Then my blood pressure spikes and guilt floods my veins the moment I let the thought settle. Mama. Timantha. Work. And I realize, there’s no escaping the truth of it. I’ve crippled everyonein my life into needing me. To lean on me. To expect me to be the one who holds everything together. And walking away—staying here—would mean letting all of that fall out of my hands.
I make a mental note to remind my sister about Mama’s appointment tomorrow. One more thing filed away. One more responsibility I refuse to drop.
We pull up to the mall, and I laugh softly because malls in Canada look exactly like malls back home. A little nostalgia wrapped in a dying breed. A fading echo of when this wastheplace to be on a Saturday afternoon.
I used to beg my auntie to take me when I was little. All I wanted was an ice cream cone in one hand and a turn on the indoor Ferris wheel. Everything smelled like soft pretzels and brand-new shoes, like possibility and allowance money and a day with nowhere else you had to be.
This one’s the same with big glass atriums, neon signs, and stores selling everything from luxury handbags to beef jerky. There’s a pop-up artisan market tucked between an Apple store and a high-end athleisure boutique. Canada’s version of capitalism is cozy but efficient.
As we stroll past a row of mannequins in sequins and silk, Eli glances over at me.
“What kind of, I don’t know, dresses do you like?”
I grin, unable to help myself. “The kind every girl likes, Eli.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Expensive ones.”
He chuckles under his breath and nods. “Then I know just the place.”
The boutique screams luxury. All around is glass shelving, polished marble floors, velvet seating nooks, and racks of designer gowns lined up like art. Everything smells like fresh peonies and generational wealth. The women behind the counter light up when they see Eli walk in.
“Oh wow,” I whisper, nudging him. “You really are the most popular guy in town.”
He gives another soft chuckle, brushing it off. “Nah. Not me. My brother was the popular one.”
There’s something about the way he says it—light, like a joke, but tight around the edges. I clock it but decide not to press.
I raise an eyebrow. “And how do you even know about high-end boutiques like this?”
He shrugs. “A brother can’t keep his mom dressed well?”
“I’m really gonna need you to stop being so thoughtful and mindful toward your mom,” I say almost under my breath.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making my labia lunge at you.”
He bursts out laughing, low and deep in his chest. And yea, his laugh does things to my insides, too.
“Why are you like this, Max?”
I grin. “Why do you act like you can’t get enough of me?”
He doesn’t answer. Just smirks and leans over to give me a light shove as we approach the counter. And if his hand lingers just a second too long at the small of my back, I don’t mention it.
Eli turns to the attendants. “She gets the VIP treatment. Add anything she wants to my tab.”
Then he looks at me, that grin lurking at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna see if the record shop has anything new in. Take your time.”
And just like that, I’m being swept into fashion heaven. One attendant takes my purse. Another hands me a glass of champagne. A third pulls out a silk gown that looks like it was stitched from lust itself.
Nearly an hour goes by but everything moves fast —zippers, soft lighting, more champagne. I’m being catered to like royalty. And damn it, I love it.
I’m admiring myself in the mirror in a gold dress when I hear a smooth voice behind me.
“You wear gold well.”
