by Lex Martin
“You have control issues,” Maggie tells me. Okay, so I have the bar and control issues. I’m fine with those two. She checks one of the boxes closer to her, peeking in and nodding before she crosses her arms across her chest.
“What else am I gonna do other than keep my baby in shape?” I ask. I’m trying to be lighthearted, but the question makes my stomach sink.
I’ve got no one waiting for me at home and nothing to do besides run the bar. It never used to get to me, but the thought is making me second-guess everything as I close up the box she just opened.
This feeling inside of me reminds me of Grace of all people. The ache in my chest that creeps up out of nowhere. It’s been two days since we had our moment and took that picture and all. Last night she came in for a moment, but didn’t stay long. We were packed too. I barely had a chance to talk to her.
“You need a hobby, Charlie... a girlfriend.” She adds the last part beneath her breath, but I heard it and the subtle dig in her tone. Giving her a side eye, I watch her as she grabs the aprons off the hooks and bundles them in her arms. Laundry.
Irritation settles deep in my chest. I don’t need another woman telling me to settle down. God forbid I do get a girlfriend and she’s just one more woman to point out all of my errors. I stare at the stacked boxes for a second and then realize I need the clipboard. It’s been a long damn night, but it’s best I get this taken care of before I place the next order.
I have to walk around Maggie to get to where I’m going at the side of the back room, farthest from the dining area.
“You know,” Maggie calls out to me. I snatch up the board and pen from where I left them on my desk. “I really think you should hire a manager.”
Her arms are still full of the aprons as I come out of my office. She blinks once and waits for a response.
It takes me a moment for her words to sink in. I don’t have fucking time to find someone to help me, let alone actually train them and show them how all this works.
“I don’t think so, Maggie,” I answer her easily.
“I could find one. I could do the interviews and training,” she offers as I look down the checklist, trying to focus. I read the same line three times as her offer hovers in the air.
No answer comes from me, not right now when I need to get this right. Three more items for the local beer truck and I rub my eyes and slap the clipboard down. It’s a normal delivery, but a few brands just aren’t selling. I’m not ordering them anymore. They’re seasonal, and not many customers seem to be going for them.
Mags steps closer to me, crossing her arms and waiting for me to look up before she says, “You can’t do this on your own.”
“It’s been working out so far.” The words slip out, but my lighthearted playfulness is absent. Exhaustion weighing it all down. I know she’s right and in the long run it would help. It’s just that it’s going to set me back right now to take someone on and spend time training him or her, moving slower than if I just did it all myself. Mags would probably hire a friend or family member. She’s got a big heart and I love that about her. But hiring friends and family doesn’t always work out. It causes even more problems. James comes to mind at that thought.
“You know you can’t keep this up.” Genuine concern laces her voice.
My mouth opens to respond with some kind of joke, something to put her at ease, but Maggie leaves before I get a word out. Practically storming out. I watch her back as she heads out to the front, the double doors swaying and creaking. I’ve been doing this for years and it’s worked out just fine. That’s what I want her to get. But a piece of me knows she’s right. All the long hours are getting to me. I suppose that happens as you get older.
The doors hold my attention as they slowly stop swinging. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my pointer and thumb and my hand across my face, I think again about how she’s right. Just before I toss the pen down on the desk, I see the notification on my phone. Someone messaged me.
My brows pinch as I look at the number. I don’t know it, and it’s not programmed into my phone.
What should I wear to the wedding?
A smile curls my lips up. Grace. That’s right. Now I remember.
Last night before my sweetheart left, I put my number in her phone. I wasn’t sure if she’d use it or not, but I told her to.
I huff a small laugh at the text, remembering the night before. She was sweet after a couple more drinks, leaning on me a little more than usual. Asking if I was just messing with her.
If it was a few years ago, I may have thought of her as the clingy type.
Intending on grabbing my keys from my office to get the hell out of here, I lean against my desk and then decide to just fall into the chair as I look at her message again.
Two nights ago, I didn’t have a single problem with her clinging onto me while the guys in the back shooting pool were looking at her. She didn’t even notice them, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to point them out to her. If I’m honest with myself, I would have rather spent last night with her the same as the night before, rather than working.
I’m too tired to think, but I text her back with the first thoughts on my mind.
It’s a small wedding. Nothing too fancy or formal is fine.
It’s been nearly an hour since she messaged me. I sit the phone down, thinking she won’t get back to me for a while, but the phone goes off rapid fire.
Okay, so not a ballgown, got it.
I’ll do something simple...
But classy.
What are you wearing?
The laugh comes up easy, vibrating in my chest. I lean back, and get comfortable in the chair. I’m so damn tired I could lay my head down right here on this hardwood or stack of paper and take a nap.
I text her back: I’m in the wedding, so I have a suit. The groom is the only one in a tux.
Her response makes me laugh even harder.
And you told me I could wear jeans!
With a wide smile on my lips, I respond: Wear whatever you want, sweetheart. I stare at my message for a second, playing with a small tear in my jeans before adding, I’ll be in gray with a dark blue tie.
I can practically hear her voice when she answers: Okay, now I’ve got something to work with.
I grin at her message, debating on what to say back.
Probably nothing, I think as another yawn takes over. I’m too damn tired to keep going at this point. I stretch out and grab my keys, nearly pocketing my phone before it beeps again.
And you're sure you wanna take me?
I knew it. I knew she’d second guess it or think I was just fucking with her.
You backing out of our deal? I hope she can feel my smile when she reads it. I add: We shook on this. That’s as good as a legal notarized document when a handshake happens in my bar.
I don’t even notice Maggie come in until I hear her voice.
“Now, whatever’s got you smiling like that,” she says with her hands on her hips, “that’s what you should be spending your time on.”
I lift my head to look at her, but the second I do, my phone goes off.
I’ll pick out something to match.
Grace
“Oooh, let’s go in here!” Diane says, tugging at my arm and pointing to a shop. “I’ll bet they have exactly what we need.” Ann is back and she decided the three amigos, as she refers to us, should go shopping. She didn’t like the tension between Diane and me.
“Okay,” I say easily, allowing her to pull me inside. I rub my inner elbow where I’ve just been poked and prodded. I had to have lab work done quickly before coming here. I’m hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst. At least shopping can take my mind off of this mess. Even if it’s with Diane. Since Ann had to bail to pick up her son.
Seriously, Ann is killing me.
Diane came into work all chipper, like the fight we had Tuesday never happened. I’m sure that’s Ann’s doing and all, but if Diane doesn’t like me,
she doesn’t have to hang out with me for Ann’s sake.
Other than my small hesitation, I was happy to let it go and move on, because I had so much on my mind. Namely, dress shopping and filling Ann in on the details.
Now that she’s gone, I’m just going to make the best of it. And honestly, Diane has been the version of herself that I actually do get along with. So… nothing but good vibes and positivity.
So after listening to Diane dish about all of her dating shenanigans, I admitted to her that I had agreed to go to a wedding with Charlie as a favor.
Diane actually squealed, which made me smile, then gushed about how she was going to the wedding as well. Apparently, some distant cousin of Charlie's or another relative was her new fling.
That conversation led us here, to what the sign proudly announces to be Dynamite Dolls. A quick look at the windows shows that the shop caters to '50s pinup designs, with two mannequins dressed to the nines in plaid pleated dresses that have a touch of class. I think it’s the fit on them that does it. The pinched in waist and lines that hug the curves.
My simple, black work heels click on the shiny floor inside; the shop is obviously very nice – cue the word ‘expensive’, with fashionable dresses on racks on both sides as we walk in. In front of us is a wraparound counter, with two fully decked-out sales associates behind it. One of them is wearing a pair of earrings that I die for. Gold bumblebees dangle just beneath her ear.
An extremely petite blonde and a tall, plus-sized redhead behind the counter turn as we walk in, the one with the earrings, obviously stopping mid-conversation.
“Welcome!” the two say in unison with perfect smiles.
The blonde rushes out to the sales floor, beaming. It seems that we’re the only customers in the store, which is fine by me. I’ve never heard of this place but the vibe is very much my style.
I don’t shop much at all in this part of the city. It’s a bit out of my price range, usually. Given that this dress is for a wedding, obviously, I need to get something nice. Something to make Charlie swoon. It’s a treat to myself, too. Because, why not?
“I’m Tessa. Are y'all looking for anything in particular?” the blonde asks. The rack of dresses made of black crepe catches my eye just as Tessa question us.
“Actually, we’re both going to a wedding,” Diane answers her and I stay mum, looking around. “So we need something classy…”
My fingers trail along the beautiful fabric; it’s luxurious. As soon as I get to the price tag and turn it over, I can’t help that my eyes widen, but at least the gasp is silent. Holy crap. Six hundred dollars for one dress? What the hell kind of place did Diane bring me to?
Blinking rapidly and trying not to show that I’m freaking out I know damn well I cannot afford this place, not in the least.
Of course, Diane has no idea that I’m stressed about money. Well, that is, I’m looking forward to being stressed about money.
Today at work, I Googled how much it costs to find a sperm donor and what the process is like. Then I nearly had a panic attack, because just the sperm can be hundreds of dollars. I remembered what my doctor said about IVF treatments… the cost of those can be thousands of dollars.
It took me a full three minutes of deep breathing to calm down from that one. I had no idea that going the donor route could be so expensive. I wasn’t prepared for that, but I guess I’m going to have to face it. And the longer I wait, the more and more likely it will be that IVF is the only route left.
I frown as I drift to the rack across from me. I touch a bright red dress, almost scandalous with its low-cut neckline and daring side slit hem. I wish.
“Ooooh,” Diane exclaims from just behind me. “It’s perfect!”
“Oh… I don’t know. It’s not right for me, I think,” I say absently.
Diane shoots me a look. “It’s for me.” She grabs the dress just beside the one in my hand, a different size, and passes it to Tessa, who beams at us.
“Oh,” I say, shaking my head at myself. “Right.” It sure as hell isn’t for me at that price. Dress or baby? That’s all I keep thinking. That and where is the sale rack.
I take in a deep breath and smooth out the sweater I’m wearing. The simple black cotton feels rough compared to the red number. Only positive vibes, I remind myself. Just happy thoughts… something in here needs to be on sale. Or… I bet this place offers credit cards.
“I’ll get you a fitting room,” I overhear Tessa tell Diane.
“Uh huh,” Diane says, her attention elsewhere. “Oh, look at this.”
Resisting my urge to laugh at Diane’s giddiness, I move to another rack. Biting my bottom lip, I look up covertly and search for a clearance section, but there isn’t one. Taking a deep breath, I try to loosen up a bit.
A flash of blue catches my eye, a hue just a bit lighter than the color of the ocean. I flip through the dresses until I find it. It’s part of a slinky little silk number, classic and elegant.
My fingers grace the fabric of the dress and I smile at the way it slips between my fingertips. I think this shade would be perfect. I’ll match Charlie, but it won’t look like I’m trying too hard to fit into the wedding party since it’s all dark blues according to Charlie. It’s perfect, I think.
“Do you want to try that on?” Tessa says, startling me.
“Yes please,” I say, forcing a small smile as my heart settles. I haven’t even looked at the price tag.
I really should take a peek before trying it on. Sometimes I fall in love a little too easily. But Tessa is already whisking it off to the fitting rooms. I follow behind her, to the back of the store. My brows raise when I see that the fitting rooms are the same size as the rest of the store, with good lighting and a gorgeous tufted ottoman in the center of the room and bar in the corner. Wow… this place is fancy. Someone put some real thought into the layout of the store.
“Right through here,” Tessa says, gesturing to the stall and hangs my dress on the copper molded hook.
“Grace, are you in here?” Diane says, her voice reverberating off the stall walls.
“I’m right here,” I answer back all sing song like, putting my purse down in my own stall and locking the door while staying positive.
“Oh, good. Okay, I’m trying stuff on. You’ll tell me if it makes me look fat, right?”
“Of course,” I call out, grateful we’re the only two back here.
I know damn well Diane just wants her skinny ass complimented, she never looks fat in anything and I tell her as much. She only laughs in response.
I wriggle out of my sweater and shuck my skinny jeans. Unzipping the back of the dress, I glance at the tag but refuse to actually look at it before slipping the dress on over my boyshort panties and bra. I zip it up, reaching behind me and wiggling a little to get it all the way up.
My eyes travel the length of the mirror in the stall. Even barefoot, there is no doubt this dress looks amazing. I step closer, admiring the sweetheart construction. The dress is short sleeved and falls mid-thigh. It looks…
Damn. I’m afraid to really look at the price tag, because I have to get this dress. It’s flattering in all the right ways. Charlie’s never seen me in something like this. I can only imagine what he’d think.
I turn to the side, putting my hand on my stomach. My flat stomach. I imagine how it would look to be carrying a baby and watch my shoulders slump.
Shake it off, I warn myself. Shake off the negative thoughts!
It’s funny, I always thought that I would be a mom, with three or four kids hanging off me at all times. In the past, whenever I pictured my future self, I always saw children with me.
I did everything I was supposed to do. I concentrated on school, and once I earned my degree, I got a good job. But somewhere along the way I missed the step where I just magically find a partner to share it all with, and who celebrates with me when I find out I’m pregnant.
Now, as I look at myself in the mirror, and for all my accomplish
ments, all I can see is what I lack. I can’t look at myself and smile, because I know that there’s a very good chance I’ll end up childless. And if I eventually find Mr. Right, I can’t give him kids. Oh my God these hormones have come out of nowhere.
I try to talk myself down from the crazy ledge I’ve put myself up on, but it’s impossible. I turn just as Diane knocks at my door before trying to whip it open.
“What are you doing? Come look. I don’t know about this one…” Diane says from behind the door. “I think I’m going to just pass.”
Meanwhile, I’m trying to ignore the prick of tears at the back of my eyes, trying not to think of how cute baby shoes are, how I’ll never have a reason to assemble the antique crib that my mother gave me.
I’m silently freaking out, and totally ashamed of it. It’s only when Diane knocks on the fitting room door again that I’m able to pull myself together.
“Come look at this one,” she begs me. “I think this is the one.”
I wipe at my eyes and step out.
“That dress is gorgeous,” she immediately replies staring at it as I walk out. Deep breath in. I do love this dress and it would be perfect. “Do you think they have it in my size?”
I frown. “For the wedding?”
“Yeah, I freaking love that dress.”
“I think I’m going to get it,” I answer her in a tone that signifies, hey, this one is mine.
“Oh. Are you sure?” she questions.
Taking another look in the mirror in front of us, this one far larger than the one in the fitting room, I nod. “Yes.”
“Ugh. Okay. Well, what do you think of my outfit?”
She twirls in a circle. She’s wearing a two-piece dress that shows off her mid drift made of a deep read twill.
“Beautiful,” I answer honestly. “Not everyone can pull that off.
She blows out a breath. “Is it right for a wedding though?” she questions and I honestly wouldn’t think so but I only shake my head mildly. I’m not sure I’d wear something with my midriff showing but I do think it’s a laidback wedding and I really don’t ever show my midriff.
