Seven Minutes in Candyland by Brian Wasson

Author:Brian Wasson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

I spend most of Saturday on a surreal, emotional Tilt-A-Whirl, yanked back and forth between worrying about Dino and worrying about tonight’s dress fitting with Sterling. I nail-bite my way through two MLS soccer matches, check my texts excessively for God only knows what reason, and pop in and out of ZW3 looking for Dino at least ten times.

None of it helps me feel any less unsettled. Rod finally calls midafternoon and saves me from myself by suggesting we catch a matinee before the big show with Gianna and Sterling. We hit up the newest Fast and Furious offering.

When we exit the theater, I have to squint as my eyes get used to the light. It’s a nice day out. Sunny but damp. Humid but breezy. A day better suited for the middle of May than February.

“You think they’re running out of ideas?” I ask as people stream past us.

Rod yawns underneath the marquee and then says, “Shoot, that was the best one yet.”

We debate the movie as we walk the outdoor strip mall. Going back and forth with him makes me wish Dino were here. She’s the biggest movie buff of our trio, and no doubt she’d be chiming in with endless insights about the cinematography and CGI animations. It feels weird just us two, actually. It’s like she’s a ghost at my shoulder. I think about Rod’s suggestion that I apologize. It weighs more heavily on me today, but I’m still not quite there yet. She’s at least gotta understand why I said what I said. Why Rosie would be so bad for her. Why River would be a total upgrade.

Rod and I make our way into the main building but stop to look at the directory to find the dress store. It’s one level and two hallways away, so we take our time. The closer we get, the more antsy I become. Teeth-grinding. Knuckle-crackling. Hand-in-pocketing. It gets so bad that Rod has to hype me up by the escalators near Macy’s.

We walk into Hawt Couture, the high-end dress shop, and I see more colors than I was aware existed. And girls—girls with their moms, girls with their friends, and girls alone, scavenging the racks and riffling through the dresses lining the walls.

No guys, though, except us.

The music is all instrumental, airy and light, like something Susie McNamara’s group No Strings Attached would play. One of the workers comes up to us, sporting a smile way too big to have worked for long in retail.

“Hi, guys!” she says. “Valentine’s present for the GF? That’s soooo Hawt.”

“Actually, we’re not—” I start.

“Lucky you came this weekend because there’s a twenty-percent-off significant-other discount for all rack dresses.”

“A what?” Rod asks.

“A significant-other discount. It used to be the boyfriend discount, but we switched to S.O. because it was kinda sexist and gendered, and maybe even a touch homophobic. And Hawt Couture is committed to smashing the patriarchy and looking cute while doing it. Isn’t that just awesome?” she asks.

“That’s Hawt,” I answer. “But, um, we’re not—”

Rod nudges me, and my mouth snaps shut.

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