Page 63 of His Hot Mess

“It’s kind of barren around here, don’t you think?”

“It’s perfectly safe, Lucy. Besides, I was in Graydon’s giant truck. Anyone who saw me drive in thought I was a giant dude. Only dudes drive trucks like his.”

Lucy snorted, and for a moment, we looked at each other like we were going to break down into snort-giggles. Then we both turned away. She probably had the same tightness in her chest that I had, that unresolved hurt and anger we were holding towards each other, both of us too stubborn to start to unravel.

She pulled up next to the fence but didn’t even have time to cut the engine before a woman walked out. I recognized her immediately and grinned. She was older than us—late forties maybe, with a straight, completely silver bob. But that was the only thing old-ish about her. Her tiny frame was decked out in faded black jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt with the arms torn off. Motorcycle boots and bright red lipstick completed her outfit. But it was her arms that were the most striking part: they were lined from wrist to shoulder in full-color tattoo sleeves.

I wanted to be her when I grew up. Or at least, be besties with her.

The woman squinted to see who was in the truck and I unrolled the window and stuck my head out, waving at her, genuinely happy to see her again. “Hey Sal!” I shouted.

“Sadie, sweetheart!” the woman replied, her face breaking out in a grin. “I’ll be right there.”

As she jammed a key in the padlock and opened the gate for us, Lucy gave me another raised eyebrow. “Since when are your friends so cool?” she asked.

This time I had to choke back the snort.

* * *

Half an hour later,we were loading six tons of clothes on pallets onto the lift at the back of the truck.

Lucy had been agog at the inside of the warehouse. I acted like it was no big deal, but even though I’d been there once before, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to properly look around. The place was huge, and lined wall to ceiling with giant rafts of clothes. It was like the warehouse in that Indiana Jones movie, with giant industrial shelves that went back seemingly for miles. There was a musty smell inside, not unpleasant, but distinct. Exactly the way a box of old clothes in an attic would smell. Giant tables sat near the front where a half-dozen people, some dressed like Sal, others plain and nondescript, dug through piles and piles of clothes. And over the speakers, a local soft rock radio station blared tinny music above it all.

As Peter Gabriel echoed through the space and a guy loaded up the forklift with my haul, Lucy peppered Sal with questions. Where did the clothes come from? Where was it all going? How did the pickers, as Sal told her the people sitting around the tables were called, know what to keep and what to send away?

I told Lucy to cool it, but Sal waved her hand. “It’s alright. I never get tired of talking about this place.”

She indulged Lucy’s ream of questions and the follow-ups too. I knew a lot about what she was saying and answered a bunch of Lucy’s questions myself. There was a moment when I had a flash of Chris and me, that night at his place, as he asked me some of the same questions. He’d been fascinated by all the details, just like I’d been. My stomach churned.

I hadn’t meant to think about Chris. The last thing I wanted to think about was Chris. Again.

“Now I know Sadie’s opening a shop over in Barkley Falls,” Sal said, interrupting my thoughts. Lucy finally appeared to have exhausted herself of questions. “But what do you do that has you so interested in clothes?”

“I’m a life coach,” Lucy said.

Sal laughed out loud. Then she saw Lucy had turned pink and was pinching her lips together.

“Oh, you’re serious! I’m so sorry.”

I stifled a grin.

It didn’t make me happy, exactly, to see Lucy, who was always the one in charge, the confident one who sounded smart and together at all times, fumble to explain herself. Sal, along with all the pickers, whose quiet conversations had faded away and who were glancing our way, listened intently, looking to one another as if for confirmation that this profession actually existed.

No, it didn’t make me happy, necessarily. But it did feel good to see her so completely out of her element—and me so deeply in mine.

At the end of Lucy’s spiel, Sal looked between the two of us. “For sisters, you two couldn’t be more different, huh?”

“Nope,” I said.

Lucy shot me a look. What, was she going to argue with me?

Our argument flared in my chest once more. “Lucy’s a lot more together than I am,” I said, unable to keep the slightly bitter tone from my voice.

Lucy opened her mouth, but it was Sal who spoke. “Together? Shit, you seem pretty together to me,” she said. “Opening your own store. Buying up six—no, seven tons of my premium picks after negotiating me down by half.”

I smiled, sheepishly. Ihadmanaged to talk her into knocking her price down last time. I promised I’d come here exclusively and was going to have an online component to my shop too. After meeting with Cat Jones once more, I’d showed her my Pinterest account, and we’d fleshed out my fledgling idea to maybe list a few items for sale on social media into a core component of the business. “You could probably double the foot traffic you’ll get with in-town buyers,” Cat had said.

“Hell, last time she was here, your sister fought off three New York hipsters who’d driven all the way down here for a stack of band shirts Manuel over there was setting aside. Those guys were vicious!”

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