Not the shopping.
Not even the strategy.
Theyeah.
Because it means this wasn’t fake.
It was planned.
But it was also real.
And that is so much harder to hate.
One of the girls lowers her voice conspiratorially.
“So what was the game plan? Like… what exactly did your mom tell you?”
A beat.
Then Isa laughs, but it’s smaller this time.
“She said Texas girls know how to bag and tag a man without making it look like hunting.”
The girls squeal.
“Oh my God.”
“Say less.”
“She did not say‘bag and tag.’.”
“She did,” Isa says. “And then she sent me a whole list.”
Now I can picture it without wanting to.
A perfect mother with a blowout and diamonds and a voice like polished steel, sending bullet points to her daughter about how to catch a boy with a last name.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until I hear myself inhale.
The voices pause on the other side of the curtain.
My leg kicks the cooler involuntarily.
One of the girls says, “Did you hear that?”
“Probably a trainer,” someone else mutters.
I don’t move.
Don’t blink.
My heart is beating too loud.
Then the conversation resumes, a little lower, a little closer.
“She told me,” Isa says, “if he’s already paying attention, never make him work too hard too fast. Men like to think they chose you.”
The girls make those scandalized, delighted sounds girls make when a secret is too good.
