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“You didn’t shop enough in Milan?”
“Did you see me buy anything other than a postcard in Milan? I don’t know what kind of salary you’re rocking, but London vintage shops are more my scene.”
“Oh, I might have a little time when we get there. Will you point me in the right direction?”
She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, girl. You’ll die when you see Vintage Trash. It’ll be like your punk rock days were resurrected and are living their best lives in London.”
It had to be fate,if fate was a thing.
I scheduled myself an hour to shop, thinking that would be plenty. But when I arrived at Vintage Trash, I realized I’d grossly underestimated how amazing this store would be. It was two stories, packed with everything I wore in high school and college in pristine condition. And when I walked in, The White Stripes blasted through the speakers.
It did somewhat kill me that clothes I wore in college were considered vintage, but I rolled with it. Especially when I found concert tees from obscure bands I’d snuck out to see with Nina in high school. I didn’t dress like that anymore, but I bought them anyway. Maybe spending time with Jude had made me nostalgic. Maybe I missed those days. And maybe I was starting to remember what I loved so much about being young and less cautious.
With stacks of shirts and a few pairs of perfectly worn jeans, I headed toward the cash register, but something caught my eye. I gasped when I saw the pair of boots resting on a shelf. They were placed so the light from the ceiling shone down on them like a spotlight.
Picking them up, I turned them over to check the size and nearly gasped again. They were my size and the sole was barely worn.
A woman around my age with blue hair and a lip ring stopped next to me. “Like those, do ya, love?”
“I do. I love them.”
“They were mine. I got them in 2004, but I only wore them twice because they always pinched my baby toe. Been sitting in my closet ever since, but I couldn’t give them up for some reason. Finally, my husband told me I was being daft. He said, ‘You own a vintage store, Clara. You know these will go to a good home.’ And he was right. You seem like you’d make good use of them, love.”
“I had a pair just like this. I got them for Christmas 2004, but they were ruined.” I clutched the Doc Martens to my chest, remembering the identical pair my dad had given me. I would have tried to dry them out after Jude threw me in Tino’s pool, or maybe take them to a cobbler, but once everything happened, I couldn’t bring myself to look at them again. But now...all this time later, I missed them. And I wanted to recapture a little sliver of that time. “You sure you want to sell them?”
She patted my shoulder. “More than sure. I’m happy for you to have them.”
I paid Clara for my haul, and then we got caught up talking about music for longer than I intended. Our early days had run an eerily parallel course, only she’d wound up married to her first love, Paul. He’d been in a punk rock band when they met, and he still was. I nearly tripped over my feet when she told me the name of the band. I’d been a fan back in the day and still listened to their music from time to time.
Clara and Paul were pretty blissful. Both nearing forty, they were starting a family. Their first child would arrive in five months. Paul still planned to tour, although he’d slow down considerably, and Clara would still run her shop, though she had plenty of help.
Talking to her made me wistful. If not for everything that had gone wrong, would Jude and I have been in the same place as Clara and Paul? He’d promised me forever, and I’d certainly believed it at the time.
Clara gave me a hug before I left. “Wear them well, love. Now that I know you, I can’t think of a better person to walk around in them.”
I wore my new-slash-old white, platform Doc Martens out of the store, feeling somewhat like I’d just walked out of an alternate dimension. But hell, my feet were in ecstasy, right back where they belonged, and I was feeling some of it myself.
At the venue, the crew milled around like worker bees, buzzing haphazardly, when in reality, their chaos was well organized.
I ran into Michaela first, waiting off to the side while she tore into a member of the local crew who’d decided today was a good day to be lazy and take an extra-long break behind a speaker. He clearly hadn’t had any idea who he was dealing with, but he did now.
She rolled her eyes when he walked away with his tail between his legs. “Girl, I can’t even. The kid was sleeping. Sawing fucking logs at that.” Her eyes zeroed in on my new boots immediately. “Sick kicks, Tal. Vintage Trash?”
“Yes, that store is my version of heaven. I’m going to have to fly over here just to shop.”
“Well, I’m in love with those boots, and now I’m regretting sending you over there first. But I guess it was meant to be, since they look hella perfect on you.”
Wearing the boots had been impulsive. I didn’t even think twice if they looked good with my leather leggings and off-the-shoulder red top. I was relieved to have Michaela’s stamp of approval.
Michaela jerked her chin toward the side of the stage. “Your boy’s over there, doing his thing.”
“Ah, okay. I have to check in with the band—”
“You don’t. They did sound-check and went back to the hotel to rest up. Everything is smooth as silk. Go see that boy and stop torturing him.”
It seemed pointless to argue with Michaela, both about where I wanted to be and the fact that Jude was nowhere near a boy, so I didn’t. Instead, I went to see the boy.
