I sit down on one of the chairs in the workshop’s main space, a drawing pad in my hand, a pencil playing between my fingers. It’s quiet, which is what I like about coming here on a Monday morning. My thoughts have been going back to last week the whole time I’ve been here. The dress I designed for Lizzy, the dress that is now hiding in the back of my closet. I couldn’t get rid of it—she looked great in it. So much more alive. I let out a sigh. I’m hoping that the weekend will have helped Lizzy. She looked a little rough last Friday, but I guess I probably didn’t look much better.
I know that I was overstepping a boundary, but this not seeing or talking to each other isn’t helping either, this isn’t a solution. When she comes here, we’ll have to talk. I can’t do this for another week. I li
