“Are you all right? You haven’t called in a while. Do you have enough money? Here.” He pulls a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and shoves it in my hands.
I try to give it back, but he won’t let me. “I’m fine Dad.” Lie number one, but I want it to be true so it’s not like I’m going to burn in Hell for misleading him. Besides, I want him to be proud of me. I’ve made something successful from nothing, well, until Nick came along, that is.
“No, you’re not. Tell me what’s going on. Why were you wearing a shower curtain?”
“Mr. Stevens hired another photographer. Neither of us knew about it until we got here.”
“Is it a problem?”
Yes, but I can’t tell him that. I want him to relax and have fun. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me. “I can work around it. It was just unexpected, that’s all.”
“You’re a good girl, Sky. I haven’t told you enough, but I’m proud of you. That little shop you put together is great—and you did it on your own. Your mother had a fit, but I think she’s finally getting used to the idea that you can be successful without college.”
Oh God. It’s like he reached into my chest, grabbed my heart, and twisted. I thought I’d die before I ever heard my mother’s approval. I turn away and hold the camera to my face, before bending over to shoot a place card with Sophie’s name on it. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You should come around more, Sky.”
“I will, Dad.” There’s a knot in my throat. I’ll have to come around more because everything is falling apart. I’m not going to clear rent this month. Nick stole too many of my clients. I barely have enough money to pay Amy. I keep thinking that if I work hard and play fair, good things will happen. And that was true for a little while. I had a steady flow of clients, until Nick showed up.
Speak of the Devil. Nick Ferro walks into the room and also starts shooting. Daddy walks over to him. Panic shoots through me. Parents only ever do one of two things—gush about their children or threaten people who are screwing with their kids. “Are you the other photographer?”
Nick turns and looks at my Dad. “Yes sir.”
“Do a good job. Sophie’s like a daughter to me and like a sister to Sky. I was worried we wouldn’t have any pictures of the two of them together. Make sure you take some.” Daddy slips away before Nick has a chance to reply.
I don’t look at him. I won’t apologize for being friends with Sophie or for my Dad’s statement. I’d also worried there would be no pictures of Sophie and me together, and it bothers me that the solution to that problem is Nick Ferro.
Nick glances over his shoulder at me. “Your Dad?”
“Yeah.” I say, as I lift the eyepiece to my face and take another shot.
“He cares about you.” Nick says it and then goes back to shooting, like it surprises him that my Dad gives a flying flip about me.
I’m not sure if it’s a jab—I don’t see how it could be—but it feels off. We don’t speak and soon I have all the shots I need and text Sophie asking when she plans to walk into the room. I want to get a picture of the look on her face when she sees this.
Everything is so pretty. Elegant white linens embellished with lace and the palest blue ribbons cover each table. The centerpieces are tall sprigs of white branches, little crystals hanging artfully on their delicate twigs. The silvery band on the edge of each plate perfectly complements its accompanying sterling flatware and crystal goblets. The space where Sophie and Steve will sit is flooded with golden light from the setting sun. I already have some ideas that will look stunning, assuming Nick isn’t in my way. I’m not sure what to do if he is.
______
The meal goes smoothly. There’s an awkward part where Mr. Stevens comes up to me and apologizes profusely for hiring another photographer.
“I had no idea that you owned your own studio. Sophie said you were a friend, so I thought—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I smile. “And just think, now you’ll have twice as many pictures.”
Mr. Stevens looks like his son, with the exception of his salt and pepper hair. There are black streaks by his temples, but the rest is white and thinning on top. His big brown eyes are sincere and I know he feels sheepish. Weddings bring out everyone’s temper, and he keeps telling me that he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. The man truly meant well. I wouldn’t want a hobbyist shooting this wedding either. It’s a lighting nightmare and someone with lesser skills would have gotten nonstop crap.
“You’re such a sweet girl,” Mr. Stevens adds before allowing me to wander away and get more shots.