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Thinking about that, as I lean on the counter first thing in the morning right after I’ve switched the fancy open sign to on, makes me wish that I had at least taken a few online classes.
Daniel would say it’s never too late. He would say that I can do anything. He would say that if I wanted to and it mattered, I’d find a way. He would say that because he’s endlessly optimistic, brave, bold, sweet, and a deep thinker. He’s the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met. He’s exactly the opposite of what people would assume he is just by looking at him. He’s a hot guy so that should mean he’s a mean, self-centered arsehole, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I know that he went to the hospital after going to his greenhouse yesterday and he made sure that poor guy who got it in the junk was okay. He was, thankfully. It was only superficial, like what happened with Daniel. He even found a good home for the vengeful cactus. And he was so apologetic and worried about missing my doctor appointment, even though it was just five minutes with me and my doctor and at this point it’s too early to really do anything at all.
I glance up quickly when the little gold bell above the door jangles out its happy rhythm. The door cracks open and two well dressed women with riots of blonde waves, pink lipstick, and tight pink dresses complimented with yeah- pink high heels and pink purses, enter side by side.
Anyone’s snap judgement would be harsh. Two middle aged women dressed in too tight dresses, all in matching pink, their makeup too caked on, their hair too false and fried, but I guess maybe this is the right business for me to be in after all, because I generally don’t make snap judgements, and I genuinely do like working with people. I’ve never met anyone too snobby or off putting yet. My job is to make everyone who comes in here leave feeling like they just scored the treasure of a lifetime, and usually, since a lot of my pieces are one of a kind, I can accomplish just that.
“Good morning, ladies,” I say with cheerfulness that I don’t have to force. “Can I help you find anything today?”
“We’re just looking,” the first woman says. She shifts her pink purse a little higher up onto her shoulder.
“We’re more than looking, Deb,” the woman beside her, who might actually be her sister, since they do look similar past the matching outfits and hair and makeup, corrects her. She gives me an ear to ear smile. “She just got her divorce papers this morning. We’re very excited. Looking for a new outfit for tonight, when we got out to celebrate her new found singleness.”
“Donna, hush!” Deb hisses. “That makes me sound horrible.”
“I get it.” And I did. Did. I might not have been married before, but every guy I met before Daniel was, in hindsight, worth celebrating when it ended. I might not have felt like it. In fact, I usually, most certainly did not feel like celebrating, but now, looking back, I can see how they were all wrong and that makes me happy now, that I’m not with them, wasting time, trying to make things work when it’s not right. When there are men out there. Men like Daniel who are wonderful and good, who are just so- so- right, even after such a short amount of time.
Men who don’t run. Men who don’t panic. Men who can stare down the barrel of the future with calm certainty.
If he really is my cursed soulmate, I hate no idea how I got so lucky.
Part of me wants to tell Deb and Donna that there are good ones out there, that not all men are horrible douchebags, but I know that isn’t my job and they probably don’t need my two cents. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed me either. Deb is in the mood to celebrate. I can’t imagine what going through a divorce would be like. If she wants to go out and be single and be happy being single, then I can find her the perfect dress to look good and feel confident doing it.
“If you want to come over here to the racks in the back, we have some brand new dresses that just came in. They’re absolutely stunning. Or, if you’re looking for one of a kind, we have that too. I carry a bunch of designers who make every single garment handmade. They design it, sew it, and then it comes here. The price tags on those ones are higher, but for good reason.”
“Oh my gosh!” Donna gasps. She covers her mouth with both hands before she drops one and elbows Deb in the side none too gently, but her bag takes most of the brunt of the impact. “That’s exactly what you need!”
