Dear Diary,
I’ve never been to Italy, but I feel like I’ve gotten a taste of it in books, like traveling to Florence with Lucy Honeychurch in A Room with a View. Someday I’ll visit places like that in real life—touch the ancient stones of famous buildings, eat amazing food, wander the glorious countryside.
Just the thought of the great big world waiting out there makes me excited to grow up and have thrilling adventures in exotic locales.
M.P.M.
to Gatewood Mall. I’d tagged along once or twice when Cam needed equipment from the sporting goods store. Our mother vociferously opposed further incursions into the sprawling emporium on the grounds that we should support smaller merchants in Millville—and also because the mall was “a soul-sucking hellhole.”
I didn’t mention that part to Arden, who seemed anxious for everyone to have fun. She began the tour by narrating the parking options, with recommendations according to both weather and shopping priorities. Because the early September afternoon was sticky with heat, we opted for a covered lot near one of the fancy department stores.
Stepping inside the gleaming interior, with its glass-fronted displays and expensively dressed mannequins, I felt a frisson of panic. Forget visiting the village milliner to buy a new ribbon for your bonnet; there was no way I could afford so much as a barrette in this place. My only source of pocket money was pet-sitting for Bo’s family during their travels, and I’d already spent most of last summer’s earnings on snack runs.
“This is more of a grown-up-lady store,” Arden whispered, linking her elbow through mine. “We’re just doing a stroll-through, to soak up the atmosphere, though it is excellent for special occasions.”
My neck muscles released some of their tension. Living beyond one’s means was a frequently fatal condition for young women in classic literature, on par with malicious gossip or falling in love with the wrong person.
We traveled up an escalator, past the children’s department, and into the thick of women’s wear. The stretchy sheen of what Arden called athleisure soon gave way to an entire section of ball gowns.
“Oh wow.” Arden had stopped in front of a mannequin wearing a blindingly red dress. Sequined flowers climbed all over the bodice. She spun to face us. “Do you guys want to try things on? Just for fun.”
Lydia checked the price tag. “No.”
Ignoring this, Arden appealed to me. “Which one do you like, Mary?”
“The blue one is pretty.” I pointed at a misty confection of silky skirts with a gauze overlay.
“Totally.” Arden slid two off the adjacent rack and handed the hangers to me. “Sometimes the sizing is wonky for gowns, so you’re better off trying a couple of different ones.” She narrowed her eyes, studying the other displays. “Let’s see. For Lydia, I’m thinking—”
“Dusty rose,” Lydia interrupted, raising her arm to point. “That one.”
We followed her deeper into the formalwear section, where she grabbed a flouncy pink dress with a bow. “I’m only trying this on because I already have the bra for it.”
“Very practical,” Arden agreed. “Now, Terry can probably rock anything, but if you want my opinion”—she paused, giving Terry time to nod—“I think purple is your color.”
As we weaved in and out of the racks in search of a purple dress, Arden trailed the tips of her fingers along the diaphanous fabrics. “I bet they got to wear dresses like this all the time in the olden days,” she said dreamily.
Not exactly like this, I thought, contemplating the exposed midriffs and thigh-high slits.
When the four of us assembled in front of the triptych of mirrors in all our finery, the results weren’t quite as transformative as I’d hoped. The hem of Terry’s dress pooled around her feet. Lydia’s was the right length, but the straps didn’t fit over her shoulders. The waist of the blue dress hit me mid–rib cage, as if I’d grabbed a child’s size by accident.
“Anton would pass out if he saw this.” I made a futile attempt to smooth the waterfall of fabric shooting out half a foot above my hips.
“Too bad we didn’t get to meet him,” Arden said, pouncing on the mention of Anton. “Have you known each other long?”
“A couple of years.”
“And is he dark-haired or blond—”
“Just ask her,” Lydia cut in, before Arden could finish. “Mary, are you into this guy or what?”
“Um, no. He’s like a big brother. Who is also gay. And he was in the Peace Corps before college, so he’s pretty old. As in twenty-four.”
“Gross,” Lydia grunted, holding up the top of her dress as she strode back down the carpeted aisle. “It would be like hooking up with Gandalf. Not that Gandalf is a scoundrel. I’m sure he’s great if you’re super old and don’t mind being left alone a lot. The elves are a whole other story,” she called through the dressing room door. “Those bitches need to be taken down a few pegs.”
“Okay. I get it.” Arden rolled her eyes. “Just trying to keep an open mind.”
“Your dress looks great,” I told her, both because it was true and as a sop to her pride.
“Yeah?” She took a few selfies from different angles before checking the time on her phone—something she’d been doing at regular intervals since our arrival.
“Are we done here?” Lydia called over the door of her changing room.
Arden sighed. “Fine. It’s just nice to look ahead sometimes. Think about the future. You never know when a special occasion is going to present itself. A little pre-shopping can go a long way.”
It sounded awfully specific for a general rule of thumb, but then again Arden often spoke that way.
Terry emerged from behind her own swinging door in record time. It probably helped that she’d kept her jeans and shoes on under the dress. “Where to next?”
Arden checked the time on her phone again. “Let’s start making our way to the food court.”
Once we emerged onto the second floor of the mall proper, storefronts stretched to infinity ahead of us, with annexes branching in multiple directions. It felt a little like I imagined one of those really tall hedge mazes on a country estate, only without the fresh air and natural light to ease the sense of entrapment. We made a slow circuit of the upstairs, looking into the stores we passed but never entering. All the while, Arden kept surreptitiously glancing at her phone.
“Why are we going so slow?” Lydia asked from behind me. “I think those mall walkers just lapped us.”
“Mary needs time to soak up the atmosphere,” Arden scolded.
Actually, I was afraid that much more time spent under the onslaught of artificial scents and distorted echoes of sound would reduce me to a quivering bundle of nerves, but I couldn’t tell Arden that. It was easier to focus on the people: grownups pushing strollers, ladies in work clothes, a noisy tangle of boys Jasper’s age, all clutching jumbo paper cups that seemed in imminent danger of spilling their lurid contents onto the floor.
That was probably why I noticed him, the young man sitting on a nearby plastic bench, eyes narrowed as he watched the junior hooligans tussle and guffaw. He was pale and sharp-featured, though part of that might have been the expression of distaste pulling his cheekbones into relief. I wasn’t exactly an expert on men’s fashion, but his clothes seemed to convey an air of sophistication, or at least expensiveness.
Arden’s hand tightened on my arm. “The people watching is pretty good around here, am I right?” As we drew even with the bench, she stole a glance at the well-groomed stranger. “Note to self,” she murmured. “Mary likes them clean-cut. Good to know.”
I worried she might be bold enough to drag us over and strike up a conversation. Then her phone buzzed, and we were triple-timing it away from the stranger, toward destinations unknown.
“Voilà,” Arden said, two escalator rides later. “The food court.”
Although there wasn’t so much as a fountain in sight, something about the humid, chemically perfumed air made me think I was standing near a pool.
“Are we eating?” Lydia asked, peering at a display of dried-out pizza slices.
“In a minute,” Arden replied, pulling me along beside her. She was scanning the mauve and turquoise seating area with methodical focus.
“There’s plenty of room,” Terry pointed out.
“Oh, I know.” Arden’s laugh was not entirely convincing. “I’m just looking for the perfect spot.”
Lydia squinted at her. “Something’s going on. What did you do?”
“I told you, we’re having the complete mall experience.” Arden avoided Lydia’s gaze.
“People used to do this in old books all the time,” I said. “Not the fast food, obviously, but promenading around so they could look at each other. At the park, or sometimes just in the drawing room after dinner.”
“They would wander in circles?” Lydia asked. “For fun?”
“It’s not like they had Netflix,” Arden reminded her. “Oh, look!”
The exclamation suggested relief as much as surprise. With rapid steps, she cut through a group of tables, heading for one occupied by a lone young man in khakis and a navy polo with an embroidered crest to one side of the buttons.
“Miles is here?” Lydia asked, though it was clear she meant, What is Miles doing here?
Arden didn’t reply. She was intent on reaching Miles, who had risen from his seat. Now that he was standing, I saw that he was several inches shorter than Arden and half again as wide, with wire-rimmed glasses and a gently rounded belly. Would they kiss? Fly into each other’s arms? I’d never seen Arden in girlfriend mode, but she definitely tended toward the touchy-feely.
“Where is everybody?” she asked Miles in an urgent undertone—not the most sentimental of greetings. “Did you guys drive separately?”
His cheeks puffed as he exhaled. “About that.”
“No.” Arden waited in vain for him to contradict her. “They didn’t. They wouldn’t.”
“It’s the first tournament of the year. We’re not where we need to be.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Especially me, trying to break in a new partner.”
Arden flinched. “Is it that big of a sacrifice, taking an hour off?”
“It’s the timing—” he started to say, breaking off at the sight of the three of us hovering nearby. “Hey, Lydia.” He held up a hand to me and Terry. “I’m Miles.”
Arden performed the introductions with a reasonable facsimile of her usual cheer, though I could tell she was making an effort.
“Are you guys getting something to eat?” Miles cast a hopeful glance at a burger restaurant.
Placing her hands on his cheeks, Arden gently turned his head away from temptation. “How’s your blood sugar?” He looked at his shoes. “That’s what I thought. You better go do your thing, because otherwise you’ll be stressed. And eat something healthy.”
He leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’ll call you later.”
“What was that about?” Lydia asked as soon as Miles was out of earshot.
Arden lifted one shoulder. “He was supposed to bring some guys from the debate team to hang out with us.”
“Like an ambush,” Lydia said.
“No, like an iconic experience for Mary,” Arden corrected. “Flirting with guys at the mall. Only better, because they wouldn’t be total strangers.”
“You still wouldn’t want to get into a car with them,” Terry said. “Never let them take you to a secondary location.”
“Sure,” Arden agreed with an abstracted air. “Also, you know they’re capable of dressing up. If there ever happens to be an occasion where that might come in handy.”
“Yeah, if we ever need a bunch of guys who look like they’re cosplaying their golfer grandpappies we’re all set.” Lydia pretended to tighten an invisible tie.
“Mary happens to like the conservative look. You saw the way she was scoping out the guy upstairs, with the fancy shoes!” Arden cocked her head to one side. “Maybe he’s still here?”
“Dude.” Lydia put a hand on her arm. “Relax. We had fun. I’m sorry it didn’t end up with a group wedding or whatever, but it’s all good. Right?”
Terry and I made noises of assent.
Somehow, Arden managed to smile and sigh at the same time. “So is this like something from a book? We can add it to the list of warning signs.”
It took me a moment to look beyond the immediate environs of the food court—loud, greasy, and artificially bright—to the deeper issue. “There is a book where a girl accidentally goes to the wrong church on their wedding day, and her fiancé thinks he’s been stood up, so he takes up with another woman, only the one he was supposed to marry was pregnant and ends up dropping dead.”
“What’s the lesson?” Terry asked.
“Don’t freak out if your plans get messed up?” Lydia suggested. “All they had to do was try again the next day. Maybe get a better map. Work on their communication.”
“There are other places we can go to practice our social skills,” Arden allowed.
Lydia tapped the back of her hand. “I bet you have six or seven of them on your list.”
“At least.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lydia shouldered her bag. “Now let’s get out of here before this lighting gives me a stroke.”