Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(35)

“I was honestly stunned,” I told Joe. “The collection I’d designed was beautiful. I had a great reputation, and I’d built up all these amazing contacts. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So I called Jasmine, and she said —”

“Who’s Jasmine?”

“Oh, I forgot I hadn’t told you about her. Jasmine’s my best friend in New York. A mentor. She’s the head fashion director at Glimmer magazine. She knows everything about style, and she can always tell which trends will be huge, and which ones will never get off the ground–” I paused. “Is this boring?”

“Not at all. Tell me what she said.”

“Jasmine said there was nothing wrong with my collection. It was competently designed. Everything was in perfect taste.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“That was the problem. I didn’t take any risks. I didn’t push my ideas enough. The extra something, that spark of originality… it wasn’t there. But she said I was a fantastic businesswoman. I was good at networking and promoting; I got the business side of fashion like no one else she knew. I didn’t like hearing any of this; I wanted to be a creative genius. But I had to admit that the business was what I’d really enjoyed, way more than the design work.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know that now. At the time, though, it was hard to let go of something I’d worked so hard for. Not long after that, my father had a stroke. So I flew down to visit him in the hospital, and I met Sofia, and my whole life changed.”

“And the broken engagement?” Joe surprised me by asking. “When did that happen?”

The question made me tense and uncomfortable. “I hate talking about that.”

“We don’t have to.” The gentleness of his voice eased the tightness in my chest. I settled back deeper into the pillows. “Do you miss New York?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” I paused and said ruefully, “A lot. But there are some days when I don’t think about it as much as others.”

“What do you miss most about it?”

“My friends most of all. And… it’s hard to put it into words, but… New York is the only place where I could be the person I want to be. It speeds me up and makes me think bigger. God, what a city. I still dream about going back someday.”

“Why did you leave in the first place?”

“I was sort of… not myself… after the broken engagement, and my father passing away. I needed a change. And I especially needed to be with Sofia. We had just found each other. It was the right decision to move down here. But someday, when Sofia is ready to take over, I’m going to go back to New York and give it another shot.”

“I think you’ll do fine wherever you live. In the meantime, you can go visit, can’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve been too busy the past three years. Soon, though. I want to see my friends in person. I want to go to a couple of plays, and some of my favorite restaurants, and find a street fair with five-dollar pashminas, and have a slice of really good pizza, and there’s this rooftop bar on Fifth where you get the most perfect view of the Empire State Building…”

“I know that bar.”

“You do?”

“Sure. The one with the garden.”

“Yes! I can’t believe you’ve been there.”

Joe sounded amused. “I’ve been outside the state of Texas, despite appearances to the contrary.”

He told me about a couple of his past trips to New York. We exchanged stories about places where we’d traveled, about ones we’d want to go back to and the ones we wouldn’t. About the freedom of traveling alone, but also the loneliness.

When I realized how late it was, I couldn’t believe the conversation had lasted for over two hours. We agreed it was time to call it a night. But I had no desire to stop. I could have gone on talking.

“This was fun,” I said, feeling warm and even a little giddy. “I wish we could do it again.” In the short silence that followed, I covered my eyes with my free hand, wishing I could take back the impulsive words.

There was a smile in Joe’s voice. “I’ll keep calling,” he said, “if you’ll keep answering.”

Eleven

As it turned out, we talked every night for a week, including the night Joe was driving back late from a photo shoot in Brownwood. He’d done a session for a young congressman who’d just been elected to the U.S. House in a special runoff. The congressman had been a difficult subject, controlling and awkward, posing like a politician, roosterlike, despite Joe’s efforts to catch him in a relaxed moment. And the guy was a braggart, a name-dropper, qualities that were nearly intolerable to a Travis.

While we talked during Joe’s long drive to Houston, he told me about the photo shoot, and I filled him in on the planning for Haven’s baby shower. It was going to be held at the Travis River Oaks mansion, which had gone unoccupied ever since Churchill’s passing, mostly because no one knew what to do with it. None of the Travises particularly wanted to sell the place – it was where they’d grown up – but neither did any of them want to live in it. Too big. Too reminiscent of their parents, who were both gone now. However, the pool and patio on the mansion’s three-acre lot would provide the perfect setting for a party.