Isolation (Book #1 of the Taylor Series)

Twenty-Five

Walking around the mall with Lauren isn't as fun as it was when I unintentionally found Blake. Or when he found me, actually. Whatever doesn't matter. Point is that I'm bored out of my mind. I usually hate shopping, whether that be because I have no identifiable fashion skills and don't really care what I wear or because now that I have a job I have to pay for all of my clothes, is irrelevant.

Lauren's gone into at least five stores and still hasn't found a single thing. It's surprising to me that she's being this picky. I mean, is Danny really going to care that she's wearing red, his least favorite color? Probably not. He's going to try to have as much fun as possible with her before he has to take her home to our shitty mother who he just got interviewed by for twenty hours beforehand.

I don't even know this Danny Monroe, and I can already tell you that he doesn't care this much about what Lauren wears. I don't understand why she's putting this much thought into it. I know I didn't put a lot of thought into what I was wearing around Blake. Everything was easy-breezy with him. Fashion and looking like a runway model was the least of my worries. 

It's crazy how boys can have so many different effects on girls. With Blake, I'm more relaxed. When it comes to Lauren being with Danny, she cares more about her appearance. It's absurd seeing her care this much. 

Red and white polka dot dress? No, he hates red. White t-shirt with  the silhouettes of her favorite boyband, 'Firelight Moon' on it, with a pair of cut up jeans? No, Danny's more a fan of classic rock. The tight, black dress with some Prada-looking heels? No, he'll think I'm trying to jump his bones or that I'm changing too much of myself for him. 

Well... Isn't that ironic, you little shit?

"Lauren, darling, please hurry it up. We've been in here for an hour." I mutter as I knock on the white changing room door of Rue 21. Why someone like Lauren would come to such a place? Don't ask me.

"Give me a second! I think my zipper is stuck." She shouts from the other side of the door. I look around the small waiting area where a few young mothers are waiting for their children to come out.

I sit down next to an African-American young woman who couldn't be older than forty and give her a polite stranger smile. You know, the smile that white people give whenever they awkwardly make eye contact with strangers in public. The smile that everybody likes to make fun of on social media. Yeah, that one. In my opinion, the fake smile is way better than a hateful glare or scowl.

"My younger sister, you know, going on her first date. These dark days have come upon us." I make the mistake of trying to start a conversation with the woman. She fakes a laugh as she stares blankly at the wall of changing room doors.

"My daughter's fourteenth birthday and she said she couldn't wear any of her other clothes because her friends have all glowed up, whatever that means." She comments, an almost misunderstanding tone in her voice. I can only imagine what thoughts are going through her head.

Kids these days and their stupid new phrases! So not groovy.

"'Glowed up', you should try hearing 'here comes that boy' every five seconds. I swear my son is trying to make me commit suicide." The woman on my left jumps into the conversation. She brushes her black hair behind her ears, before tapping something on her phone with one hand as she holds it in the other.

"My daughter never says anything like that. Instead, she's trying to sound like a valley girl with every sentence that comes out of her mouth. Her vocabulary consists of Lit, Like, and Selfie." The first woman comments.

Why did I have to mess up some perfectly good silence. Why couldn't I have been content sitting next to these strangers and keeping my mouth shut? Now I have to listen to their oldie-complaints. 

"The same with my kids, I honestly can't even remember a time that they didn't say all those stupid things. They had better English skills when they were five." 

Jesus Christ. I gave two mothers a segway to complain about their children. When did I become Dr. Phil? I stand up once I hear Lauren's door unlock and open. She steps out with a silverish purple sundress on.

"Lauren, it's nearly Winter." I immediately comment, and she adjusts her weight on her feet and pouts at me as if I'm the one in control of the weather.

"I know, but it looks nice. I'll wear tights or something. Look at it, I look amazing! The way it hugs me right he-- please can I get it, Eve?" She begs, putting her hands together in a praying motion.

I shrug my shoulders, I won't be at fault when she freezes to death. "Fine, let's go." 

I'd say anything just so I don't have to listen to these complaining mothers. I've got to listen to that enough at home, I don't need to hear it out in public too. Lauren smiles, saying a grateful thank you before she walks into the dressing room. I sit back down, now patiently waiting for her to change back into her normal clothes. Her cargo pants and paint-stained shirt with stained vans.

The second mother from before snorts, and I turn to face her quizzically. "Yes?" I ask, relaxing my back into the chair.

"If I were her mother, I wouldn't let her leave the house like that. That's how most girls get raped, wearing things like that out. They're inviting the boys in." She murmurs, and I hold the gag back into my throat. 

This woman has a son. This woman has a son. This woman has a son. The thought repeats itself over and over in my head. I hope that her son has far better morals than the woman that birthed him.

"I hope your son doesn't feel the same way that you do. If my daughter wore something like that out, I'd be smart enough to know that she's wearing a dress because she wants to wear a dress. Not because she wants someone to take advantage of her." I'm surprised to find that the words don't come out of my mouth, but the first mother from before.

I keep my mouth shut as the second mother's mouth gapes open in shock. In shock that another mother doesn't have the same opinion as her. In shock that another mother insulted not only the integrity of another mother, but also stuck up for women instead of using the 'boys will be boys' excuse. 

Lauren comes out of the dressing room with the dress on her arm and a happy smile. I stand up as she thanks me again, but I turn to the first woman with a thankful smile.

"Thank you, you're daughter is lucky to have a mother like you." I smile, and she smiles back awkwardly, saying an 'I know'. 

I can tell I've overstepped my boundaries as a stranger again. After all, it was just a mother sharing her opinion to another mother. Lauren pulls me out of the changing area and asks me what that conversation was about. I shrug her off telling her that I'll tell her later, though I know I won't because it's irrelevant to her life. 

Paying for it, I'm not surprised to discover that I only have fifteen dollars left on my account. It's a good thing my payday is soon, and I've already drained my bank account for Julie's classes. Now I can begin saving up my money again, and maybe by the time I have to leave for college, I'll have enough money saved up for one semester. Oh my god. It's not even New Years' and I'm already setting my unobtainable resolutions for myself.