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“Oooh, let’s go in here!” Diane says, tugging at my arm and pointing to a shop. “I’ll bet they have exactly what we need.”

“Okay,” I say easily, allowing her to pull me inside. I rub my inner elbow where I’ve just been poked and prodded. I had to have lab work done quickly before coming here. I’m hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst. At least shopping can take my mind off of this mess. Even if it’s with Diane.

She came into work all chipper, like the fight we had Tuesday never happened. I was happy to let it go, because I had so much on my mind. Namely, dress shopping.

So after listening to her dish about all of her dating shenanigans, I admitted to her that I had agreed to go to a wedding with Charlie as a favor.

She actually squealed, then gushed about how she was going to the wedding as well. Apparently, some distant cousin of Charlie's or another relative was her new fling.

Part of me doesn’t believe her. It wouldn’t be the first time she's lied. And the way she said it… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter though. Either she’ll be there, or she won’t. It doesn’t matter to me in the least.

That conversation led us here, to what the sign proudly announces to be Dynamite Dolls. A quick look at the windows shows that the shop caters to '50s pinup designs, with two mannequins dressed to the nines in plaid pleated dresses.

My simple work heels click on the shiny floor inside; the shop is obviously very nice, with fashionable dresses on racks both sides as we walk in. In front of us is a wraparound counter, with two fully decked-out sales associates behind it.

An extremely petite blonde and a tall, plus-sized redhead behind the counter turn as we walk in, obviously stopping mid-conversation.

“Hi!” they say in unison.

The blonde rushes out to the sales floor, beaming. It seems that we’re the only customers in the store, which is fine by me. I’ve never heard of this place.

I don’t shop much at all in this part of the city. It’s a bit out of my price range, usually. But this is for a wedding, so obviously, I need to get something nice. It’s a treat to myself, too. A reward for putting up with terrible dates from Tinder and other dating apps.

I walk over and look at a rack of dresses made of black crepe.

“I’m Tessa. Are y'all looking for anything in particular?” the blonde asks.

“Actually, we’re both going to a wedding,” Diane says, looking around. “So we’re looking for something classy…”

My fingers trail along the beautiful fabric; it’s luxurious. As soon as I get to the price tag and turn it over, I can’t help that my eyes widen, but at least the gasp is silent.

Six hundred dollars for one dress? What the hell kind of place did Diane bring me to?

I blink a few times and try not to show that I’m freaking out. I cannot afford this place, not in the least.

Of course, Diane has no idea that I’m stressed about money. Well, that is, I’m looking forward to being stressed about money.

Today at work, I Googled how much it costs to find a donor and what the process is like. Then I nearly had a panic attack, because just the sperm can be hundreds of dollars. I remembered what my doctor said about IVF treatments… the cost of those can be thousands of dollars!

It took me a full three minutes of deep breathing to calm down from that one. I had no idea that going the donor route could be so expensive. I wasn’t prepared for that, but I guess I’m going to have to face it. And the longer I wait, the more and more likely it will be that IVF is the only route left.

I frown as I drift to the rack across from me. I touch a bright red dress, almost scandalous with its low-cut neckline and daring side slit hem.

“Ooooh,” Diane says. “Oh, it’s perfect!”

“Oh… I don’t know. It’s not right for me, I think,” I say absently.

Diane shoots me a look. “It’s for me.”

She grabs the dress in my hand and passes it to Tessa, who beams at us.

“Oh,” I say, shaking my head at myself. “Right.”

I need to snap out of it. I take in a deep breath and smooth out the sweater I’m wearing. The simple black cotton feels rough compared to the red number.

“I’ll start you a fitting room,” Tessa says to Diane.

“Uh huh,” Diane says, her attention elsewhere. “Oh, look at this.”

Resisting my urge to roll my eyes, I move to another rack. Biting my bottom lip, I look up covertly and search for a clearance section, but there isn’t one. Taking a deep breath, I try to loosen up a bit. Diane is oblivious to my discomfort, which is nice for once.

A flash of blue catches my eye, a hue just a bit lighter than the color of the ocean. I flip through the dresses until I find it. It’s part of a slinky little silk number, ruched at the seams.

I touch the dress, smiling at the way it slips between my fingertips. I think this shade would be perfect. I’ll match Charlie, but it won’t look like I’m trying too hard to fit into the wedding party. It’s perfect, I think.

“Do you want to try that on?” Tessa says, startling me.

“Err… okay,” I say, forcing a small smile as my heart settles.

I really shouldn’t, at least not before I check the price tag. But Tessa is already whisking it off to the fitting rooms. I follow behind her, to the back of the store. My brows raise when I see that the fitting rooms are the same size as the rest of the store, with good lighting.

Someone put some real thought into the layout of the store.

“Right through here,” Tessa says, gesturing to the stall with my dress in it.

“Grace, are you in here?” Diane says, her voice reverberating off the stall walls.

“I’m right here,” I say, putting my purse down in my own stall and locking the door.

“Oh, good. Okay, I’m trying stuff on. You’ll tell me if it makes me look fat, right?”

“Uh, sure,” I mutter noncommittally.

I know damn well she just wants her skinny ass complimented.

I wriggle out of my sweater and shuck my jeans. Unzipping the back of the dress, I glance at the tag but refuse to actually look at it before I slip the dress on over my boyshort panties and bra. I zip it up, reaching behind me and wiggling a little to get it all the way up, then look at it in the mirror.

I sucked in a breath, pulling the dress down as my eyes travel the length of the mirror. Even barefoot, there is no doubt this dress looks amazing. I step closer, admiring the sweetheart construction. The dress is short sleeved and falls mid-thigh. It looks…

Damn. I’m afraid to look at the price tag, because I have to get this dress. It’s flattering in all the right ways.

It would be hard to say no to me in this dress. To anything I could ask for...

Well, almost anything, anyway.

I turn to the side, putting my hand on my stomach. My perfectly flat stomach. I imagine how it would look to be carrying a baby.

I watch my shoulders slump.

Maybe there’s a reason that getting a sperm donor will cost so much. Maybe some people just aren't meant to have kids, and I'm one of those people.

It’s funny, I always thought that I would be a mom, with three or four kids hanging off me at all times. In the past, whenever I pictured my future self, I always saw children with me.

I did everything I was supposed to do. I concentrated on school, and once I earned my degree, I got a good job. But somewhere along the way I missed the step where I just magically find a partner to share it all with, and who celebrates with me when I find out I’m pregnant.

Now, as I look at myself in the mirror, and for all my accomplishments, all I can see is what I lack. I can’t look at myself and smile, because I know that there’s a very good chance I’ll end up childless. And if I eventually find Mr. Right, I can’t give him kids.

I try to talk myself down from the crazy ledge I’ve put myself up on, but it’s impossible. I turn just as Diane knocks at my door before trying to whip it open.

“What are you doing? Come look. I don’t know about this one…” Diane says from behind the door. “I think I’m going to just pass.”

Meanwhile, I’m trying to ignore the prick of tears at the back of my eyes, trying not to think of how cute baby shoes are, how I’ll never have a reason to assemble the antique crib that my mother gave me.

I’m silently freaking out, and totally ashamed of it. It’s only when Diane knocks on the fitting room door again that I’m able to pull myself together.

“Come look at this one,” she demands. “I think this is the one.”

I wipe at my eyes and step out.

“That dress is awesome,” she says, looking at me. “Do you think they have it in my size?”

I frown. “I’m buying this dress.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“You just called it awesome.”

“Well, I meant… you know, it would be awesome in a smaller size.”

I grit my teeth. Diane is so caught up in her size, that she probably really does think that.

“I’m still buying it. And I’m wearing it to the wedding,” I say stubbornly.

“Ugh. Okay. Well, what do you think of my outfit?”

She twirls in a circle. She’s wearing a two-piece dress made of a vaguely shiny purple material.

“You look like a confused eggplant,” I say, eyeing her outfit critically.

She blows out a breath. “Whatever. This shop doesn’t have anything cute anyway.”

What about my dress? I think and roll my eyes.

She disappears back into her changing stall, and I do, too.

“Hey, are you ready? I think I want to stop at the food court before we go, get a sugar-free, fat-free froyo.” Diane’s voice is so full of happiness, like she’s mocking me.

“Uh, just a second,” I call out. I unzip the dress. “I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’ll be looking at the jewelry.”

I put the dress back on the hanger, listening to her footsteps fade as she leaves the fitting room area, then take a deep breath. I look at the dress for a long moment, knowing that I won’t find anything nearly as pretty anywhere else.

And I’ll match Charlie. I’ll look good next to him in this dress, like I belong with him. I’ll look like I could be his real girlfriend instead of a pretend one.

I shimmy back into my jeans and sweater, then consider the dress once more. It only takes one more look at the dress before I scoop it up and head for the register.