Page 35 of The Second Chance Cinema
A bell sounded as Ellie entered My Mother’s Shop. The Persian rug was gone, leaving the dark hardwood floors exposed. All the home treasures had disappeared; the store was now filled with dresses. A cotillion of creamy pastels dangled from copper racks around each wall and along the front window, leaving plenty of breathing room for a shopper to begin their textured odyssey.
“Welcome in,” a voice sang from the front counter. Melinda popped up behind it. A silver tray of beads and trim was balanced on her arm.
Ellie startled. Though she had expected to see Melinda, it was as if she had materialized from a movie character into a real person. Ellie searched for something to say. During her morning drive, she’d listened to a podcast about the history of marbles. Her time would’ve been better spent coming up with an excuse for her visit. Instead, she grasped for the simplest thing to say. “I was just walking by.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped walking.”
When Melinda looked up at Ellie, her eyes narrowed in a quizzical expression that couldn’t be recognition. Could it? Drake wasn’t one to post on social media; he was usually eager to ditch his phone after a day of endless calls and emails unless there was something pressing on his plate. Still, a quick search would’ve revealed photos of Ellie and Drake at various events if Melinda was the type to google him.
Her comfortable air implied otherwise. Normally, Ellie wasn’t the google-an-ex-type person, either. But after seeing hismemories, she wanted to experience, in person, who Drake had fallen for before her. This wasn’t a situation that often presented itself in nature unless there was an awkward run-in at a restaurant, or worse, the person stayed friends with their ex, leaving their new partner to force a smile over miniature golf on a dystopian double date.
Time had been gentle on Melinda. She reminded Ellie of an art teacher, the sort of ingenue made more alluring by the paint splotches on her wrists—or in her case, square silver glasses, a messy top bun with rebellious loose strands, and thread wound through her delicate fingers. The light-blue dress she wore must have been plucked from one of the racks. Her feet were bare despite the chill outside, her toenails left unpainted.
“You’re even more beautiful in person,” Ellie said to herself.
“Sorry?”
Ellie searched for a quick response. What was she doing here? What was her plan, even? To make sure Melinda wasn’t secretly hung up on Drake? “I mean, the dresses,” she said. “They’re even more beautiful in person.” Melinda squared off some champagnehued velvet under the needle of a sewing machine. “I’ve seen some photos online.” This admission directly contradicted Ellie’s “just walking by” bit, but Melinda didn’t seem to notice. “I didn’t realize you made them.”
Melinda swatted the credit away with her hand. “Oh, no. Trust me, I don’t. I just buy used dresses that were special to begin with and give them a bow.” The needle cranked through the velvet with precision. “Or a belt. Or some beads.”
Ellie couldn’t help but relate. “That sounds a lot like what I do,” she said, with immediate regret. She needed to change the subject again. “I bet if you stay here long enough, the dresses start to talk to you.”
“Funny you say that. They do,” Melinda agreed. She blew some of the hair off her face in a big gust.
A staircase behind her desk blocked off by a small red rope started to groan under the weight of footsteps. “Ah,” the man said as he pulled a latch to open the barrier and entered the shop. “Customer,” he mouthed to Melinda. He hadn’t meant to be discreet. The look he gave Ellie was an invitation to their secret club.
“Don’t make it seem like we don’t get customers,” Melinda told him.
“I did not say that.”
“Even though it’s the truth.”
“Write-offs. Gimme.” He extended his hand out to Melinda. She stuck a pile of papers on his palm. The shrinking space between their bodies defied the boundaries of colleagues. As if to confirm what Ellie suspected, the man kissed Melinda’s cheek.
Ellie was fascinated by Melinda’s current paramour. She loved to figure out what drew people together, the way a string of lovers got grouped into a category.Bad Boys. Eco-Warriors. Librarians.Was it fair, she wondered, to date the same kind of person over and over again? Were people re-creating something that had once been comfortable, or were they collecting pieces of the person they were meant to be with so they would one day recognize it when they found that person?
Ellie wasn’t sure. Drake hadn’t been her usual type.
But he sure was Melinda’s.
She did a double take. The current boyfriend was older, sure, but his wholesome grin, shaggy dark hair, and goofy T-shirt made him look exactly like Drake. The two men even moved the same way: in big strides, with a bounce to their step—although Older Drake walked with better posture, Ellie observed.Older Drakewasn’t an appropriate thing to call him. Surely, he had a name.
“Jamie,” Older Drake said. He stuck his hand out for her to shake.
“Ellie,” Ellie offered, accepting the gesture. Melinda slid her fingers around Jamie’s arm to casually claim him, which is whenEllie realized she had missed a telling piece of jewelry. Jamie wasn’t the boyfriend at all. A classic bezel-set diamond ring glittered on Melinda’s hand. “You’re married!” Ellie nearly shouted in relief. Then, to match her unwarranted enthusiasm, “Congratulations!”
“She’s stuck with me,” Jamie said. He turned to go back up the stairs with his papers in hand, humming something that could only come from a person in a rare state of happiness.
“Ellie,” Melinda repeated. “I’ll let you look around. Have fun.”
Ellie should’ve left. She had her answers about Melinda—and herhusband. Bringing up Drake seemed silly at best and invasive at worst. But Ellie wasn’t ready to leave. For a moment, the current company slid away. Ellie ran her fingers over the dresses in a commune she couldn’t have had looking at them online: buttery silk and darling tulle were right within her reach. Near the back of the room, a dress pulled her closer.
Silver beading laddered up the back of the silk gown. A flowing skirt spilled onto the ground in a soft waterfall, and the neckline fell in an organic drape that plunged low. The best part, though, was the shade of the fabric, a deep crimson that would highlight her hair. This was a dress that would tell people she was different from other brides. It was an exclamation mark. It was a magnet. “Good taste,” Melinda said, following her eyeline. Ellie tried to imagine what Melinda would’ve worn on her own wedding day. Were Melinda and Jamie content with living in a place where the people knew each other too well and everything probably took too long? Did they like those qualities, or did they daydream about Paris? “Try it on, try it on,” Melinda insisted.
“Oh, I’m just looking.” Ellie knew she absolutely could not find her wedding dress here, of all places.
“This isn’t a shop where you come to look,” Melinda said. “You come here to experience something.”
