Second First Impressions

“It’s here.” I take it out of my purse. “I was going to give it to you tonight.”

“Tonight,” Melanie says slowly. Suspiciously. “What’s happening tonight?”

“I want to organize my true-love tattoo.” Renata unfolds the Christmas invitation again. She is fascinated by this thing. She gives me that look again, sharp and assessing. “I’ve got a few things I want to do. Teddy here has a contact.”

He translates. “Renata wants a consult from Alistair.”

“I’ve told him a prison tat will do fine, but he flatly refuses, obstinate boy,” Renata tells me. “Imagine me with a lonely teardrop.” She indicates the deep creases on her cheek. “Well, I want you to design it, Teddy, even if you insist that your friend does the inking. If it turns out terribly—”

“It’ll turn out amazing. Thanks for the invite,” he adds, tucking it in his pocket. We all hear the note of regret in his voice.

Renata says, “Ruthie, name a single boy who came back to visit once he left.”

“To be fair, you destroyed each and every one,” I say with a faint smile. I want Teddy to push back against her claim but the silence stretches on until maybe he’s accepting that it’s likely true. “You never tell me how close you’re getting to your goal.”

He turns away to riffle listlessly through a nearby rack of women’s pajamas and won’t reply.

Renata says, “I told Aggie to pay him below minimum wage, but she wouldn’t listen. And because he’s too well paid, I’m going to have to get a new boy. It’s impossible hiring around Christmastime.” She hides her sadness with selfishness. I’ll try to do the same.

“Maybe I’ll get some peace and quiet in the evenings.” Teddy doesn’t smile and I feel terrible. I say to Renata, “So I take it you RSVP no to my kind invitation?”

“Don’t go that far,” she says grudgingly. “Let me talk to Aggie about it. Might be time to right that wrong.” I wonder if this true love of hers could possibly still be alive?

I realize that Melanie isn’t contributing anymore and am not surprised to see she’s in a trance, swiping her finger left and right on her phone. She says to the room in general, “And we’ve got another ding.”

She means my dating profile has had a match and a message has come through. I think that’s how it works? She hasn’t actually let me take charge of it. Holding the phone protectively to her chest, she adds, “Let me check it first.” She peeks and exhales. “Okay, it’s clean.” Teddy pulls a face anyway.

Renata takes the phone forcibly from Melanie’s hand and squints at the screen. “No. Not for Ruthie.”

I hold out a hand. “I’ll decide.”

“What’s happening?” Kurt asks me. He’s effectively pinned behind the counter by a bunch of crazy people.

“I’ve got another solitary match on MatchUp. Also known as a miracle.” I extend my hand and look at the message. Like the ones I’ve seen so far, it’s a simple how r u. A standard-looking guy, sitting on the hood of a car. “Not overly inspiring. Oh, hey, there’s my wool skirt.”

I had donated back all the clothes rejected by Melanie’s assessment. I visit with the skirt like it’s my friend, but I can see now that it’s a heavy material in a joyless fawn brown. I can do better. I start browsing.

“I’m on MatchUp,” Kurt tells me, leaning on the counter.

“What has become of us,” I reply to him, pulling a rueful face.

Teddy steps behind me in the narrow aisle between skirts and trousers and presses himself up against my back. The coat hanger I’m holding on to makes a long squeak across the rail.

“Still on for dinner tonight?” The innocent question feels anything but. “I thought about what you suggested we have for dessert.” His forearm slides across my collarbones and I’m squeezed gently. I am engulfed in the warmth of him, the padded muscles, the lines drawn all over him. And what’s with how nicely we fit together?

“Oy!” Melanie bellows before I can answer. “Get off her. We talked about this.” She bustles through, grabs Teddy by his clothes, and drags him to the back of the store. They begin having a hissy conversation that I’m very interested in, but I can’t eavesdrop because Renata is tugging on my sleeve.

She hands me a dress. “Here. Hold this up against you. Hmmm, add it to her change room,” she tells Kurt. To me, she adds grudgingly, “This place is interesting. It feels like dumpster diving. Who knows what I might find.” She disappears face first into a rack of sweaters.

Sorry, I mouth at Kurt, but he just smiles at me. I go to the counter. “She thinks we’re in a boutique.”

“I got that impression.” He glances to where Melanie is scolding a downcast, cowering Teddy. “You haven’t brought friends with you before.”

“I didn’t have friends before.” I realize with a jolt that it’s been days, maybe even a week, since I last messaged my forum friends in our group chat, and it was about an admin matter. We’ve had ten years of chitchat, deep confessions, and quality memes. “Well, I mean I had no real-life friends under the age of seventy.”

“What about me?” Kurt’s playful and wounded. “I’ve been saving you all the good stuff for the past year.”

“Of course. You’re a very good thrift store friend. Well, I’d better get started.” I go into the change room and consult the very random stack of clothing. It seems like everyone has a different idea of who I should be. After a false start, where I can’t pull a leather skirt up my thighs, I drop the next dress down over my head. It fits, and in thrift store shopping, that’s three-quarters of the battle won.