Chapter Thirteen
Ashlyn
“Nope. Not that one.”
Em’s impatient growl was cute. It was the third straight dress that Ashlyn had vetoed, but as maid of honor she felt it was her duty to make sure the bride didn’t go through her big day wearing something with fraying seams. They were at one of the more bohemian second hand shops downtown. A choice that Ashlyn found interesting.
Em’s style generally included whatever the hell she could afford. Oversized sweaters, holey jeans . . . Half her wardrobe consisted of whatever Jay bought and she borrowed. Not that she didn’t totally rock every last outfit, but Ashlyn enjoyed getting this sneak peek into what her friend would choose for herself given the chance. This particular dress—like the two before it—however, simply wouldn’t do.
“Try again.”
“Ash,” Em groaned. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“You see that thread right there?” Ashlyn pointed to a long sting hanging from the conservative neckline. “That gets pulled and the whole thing will unravel. You want to be standing in front of everyone butt naked?”
Em fingered the string and her shoulders dropped. Guilt settled over Ashlyn. This was supposed to be fun, but Em looked miserable.
“You’re going about it wrong. Stop picking dresses based on the price tag and find one that you love.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” Ashlyn pulled back the curtain to the fitting room. “Go change.”
When Em reemerged she had the offensive dress draped over her arm. Ashlyn took it from her and swept her arm out across the shop.
“You came in here for a reason . . . Go find it. If price was no object, what would you choose?”
Em’s finger traveled upward to wrap in a strand of hair as her eyes drifted over the cluttered shop. Racks of clothing were arraigned in no discernable pattern. Hats, scarves, bags, and shoes filled bins to overflowing here, there, and everywhere. A headless manikin stood near the front window with its arms stretched upward, and the faint scent of time and incense lingered in the air.
Em sighed. “Ash—”
“Humor me.” It wasn’t lost on Ashlyn that Em and Jay had more important things to spend their money on than nice clothes, but every girl deserved to feel like a princess on her wedding day.
“Oh, fine.”
Hangers squealed sharply over the round metal bar of a free-standing rack as Em browsed, lifting and replacing one garment after the next. Behind her, a full length mirror hung on the wall, half buried beneath a display of feather boas, and Ashlyn caught an unfortunate glimpse of her reflection. The new bargain brand shampoo she’d been using made her hair look limp and fatigue clouded her eyes. Stressed wasn’t a very good look for her.
Em lifted a pure white sundress from the rack and held it at arm’s length. A slow smile spread across her face. Ding, ding, they had a winner.
Before Em could talk herself out of it, Ashlyn hurried over and pushed her towards the dressing room. “Try it on.”
“I can’t—”
“Quit being a pain in my ass and just try the damn thing on. Please?”
Em sighed, but the smile lingered as she followed her marching orders and disappeared behind the curtain.
The counter at the front of the shop was unmanned, so Ashlyn wandered through the maze until she found a woman kneeling near the back unpacking a box of costume jewelry. Rounded mirrors set near the ceiling offered a clear view of the dressing room and the front door.
Ashlyn kept one eye on the drawn curtain. “When the girl in there comes out and asks you how much that dress is, you’re going to tell her it’s sixty dollars.”
The sales woman glanced at the mirror and her lip curled. A pair of fake emerald earrings that looked similar to the real pair Ashlyn had pawned the week before dangled from her finger as she eyed Ash like a speck of dirt. “The dress she took in there is a hundred-and-twenty-five dollars. If you don’t have it, I suggest you shop elsewhere.”
Ashlyn rolled her eyes—for a glorified thrift shop cashier she sure thought highly of herself—and dug in her bag for her wallet. There was two-hundred-thirty-six dollars and sixty-three cents left over from her last paycheck. The electric bill was waiting at home. Phone bill would be coming any day now. And the mortgage was due at the end of the month, but sixty-five dollars wasn’t going to make or break that. She meticulously counted each dollar before handing them over. “Sixty dollars. And not one word about this.”
The woman counted the money again, as if she hadn’t just watched Ashlyn do it and took her sweet-ass time moving toward the counter. “Writing up two separate receipts for one item is going to screw up my inventory logs.”
“Yeah, well . . . life’s hard.” Of the combined problems of everyone in that shop, Ashlyn was guessing that an extra receipt ranked somewhere near dead last.
The woman tore a thin strip of paper from the register and slapped it down on the glass plated countertop just as Em pulled back the curtain. Ashlyn grabbed it and stuffed it in her pocket as she turned to face her friend.
“Oh, Em!” Stunning. She looked absolutely stunning. “You look like a princess.”
Em laughed, the shin length skirt floating up around her as she twirled in front of the mirror. The halter design exposed her back to just above the waistline, adding to its elegance, while a floral lace overlay gave it a vintage feel.
Pink tinged Em’s cheeks when she sobered, running her hands over the material and taking one last look in the mirror. “I can’t afford this.”
Ashlyn met her friend’s reflected gaze. “How do you know?”
“There’s no price tag.” Em lifted her arms to either side. “That means it has to be expensive.”
“Ask,” Ashlyn urged.
Round and round and round her finger went in the lock of hair hanging over her shoulder.
“Excuse me.” Not waiting for her friend to work up the courage, Ashlyn waved the sales woman over. “How much is this?”
The woman looked from her, to Em, and back again. “It’s sixty dollars.”
“Really?” Em looked stunned. The other shitty dresses she’d tried on were all in the eighty dollar range.
“Really.” The sales woman rolled her eyes.
If Em noticed, she wasn’t dumb enough to question it. “I’ll take it.”
***
Ashlyn stood on the front porch, waving as Em backed out of the driveway, wincing slightly when the left rear tire bumped over the curb onto the street. She’d only recently gotten her license and she was still getting the hang of it.
Small mounds of snow sat half melted in the yard, but she could see the first shoots of green coming up between them. The sun was shining. Heat seeped into her sink, unknotting some of her tighter muscles and Ashlyn turned, leaning against the railing to let it warm her shoulders. Someday she was moving to the desert. With every snowflake that fell she swore it.
Beside the door her mailbox was bursting with envelopes. Most—if not all of them—from people who wanted her money. It was becoming a problem. One that she was beginning to realize wouldn’t go away if she just ignored it.
Setting aside the more depressing mail, Ashlyn took a seat at the kitchen table with a single envelope that had sparked her interest. She turned it over and over in her hands. It was thick, expensive stationary, but there was no stamp, no return address. There was no address at all. Just her name, Ashlyn Mills, printed in plain black computer ink.
Curiosity outweighing common sense, she broke the seal.