“FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY THREE DOLLARS?”
Their voices bellowed so loudly, the knick-knacks nearly fell off the boutique shelves. The ruckus gave Grace enough time to pick her composure up off the floor and flash them a smile.
“I really really like them.”
She’d talked beet & MJ into taking a break from boat races and funnel cakes to duck into the Kozy Kitten Boutique. Just to look around. They were sniffing the Pink Pepper candles when she spotted ‘em. She didn’t know she’d needed them all her life, but there they were.
THE BRACELETS.
Not gold. Not even metal. Some kind of glittery rubberish tubing. Just the thing for Grace to pair with lace and boots. She was smitten. Done for. Laid out.
She scooped up six with a just quick squint at the price tags. Danged boutique belles and their frilly handwriting. Not to mention, Grace had left her rose-colored readers in the truck. But mostly it was that questionable font. Why else would $75 each look like $25?
She looked up at Miss Kozy, hoping no one saw her eye twitch. She didn’t break eye contact. She slid her card across the counter. Girl. run. the. card. She tried to pass off the sweat on her upper lip as a shopper’s glow.
When they got outside, Grace swallowed the air like she’d just popped out from under a fuzzy pink fever dream diving lesson. beet looked at the times for the next boat race. MJ answered a text from Hank—another abandoned cooler he wanted them to check out. Grace put on her poker face. The one she could only muster once, maybe twice a year.
They ducked into an oasis for a few drinks and for Grace to freshen up. She checked under the stalls for feet. Then she splashed cold water on her face before she looked herself dead in the eye.
“Listen. These bracelets? These GRACELETS?” She shook her wrist in the mirror. “If anyone asks, you wanted these more than anything in the whole wide world forever. And now? You’ve got ‘em.”
She took a deep breath, “You’re gonna sleep in ‘em, eat in ‘em, shower in ‘em, swim in ‘em. They’re a part of you now, got it?”
She exhaled. “It’s practically a down payment on my wrist. Now. Breathe.
In… hold… out.
Go.”
She walked up to the bar. MJ was on the phone with Hank. “Toes? How many?”
There were two shots sitting in front of beet. She didn’t ask if one was hers. She downed them both.
“Y’all ready to go?” she waved toward the door, first and last month’s rent, jangling on her wrist.