For the first time in a long time, Aspen wants to leave work early. She's too aware of every sound in the room; pens scratching against paper, muffled coughs and Miranda's lilting voice. It's too stuffy. She tries to maintain a pleasant smile on her lips—appearance is key, after all—but her eyes keep darting towards the thin gold watch on her wrist. A few minutes left until she can pop out for lunch. She prays to a deity she does not believe in that they pass quick, lest she uses the pen she's been clicking to stab someone.
Not that she wants to go to jail, but if Miranda doesn't stop talking, she might just risk it. Judging from their faces, everyone else knows it too. The small team involved in La Lumière knows what Aspen wants on the magazine. Miranda, however, is new. Although she seems enthusiastic enough, all the ideas she's tried to pitch have fallen short. Aspen stares at the image on the projector screen. It's for a series of ads meant to promote body positivity, except half the models are white, able-bodied or somehow conforming to whatever is considered "normal".
Aspen sighs. She needs to find a new photo editor. It'll be hard to break the news to Miranda, more so when she's smiling so obliviously, but it has to be done. Still, she tries to offer her a way out.
"We're not being as inclusive as we should," she says, watching Miranda's smile slip. "Who oversaw the shoot? Can it be redone?"
All heads turn to Miranda. She falters, worry creasing her brow. "I-I did it myself."
Well, Aspen tried. This is not the girl's first slip up by far.
"I just thought that—,"
Aspen cuts her off, repeating her last question. It's not Miranda who answers, but her Art Director, Yuta. She's known him for a while; La Lumière is their brainchild. That's also how she knows he feels bad for Miranda, but doesn't know how to get her out of the hole she's dug. He gives the girl a sympathetic look that makes her wilt and addresses Aspen.
"We were supposed to roll that out in next month's issue. We could get in touch with some models, but with everything else on schedule, it'll be tight," he admits, chin resting on his hand.
Aspen waves a hand. "We need to get in touch with Luxe and try to delay their campaign till we get this sorted. Jamie, I want you coordinating the shoot, and Samira on social media."
The two of them nod. Aspen assigns Yuta the task of contacting Luxe Apparel. He's better at handling clients than she is. She wraps up the rest of the meeting, approving article ideas and reviewing possible partnerships. All the while, she thinks of how work doesn't feel as satisfying as it used to. She's poured everything she has into La Lumière, taking it from a college magazine formed as a joke with Yuta to the small, but thriving business it is today.
When did it start weighing on her so much?
She can't stop thinking about it even when she concludes the meeting and everyone rises, packing away pencils, moleskins and tablets. Someone turns the projector off. Miranda chews on her bottom lip as she stands, fingers gripping the backrest of a chair. Aspen waits for everyone to file out, telling Yuta she'll meet him outside for lunch. As her friend walks out the door, Miranda attempts to do the same.
"Wait," Aspen calls, trying her hardest to sound gentle. Her voice and her default frown do not help. "I need you to stay back a while."
Miranda freezes and comes to a stop, her soft, almost childlike face drawn in resignation. Aspen grimaces.
When did this start feeling like a chore?
—
"Did you at least give her a pink slip?" Yuta asks, sipping on some caffeinated monstrosity. They're under the striped awning of a café that's too tiny to hold the people packed within, mostly office workers on their lunch breaks. By a stroke of luck, the sun has decided to hide today, and the breeze warrants Aspen keeping her coat on, collar turned up for warmth.
