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When the bus stops, we step off and walk the short distance to our destination.
Entering the thrift store, I say, “Hi, Lisa. I’m looking for your prettiest but cheapest dress.”
“Fuck that,” Tyrone argues. “I’m paying. Show her your best dresses.”
“No, Tyrone,” I whisper.
He pats my back before nudging me toward Lisa. “Let me do this for my daughter.”
My heart squeezes, and I have to blink like crazy as love for the man fills my chest.
Lisa digs through all the dresses, and we find quite a few pretty ones.
“You might want to take a seat,” I laugh at Tyrone before I disappear behind the curtain of the dressing room.
“Get me a chair,” I hear him tell Lisa.
I put on a black, tight-fitting one, but I already don’t like the way the fabric falls stiff over my hips. I try to smooth it out with my hands as I pull the curtain back.
Tyrone takes a moment to look, then mutters, “Too little fabric. It’s winter.”
“I’ll wear a coat,” I argue as I pull the curtain shut again.
Dress after dress is a no from Tyrone, and I’m busy working up a sweat.
The last one is a Morticia-Adams-type mermaid gown with beads down the front. At first glance, I didn’t think I’d like it, but the moment I have it on, I stare at myself in the mirror with my lips parted.
Slowly, a smile spreads over my face, and it only gets bigger when I pull the curtain back.
Again, Tyrone takes his time to look at the dress, then his eyes lock on my face, and he nods. “That’s the one.”
“Right? It makes me look like a queen.”
“Definitely. Get changed so we can pay. I want a hot dog from the stand on the corner.”
“Only if the hot dog is my treat.”
Tyrone mutters something under his breath while I close the curtain and quickly change back into my jeans and sweater. I shrug on my coat, and with the dress hanging over my arm, I walk to the counter.
A minute later, we leave the store, and as we stop to get two hot dogs, one of Frankie’s men drives slowly past us.
An uneasy feeling skitters down my spine.
Tyrone’s right. It feels as if there’s a storm brewing in the air.
After Tyrone’s eaten half his hot dog, he says, “You know what would be nice?”
“What?”
“That cheesecake you got me a couple of weeks ago.”
“It was from the Starbucks near work. Want me to get you one tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You’d make your old man happy.”
We enjoy our food while we wait for a bus. When it comes, we have to stand because all the seats are taken.
During the ride, I glance down at the bag in my hand, hoping Dario will like the dress.
