Page 29 of Falling Slowly
Sensing an up-coming rant, I dabbed him on the arm. “I don’t think that’s a thing. And I’m happy to check out the thrift store.”
I could see the battle on his face. He was disgusted by the idea but not ready to give up. “If you’re sure,” he finally said.
We returned to the sidewalk, rounded the corner and descended the stone steps. Reaching the end of the narrowalleyway, we landed upon the store that time had forgotten. Peeling vinyl covered the small windows. The inside was tucked full of tightly packed hangers and heaped crates of clothing categorized broadly as ‘tops’, ‘bottoms’ and ‘dresses’. A white-haired woman with a permanently hunched spine appeared from the back, fitting in her dentures before she greeted us. She seemed a little startled to encounter humans and quickly retreated behind the counter, muttering something to herself.
I gestured at the small cash box she rested her bony fingers on. “I don’t think your credit card is good here.”
“What?” Charlie started digging through his pockets. “I don’t know if I have any cash.”
I smiled. “That’s okay. I can afford this stuff.” I’d already spotted a crate labeled ‘MICS—$2 each’. Seeing no microphones, I figured they were miscellaneous items.
I took one last breath of fresh air at the doorway. As soon as I ventured in, my dust mite allergy would activate and I’d have about fifteen minutes before the first very unattractive sneeze attack.
As far as secondhand shops went, the place was a dog’s breakfast, but I also had years of experience. It didn’t take me too long to land on a blue swimsuit with excessive lime green ruffles that was roughly my size. It was more like a circus act than a swimming costume, but in that moment, it felt like the more palatable choice, almost like something you’d wear on a dare. My own swimsuit was plain awful but it was mine and I had no excuse.
I held it out for Charlie, grinning from ear to ear. “Score.”
“Okay… How do you know it fits?” He coughed. “I mean, that’s a lot of material and you’re not that big.” He tilted his head, scanning my body up and down, making me feel hot.
I looked around the room. “It doesn’t look like they have changing rooms. I’ll risk it.”
“How much?” He asked and resumed searching his pockets.
I pulled out a five-dollar bill and took my find to the old lady. “This is from the two-dollar pile.”
She popped the cash box and spent two minutes finding my change. When we finally made it out on the street, I sneezed twice.
Charlie groaned, looking back at the shop. “Oh, my God!”
“Hey! Don’t judge thrift stores based on that. Some have changing rooms. Even ventilation.” I tried to keep my face straight but failed.
He burst into laughter. “Ventilation? Well, that’s fancy. I mean, to have air when you shop.”
“One of those non-essentials. Like credit card readers.”
“And what was up with that hundred-year-old lady? Should she still be working?”
“Maybe her pension doesn’t cover the cost of dentures?” My light tone turned heavy because it was probably true.
Charlie blew a sigh. “Anyway… I promised to drive you here and hand you a credit card. So, how about I take you to that gift shop and you buy a souvenir for Celia?”
I tensed. I’d survived the thrift store, but here came the real charity. “It’s okay. She’s easy to please. She loves fridge magnets.” I could afford to buy my own souvenirs.
“Okay. You get her one and I get her another one?” He cast me a look that was almost desperate.
I had to let him buy my daughter fridge magnets, to feel better about himself. About the world. It was a nice sentiment, I reminded myself. He wanted to give me something. Whether it was driven by guilt, discomfort, or something else, did it matter? Celia would be overjoyed.
It was a lot easier to let people give things to your child than to receive them for yourself, and Charlie knew it. He kept staring at me, fanning his incredible, gold-tipped lashes that curved soperfectly in the corners, and I lost track. What was he talking about? Something about credit cards… shopping? Gift shopping.
“Fine. You can use your credit card. But only because you didn’t get your Pretty Woman shopping montage. That must have been hard.”
His face split into a gorgeous smile. “You have no idea. I was fantasizing about sitting in a chair reading a magazine while the shop assistants ran around serving you and then folding under the weight of your shopping bags.”
“It’s a small mountain town. There’s no mall. Not even a proper grocery store. I think you need to adjust your expectations. Also… when does a grown man fold under the weight of one swimsuit?”
“Are you kidding me? The swimsuit was supposed to be the gateway purchase that leads to the next thing and the next thing. That’s how shopping works.”
“Not how it works for me,” I muttered.
