Undefined Us

Paloma

I should have kept my mouth shut.

I knew this the second my father’s fork stopped moving.

"Sports apparel?"

That was all he said, but the temperature in the dining room seemed to drop.

Across the table, my brother Nathan caught my sister Sloane's eye. They shared a look between them that instantly made me uneasy.

"Yes," I replied.

My father leaned back in his chair. He studied me the way he studied spreadsheets, looking for an error.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a big, warm laugh. Just a short breath through his nose like I was a joke. Heat crawled up the back of my neck, burning hot and fast.

"A sports apparel company." He repeated the words more slowly this time.

I reached into the leather folder beside my plate and slid my business proposal across the table toward him. It was a twelve-page, color-coded market chart and three design mockups, all printed on heavy, glossy paper.

"It's not just clothes," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I've spent eight months on this. There's a real gap in performance wear for student-athletes; major brands almost completely ignore the mid-range market. I've already sketched fifteen designs and made contact with two fabric suppliers who—"

"Paloma."

My name in his mouth always sounded like a door closing.

I stopped talking.

He didn't even glance down at the folder. He just stared at me from opposite the table with tired eyes, like I was a simple math problem he had already solved and gotten thoroughly bored with.

"What exactly are you trying to prove?"

“I am not trying to prove anything. I just...”

I trailed off, looking around the table, desperate for a single friendly face. Nathan stared intensely at his steak. Sloane examined her manicured nails while Adrian just stared blankly.

My mother sat perfectly still with hands folded neatly over her linen napkin, watching the whole thing without uttering a single word. They all looked at me, or deliberately looked away, and the old, familiar sting returned.

The odd one out.

"The projected growth in athletic wear over the next five years is—"

"Enough! You think you can make something out of those failed ideas?

I pressed my lips together into a thin line. My hands dropped to my lap, curling into tight fists on my thighs until my knuckles hurt.

Nathan finally unfolded his arms, reaching for his glass of water. "Fashion is a notoriously difficult industry, Paloma. If you want to start something, let it be worth hearing at least”

Sloane nodded in line with him. "Difficult is an understatement. If you intend to stop looking unserious, end this madness of a plan you have,” she deadpanned.

Disgrace? Neither of them have even touched the proposal: not one page, not even the cover sheet.

That was eight months of my life with Saturdays spent buried in the university library and nights running financial numbers that made my head spin with sketches filling three entire notebooks.

All of it was sitting a mere twelve inches from their hands, yet not one of them bothered to look.

"I am twenty years old," I stated. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. I cleared my throat and tried again. "This is not just an idea. I have the market research and a production plan. I have…"

"As long as I am responsible for you," my father interrupted, "I refuse to watch you waste your potential chasing fleeting fashion trends."

With two fingers, he slid the folder back toward me.

"I will be honest with you." He folded his hands. "You are simply not built for this. Get a life and stop wasting my time.”

Something deep inside my chest cracked.

I immediately stood up.

The legs of my chair scraped loudly on the dining room floor tiles. I grabbed the proposal, pressed it to my chest, and walked out without looking back.

Not one person called after me.

*********************************

The bench outside the university library was freezing, but I couldn't bring myself to care that I left my jacket in the car.

Hot tears slipped down my face, and I wiped them away angrily with the back of my hand, cursing myself. It’s quite frustrating that they still held the power to do this to me, to make me feel like a child who brought home a bad report card.

I stared down at the folder on my lap. Almost on cue, my phone vibrated on my thigh.

Tristan ❤️

I breathed a small sigh of relief and swiped the screen. "Hey."

"Bad family dinner?"

"How did you know?"

"Because you only sound like that after speaking with your father."

The tight knot in my chest loosened slightly. I leaned my head back on the bench and let out a long, slow breath. This was why I loved Tristan. He paid attention and noticed the small things about me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I really do."

So, I let it all out. I told him about Nathan and Sloane's identical, silent pity. About my father’s short, devastating laugh, and the words that came after it.

You are not built for business.

Tristan listened quietly. Or, at least, I thought he did.

But when my words finally ran out, and the silence stretched between us for a few seconds, he let out a heavy sigh.

"Paloma."

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep putting yourself through all these unnecessary stress? The startups, the business proposals..."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I just..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You don't need to carry all that pressure on your shoulders."

My gaze drifted to a lone moth circling the lamppost on the campus path.

"You're already set," he continued, "Your family is incredibly successful. You are successful.”

Successful? Was I?

My father practically branded me a failure less than an hour ago. And now my boyfriend was telling me I was already set? That I didn't even need to try?

"I just think maybe you're trying a little too hard to force something that isn't necessary," he added.

Maybe he meant well. Tristan always tried to smooth over the rough edges of my life. But sitting on that freezing bench with my rejected life's work in my lap wasn’t enough.

We talked for a few more minutes, about the weather, his classes, easy things that didn't matter, and then said goodnight.

I stared at the black phone screen for a long moment before shoving it into my bag. Then I opened the proposal.

I flipped past everything and got to the last page.

University Entrepreneurship Program — Athletic Sponsorship Division Requirements.

My eyes scanned down the bullet points, tracing the bold text.

Then, my heart stopped.

Requirement 4.2: All independent student applicants must secure a formal partnership with a recognized university athlete to qualify for athletic sponsorship and incubator funding.

The night air suddenly felt ten degrees colder. I had completely forgotten about the partnership requirements.

No athlete partner meant no university sponsorship funding. No funding meant no startup. No startup meant my father was right about me.

My fingers trembled slightly as I turned to the attached appendix—a printout of the university's approved shortlist of tier-one campus athletes, ranked by media visibility and public profile.

Football. Hockey. Swimming. Basketball.

I ran my index finger down the columns, searching for a name, anyone I could approach, someone who wouldn't make this harder than it already was.

And then my finger stopped.

The name at the very top of the basketball column stared back at me.

Neon Ellington.

My mouth felt dry.

I haven’t allowed myself to think of that name in seven long years.

The basketball team’s captain and the campus golden boy. The person responsible for the most humiliating moment in my life.

He was the person I hated most in this world.

And the only person who could save my dream.