Chapter 6 Sweet Sis
Chapter six
Sweet Sis
It wasn’t like Angel had invited me out for drinks. This was an informal gathering. For mall-neighbors. Coworkers. Friends? I didn’t know what we were, yet.
Besides, how was I supposed to dress for after-work drinks? What time were we supposed to arrive? Was there a designated driver or a carpool to this thing?
The next day, I mulled over my options while playing with chain belts in Kat’s store, Hot Contra.
“Just a few more minutes,” she assured me, sliding belts across mini racks one at a time with dutiful little clinks. “I have to figure out this inventory discrepancy.”
“I don’t mind waiting. You’re doing me a huge favor, driving me home this week,” I said.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” she said.
I rolled my eyes fondly at the obvious lie. It took a lot for her to drive to our house despite knowing who was still inside. “Closing shifts can be kinda annoying if you’re not sure how long it’ll be,” I said.
“I can wait with Victor, which is always a treat.” She beamed. “You could probably hang at the theater if my closing shift ran long. After all, I’m a Westbrook Cineplex V.I.P.”
“Yeah…”
I could wait there. But it’d be weird.
I’d hate to mooch off Victor for free tickets to a partial movie.
Sitting in the dark after a long shift only made me want to fall asleep, which meant I might miss her call or have to endure his little jokes about not enjoying the movie.
It’d be even more awkward sitting in the lobby, where he lurked to keep an eye on things.
The break room was worse, though. Every time someone walked by, they’d peek in, hoping I was a friend, and I’d look up from reading on my phone, hoping it was my sister.
My gaze would meet with a stranger’s. Disappointment would flash across their face, and they’d keep walking.
Something painful would shoot through my chest at every failed check-in.
Seriously, how did people become friendly enough with other mall-folk to go to the bar together?
I cleared my throat, running my fingers across the chain belts on display to create a chime effect. “Have you heard of a mall employee hangout thing on Wednesdays?”
Kat furrowed her brow. “Yeah. Why?”
“I was thinking of going,” I said, my voice cracking with feigned nonchalance.
“To the bar?” she balked with delighted scandal.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I wasn’t that much of a homebody. “This guy invited me—”
“What guy?” She grinned.
I shook my head. “Two guys, sorry.”
“Two guys?” Kat cackled. “Tori, that’s kinda jumping into the deep end of dating, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a date. Just employees. Talking. In fact, I was kind of hoping you’d go with me,” I said, glancing at her from under my lashes.
She touched her cross. “Aw. I would, but—”
“Please?” I clasped my hands. “You’re better with that kind of scene. You’ll know more people than me.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “I only went there once.”
Okay, maybe bars weren’t exactly her scene. But she had more confidence. And cute outfits. That had to mean something.
“Was it fun?” I asked her.
“Yeah. Victor and I had a great time.” She twisted her necklace and glanced away.
He must’ve dragged her to a dark corner for her to blush at the memory.
Angel was a flirt, but I doubted he’d do anything too scandalous—especially if he was with his friends. And my sister would be right there. Why should I care if he hit on me at all?
Cheeks hot, I untangled some of the belts. “The guys who told me about it aren’t interested like that. I’m not sure why they bothered inviting me at all.”
She furrowed her brow. “Because you’re worth knowing platonically. You’re smart; you’re sweet, and—”
“That’s the thing.” I let the cool metal slip through my fingers. “For one night, I want to be something more than ‘smart’ or ‘sweet.’ Maybe I want to be ‘fun.’ I want to have fun. Will you help me?”
Worry clouded her dark eyes. “You are fun, Tori.”
“I-I know I can be, in the right setting. But I don’t go out and have it very often. I’m not sure I remember how,” I admitted.
She twirled her cross necklace, mentally calculating something, like inventory or how to let me down gently. “I’d have to rearrange a few things.”
I used my last resort: “If you don’t want to go, I can always invite Jen.”
Kat snorted. “You want to bring a pregnant woman to a bar?”
“She needs to get out more,” I said. At least that part was true.
Kat rolled her eyes. “You must be really excited about this…invitation.”
I nodded. “So, will you go?”
“Yes,” she conceded. “We’ll make it happen.”
I squealed with glee and shook her by the arms. “This is going to be the best night ever.”
She chuckled. “Hey, will you dance with me?”
“In public?” I stopped, glancing over my shoulder at the gated front of the store.
“At the bar,” she said. “It’ll be fun—and you need help having fun, right?”
“Yeah…” But I didn’t know any good moves. How could I let loose in front of Angel and his friends?
But the alternative was to let the invitation—and my confidence—wither away.
“Would you prefer to take Jen?” Kat teased.
“No. I’ll do it. One dance,” I promised.
I just hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
***
On Wednesday, I flitted around the sales floor, my insides more tangled than the five-dollar thong bin.
What if Angel wasn’t there? What if he brought that secret admirer?
Or, what if I charmed him and made new friends? What if I twirled and lived my princess dreams on the dance floor with my sister?
Of course, all that spinning in a short, pleated skirt she gave me risked exposing myself to everyone at the bar.
Whenever I bent over at work, I held the white cotton hem so I didn’t flash anyone my polka-dot undies.
If Angel saw those, he’d definitely think I was too sweet. Or too easy. Which was worse?
Scenarios kept fluttering through my mind like petals off a rose.
I was so lost in meringue-scented daydreams that I almost walked right by a customer trying to make eye contact.
“Excuse me,” she said.
I gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. You have such good posture, I thought you were one of them for a second.” I chuckled, gesturing to the mannequins.
The woman frowned at them. “Headless?”
My laughter wilted. “My mind’s somewhere else today. What can I help you with?”
“I need a new bra. A normal one,” she said reluctantly, pulling at the straps on her sports bra, which showed under her dress.
“‘Normal’ is subjective. Just ask my sister,” I joked.
She tilted her head, and I wanted to fling myself into the thong bins in shame.
What was I saying? She didn’t know my sister.
Somehow, worrying about Angel had cracked me worse than med school.
I switched into a professional mindset. “Would you like a fitting? We can try a few styles to see what suits your needs.”
“Okay,” she said, flipping her sectioned ponytail over her shoulder.
I led her to a dressing room and readied my measuring tape. “Please remove your clothes and put them in the…on the bench.”
Sometimes I still slipped into my hospital script. There weren’t any lockers or exam tables here.
“I can leave if you’d like a minute,” I said.
“It’s fine.” The woman faced the mirror, though she kept her gaze firmly on the left wall and its striped wallpaper as she lifted her top.
Did she not want to see herself?
The fine hairs on my body pricked to attention.
It could be awkward, partially naked with a stranger.
I played with my measuring tape. “My name’s Tori, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Mackenzie,” she said, yanking her dress and sports bra over her head. Fur and hair popped off her clothes, floating above us. “Er, sorry. I shed almost as much as my cat,” she muttered, waving the debris away with her shirt.
“It’s fine.” I smiled. “My sister has a cat. She got a black one, so it blends in with her outfits.”
Gosh, as if this lady cared about my sister or her cat.
Mackenzie chuckled. “Makes sense to me. My girl’s orange, so until I decide to dress like a human traffic cone, I should pack a lint brush in my bag.”
“What’s your cat’s name?” I asked, gently reaching around her bust with the measuring tape.
“Peaches,” she said warmly.
“Aw, that’s so cute,” I said, clasping the tape properly and imagining a fuzzy, plump feline.
“She is. Her kittens are adorable too, just as mischievous as their mom,” she said.
“That makes them all the cuter, doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does.” She thrust her shoulders back, accidentally tapping my fingertips with her bared chest.
In any other context, this’d be weird. But it was a bonding moment. I stifled a giggle at the cat-lover camaraderie and my customer’s budding confidence.
“So, why don’t you like ‘normal’ bras?” I dared to ask.
She squirmed. “I tend to be active.”
“Chasing kittens?” I sympathized, lowering the tape under her bust.
“Yes. I also teach yoga, which means I sweat and twist. In regular bras, everything starts to dig in. Or chafe.” She winced and touched her shoulder as if tending to a phantom wound.
“Hmm. Maybe you have eczema,” I noted.
“What?” She recoiled.
“Oh, it’s not scary. It basically means sensitive skin,” I said. Gosh, she was here for a bra, not a medical opinion. “Cotton fabrics help the skin ‘breathe’ better. I’ll be back with a few options in your size, okay?”
She nodded.
Professional guidance flexed a different muscle at The Closette. Here, it was all about confidence: in my knowledge, and how to use our products to make our customers look and feel their best.
I brought Mackenzie a few different bras to check her preferred coverage, strap size, and material. She tried them on, and I adjusted the straps for her as we chatted about her meeting her boyfriend’s extended family.
“I don’t want anything popping out,” she worried, jiggling in a bralette.
“Don’t want to give Grandpa a heart attack?”
She laughed and shook her head. “That might put a damper on the relationship.”
“Well, hopefully they can focus on getting to know you, instead. I’m sure you’ll make a good impression.”
She smoothed her ponytail. “My boyfriend says as long as I’m myself, they’ll love me. Just like he does.”
“Aw.” My heart fluttered. That was true romance. Reassurance.
“I still want to dress to impress, though,” she said.
“Of course.” I slung the measuring tape around my neck. “Let’s find a bra that’ll bring out another wonderful side of you for special occasions.”
I dashed off to grab various types in her size, then returned with the treasure trove. A balconette bra lifted her boobs as if she’d had surgical assistance. Although it emphasized her assets, she didn’t exactly smile at her reflection.
“How about this?” I asked, suggesting a cotton, wireless T-shirt bra instead.
Once she had it on, she wiggled her shoulders a bit in a mild stretch. Freedom of movement while strapping things down to some extent. That had to be a good sign.
“Let’s try it on with the dress,” she said.
I helped her into the garment, fighting the urge to turn away for modesty’s sake.
When she saw her reflection, she smoothed her waist and twirled the skirt, beaming.
No flesh squeezed too tight, no cups gaped at either side, and no furrow between my customer’s brows.
She laughed with relief. “This is the one. Thank you, Tori.”
I hugged the empty hanger and smiled.
My customer had found the support she needed.
And it wasn’t just the bra. It’d been me and my too-sweet self.
Tonight, that was all I’d need.