yet I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“How much are you selling the gloss for at Trish’s food truck?” Hayden carried on before I could give a proper answer.
I gaped at her. How did she know all of this? “Two dollars.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Two dollars? For this? You’re losing money.”
I had no idea. The point was the enjoyment I got out of making my own makeup. An image of Holt with lip gloss and powder on popped into my head. I liked my guinea pig too.
“Who did the logo?” Hayden forged ahead, examining the cap for the gloss.
“Cricket.”
“The quiet girl?” I nodded. “She’s talented. This is a great start.”
“I told her to make something that conveyed natural and feminine.”
“You’ve got the foundation. We just have to build on it. And I’m going to help you.”
“You don’t have to do that. Thank you, but you have the magazine and . . .”
Like yesterday, becoming overwhelmed sent me spiraling into a panic that closed my throat.
“I want to do this. I want to be part of it.” She frowned. “Have I inserted myself here without invitation?”
“No. I’m grateful for your enthusiasm. I just—this has blown up into something I didn’t expect.” The confession lifted a weight off my chest.
Her expression softened. “Do you think I planned to build one of the most powerful magazines in the world?”
I nodded. Yes. I absolutely did.
A faraway look glazed her eyes as she glanced out the window. “I loved fashion. I loved products. I loved women’s issues. And I loved to write. So I did it. Somewhere along the way, I discovered I had a knack for presenting all of those things.”
She reached into her bag again and slid a worn out group of pages bound together by plastic comb binding.
“That’s the first magazine I ever produced.”
The photographs were cut out polaroids pasted onto a thick paper. The articles were done in the same fashion.
“Did you use a typewriter?” I asked, thumbing through the short magazine. It was rudimentary, but there was something about it I loved. The magazine now was just a glammed up version of this very thing.
“Early eighties, baby,” she said with a grin. “When you look at that, do you see what we have today? No way. And neither did I.”
“Maybe not, but this is the magazine.” I paged through it again.
“That’s the work of a kid who loved what she loved and thought other girls might too.”
“It’s obvious in these pages.” I squinted at a photograph. “Is that you?”
“That’s me.” She motioned toward the image of her younger self. “Think I should do my hair that way again?”
“Yes. Definitely. If you do, the rest of the world will follow suit.” I laughed and slid the magazine back over to her.
“My mother always told me to dream big. Truth is, I never really understood what she meant.” She tapped the cover of her old magazine. “Not until much, much later. That’s what this was. Except, it had more of hold on me than I did on it.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I said quietly. And hearing Hayden talk about the inspiration her mother gave her . . . it connected so many dots. She’d been one of the first mentors to come speak at Paths. Afterward, I remember being nervous to approach her, but that had disappeared in seconds. We’d clicked, and if it weren’t for her support, I wouldn’t have made the progress I had. Sometimes I wondered if I’d still be hiding away in my room.
Her face turned somber. “I wouldn’t give up the magazine for anything. It’s me. Who I am. Without it, I’m not sure what’s left.” She fiddled with her coffee cup. “But that isn’t right for everybody. And you’ll have to give up some things you might not realize you didn’t want to give up until it’s too late.”
The flash of pain in her eyes tore me apart. “I just like experimenting with the products. Seeing what a dash more honey adds or a bit less color. When I’m mixing up lip gloss, it quiets the noise.”
“Knowing that will make it a lot easier to decide how to move forward so you have control of your brand instead of it controlling you.”
“A friend of mine . . .” A streak of doubt slashed across my chest. “He-he bought an old building. One he wants to revitalize into a car garage. It has a huge upstairs space and—” I was at a loss for words, overwhelmed by