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She turns to Sammy. “Go try on the apple green sweater and black capris.” When my daughter walks away, Melissa comes at me. “You could at least sound alittleexcited.”
“I thought I did. I said she looks nice. What’s wrong with that?”
Melissa’s wavy hair dances around her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Sammy is terrified about starting a new school. She needs to feel fierce and full of confidence. Telling her she looks nice isn’t going to cut it.”
This information immediately causes me to question every compliment I’ve ever given my daughter. Have there been enough of them to boost her self-esteem? Had I been more effusive, would she have still had problems with bullies? “I’ll try harder,” I concede.
“Good.”
She takes the seat next to me and when Sammy comes out in another outfit, I declare, “You look gorgeous, honey!”
Melissa glares at the side of my head. “Are you blind?”
“What’sthatsupposed to mean?” I lower my voice and whisper, “You told me to be more enthusiastic.”
“Ifthe outfit looks good.” She explains, “The sweater is too big and the pants sag in the crotch. This one is a definite no.” I can’t win for losing, and vow to take my cues from Melissa.
Sammy tries on seven more outfits, three of which are spectacular successes, and the others are varying degrees less than that. In the end, she buys one dress, four outfits, a purse, and a pair of shoes. I’m simultaneously impressed and depressed when the total only reaches half of her budget. Because that means this godforsaken trip isn’t over.
When we leave the store, Melissa checks the map. “Our next stop is on the other side of the mall. If you want, we can hit Juicy Jack’s Burgers in the food court on the way.”
“I’d prefer we eat in a real restaurant,” I tell her. “You know, some place with table service.” I don’t want to stand in line or carry my own food in my current condition.
She consults the map before answering. “Gorilla Plate is on the way.”
“They don’t serve gorillas, do they?” Sammy sounds concerned.
“Probably not,” I tell her. Then I look at Melissa. “I’ll follow you.”
I watch the daring-duo chat excitedly as I stroll behind them. Their hands are animated while they giggle about something. It’s such an enchanting sight, I pull my phone out of my pocket and take several pictures to capture the moment.
By the time I arrive at the restaurant, Melissa has already given her name to the host. When she sees me, she points at a chair against the wall. The thought of not moving my knee is so welcome, I don’t balk.
Instead of joining me, Melissa says something else to the host while pantomiming what looks like a skydiving accident. Pulling out my phone, I hurry and snap another picture. When she’s done, she and Sammy move next to the wall and continue their conversation. I feel like an invalid sitting in the corner by myself, but luckily, we only have a few minutes to wait.
I’m relieved when the hostess leads us to a booth. This way I can inconspicuously put my foot up on the bench in front of me. Sammy and Melissa immediately take the inside seats, while my daughter announces, “This way you don’t have to scoot with your leg.”
“That’s very nice of you.” I offer them both a smile. “I was thinking I’d prop my leg up.” I ask, “Which one of you wants to dine with my foot next to them?”
“I do,” Sammy volunteers happily, which means I’ll be sitting next to Melissa. I could kick myself for asking. The look on Melissa’s face suggests she’d like to do the same.
I’m about to suggest I sit next to Sammy when Melissa scoots closer to the wall to give me more room. She’d probably be offended if I didn’t just sit down, so I hurry to do just that. Our arms are touching, but Melissa can’t hug the wall any more. If I scoot over, I’ll be sitting on the floor. The only thing to do is accept my current seating situation for what it is—an enjoyable, albeit uncomfortable, distraction.
After the waitress brings water and takes our drink order, we peruse the menu. “I want the bacon double cheeseburger,” Sammy says.
“I’m going with the gorilla burger,” Melissa adds.
I decide on the jungle nachos. As soon as the waitress brings our drinks and we order, I ask, “What’s next on the shopping agenda?” But before anyone can answer, the host comes by carrying a bag of ice. He hands it to Melissa, who in turn hands it to me.
“For your knee,” she says. “I’m sorry I landed on you.” Darn if she doesn’t sound sincere, too.
Taking the offering, I place it on my knee. I sigh in appreciation as the cold permeates my injury. “That was very nice. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do after nearly breaking your leg.” I can’t tell if she’s embellishing for the sake of drama or if she’s teasing me. Either way, I don’t take the bait.
“I’ve been putting off having surgery for years,” I tell her. “It’s my own fault.”
“Melissa says we need to hit Nordstrom next. They’re having their bi-annual sale.” Sammy gets our conversation back on track.
