Page 43 of Everything About You

Thanks to Google, I have learned what Yvette meant by her steely “ bon courage ,” and I am not thinking it’s a great omen for her faith in us.

After all, while “ bonne chance ” might mean “good luck” when something is out of one’s hands, “ bon courage ” indicates it’s up to the recipient to make their own luck or outcome.

The sarcastic tone of her voice tells me she’s expecting

me to fuck up the outcome.

It’s a good possibility.

I texted Rhodes last night.

Me: You’ve probably heard from Maison Dauphine by now. Was kind of an awkward conversation with Yvette and Pascal, but I told

them everything... I’m sorry again. Hope to see you at the office tomorrow.

No response, as expected.

One somewhat comical part of all this is that I haven’t told Celeste or Noel anything, so they don’t know about my termination,

brazen waylay, or reinstatement. All in a day’s work, I guess.

They also don’t know that Rhodes and I aren’t speaking, which is probably why they keep sending me things about the Ollie

article and the corresponding social media attention he and Rhodes have been getting lately.

There are even photos of Rhodes and me circulating, taken from different Maison Dauphine events, with plenty of speculation

attached.

People on social media seem to have a lot of opinions. I sort of expect a text, at least checking on me, since some people

have had some less than polite things to say. Mostly they’re nice, but some have questioned why Rhodes would go out with “some

rando from Florida” or called me a downgrade from his last girlfriend, Imogen, who was a very gorgeous contestant on a popular

British dating show.

I obviously didn’t spend any length of time looking her up or finding photos of them together and comparing how he might look,

aesthetically, at least, much better with her.

That would be silly.

There were the funny or slightly positive ones, of course, like the post asserting that next to Rhodes I’m a “short king,”

which feels like a bit of a stretch and is likely only because he’s over six feet tall. Some people called us adorable, and

a lot of people had nice things to say about my appearance, which helped soothe the sting from the others.

I should have started to think about this as soon as people were eyeing us together at the restaurant, but the speculation and the scrutiny of being linked with Rhodes are way more than I anticipated, and we aren’t even officially together. Now, of course, we won’t ever be.

Great, can’t wait to see how that all plays out online.

Rhodes must not care about any of the stories swirling around, since he hasn’t said anything to me or addressed the rumors,

though he has posted a photo of a sunset on his story. I’m not sure why, honestly, but if I were to read into it with any

sort of inflated ego, it might be to show me he is unfazed by everything going on and that he’s very much ignoring my texts.

That could be absurd, though. It could have nothing to do with me at all.

Either way, I’m graced with another sleepless night. I have to physically fight the urge to see what people are saying about

me online. I want to search our names together so badly, but I don’t think it’ll end in any positive way, so I don’t allow

myself to do it.

Once it’s time to go into the office, I get dressed like always, and I look at myself in the mirror. Honestly, since getting

here, my hair is more disheveled, my skin is drier, the bags under my eyes are darker and deeper, and I’ve got more of a pronounced

frown.

It doesn’t do me any good to dwell on any of these things, either, though, so I put in my AirPods and head to Maison Dauphine.

I finally open all the unanswered messages from the tennis group chat on my walk back.

I’ve been ignoring it for a bit, mostly because I have been increasingly anxious and a lot of it is random stuff about TV shows or music or movies, but it makes me feel like a bad friend.

I don’t want to lose touch with my friends from the tennis team, and I feel extra removed from the group since I’m thousands of miles away and several hours ahead.

Of course, there are some things I’m okay with skimming as I catch up.

Deuce Bags

Isaac: Bro is literally dating Rhodes Hamilton and didn’t tell us

Chip: We should have seen this coming

Isaac: Should we?

Miguel: hey don’t act like Milo can’t pull

Isaac: No, I mean obviously he can pull

Isaac: I am just in a state of shock

Chip: I’m waiting for Imogen to make a statement

After some more scrolling through enthralling segments with similar themes, I arrive at the most recent texts.

Isaac: Have we lost Milo?

Chip: He’s a busy guy

Miguel: too busy for the deuce bags

Chip: One day we should change that

Isaac: No way, why would we ever change it

Chip: Idk, we’re going to college and people around us will see our phones and not understand the context

Miguel: we cannot ever change deuce bags

Isaac: Yeah, if they don’t get the context, it’s an icebreaker

Chip: “Our rival tennis team used to call us deuce bags, so we thought it was funny”

Chip: Cue crickets

Chip: That your icebreaker, king?

Isaac: MILOOO, where are you when we need you!

Me: I’m here! Sorry sorry, I’ve been so busy and things have been a total shit show

Chip: How bad?

Me: Bad

Isaac: Oh no...

Miguel: catch us up

Me: I’m running into the office right now, but I will catch you guys up soon

Me: And Chip, I’m sorry, but we cannot change the name of the group chat

Chip: Fine, fine

Isaac: Sorry things are shit, Milo. But you got this! And don’t forget, no matter how bad it all gets, you’ve always got your Deuce

Bags

It’s comforting, funnily enough. When we all graduated, I had mild moments of panic that we might lose touch—that Celeste

would be my only friend and they’d all move on and forget about all of our fun times on the team—but we’ve been through so

much together and become so close, it makes sense we’ll continue on. Even if I’m the worst at texting back.

When I arrive, I’m surprised to find there is no awkwardness. In fact, Haydée actually looks happy to see me. As I walk down the hall toward the fashion closet, she waves from behind the glass of the conference room where

she’s pinning printed-out photos to a foam board.

I stop before opening the doors to the closet. Even though I’m not sure what is going to happen when I see him, I’m hoping

Rhodes is on the other side. I’m hoping he’s sitting there in some stylish streetwear with one of his belt bags across his

chest. Maybe he’ll say something a bit snide, but maybe there’d be some chance for him to hear out an apology.

Drawing in a breath through my nose, I practice the 4–4–4 method. Hold. Exhale out the mouth.

I push open one of the doors, and there he is.

He’s in a sky-blue hoodie, wearing silver over-the-ear Apple headphones and focused on one of the iPads they gave us to take

photos of samples.

“Hi,” I try, knowing he is wearing the headphones very purposely to deter me from speaking to him. I should have seen this

coming.

I walk over to my desk and sit in the chair. It feels strange to be here, like I am on probation or something. I log in, and

everything is the same. I’d expected to find my desktop reset or something, but I guess I hadn’t been removed from the employee

database yet, so it’s all still there.

Rhodes won’t look at me. He doesn’t even seem remotely curious about my presence—which I’m sure of, because I have glanced

over about a thousand times in the span of five minutes.

Sophie hasn’t emailed me yet, and I wonder if she knows I’m back. I know she’s normally awake at an ungodly hour, but it’s only two thirty in the morning in New York, so I respond to a thread she’s on and expect she’ll pop up in my inbox in a few hours.

Obviously New York is off the table now. I’m hanging on by a thread, with everything resting on the resort show going smoothly.

Specifically, I guess, it’s about things with Rhodes and me going smoothly. No sabotage or bickering or silly mistakes. There’s

no risk of us getting off track because we’ve snuck off to make out, and while that is ultimately a good thing for our careers,

it’s a realization that makes my heart drop all the same.

He still won’t look in my direction.

There’s only one thing I can think of, so I tap him on the shoulder. He ignores me at first, even though he must feel it.

I tap him again, this time a little harder, and he finally lifts the headphones off his right ear and offers me side-eye.

Seems like the best I’m going to get right now.

“Did you see this request from Vogue Italia?”

He nods once.

“Well...” I don’t exactly know what to ask. I hadn’t gotten this far in the plan. “I don’t know if we have this belt either.”

With a bit of a pout, he tilts his head toward one of the shelves, where the belt with the large gold MD is clearly rolled

up and facing out.

“Right, but is that the—”

He puts his headphones back on and returns his attention to the iPad.

Great. This is going super well.

I figure it’s best to give him a moment, because I’m only going to annoy him if I tap him again right now.

I fulfill the Vogue Italia request, packing up the belt in a Maison Dauphine box that I place in a larger cardboard box.

Then I make a shipping label and place the box in our outgoing mail pile.

Once I’m done, I let the PR assistant know we are sending the belt ASAP.

Rhodes hasn’t looked at me once. A somber aching has replaced my heartbeat, and the room has grown chilly. I know we were

really only ever strangers, but it felt like we’d made so much progress—we’d gotten closer so quickly, and now we’re strangers

all over again. There’s a unique sadness here, because it’s not like some breakup where we never see each other again. First,

there’s no true breakup at all, just like Rhodes had joked about. But second, he’s reluctantly stuck with me, clearly with

no desire to communicate at all.