12
“So what do we think?” Joel asks, all smiles.
“Uh… nice.” Unfortunately the expression on my face is still one of terror and shock.
“You hate it,” he says.
I shake my head furiously. “No, I love it. It’s perfect. I just…” My heart is pounding so hard, I worry I might have a heart attack. “It’s… I just remembered something urgent I need to do… I completely forgot.”
He flicks the smock off me. “Oh, I hate it when that happens.” He sighs. “But you like the hair, right?”
“I do. I do. I do.”
God, make this end.
I shuffle out of the chair awkwardly. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I follow him to the register, still in shock, and fish my wallet from my purse. He cashes me out, and when he hands me the credit card payment gadget, he smiles and his soft gaze lingers on me for the longest time. “So, will I see you at my sister’s studio?”
I’m completely taken aback by his inquiry. I was sure he was just making conversation, being polite. But he really seems to want me there. Perhaps he’s just trying to drum up business for his sister.
I smile up at him. “I’ll definitely check it out.”
I’m completelynumb as I head back home. A million thoughts whirl around in my head. If Ava is Brian’s, that means she must have been conceived about nineteen years ago. Her birthday is April 7th, which means she was conceived in July, the year before. I travel back to that time — thankfully, my mind is a great time-traveller since I have an excellent memory.
Brian and I had been together for about a year. I distinctly remember that summer because it was the summer Brian’s dad died, and also when I lost my part-time job at the Gap. Our relationship hit a rough patch that summer.
I loved my job at the Gap. I wasn’t so great with the customers, as good as required I suppose. But my love for fashion and order were both assets. My boss, Karen, said I was the best folder she’d ever seen. She even put me in charge of the displays — I was in heaven.
Life was perfect. I had a job I loved, my best friend Charlie, and a really cool rocker boyfriend. Brian had gotten a summer job in construction to save up for school — he was already in college by then. And at night, he still played with his band. I was there most every night, singing along and cheering him and his bandmates on. After his gigs, we’d all hang out and drink and smoke pot. I never smoked, and never consumed more than two drinks.
Was Renee there? I try to remember but for the life of me, I can’t. And if she had been there, I’d certainly remember her — she’s not the kind of woman you easily forget.
Then one day, everything changed. I learned that summer that all it takes is one day for your life to completely fall apart. I had a shift at the Gap, and I was dog-tired, having partied a little too hard the night before. It was a Saturday, my least favorite day to work because it was always the busiest. So many people were milling about, messing with my tables, unfolding shirts and pants, driving me up the wall. I’d draw in a breath and nip at their heels, undo their messes and restore the order.
We had a big sale going on, and a woman was perusing the clearance racks, feverishly pulling out skirts and shirts. I watched her intently as she did so, and wondered why she would bring her little boy along. He was about five or so, and seemed bored out of his skull. He whined and pulled at her skirt. Perhaps she didn’t have anyone to look after him, I thought to myself. The boy, unsupervised, started imitating his mother, flicking items of clothing off their hangers, pulling out shirts from the displays, letting everything fall to the floor. I followed him closely, and my pulse raced as I picked up after his mess. Unfortunately, he was such a little monster, I couldn’t keep up. With each item on the floor, my heart pulsed faster, my movements became jerky, my arms sweeping in all directions. I glared at him as I followed him around the store. “Please, stop playing with the clothes, little boy,” I asked him quietly at first, kneeled on the ground, picking up after his mess. “Please, stop,” I commanded a little louder. “You’re not allowed to do that,” I scolded. “Please stop,” I pleaded over and over. Meanwhile, his irresponsible mother was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, in a fraction of a second, I just lost it. I grabbed him by the arm. “Stop, playing with the clothes, please,” I said a little too loudly. “Just stop it, kid.” If looks could kill, he would have been dead on the floor.
He wailed and screamed murder. “Mommmmmmmmmy!”
Everyone turned their attention to us, all those people, who just a minute ago, didn’t seem to care that this boy was destroying the store. They all gawked, mouths agape. The mother sprinted toward us, and as soon as she reached us, the boy hugged her leg, seeking her protection. “The lady screamed at me and hurt my arm,” he cried to his mother.
I really wanted to throttle the kid — I had barely touched him. I guess the angry expression on my face was undeniable, because his mother was livid. “Shame on you,” she scoffed. “He’s just a boy.”
“A boy who was unsupervised,” I pointed out.
She glowered at me. “I turned away for just a minute. I can’t possibly watch him every second. You don’t have kids, do you?”
“God, no. And if they’re all like your kid, I don’t ever want one either.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them instantly. I guess you could have called it a bad case of verbal diarrhea caused by extreme annoyance.
“I want to speak with your manager,” the flustered woman demanded, and I knew there was no way out of this, no talking her down. She looked like she wanted to murder me.
When Karen, my manager, came out, the woman introduced herself and her son, and recited the whole story, but it was quite embellished. In this version, I was truly a monster — I had almost ripped the boy’s arm off, and I had screamed at the top of my lungs, and I had been extremely rude. Never mind that the store was still a mess, clear evidence of what the boy had done, I was still guilty.
After a very long discussion with Karen, amid emotional turmoil and tears (mine), I was let go.
