Sure, because women needed to be young and blemish-free as well as happy, loving, and sweet. “Which filter does she use?” I struggled to keep my tone neutral.
“I’m not sure.” She jabbed her phone with two fingers and tilted her head like she’d never seen her gallery icon before.
“Couldn’t you just ask her?”
She waved me off. “No, she’s busy. And I’m no good with technology. Now, I do have this young coworker, but I’d be too embarrassed to ask her to show me. She’s a model. Prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Well, except for my grandbabies. Want to see?”
No.
But she showed me.
I exhaled sharply through my nose as she tilted her phone at me, sliding through her gallery. This had nothing to do with her question. There wasn’t even a ‘fix’ here.
Why would a stranger care about random chubby-cheeked grandbabies and a blonde girl’s selfies? In one shot, the blonde coworker almost kissed the cheek of a smarmy guy with frosted tips. They were both looking at the camera. It was the fakest love I’d ever seen, but Cassanda beamed at them.
“That’s her boyfriend. He’s a model too,” she bragged.
“Bet they’d make beautiful kids,” I droned.
“That’s what I said.” She finally lowered her phone. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Something in my chest screwed painfully tight.
“What about a girlfriend? Non-binary thing? I forget the words for it.”
“Partner. And no.” I was alone.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find somebody. You know, I didn’t meet my boyfriend until I was forty-three. Speed-dating, of all things, at that bar down the street. Maybe you’ll meet somebody there, especially if you doll up your hair.” She tittered, touching my arm.
Her familiarity sent a shudder through my very core. I had met somebody. And he didn’t want me. I recoiled and kicked to propel my chair away. “I don’t need to meet some baby-crazed guy who drinks and expects me to play happy family with everybody.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think–”
“Hey, if you want to erase who you are for the sake of some guy in weird society standard, far be it from me to stand in your way.” I snatched her phone and jabbed the screen. “As for your actual question, this icon means edit. This sparkly thing is filters. This one’s the most popular for making you into a Stepford stepmom.” I handed the phone back to her. “Play away. Make an alternate reality. I save mine for video games.”
“Oh…” She fumbled for her bag and grasped the armrest on the chair as if she wasn’t sure she should stand or stay.
“Have a nice day,” I said loudly, then turned to my computer.
Ash’s low-heeled boots hurriedly clipped across the tile floor, and she stopped in front of my desk. “Excuse me, is everything okay here?”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and tugged the edge of my cap.
“I was just leaving,” the lady said sweetly, standing and gathering her stuff. “My question was probably too easy.”
Guilt twisted my chest. Why was she being nice to me?
Hot pain tugged the back of my eyeballs. “Sorry. You do know how to filter things now, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You wanna see me use it on a selfie?” She took one and showed Ash. “She taught me to do…this…and these things…oop, wait, notthat one, and…there we go. All set for Thanksgiving. I better go before I’m late for work too. Thanks, honey.”
She power-walked off with her stuff, and I stood, wiping my hot forehead.
“What the hell was that?” Ash asked.
“I don’t know. She was being rude.”
“Didn’t sound that way to me.”
