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“How old is she going to be?”
The question surprises him.
“Twelve. Going on twenty-five.”
“I’m almost fourteen. I think she’d really like the blue one,” she says, gesturing to the short summer dress she is looking at. “It looks like a teenager’s dress. She’ll like seeing herself that way.”
“Think so? She’s picky and I’m sure to make the wrong choice on my own.”
He’s smiling and so is Alana, the two strangers connecting. How kind it is of her to try to help. I can’t wait to tell Alek how perceptive she is.
“Okay, you sold me! Thanks…”
“Alana.”
“Alana, I’m Fred.”
He looks at me and adds, “Your daughter is a nice girl. You did a good job.”
He walks away before I can set him straight. I look at Alana and we share a giggle. I lean in and speak in a low tone.
“I must have had you when I was fourteen myself!”
That starts our morning off with a bang. At first, Alana tries on her picks. All too large and boxy. I wait for the right opportunity to speak. When she comes out of the dressing room with the latest choice for a woman twice her weight and four times her age, I make my move.
“This looks like shit on me. Opps! Sorry.”
“It isn’t you, it’s the stupid dress. Want my help?”
She nods with a dejected look on her pretty face.
“Okay, I’ve already picked what I think would look great. They’re on the hook,” I say, pointing between dressing rooms.
She looks at each one. I see the doubt in her eyes when she looks back at me.
“Just try.”
Like a prisoner going to the gallows, she goes back inside the dressing room. She closes the curtain so there isn’t one inch uncovered on either side. I remember feeling like that too. So afraid anyone would see my body. We are our worst enemies by far. The daily messages we give ourselves are like pickaxes chipping away at whatever self-esteem gets built. I wait. And hope.
I hear her trying on the first few, and see her climb out of them, under the curtain. A sigh of frustration. Then the world rights itself. Stepping into the lavender and white number, with the tight waist and full flirty skirt, she reacts. First there is a sound. An intake of breath, followed by a little chuckle. The curtain slides back.
“Oh, Alana! You’re beautiful.”
I am not blowing smoke up the girl’s ass. She looks great and I’m not the only one who sees it. The girl has a beautiful figure. I am going to have to remake the bikini top pattern I had measured for her birthday present. And most likely take in the bottom. Standing in front of the mirror, she goes on tiptoes.
“It looks okay, right?”
“Okay? Have you seen yourself? You look like a beautiful teenager, Alana.”
There’s a twirl and a wide smile accompanying it. There’s the girl I thought was hiding.
“It’s a little too long, you think?”
“Yes, but I can hem it for you. And I can make a headband from the material if you want. Or not. Now we need to find you some cool shoes. My treat.”
I wasn’t expecting it, never imagined it, but she comes to where I stand and throws her arms around me.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
