Mallory's jaw drops. The woman retreats, and Mallory turns her disbelieving eyes on me.
"Did Vivi wear stuff like this?" She holds up the skirt the saleswoman brought her. She pulls away the loose fabric, and it really does resemble a pouch. "I could put my joey in here and hop away."
Laughing, I point at her belly. "I think you are supposed to do exactly that."
"I'm not a marsupial," she huffs, holding the skirt out in front of her. She examines it, sighing. "I guess I'll need stuff like this eventually. It's hard to believe I'll be big enough to fit into it." She retreats into the fitting room with the new items.
I sit back in the upholstered chair, crossing one leg over the other, trying to figure out what has me taking a pregnant woman shopping for maternity clothes on a Monday afternoon when I have a business to run. And, the even bigger question, why do I like it so much?
"Hugo?" Mallory calls from behind a closed door.
I sit up, glancing around. The sales attendants are busy helping other people, and besides, Mallory did not call for them. She called for me.
"Yeah?" I ask, coming to stand outside her door.
"I feel supremely stupid, but I need some assistance."
I swallow. The teenager in me perks up, recalling fitting room fantasies that most definitely will not be taking place today.
"What can I help you with?"
"Can you come in?"
"Uh." I look again at the saleswomen. Only one is in my line of sight, and she is busy. "Sure."
There's the turn of a lock, and the door opens an inch. Mallory says, "You'll have to open it the rest of the way. I need my hands."
What? She needs her hands? For what?
Pressing a palm flat to the door, I push it open just enough so I can slip through, but not so much that anybody else can see in.
Mallory stands with her back to me. Her gaze is on the ground, long, dark hair falling over her shoulders in two separate waves. I close the door and lock it behind me, then turn to face her. The mirror on the opposite end of the fitting room allows me a full view of Mallory's front. She lifts her head to look at me, causing her hair to follow, revealing inch after inch of skin. From the top of her rib cage down, she is covered by the dress she was just in. From the top of her rib cage up, she is covered only byher hands. Except her hands are too small to do the job adequately, and round flesh spills out on all sides.
Force my eyes to stay on hers in the mirror.That's what I have to do right now. And even though I'm focusing on her like my life depends on it, guess what I can still see in my central vision?
"What's the problem?" I croak. This is it. This is how I die. A half-glimpse of Mallory's breasts were enough to do me in.
"The zipper is stuck." Mortification twists her tone, makes her sound pained.
Grateful to have something else to look at, I search out the zipper running down the middle of her back.
Yep. It's more than stuck. It's broken. "I'm going to have to rip the dress off you."
"What?" she asks, alarmed.
"The zipper is totally broken. You must have really been fighting with it."
She blows out a frustrated breath. "Like wrestling a hyena."
I take one side of the hanging fabric in each hand, getting a good grip on it. "I think you won the match," I say, giving the fabric a forceful yank. The sound of ripping fabric fills the air, but it's only an inch. I repeat the motion, using more force this time. The tear of fabric sounds different this time, longer and somehowsexy.The rip goes down the seam, all the way to the top of the red thong Mallory wears. Because of course she does.
I rake a hand over my face. "Your favorite color is red, isn't it?"
She nods. "Red like my face right now."
I meet her eyes in the mirror, noting the embarrassment, but something else, too. A blossoming heat. Our locked gazes persist, time slows. My voice comes out like gravel. "Red is my favorite color, too." Then I slip out, giving Mallory her privacy. Basically, I run away.
I don't know much about life. I'm a guy who won a gold medal in a sport most people know little about, and I've retired to live a quiet life carrying on my family's legacy. But I do know one thing for certain.
