Page 324 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Celie tips her head back with a cackle.

“Buuuuut…” I slide sideways down the rack. “If I ambush him romantically, in public, wearing a red dress? Yeah, nah, he’s done. Italian men are genetically incapable of saying no to two things: tenderness and a woman in a red dress.”

She follows me. “So basically, you ain’t even thought this through.”

“I don’t have time to think this through.”

“You should make time. You really out here Cinderello-ing a Jersey boy, trying to make him look perfect⁠—”

“He’s already perfect.”

The words leave before I can stop them.

My breath cuts in half, afraid to follow.

Silence steps up next.

I stand paralyzed,

hand frozen on crisp-white cotton.

Celie stands paralyzed.

The male model nearby stands paralyzed. (Probably for completely different model-reasons.)

“Oh no,” Celie clicks her tongue.

“Shut up please,” I sing.

She doesn’t, “You said it naturally.

“You ain’t even fight it.”

“Celie, don’t say it—” I snap.

“You love him.”

A shirt drops from my fingers,

making the hanger swish back and forth,

and I turn slow, demon-like,

until I’m facing her.

She steps back,

spine hitting the mirror behind her.

“Allie, it’s okay,” she says gentle.

“No. Celie. No⁠—”

“Be serious,” she interrupts, trying to make light of it. “I bet the boy’s been in love with you too.”

“Celie, stop!” I all but shout.

She goes silent.