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Chase turns at the last minute, locking his lips with hers. ‘Mike tried to pounce on a kid drinking whipped-cream hot cocoa.’
‘You really shouldn’t bring Mike down to the sales floor.’ Bell’s admonishment, mirroring my own thoughts, lacks power when she lets the whipped cream glutton nuzzle her chest.
‘She’ll regret not choosing these,’ Susan says, picking up the shoes Alice was smiling over a second before. ‘The dress I chose for the sandals is, well…’ She shrugs, her eyes sparkling more than they should, making me regret giving her cart blanche over the wedding party’s outfitting.
My brother’s cat moves his paws, as if trying to swim through air, toward Bell.
Susan laughs while gathering the selected footwear, and heads toward a saleswoman helping a customer a few sections down.
Chase wrestles for control of his feline, turning away from his fiancée. ‘Dude, would you—’
Mike leaps from his arms, beelining back toward the jewelry case he is now facing. With a curse, Chase runs after him.
Only Bell remains. Her eyes don’t sparkle, but her grin does rival that of a Cheshire cat.
Hands behind my back, I focus on her questionable shoe selection rather than her smile. ‘Those are ridiculous.’
* * *
Alice
Ding.
I pause in taking a picture of the Valentine’s Day display I’d just created in the children’s department, complete with heart balloons and pink teddy bears, as the text notification bubble is blocking my view.
Chase:
Code Penis
Covering my phone screen with my hand, I step behind a clothing rack. It would be just my luck that a customer would see that on my phone as I’m standing in the children’s department.
I have informed Chase, multiple times, that if anyone overheard him or knew he talked to an employee like this, Human Resources would crucify him. But I also can’t help but laugh at the code phrase he chose for all bachelorette party-related things.
Ding.
Chase:
Can you come to my office?
Pocketing my phone in my Moore’s salesperson uniform blazer, I grab my tablet from my backpack. My bag isn’t fancy, just plain canvas, but it’s black and unobtrusive and I’ve had it since I began working at Moore’s ten years ago. It’s reliable.
Clicking on the screen with my stylus, I see that I’m ahead of schedule, having worked through lunch to distract myself from today’s earlier failure.
Not only did I mention the thing I vowed never to mention, but in a pique of irrational anger at Thomas Moore for telling me to get the very shoes I wanted, I’d grabbed the sandals and immediately understood the phrase ‘cut off your nose to spite your face’.
I’ve never been a clothes horse. I couldn’t afford to be. But I understand the power of beautiful, expensive clothes. It would be hard not to working at Moore’s for all these years.
Today’s disappointment has made me yearn to start using my much larger paycheck to upgrade my wardrobe. Slowly transform my outside to reflect the professionalism of my new job title.
However, as satisfying as it would be to prove that condescending man wrong by wearing new, more professional-looking clothes that befit my more prestigious title, I still can’t force myself to spend the money. I have responsibilities that someone like the arrogant and privileged Thomas Moore would never understand.
I sigh, remembering the pretty bow shoes. Maybe if Kayla – my de facto sister for nine months of my life when her parents fostered me – ever called me back about my offer to get a larger apartment so that all of us could live together, I’d figure out if I could splurge on them or not.
But then I eye the pretty spring dresses, neatly displayed in the little girls’ department, and I think maybe I should spend that money on Mary. Give her the colorful, vibrant-clothed childhood I never had.
Leaning against a mirrored pillar, I check my text message and call log. Nothing but Code Penis.
Kayla is still ghosting me.
