Never Vacation with Your Ex by Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka

Author:Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka [Wibberley, Emily & Siegemund-Broka, Austin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2023-04-04T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

I’M OFFICIALLY GOING TO be a photographer’s assistant.

Last night, when we headed in from the beach, Dean texted RJ a link to some of his photos. Not ten minutes later, Emma and RJ’s older sister called Dean, pleading to hire him. She asked for his quote, which Dean made up on the spot, and said he—and an assistant—would have their meals covered.

Dean doesn’t really need an assistant. Of course, I volunteered anyway. I’ve been around a photoshoot once or twice, and I figured my presence couldn’t hurt. Plus, I’m determined to make this fun for Dean, on the off chance he does decide to consider a career in photography.

This morning, the morning of the wedding, we’re heading to Santa Monica to go to the mall, having surprisingly enough not packed wedding-ready clothing for our family vacation. Not wanting commentary from the parents, we hustle out the door. I decide not to dwell on the inevitable tense conversation they’ll have about Dean’s and my excursion, releasing the thoughts from my mind like a fistful of dandelions in the Malibu breeze.

The drive through the canyons feels nearly normal, like the layers of new context to Dean’s and my relationship—from friends, to a couple, to exes—have nearly melted completely off. He voluntarily explains to me the interconnected storylines of the nine-hundred-page winner-of-some-prize-or-other novel he’s reading. I return the favor, breaking down some of the interesting trends I’ve noticed in my social media metrics.

When we get to the Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica’s half-old-timey, half-mega-commercial stretch of mall, I march us into the first department store I see, despite Dean’s predictable insistence on finding something cooler. The point of this is to find semiformal clothes that won’t pull focus, not to find unique pieces for our wardrobes.

The store is on the end of the Promenade, where the topiary-decorated wide walk-street gives way to the glittering shine of the multistory complex constructed more recently. With me practically dragging Dean, we pass the usual suspects of other stores—smoothie chains, Urban Outfitters, watch places with Hemsworths in the window. Our destination of choice is one of those huge, three-story department stores that carry nearly every brand imaginable. Low shelves surround the escalators running up and down in the middle, and soft generic pop welcomes us in.

After fifteen minutes of browsing, I’ve settled on a light maxi dress with birds of paradise print, fitting for the beach wedding Emma described. Dean has done nothing except grumble about how none of these shirts have enough “billow” to them.

With my choice draped over my forearm, I watch Dean hold up a perfectly serviceable white Hawaiian shirt, examine it for one whole minute—and return it to the rack.

“Dean.”

He half looks up, glum.

“Pick something,” I say sternly. “It’s okay if you’re not the coolest person at this wedding where you don’t know anyone.” When he shoots me an exaggerated scowl, I meet his gaze, letting him know I’m not entertaining his little sartorial rebellion. “If you haven’t picked something by the time I’ve tried this on, I’m choosing for you,” I inform him.

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