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A beeping noise comes from the walkie-talkie on her hip, and she responds in her earpiece so we can’t hear her.
“My manager said you can have the outfit. Give me a few minutes to grab the step stool."
“Thank you,” I respond, sarcasm dripping from every word.
She speeds past me, leaving trails of her cheap vanilla perfume behind her. I cringe. I hate the smell of vanilla stuff. I turn and watch her walk to the supply closet and she trips. I turn around fast so she doesn’t see me laugh.
Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?
“I’m going to check out. See you in a few.”
I know Cora hates when I get upset and make a scene, but I can’t help how I react to disrespect. The fact that the sales lady had already been following me pissed me off. She walks up with the step stool and takes a few steps up to reach the display. Cora could have grabbed it down easily and saved us all this trouble, but I didn’t ask because she is always afraid to get in trouble. So I knew she would call a salesperson either way. Now we are here, dealing with this bitch. She looks to be about thirty. I hope when I’m thirty I’m not as miserable in my life as she is.
She hands me the two-piece and I walk away before I get myself in trouble. I can’t stand when employees are rude just because they can be.
Cora is waiting for me by the register with a scowl on her face. I hate upsetting her but I’m not going to let anyone treat me badly in any kind of way. I can tell she is embarrassed but I honestly don't think it’s that big of a deal. I feel like I did better than usual.
“I still have to go try it on.”
“Well, go try it on so you can see how it fits, and then we can leave.”
I roll my eyes and do just that, hoping to God I don’t need to ask anyone to give me a key or open the fitting room doors. I slip off my American Eagle jeans and pull my tank top over my shoulders. I stand there for a second, staring at my body in the mirror. I run my hand over my soft tummy, over each stretch mark and imperfection, hearing my mom’s words echo in my head.
“You need to tone up, Alex. No man wants a chubby girl.”
Fuck her. I had to learn to love myself. My parents didn’t love me, and boys only loved me for one reason. Ironically, the reason she said they wouldn’t want me is exactly why they do.
I continue scaling my body, looking at it through my mother’s unforgiving eyes. My chest tightens, sadness washing over my features in the mirror. I stop myself. I run my fingers across my breasts, my cheeks, my butt, everywhere. I’m beautiful. Why didn’t she think I was? I shake the thoughts from my head and refocus on the task at hand. I slip the skirt on, and its buttery material slips right over my thighs and hips. It sits perfectly at my waist, accentuating my curves there. I turn away from the mirror and check out how short it is in the back and how good my ass looks in it.
Excitement swirls around me now. The smile that graces my face could not be stolen at this moment. I look so damn good. I grab the top off the pillowed stool in the corner of the little room and pull it over my wide shoulders. My mother’s voice possesses me again about my small breasts, but I don't pay any attention this time. I whisper in the mirror like I always do when she appears like a ghost haunting the halls of my mind. Not even Cora knows I do this.
I am strong.
I am worthy.
I am beautiful.
I deserve love.
I am NOT broken.
The last one is the hardest one to believe most days. I feel very broken.
Looking back at my reflection in the mirror, I am pleased. The right outfit can feel like magic.
Like Cinderella, and Cora is my fairy godmother.
I laugh out loud at the image of Cora dressed like a fairy godmother.
“What's so funny in there?” she shouts from the little sofa outside the rooms.
“Oh, nothing. I was just picturing you as a fairy,” I say, laughing again.
The doorknob wriggles while she tries to barge in.
“It's locked, genius.”
“Well, unlock it. I want to know what you mean by a fairy."
