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“Try again.”
“Certainly.”
“I’m probably just over my limit,” Tracy said when the card was declined again. “What about just the dress?”
I almost laughed.
“Let’s give it a try,” the saleswoman said.
“Sorry,” Tracy said to me. “I didn’t realize you had such expensive taste.”
“No problem.” Half of me was disappointed, the other half relieved. Neither half was surprised.
“I’m so sorry,” the saleswoman said, handing Tracy back her card. “It’s still not going through. Do you have another card we could use?”
“No, I don’t have another card. This is the only card I’ve ever needed. There must be some mistake.”
“Perhaps you should take it up with the bank.”
“Perhaps you should go fuck yourself,” Tracy said.
“Tracy,” I said, pulling her away from the counter. “It’s not her fault.”
“Really? Whose fault is it?”
The question hung, unanswered, in the air between us.
