I pulled my phone out of my pocket and frantically typed in the passcode.Wrong.I tried again.Wrong.Had I really forgotten my passcode in the last fifteen minutes? Were the old-clothes-smell odours really getting to me?No.It was just the universe’s way of keeping me on my toes. Because the dim, yellow overhead lighting in the changing room and the ill-fitting clothes were somehow not punishment enough. I glared at the screen, punching in my passcode again as I muttered curses that would have had my grandfather clutching at his chest.
Quincey: Gramps, shit. I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind that I said I would call. I should be home in like an hour. How’s Grams doing?
Gramps: Hello Pet, that’s alright. She’s doing okay today.
Pethad been my nickname for as long as I could remember. Somewhere between planted seeds and hours spent watching my grandmother tend to her vegetable beds and flower hedges, the nickname had emerged. Maura treasured her garden above all else. It was something that she poured every bit of love into, until our backyard bloomed in a myriad of vibrant colours. I’d asked her once if her garden was the thing she loved most in the world, other than my grandfather.
She had just turned to me, the same soft smile that always shone out when she looked at me, and said that I was the most preciouspetalin her garden and that she couldn’t wait to watch as I grew and bloomed. Over time, the nickname had just stuck, well, the trimmed-down version had. My grandfather was the fondest of it, though. He was soft. Too soft for the likes of Maura and me.
Quincey: Has she had much chance to get out in the garden? The weather’s god awful.
Gramps: No. She’s worried her perineums are going to die. No. Not perineums, perennials. Jesus. Backspace. Backspace. What the fuck is wrong with you, you damned thing? Stop typing out what I am saying. Ah christ.
Dictation.Happens to the best of us. Although in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have tried to teach my grandfather such an advanced setting and left him to the basics. I know there was a running joke that old people couldn’t use technology, and current mishap aside, I wasn’t sure why. Technology was hard. It was constantly shaping and evolving and moving on to the point where I even struggled to keep up with it. But I insisted my grandfather got a more modern one when I went to university. Even though I still lived in Darling, FaceTiming made it slightly easier than driving back to my childhood home every other day to check in.
Gramps: hate phone
Quincey: I’ll call in an hour okay. I’m just
For fuck’s sake. I am obviously not done typing.See? It wasn’t just the old people who were struggling. With all the money and scientists and the revolving door of coders with their new age technology, you’d think someone would have been able to ensure my phone was capable of working out when I had andhadn’tfinished typing out a message. On the technological scale of ‘hate phone’ to the moon landing, my sentiment definitely aligned more with my grandfather.
I yanked another Halloween contender off the rack. This one was something of a neon nightmare. Suspended in time by all the bits of string that went this way and that way to the point where trying to figure it out was giving me a fucking migraine.Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure how it had ended up at Hugh’sOddity Vault.
Gramps: Tell Hugh I say hello will you. I saw his wife at the grocery store earlier this week.
Gramps: By the lemons.
Quincey: How does everyone know where I am?
Quincey: Be honest with me here Gramps, am I really that predictable? Am I really that fucking boring?
Gramps: You’re a wonderful young lady who likes what she likes.
That’s a yes, then.
The promiseof calling my grandparents was withering away before my very eyes. Half an hour later and three more dresses tried on, I was at my wits’ end. One would have been absolutely perfect had it not been so fucking long. At five foot two, it pooled at my feet, making me look like I was emerging from some portal in hell. I really did love it, but I had no time to hem the dress, and quite frankly,I don’t fucking know how to anyway.
The second was beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I had high hopes for being something I could blag my way through at tonight’s party. ‘Oh, I’m the Crow from Alfred Hitchcock’sThe Crow’ or ‘veryslutty Wednesday Adams.’Which was to say the long black dress was utterly stunning and unbelievably see-through.Damn you, mesh, for coming back in fashion.
It's not that I was opposed to wearing something morerisqué. All things considered, I had an athletic build, crafted from hours and hours of running to escape my own thoughts. But flying under the radar at this party was my focus, so I decided to go with something a little more understated and a little lessbend me over.
Although the third dress didn’t scream Halloween, it really was stunning. It was a light champagne colour that almost seemed to glitter in the overhead lighting as it moved through my hand. The satin was soft and slipped over itself like water. Where I had thought it would be a little more understated,because it wasn’t fucking see-through,I’d failed to consider the deep V cut in the front. I made a mental note to text Esme to send Isaac over with nipple covers, so I didn’t accidentally jump scare someone with my nipple.
And I didn’t want any of the fabric to catch on my piercing. The moment I considered it, a wave of gory, terrifying thoughts, all barbell-related, pooled into my head. But the dress was inexpensive, so if on the very rare,but not impossible,chance that something snagged on my piercing and ripped my nipple clean off, I wouldn’t be out of pocket too much.
Just down one nipple.
I snapped a picture to send to Esme to triple-check her approval before spending a hard-earned fifteen dollars on it.
Ezzy: WHAT THE FUCK?
Quincey: No good?
Ezzy: It’s so much more than good. You look so fucking hot. Very fuckable.
Quincey: Don’t say fuckable
Ezzy: Are you going to fuck a frat boy tonight, Quincey? ;)
