Then she grabbed a pair of strappy hooker shoes and said, “Is it even possible to walk in these?
I mean, I would just die—” and then stopped short, looking at me as if to say I’m sorry, as if it were a crime to mention death to the dying.
“You should try them on,” Kaitlyn continued, trying to paper over the awkwardness. “I’d sooner die,” I assured her.
I ended up just picking out some flip-flops so that I could have something to buy,
and then I sat down on one of the benches opposite a bank of shoes and watched Kaitlyn snake her way through the aisles,
shopping with the kind of intensity and focus that one usually associates with professional chess.
I kind of wanted to take out Midnight Dawns and read for a while, but I knew that’d be rude, so I just watched Kaitlyn.
Occasionally she’d circle back to me clutching some closed-toe prey and say, “This?” and I would try to make an intelligent comment about the shoe,
and then finally she bought three pairs and I bought my flip-flops and then as we exited she said, “Anthropologie?”
I should head home actually,” I said. “I’m kinda tired.” “Sure, of course,” she said.
I have to see you more often, darling.She placed her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on both cheeks, and marched off, her narrow hips swishing.
I didn’t go home, though. I’d told Mom to pick me up at six,
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