The Secrets We Keep

by Kimberly Blackadar

I park by the mall’s food court entrance, and the smell of cinnamon gooey goodness greets me as I walk in the door. That’s when I regret not making time for breakfast this morning; I try to focus on the shopping and not the warm savory smells. I pass temptation after temptation: fresh brewed coffee; soft bagels; and hot breakfast from a small diner. Somehow I walk through the food court with my wallet still intact.

  With my family’s fall from financial bliss, I have learned to live without many things in life and to buy only what I absolutely need. As I stroll through the mall, the want-versus-need argument plays in my head. I have so many needs: new basketball shoes, socks, bras, and underwear. But instead of purchasing essentials, I am buying a new dress and shoes. Then I consider the reason: Ryan is rich, and I don’t want to be the girl who lives in a crappy, two-bedroom apartment on wrong side of Riverside. I want to be the girl who lives in the seven-bedroom palace. Just one last time, I want to be the rich girl again. And I want to play that part for Ryan.

  Then I imagine Ryan walking up to the front door of our old house, ringing the doorbell, and meeting my dad and mom. My father could talk about his playing days, and my mother could serve him some fresh-baked cookies. Then Ryan and I could depart on his white horse for our date in fantasyland.

  Back in reality, I have not ventured into a store yet. I am still scanning the mall for sale signs, and then a dress in a window, black and white with shimmery beads, catches my attention. I walk in and go immediately for the price tag. I sigh at the cost; the dress is more than the amount on my Visa card.

  “Ooh, great choice. We just got that in,” the salesgirl begins. “Would you like me to start a fitting room for you?”

  “Um,” I stall, “I don’t think so.”

  I turn and look at her; she is full of makeup and smiles and dressed in the latest trends. She flicks her head toward the back of the store. “Just so you know,” she eyes me like she’s adding up my spending potential, “we have our sale items in the back—with many new markdowns.” She tops off her speech with a toothy grin, and I almost expect her teeth to sparkle under the fluorescent lighting.

  “Thanks,” I say and leave the store, quickly. I stroll in several more shops, old favorites. Swallowing my pride, I make a beeline for the sale racks in the back. Nothing strikes my interest. It’s either beach casual or prom-night dressy. I cannot find the right look, the look in my mind, until I reach the last wing of the mall. A tiny boutique is my last chance, and I spot a lady in the window, accessorizing a mannequin. I step in. She welcomes me with a warm smile. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yeah.” I stride closer. “I’m looking for a dress.”

  “For a special occasion?”

  “Yes. For a date.”

  Her eyes light up, grandmother style, as if I told her about making the honor roll or the winning shot in a game. “Ooh, in that case...” She walks around the mannequin and gestures for me to follow her. “Let me show you some dresses over here.” She pulls a few from a rack: white, sea blue, pale yellow, black. She holds them up. “Do you like any of these?”

  I nod, and we head over to the purple-curtained fitting room.

  “My name is Linda,” she says as she closes the curtain. “Let me know if you need anything else, dear.”

  “Okay,” I say, and before I try on any of the dresses, I check their price tags. Not too bad. I could still afford shoes and some new makeup and maybe some other back-to-school essentials.

  I go in reverse order of preference, saving the white one, the best one, for last. The black one is much too short. The pale yellow has room for me to grow on top. The sea blue dress fits nicely, but the color is not really me. I step into the white one, zip up the back of the dress, and adjust the straps. The white ribbon-like sash hangs down, and I attempt a haphazard knot. I slip past the purple curtain, and Linda meets me with compliments. “With your coloring, that dress looks stunning on you, dear.” She steps closer, tying the thin sash into a perfect bow. “So,” she pauses with a smile, “what’s his name?”

  “Ryan.”

  “Well, I’m sure Ryan will like this.” She smiles sweetly, like my mom did when she saw me in my prom dress for the first time, the one I wore for Mike.

  I mirror the smile, feeling happy, and then a sudden ache swells inside. Something stirs up the sadness, a melancholy longing, a need to share this moment with my mom. I return to the fitting room and decide to give her a call when I get back to the house. Yes, I will tell her about Ryan and our date, knowing she could use some happy news. For months now, anger, sadness, and tears have ruled our conversations. Maybe that’s why I left. I couldn’t cry anymore, and I couldn’t watch her cry either. I hungered for happiness.

  Returning to the fitting room, I dress quickly and exit with the white dress draped over my arm. Linda helps me find some cute flats, a recent markdown, and then we head over to the cash register. She gestures at the jewelry display. “Need any else?”

  “Um,” I admit. “I’m on a budget.” I hand her my Visa card.

  “Then it’s a good thing these are free,” she says, pulling out a box and setting it on the counter. “I just took them off the mannequins this morning. Pick something you like.”

  “I-I-I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble with the manager?”

  “Nope.” She grins, looking the part of my fairy godmother. “I own the store.”

  I pull out a silver chain from the box; a small heart dangles on the end of it. It’s simple and sweet, and I think of my conversation with Courtney yesterday. After everything with my parents and Mike, yes, I still believe in love. “Thank you…thank you very much.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, dear.” She wraps each item carefully in soft pink tissue paper and places them in a large white bag. She slides the bag across the counter. “And have a nice time with Ryan tonight.”

  “I will…and thanks again, Linda.” I leave the store and head toward the food court, swinging my bag, and trying to decide what I can get to eat quickly. I grab a muffin, a healthy oat bran variety, lacking in taste but pretty filling, and I am at my car in minutes.

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