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I’m nervous the entire journey down Route 5. Warren’s driving, and I’m bouncing my foot in the passenger seat. For once, it’s not because of him, either. It’s because estate sales are do or die, and I need him to take this seriously.
“There might be a line,” I tell him. “If it’s a good one, we might have to wait just to get in. There are rules in estate sale shopping. Estate sale etiquette is, like, a whole big thing, so don’t get me blacklisted, okay?”
“Got it.” He slips me a bit of side-eye while he’s driving. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“They’ll probably have people sign in,” I explain. “Depends on how organized it is. And once you sign in, you have to stay. If you leave the premises, you’re done. You’re crossed off the list. And some of them give you stickers. If they give us stickers, you just tag every single thing you think looks valuable.”
“And how will I know if it’s valuable?”
“Look for high-end designers. Ones that you recognize. Something French is generally a good sign. Look for lux fabrics. Lace is always good. I love chenille. But honestly, even a good cotton can turn into something rad.”
“Did you just say rad? I haven’t heard someone say rad since—”
“Warren, this is very important,” I say. “I need you to pay attention, okay?”
“Duly noted.”
“You can also look for wedding dresses. Since I’m going to experiment in wedding gown redesign.”
I don’t know why I blush when I say that. There’s no reason to blush around Warren when I say the word “wedding.” It’s just a word. A normal word. Fuck-buddies can talk about wedding dresses.
“Done,” he says, completely nonplussed. “Women’s clothes only or men’s too?”
“If the fabric’s good, then yes, absolutely. Because I’m also experimenting with making dog ties and I think the clients would really appreciate if their ties originated from a quality high-end brand.”
By clients, I mean the dogs, but there’s no need to say that out loud.
I babble the entire way there, filling Warren in on my game plan. We’ll hit the jewelry first. Estate sales can have incredible jewelry, and even if I don’t usually sell jewelry, it can be good to have some pieces on hand in case they go with a particular dress. They can be the final detail that really sells a look—literally. And even if that plan doesn’t work out, I can always list the items in my online shop. Then clothing, starting with the primary bedroom but ensuring we don’t skip a single closet. You never know where someone has stuffed a vintage Valentino that hasn’t fit them in two decades.
When the car slows into residential territory I exhale and start eyeing the houses. This is a nice neighborhood. The odds are in my favor. The yards are neatly manicured, and more than a few have Adirondack chairs.
“See those?” I say, pointing to Warren. “See those chairs?”
He squints out of the window. “You mean the Adirondack chairs?”
“Yep. I learned that, depending on where the chairs are facing, that means the couple inside swings.”
“As in swing dance?”
“No. The other kind of swing.”
He snorts. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It’s true. If they face towards each other, I think, that means they’re down to swing.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. I heard it from a friend.”
“That’s like saying you read something on the Internet, so it must be true.”
“It is not. This is a friend who I would trust with my life.”
“Then what’s their name?”
I shake my head.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Warren asks, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Fine. I heard it secondhand. But I bet it’s true.”
“Or,” he offers, “the chairs are facing each other so the occupants can look at each other?”
“Well, that’s logical. Sure.” I begrudgingly cross my arms in a mock pout. I think my theory is a bit more entertaining, but whatever.
“But I suppose we’ll never know for sure,” he adds, and it feels like a compromise. A very nice compromise.
“Exactly.” I nod. “Secret perverts everywhere. It’s not like anyone is going to announce it on a yard sign. They’d need to have secret swing signals.”
We get to the estate sale and there’s no line. This is too good to be true. I’m practically giddy. There’s probably a few people inside already, based on the cars, but we must be early. I’m sure we’re in the right place because there’s a fancy estate sale sign out front. One that says—
Wait.
“We’re a day early,” I say sadly. It’s way too much to hope he’ll want to come back tomorrow and do this all over again. We’ve already parked and gotten out of the car and I visibly slump in disappointment. He tried. It was really nice that he tried. Really, A+ effort from a not-real boyfriend.
I turn and start back for the car, but Warren grabs my hand and twirls me back around. “Where are you going? Quick like a bunny, get in there.”
