Huit

Leah Monroe

Lace

Tulle

Satin, glamor.

Layer by layer, I studied the posh space of Kathryn Dupont’s boutique. This used to be my favorite place in town to visit with my mom. I always loved to watch the sunlight ricochet from the sky-high crystal chandeliers, the stone carvings, and ceramic designer pieces stacked randomly on thick glass cupboards round.

Silver racks with a mass of modish dresses designed in a floral arrangement reflected in the glossy white-washed flooring. White low-back chairs arranged in a circle in each of the sliding-door dressing rooms.

The room smelled rich, imposing even. I had to remind myself that it took one phone call for them to accept me without an appointment. So I was rich and imposing too.

I glanced at the clock, it showed a little after two. Now that I got mind-numbing dress shopping out of the way, it was time for some real fun, afterall, it was summer.

But Hayley was nowhere to be found. She ran off on me when I waited for the store clerk to package