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And that there was a driver waiting to take me back to my apartment where all my things would be packed up and sent to me. I rode away from the Village in tears. Wondering if it was my cooking that sent him running.
I’ve been sitting on my new velvet sofa watching Hallmark movies ever since. Using my cream and orange Hermes Avalon blanket as a $5,000 tissue, drying my tears while stroking the soft cashmere, wishing it was his chest. I take breaks to open the bank app on my phone and stare down at the ridiculous sum he’s given me. Or to order food delivery, paying for it with his money, then spread it all out over the top of the gorgeous coffee table he bought me.
God, I love that couch. And the table. I know I should call the furniture company to come and collect them but… I can’t.
A familiar-looking woman about my age comes up to the counter, eyeing the tall stack of boxes. “Hi there! May I help you?”
“I’m here to return a few items.”
“Oh!” She eyes my collection, looking back up at me, confused. “I am so sorry. So sorry. We don’t accept returns at Daughtry’s. We can exchange these if they’re the wrong size but?—”
Embarrassment flows freely through me. “Right. Sorry. I should have realized that.” Everyone who shops here is rich. Of course they don’t accept returns. I would know that if I actually belonged in this family.
Rockwell could clearly see that I don’t. That’s probably why he called things off. I’m near tears as I try to gather up all the things I’ve just had the Uber driver help me bring in.
“Wait.” The girl’s soft, gentle hand covers mine. “Don’t go. I remember you. I was here the day you came in and bought these. Tell you what—I’ll take these back and maybe we can find some more…” Peeking in the opened lid of one of the boxes, she eyes a blood-red floor-length gown with thin gold chains for straps, “How about some more… casual… pieces for your day to day?”
I don’t need these beautiful clothes now, and there is no room in my tiny closet for them anyway. I offer her a grateful smile. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
She takes me past all the gorgeous I’m-having-lots-of-kinky-sex lingerie to the sad, single-women-sweatpants section, as Claudia calls the comfy stuff at the very back of the store.
On the way, we pass the bridal suite.
A gorgeous room filled with the promise of love and a secure future that you have to pass to get to the sad sweats. Stunning, important dresses hang on women-shaped hangers, showing off their elegance and beauty. I stop in my tracks, staring.
“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” She turns to offer me her hand. “I’m Kate, by the way.”
“Lily. Nice to officially meet you.” We shake hands.
I sigh, looking at the gowns. “They are gorgeous. I’d love to wear one someday but it’s not looking like my partner is going to commit anytime soon.”
She leans in, confiding in me. “My partner wants to get her masters in botany before she puts a ring on it.”
Starved for female friendship, I let the conversation flow deeper. “That’s too bad. Couldn’t you get engaged now, then get married after the degree, if being engaged is what you really want?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ve got one of those skittish partners. The ones that don’t want to commit. You know?” She looks at me for confirmation.
“Hmm, yes, I know exactly what you mean.” I stare at the beautiful dresses. “I don’t think I’ll need one, ever. I’ve been dumped. Badly. Twice.”
“Ouch,” she says with a wince. “Give me all the gory details. Make me feel better about my sad life and apathetic partner.”
“My ex broke up with me over a note. And get this—to add to the insult of not even telling me in person, he wrote the dreaded words; ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ In a note.”
She laughs, saying, “I’m sorry! That is not funny.”
“You want to know what else is not funny?” I say. “The one before him ran off with my savings account.”
“God, that sucks!” she says. “Men are even worse about committing than women.” Kate pulls down a Vera Wang. “Wanna try one on? Just for fun?”
I eye the gorgeous dress. “Isn’t that bad luck or something?”
“Not if you’re not even dating, I don’t think. It’s just for fun. To cheer you up. Besides, it’s soooo slow today. All the Bachman men are at some event across the street and their women are shopping down on Fifth. No one’s come in today. That’s why I lit all the candles. To keep myself awake.” She holds the dress up against my shoulders, the cool, silky fabric brushing over my skin. “This one is perfect for you.”
“You think?” I turn to glance at my reflection in the mirror. The off the shoulder pearl-white gown is sheer perfection. It’s stunning. Absolutely perfect. I lie, “I don’t know.”
“Just try it on. What’s a better way to get over a breakup than start planning for Mr. Right to come along? The third time’s a charm, isn’t it? The next man you date will be the one.”
“And if not, I’ll give up on men altogether.”
