Knocking Boots

by Willow Winters

  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 accomplishments, 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.

  “This shop doesn’t have anything cute anyway.” Diane’s response shocks me as she walks off. She disappears back into her changing stall, and I do, too.

  “Hey, are you ready? I think I want to stop at the food court before we go, get a sugar-free, fat-free froyo.” Diane’s voice is so full of happiness.

  “Uh, just a second,” I call out. I unzip the dress. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay. I’ll be looking at the jewelry.”

  I put the dress back on the hanger, listening to her footsteps fade as she leaves the fitting room area, then take a deep breath. I stare at the dress for a long moment, knowing that I won’t find anything nearly as perfect anywhere else.

  And I’ll match Charlie. I’ll look good next to him in this dress, like I belong with him. I’ll look like I could be his real girlfriend instead of a pretend one.

  I shimmy back into my jeans and sweater, then consider the dress once more. It only takes one more look at the dress before I scoop it up and head for the register.

  They did offer credit card applications after all. So the dress is mine along with a new shiny store credit card I’ll never use again.

  Charlie

  My eyes drift to the entrance of the bar like they’ve done all night. I’m waiting for her. I’m eager for that shy smile to greet me and to watch her walk those sweet curves through the doors. I’m ready for Grace to act like she’s not affected by me, as all the while that blush creeps up to her cheeks.

  Checking the clock again and clearing my throat, the faint itch in my throat that’s nagging me does nothing but irritate me.

  I’ve been waiting all night. She’s usually here by now. I’m not used to these nerves or waiting on anyone. Not like this.

  The faint hum of the televisions behind me and the chatter in the bar keep me company as I go through paperwork, while sitting at a table. James is back on bartending duty. Occasionally, I peek over my shoulder, checking on him and propping my feet up on the chair across from me, trying to relax. Acting like this is any other night.

  James has a charming smile as he talks with a few of the patrons. His uncle’s here, Frank, in his normal spot. I’m sure James isn’t going to act like a little shit with him here. This is his last chance after showing up late yesterday and forcing Mags to handle all those boxes herself. He’s on thin fucking ice.

  My chair scrapes the floor as I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable in the back right corner. I’ve got a perfect view of the front entrance. I’m right next to the end of the bar. It’s the closest I could be to Grace’s usual seat.

  Shaking my head, I wonder what the hell’s come over me. Worked up over a woman. A woman I haven’t even kissed. Haven’t touched. A woman who isn’t my girlfriend… Yet.

  The papers rustle in my hands as I go through all the bills again. We’re making a damn good profit and the return on investments are steadily on an increase when last year they were flatlined. I almost feel like I can breathe, like I can take a damn break, but I know it’ll only take one hiccup to have something get fucked up.

  Sitting up straighter in my seat and moving the soles of my shoes from the chair to the floor, I try to get this weird feeling to leave me. I need a beer. I need to relax.

  I need my sweetheart to get her ass in here.

  My gaze drifts to my phone, face down on the tabletop. My foot taps relentlessly on the floor. It’s really not like her to be this late. It’s almost eight o'clock.

  As if staring at my phone will will her to call, I spend a long moment doing just that, debating on shooting her a text. She hasn’t messaged me since the other morning.

  I blow out a breath. It’s not like any of this is real anyhow. It’s just flirting.

>   Back to work, and letting go of all this tension, I lean back in my seat and grab my pen to tally up the bills in my record book. So far, so good. Everything’s looking on point and within budget as I scribble down the amounts.

  “Charlie, are these seats taken?”

  My hand stops mid-stroke as I hear my mother’s voice.

  “He saved them for us,” I hear Ali say. Tension creeps up my back. What the heck are they doing here?

  My notebook lowers to the table with a dull thud as I give them both a tight smile. I don’t know what it is about my family coming to my bar. Part of the reason I built this bar was to get them out of my mind. To get the whole damn town out of my head.

  But I can never say no to Ma. Or to Ali. And the town fucking followed me here anyway. It’s not like my bank account complains.

  “Pull up a chair,” I tell Ma. I lean over and let her kiss me on the cheek although my gaze darts to the entrance. Suddenly I’m grateful Grace isn’t here.

  I can feel her lipstick smudge on my cheek, and I wait for her to look back at the bar before I wipe it off.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I question them, not hiding the surprise and wariness. My eyes flicker to the entrance again, and this time it’s a different kind of anxiety running through me. They saw her picture. If she walks through that door, I’m fucked.

  “We just wanted to see you,” my mother says in a sweet voice, but I don’t buy her southern charm for a second. Setting her purse in front of her, both palms on the bright floral fabric, she adds. “Can’t a mom just want to see her son?”

  “You just saw me, Ma.”

  My mom smacks my hand playfully, “You know what I mean.”

  “Did you get your suit fitted?” my sister asks me, a real sense of urgency in her voice. Maybe this is just for the wedding. They aren’t trying to worm their way into whatever Grace and I have going on. It’s just the wedding, I convince myself and I would relax but… no, I did not get my suit fitted.

  I nod my head once, but I can’t look her in the eye as my mouth opens. Fucking hell. I scratch the back of my head, looking toward the door again and letting out a sigh.