I think I’ve been staring at these dresses and picking apart their imperfections for over an hour. They’re three maxis I’ve been working on for the past couple of months that I put the finishing touches on after I came home from Shelter Island. They’re a pretty good representation of my work and my style, but they have to be perfect. I’m putting together a small collection to take with me to Portland in case Poppy Argyle wants to see more of my work. It has to be the absolute best I have to offer; I don’t want her judging me over a loose thread or sloppy stitch.

I’d make new ones if I could, but there just isn’t time.

My fingers slide along the hem of the dress I made with my favorite floral pattern: navy background with large pink water lilies blooming everywhere. I look at the gathering at the waist, wonder if I made the slit too high. It’s a flowing chiffon backdrop, meant to be daring and sexy. The stitching is good, but I snip at the slight errant thread peeking out.

The buzzer rings, startling me so much I nearly shred the fabric with my thread snippers. I consider ignoring it, because anyone waiting at the door downstairs is a distraction I just don’t need right now. But the two quick, impatient buzzes that follow make ignoring whoever it is impossible.

“Yeah?” I ask into the speaker box, annoyed.

“It’s me,” Ben says. “I brought you some lunch.”

“Don’t you have a key?”

“I left it at home. Just let me up or you’ll starve.”

Ben’s been stopping by at lunchtime more often ever since I broke up with Chris. It’s sweet, and it makes all my annoyance melt away.

I buzz him up.

Ben must run up the three flights of stairs to my studio, because he’s opening the door in no time. He proudly holds up a paper bag. “Soup and sandwich.”

I smile at him as I take the food. “Thanks.”

He gives me a quick hug, pressing a kiss against my forehead. Ben shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around, focusing on the dresses I’d just been working on. He knows how much I love sewing and design—obviously—and I know he doesn’t have any idea how important these particular pieces are for me and my potential design future, but the way he’s them makes me feel raw and vulnerable.

“To what do I owe this honor?” I set the bag down on my sewing table and pull out the container of soup, a plastic spoon, and my sandwich wrapped in foil. Without even looking I know it’s tomato soup and grilled cheese, my favorite when we were growing up.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, I just wanted to check up on you,” he says, draping a few fabric swatches across the back of a chair so he can sit.

It’s not that Ben isn’t a good brother, and he’s never been shy about caring about me, but I know there’s more to this visit than that. “What’s the real reason?”

He smirks like he always does when he’s caught out. “I know you’re up to something and I wanted to stop by and see what it was.”

I take a bite of my sandwich. “How do you know I’m up to something?”

Ben reclines in his chair and casually slings his arm across the back. “Because you’re my sister and I love you and you jumped at the chance to go to Oliver’s party when you found out that designer person was going to be there.”

Designer person. Really. My brother can be kind of oblivious sometimes, so it’s disappointing that he caught on to that. “I go to charity events all the time,” I say in a pathetic attempt to play it off.

“Not out of town. Not to ones you weren’t invited to.”

Well, he’s got me there.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not particularly.” I hop up on my table and dip my sandwich in the soup. Ben makes a face of utter disgust. Maybe if I gross him out enough, he’ll drop it.

“I know you’re keeping something a secret.”

“I don’t have to share everything I’m working on,” I reply, feeling defensive. “Do you lay all the plans for your company out where everyone can see them? Or do you work on them for a while before you let everyone know what you’re doing?”

He deflates a little, then rubs his hands together.

“You have a point. But when I develop products, Felicity, I do it with a team of people who will help my plans come to fruition. I don’t actively avoid help from people who can help me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I argue.

“You’re working on your own line, aren’t you?” he asks, motioning to the dresses hanging on the rack across the room.

“So what if I am?”

“You and Marisa have been working together for how long now? You put this stuff up on your site and you know it’ll be a hit.”

I put down the soup and the sandwich so I can argue without getting so worked up I accidentally splatter soup all over my silk samples.

“Did Marisa say something to you?” If I’ve managed to hurt her feelings by shutting her out, I’ll feel awful.

“No. I’m sure she knows you’re up to something, but she also respects your space. I’m here because I noticed.”

“Ben, you wouldn’t understand.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Try me.”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Felicity…” he says, like I’m testing every last ounce of his patience.

I take a deep breath, not wanting to give him my reasoning. But I know my brother, and he’s not going to let this go.

“I don’t want to ask Marisa for help. I don’t want to put my designs up on the site.”

He lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, I got that much. What I want to know is why.”

I square my shoulders, straighten my spine. “Because I want to do this on my own.”

For what seems like an eternity, Ben just sits there and stares at me. “How would putting it up on the site you helped build not be making it on your own?”

I roll my eyes at him. Surely he’s not this thick.

“Seriously, I’m going to need you to walk me through this one. I don’t get it. Marisa started that site but at this point you’ve contributed to its success as much as she has. It’s a joint venture. You create other things together.”

“Marisa started the site. She got the initial following and the momentum that required her to reach out to me for help styling her photoshoots. She asked me to write posts for her. It’s mine too, but it was her idea. She made something out of nothing, got people to care about it and ask for more. That’s what I want to do.”

“And how is that any different than if you put it up on the site?” Ben’s almost jittery with annoyance, I can tell he pretty much wants to rip his hair out. He takes a few deep, calming breaths then says, “Is this about Mom and Dad?”

I look down at the ground. He’s hit the nail directly on its sensitive little head.

“Jesus, Felicity. Who cares about what Mom and Dad think?”

I sigh. “Spoken like a person who’s had their support his entire life.”

Ben lets out a bitter laugh. “You think they were thrilled back when I was obsessed with video games and wanted to make that my life’s work? Dad thought I was going to spend my life making generic arcade games. He only values what I do now because we work on software that has real-life business application and it’s all not fun and games.”

“What suggestions do you have for making Dad see the real-world value in fashion?”

“People need clothes, and looking good makes you feel good about yourself. And Dad—a guy who wears three-fucking-thousand-dollar custom suits—doesn’t really have a leg to stand on here.”

Maybe Ben has a point. I hate it when Ben has a point. “Well, if I’m going to do something he thinks is frivolous, I’m going to do it well. And I’m going to make it to the top on my own so he can’t say I stood on anyone’s shoulders to get there.”

Ben lets his head loll back, exasperatedly looking at the ceiling with a deep sigh. A few seconds later he stands, then walks over and gives me a hug. “You are the most stubborn person I know,” he says. “You make things much harder for yourself than they need to be.”

I shrug. “Not gonna change my mind.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s one of the more infuriating things about you.” Ben turns and heads for the door. “Have fun on your trip. Make sure you keep Oliver in line.”

I grin. “I’ll do my best.”

“It’ll be good having you around. He won’t do anything stupid while you’re there.”

A spike of nervousness radiates out from my stomach all the way to my fingers. “Why would he do something stupid?”

“He’s been acting funny lately, and he’s still reeling from breaking up with Caroline. It’ll be good to have a little sister around to keep him in line.”

His relationship with Caroline hadn’t lasted that long, and he’s never talked about her since. Not to me, at least. Maybe it hit him harder than I realized. Maybe there was more to the two of them than I thought.

Having a little sister around to keep him in line is probably exactly why Oliver wants me to go with him. I wish that didn’t hurt so damn much.

“I’ll keep him in line,” I say halfheartedly. If Ben notices the hurt in my voice, he doesn’t let on.

“Good,” he says, reaching for the door handle. “Have fun, and call me when you get back.”

I nod. “I will.” I send him off, then make my way back to my desk. My lunch is sitting there getting cold, but I don’t care.

I’m not that hungry anymore.