When did you watch someone’s kindness finally run out?
Establishing Professional Value
Later that day, I let her take a depression nap in my bed. When she woke up, she saw she had 43 missed calls. She had hundreds of unread texts, all from our friend group.
I walked back into my living room and saw Maya still passed out on my couch. Her phone on the coffee table lighting up with a new notification every few seconds. The screen showed another dozen texts had come in just while I was in the kitchen.
I was making myself a sandwich. Maya looked more peaceful than I’d seen her in months. Her face finally relaxed without that constant worried expression she always wore around our friends.
So I grabbed her phone to silence it before the constant buzzing woke her up. The preview messages on the lock screen were absolutely wild. I couldn’t help but read them even though I knew I shouldn’t.
Lisa had sent 12 messages in a row. They started with confusion about why Mia wasn’t responding and escalating to actual threats. She threatened suing her for breach of promise regarding her sister Bet’s wedding dress.
She had already told everyone Mia would make the dress. Jennifer had switched tactics from demanding to bargaining. She was offering to pay half of Maya’s new rate if she’d just do this one last favor for old times sake.
She wanted her to finish the vintage restoration of her grandmother’s dress. The unnamed friend with the daughter who needed a prom dress had gotten her mom involved. Now there were voice messages from someone’s mother.
She was calling Mia selfish and ungrateful after everything the group had done for her over the years.
I scrolled through more messages and saw people trying every manipulation tactic possible. This included guilt trips about ruined special occasions. They also made promises of future payment that we both knew would never happen.
Someone had even dug up old photos of Maya at various group events and sent them. These captions were about loyalty and friendship. The group chat that Maya had been removed from was apparently in full panic mode.
This was according to the screenshots people were sending her. Everyone was arguing about who was going to find a replacement seamstress. They were also arguing about how much real alterations actually cost.
Around 6:00 in the evening, Maya finally stirred and opened her eyes. She looked confused for a second before remembering everything that had happened at brunch. I made her some tea while she sat up and rubbed her face.
Then I handed her the mug and her phone at the same time. We sat there together on my couch, scrolling through all the messages. Maya started laughing at the sheer absurdity of Lisa threatening legal action.
This was over a dress that was never officially commissioned or paid for. Then the laughter turned to tears. Eight years of suppressed feelings about being used and taken for granted finally came pouring out.
Then she went back to laughter when she read Jennifer’s pathetic attempt at negotiation. Tears came again as the emotional whiplash of the whole situation hit her. She kept wiping her eyes and shaking her head.
She showed me particularly ridiculous messages. Someone was asking if Maya would at least provide the pattern she’d already created. They wanted this so they could hire someone else to make the dresses cheaper.
After about 20 minutes of reading through everything, Mia took a deep breath. She opened the group chat one more time. She typed out a calm and professional message that her business rates were firm.
The rate was $500 per hour with a 20-hour minimum for custom work. She had contracts available for anyone interested in hiring her services. She wished them all the best in finding other seamstresses who could meet their needs.
She hit send and immediately started blocking numbers one by one. She started with Lisa and worked her way through the entire friend group. Within minutes of Mia blocking everyone, my phone started going absolutely crazy.
This was with calls and texts since they couldn’t reach her anymore. Lisa called me three times in a row before I finally answered. I told her that I fully supported Mia’s decision to set professional boundaries.
I suggested she check out the talented seamstresses at the mall. They charge fair market prices for their work. The explosion of anger on the other end of the line was so loud.
I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Lisa screamed about betrayal and how I was enabling Mia’s breakdown.
The next morning came way too fast after staying up late with Maya. We were talking through everything. We both got up early and drove to her apartment.
We needed to deal with all the dress materials she’d already bought with her own money. These were for their various projects. Her spare bedroom was basically a fabric warehouse.
Bolts of silk, satin, tulle, and lace were stacked on every surface. Plus, there were boxes of buttons, zippers, thread, and other supplies she’d accumulated. We started pulling everything out and organizing it by project.
The reality of how much money she had spent hit us both hard. There was $1,500 worth of fabric just for Lisa’s sister’s wedding party. Another $800 was in materials for the vintage restoration Jennifer wanted.
There was at least 700 more for the prom dress that was supposedly so urgent. Maya had receipts for everything filed away in a folder. We counted up nearly $3,000 in materials that she’d never be reimbursed for.
This was all bought on her credit card that she was still paying off. She decided to keep it all and use it for paying clients instead. She didn’t want to give anyone the chance to claim she owed them the materials.
Maya pulled out her phone and opened her professional Instagram account. She’d barely used it before. She typed up a post about having openings for new clients.
Her rate structure was clearly displayed. She used photos from her fashion show to demonstrate her skill level. She tagged it with local fashion hashtags and posted it while we were still surrounded by piles of fabric.
Within 30 minutes, she had her first inquiry. This was from someone who’d seen her work at the gallery. By the 2-hour mark, she had three serious potential clients.
They were asking about commissioning custom pieces for upcoming events. We were still sorting fabric when we heard loud knocking on Mia’s apartment door that afternoon. Looking through the peephole showed Lisa standing there with her arms crossed and her angry face on.
Mia stepped back from the door and shook her head. We both stayed quiet while Lisa knocked harder. Lisa started yelling through the door about how this was all a big misunderstanding.
She yelled that Mia was throwing away years of friendship over nothing. Lisa kept escalating. She shouted that Mia would regret losing such good friends who’d supported her hobby for so long.
But Mia just sat on her couch with her hands over her ears. Lisa finally gave up and stomped away after about 15 minutes of yelling.
Once we were sure Lisa was gone, I helped Mia get down to actual business setup. She’d never needed formal systems when she was just helping friends for free. We spent the rest of the afternoon creating a proper booking calendar on her laptop.
We downloaded contract templates that she could customize for different types of work. We set up payment processing through various apps. This allowed clients to pay deposits and final balances easily.
Maya had never thought about things like rush fees, material markups, or consultation charges. She’d always just absorbed every cost herself. But now she needed real professional structure to run an actual business.
While we were working on the contracts, Mia’s phone buzzed with a Google alert she’d set up for her name. We saw that Gavin Hunter, the fashion blogger, had published a piece about discovering her work. He’d been at her show taking photos and notes.
The article focused entirely on her unique design aesthetic and incredible craftsmanship. It had gorgeous photos of her pieces from the show. There was not a single mention of the friend drama that had led to this moment.
The comments under Gavin’s article were already filling up. People were asking about Mia’s contact info and where they could buy her pieces. Mia’s hands shook as she scrolled through them.
Her phone buzzed with a Venmo notification. We both stared at the screen showing Jennifer had sent $50. The note said, “Depit for alterations,” followed by three heart emojis.
Maya clicked the refund button so fast she almost dropped her phone. She typed back that her minimum deposit was $2,500. She attached her new contract template.
