to reality, focusing on what I had to do. I had to try and get back into Mallory’s apartment, and drop off the dog.…
Matty smiled at me and held up his phone. “My mom assures me the keys are in her office.”
“Oh,” I said, hope flaring in my chest again, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what this meant.
“And if she says they’re there, they are. We can trust her. Not like Margaux.” He said this last part for Margaux’s benefit. She was breezing past, carrying a romper that was supercute, trailed by Zephyr, who was engrossed in his phone.