The car turns in to the parking lot, and Valentina pulls into a spot. We step out, excited to leave the campground and experience some retail therapy. I wrap my arm around my grandmother’s, and Valentina follows suit on her other side.
“This is so nice,” Abuelita coos.
We make our way through the mall, passing several stores featuring everything from clothing and accessories to home goods and electronics. I take in the sights and sounds of the mall, enjoying the thrill of the hunt for bargains—or designer stuff, I guess. I’m not used to this. Usually, I’m shopping for counterfeit accessories. I don’t think I’ve ever stepped inside an actual designer store.
Finally, we come upon the Coach outlet. It’s housed in a large, inviting space, with its logo prominently displayed above the entrance. The elegantly appointed interior has warm lighting and sleek fixtures showcasing the luxurious leather goods and accessories. Basically, anything that I can’t and will not ever be able to afford. When we step inside, my eyes light up at the sight of the beautiful handbags and wallets on display. Abuelita also seems impressed, admiring the quality of the leather and the attention to detail in each piece. I pick up a pair of black loafers—$120. The discounted price. I nearly faint at the thought of paying so much for a pair of shoes.
“These shoes are $120,” I say to Valentina, trying to hide my surprise.
“Yeah, it’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“That’s one way to put it.” I laugh.
“It’s the outlet store, so everything is so cheap.”
Suddenly, I realize we have different opinions on what constitutes a good deal. These are cheap to her—a bargain if you will. For the first time this week, I realize just how different our worlds are. Maybe too different. How would I fit in?
“So, you know Sofia well. What do you think I should get her?”
Valentina browses around, picking up wallets and bags that make my wallet sweat.
“It’s tough. Sofia can buy herself anything. I always have a hard time coming up with a good gift to get her. You could get her this bag.”
She shows me a chalk-colored satchel with gold accents and the signature logo on the front. It’s chic, classic, and perfect for her.
“She could bring it on her honeymoon. What do you think, Abuelita?”
Valentina shows her the bag. Abuelita manages to find a bench to sit on and watch us shop. She nods happily.
“Muy lindo, mija,” she says.
Can she even see from that far? She’d probably say that about any item here. I think she’s just happy to be included. I grab the bag from Valentina and inspect it closer. It’s cute. It’s stylish. It’s…$150. I can’t tell her that I can’t afford it. It’ll give me away.
“Okay, I’ll get this one,” I say, praying my credit card has enough of a limit available for it to go through.
“You go ahead to the register. I’ll catch up,” Valentina says as she continues to browse through the wallets.
I take my walk of shame to the register, just waiting for those big, bold red words to appear on the screen: DECLINED. It’s a word I am all too familiar with regarding my credit cards. I’m so used to it at this point that I don’t even feel embarrassed. I just move on. But this. This is just not the time for it to happen.
“I’m going to sit outside,” Abuelita announces to us both.
She points to the bench just outside the door. It’s a beautiful day not to enjoy the breeze and sun.
I step up to the cash register with the Coach bag in hand, determined to buy it as a gift for Sofia’s bridal shower. I hand over my credit card, trying to hide my nervousness as the cashier swipes it. A moment passes—then another moment.
“Sorry, sometimes the computer is a little slow.” The cashier giggles.
“Yeah,” I say, laughing nervously.
As I wait to see the dreaded words, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket to see my mother’s name show up on the caller ID. Fuck.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card has been declined,” the cashier replies in a lower voice.
“What?” I put my phone away. “That can’t be right,” I lie. “Let me try another one.”
I pull out my second card I deemed “In Case Of Emergency” and hand it to the cashier, trying to act as if it’s not a big deal. A moment passes. Another moment. Then there is that big, mean word again: DECLINED.
The cashier looks at me, clearly with a sense of pity.
