Inspire (The Muse #1)(19)
Author: Cora Carmack

When Mom had told her that she couldn’t take her shopping for a special dress this year, Gwen’s sobs had been headache-inducing. I’d promised to work something out just so she’d stop, and so Mom could get to work without being late.

It’s the day before Christmas Eve, so the last thing I want to do is go anywhere near anything that involves the word shopping, but I’d made a decision after Dad was sentenced to put my own wants aside for a while, and this is part of that.

We try the mall first, but as I feared, those tiny little dresses are fucking expensive. I don’t even let Gwen try them on because I can already envision the chaos that would ensue when I had to explain that we couldn’t get whatever dress she wanted. I go for a different tactic, and map out directions to a Goodwill on my phone.

But from the moment we enter, Gwen is pouty and stubborn, and nothing in their limited selection of little girl’s dresses is what she wants. I’m reaching the end of my patience, and I have to work hard not to snap at Gwen as I take her hand and pull her back toward the front of the store. A middle-aged woman sorting donations at the front counter calls out as we near the door, “Try Caroline’s Closet. It’s north a few streets. Still second-hand, but I think she might find it a little more to her liking.”

I thank her, and load Gwen into her booster seat in the back of my SUV. She complains when I try to buckle her in, so I step back and close the door. Sure enough, after a minute or so of trying to buckle herself in, she starts to whine that it won’t work. I lean between the seats, reaching back to her, and click the thing into place.

I take a deep breath and clutch the steering wheel tight for a moment.

This is my life now. Not even now. Always. This is my life. Period. The end. I sigh and lift my glasses to rub at my eyes.

It’s not that I don’t love Gwen. I do. Even with that high-pitched cry she’s so good at weaponizing to get what she wants. I love her, and I love Mom, and I would do just about anything for them. But when you think stuff like that … you think of grand, heroic gestures. Pushing someone out of the way of a moving vehicle. Standing between them and danger. Sacrificing something important. But it’s not like that. Not at all. It’s not one big moment, it’s a thousand. It’s every day. And you don’t sacrifice just one important thing, you sacrifice a little more and a little more until you start to feel hollowed out. It’s not the sacrifice that hurts so much as the thought that it will never end. That you’re stuck in your fate, and nothing and no one can change it. You’ll just keep giving and giving until you don’t even know who you are.

“Ready to go?” I ask Gwen, even though it’s me that’s kept us parked here as I regrouped. I get a reply somewhere between a humph and a sniff. Probably the best I’m going to do.

I find the store that the lady mentioned on my phone, and it is just a few blocks north of us, so I shift into drive and pull back onto the street. I can tell just from the outside that Caroline’s Closet has a much better chance at pleasing Gwen. The store logo is pink with flowers and butterflies, and it appears that the store is specifically focused on kids’ clothing. We have to parallel park on the street, and Gwen nearly gives me a heart attack when she takes off running to the store as soon as her feet hit the ground. I slam the door shut, and lock it with my key chain while I take off after her. I swing the door to the store open, and nearly run over her as she stands in awe just over the threshold.

The place is like a little girl’s paradise. It’s not just the clothes, though there are a lot of them, it’s the decorations, the space. Everything about it looks like a child’s fantasy. There’s enough pink to make me feel like I’ve overdosed on Pepto Bismal, but Gwen likes it, and I can deal with just about anything to make her happy.

She looks up at me silently, asking for permission, I think. And I nod. She disappears between racks of clothes that are taller than she is, and I scramble to catch up.

She’s struggling to unhook a baby blue dress when I find her, and I lift it off the rack for her. I become her designated dress holder, and my arm is covered by the time an employee finds us and asks, “Can I help you find anything?”

She’s short with black-rimmed hipster glasses that make her big eyes look even larger. Gwen is immediately infatuated with the giant flower on her headband. I can see her hand reaching toward it, and I take it in mine before she can accost the employee. Lennox, according to her nametag.

“This is Gwen,” I say. “We’re doing some last minute shopping for a holiday dress. For her.”

Lennox smiles, and bends so that she’s closer to Gwen’s height.

“Yes, you’ll look much better in one of our dresses than he would.”

Gwen giggles uncontrollably, and Lennox asks her questions about her size, what colors she likes, and what kind of dresses she’s had in the past. Then she asks me what I’m looking to spend, and she doesn’t even blink when I tell her what I can afford.

“I think we can handle that. Why don’t we go ahead and take these dresses you have”—she takes the scratchy things off my arm—”and we’ll get you set up in a dressing room. While you start trying these on, I’ll grab some others I think you might like.”

I’m immediately glad we came here. I was an only child until Gwen came along, so I’ve not had much experience shopping for kid’s clothes or dresses, and I don’t realize how much pressure I’d been feeling until it eases.

“We’ve even got a nice, comfy couch for Dad to sit on while he waits.”

“Oh I’m not—”

Gwen interrupts me to say, “My dad is in prison. That’s just Wilder. My brother.”

To Lennox’s credit, her eyes only widen for just a second at Gwen’s admission, and then she’s back to normal.

“Okay then. Brother Wilder, it is.”

The dressing rooms are just as intricately decorated as the rest of the place. There are pink cushioned benches, and ornate mirrors that remind me of Snow White, and soft cream-colored curtains cover each door.

The couch is an old-style. Victorian, maybe? And it’s been reupholstered with black and white polka dots that make my vision go blurry. Lennox gets Gwen set up in a dressing room, and I take a seat on the couch to wait.

I’ve never really done this kind of thing before, and I’m hoping that Gwen can get these dresses on all by herself. She dresses herself every day, but that’s usually jeans and shirts and skirts, not fancy dresses.

“You should take notes, so we can remember which ones are our favorites,” Gwen tells me.

Lennox shoots me a smile, and I nod seriously before pulling up the notes function on my phone and holding it up for Gwen’s approval.