Getting out of the car, I turn in a circle to take in the rest of the square. The main road tracks in a loop around the central green area, and on the other side of the road are shop fronts and cafés, all of which have merchandise or seating out on the sidewalk so customers can take advantage of the beautiful Californian weather.
Before I take off to explore, Oliver calls out to me, reminding me that his number is in my new phone and to call him whenever I need to be picked up. Thanking him, I take off across the road, ready to explore this little town that I’m stuck in for the time being and just forget about last night.
After wandering around for a few hours, looking in every shop window. I have come to one conclusion. I will never be able to afford to buy anything in this town. Each shop I pass is full of beautiful merchandise but the prices are insane. The cheapest item I could find in the first clothing store I stopped at was $2,000 for a scarf. A SCARF. Who in their right mind spends that much on a scarf - and it wasn’t even a warm wintery scarf, it was purely for decoration. Complete madness.
Remembering that I have to find a dress for the party next week, I make a concentrated effort to find something while I window shop but each shop seems even more fancy and upmarket than the last. While they all have beautiful, albeit over the top, dresses, nothing feels like me.
I’m about to give up and go grab some food when I spot a cute looking corner shop at the end of the street. It is tucked out of the way, removed from the main shops in the centre of the town, looking almost forgotten, and the sign above says Ever After Boutique.
Taking a quick look at the window display, I know whoever owns this shop is my people. The clothes are less pretentious and don’t scream ‘I spent more on this dress than on my summerhouse in the Bahamas’. Don’t get me wrong, the clothes are still five times more pricey than what I would have spent on clothing back in Northern Ireland, but the style of the clothes doesn’t come across as showy or expensive.
Walking into the store, the bell rings overhead, letting the sales assistant know a customer has arrived.
“Hey, my name is Mia, let me know if there is anything I can help you with,” says a smiling, petite blond girl who only looks a few years older than me.
Returning her smile, I respond, “Hi, I’m Sophie. I’m looking for a dress for a party I’m going to next week.”
“Sure. What type of party?”
“A formal, gala type thing, I guess.” I say, not really sure how to describe the type of party Robert is throwing.
“Okay,” she replies in thought, casting her eyes down my frame, working out what types of dresses she thinks would suit me best.
“I think I have a few dresses that would look great on you. Let me go and find them and put them in the dressing room for you while you have a look around,” she offers before taking off, not giving me a chance to thank her.
While I wait, I rifle through the clothing racks, picking out several other items of clothing I love the look of and want to try on. My arms are already full of items when Mia returns to tell me the dressing room is set up.
Smiling at her, I follow her to the changing rooms where she has four different dresses picked out for me, each more beautiful than the last. I have no idea how I am going to pick one.
“I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you have any questions or need any help.”
Thanking her as she steps out of the room, pulling the curtain behind her and leaving me alone, I set down the pile of clothes in my arms that I want to try on once I’ve picked out a dress. Stripping out of my top and shorts, I lift the first dress, a knee-length navy blue one, and put it on.
I spend ages wearing each dress, looking at myself from every angle. Each one looks amazing on me. I’m not really a dress person, they weren’t a wise clothing option in my old life. Even if they were, I’ve never been to a formal event before or had a need for a formal dress.
The last dress Mia picked out for me is the winner. It’s perfect. I look hot as fuck in it – if I say so myself. I don’t view myself as having self-esteem issues. Yeah, there are parts of myself I don’t like, just the same as everyone else out there, but right now, looking at myself in the mirror, I’ve never felt more attractive.
Now that that is sorted, I try on the rest of the clothes I had gathered and, selecting a few to buy along with the dress, leave the changing rooms and head towards the till.
“Did you get sorted ok?” Mia asks, coming to lift the items out of my hands and begin ringing them up.
“Yeah, all of the dresses were beautiful. I had a hard time choosing,” I laugh, “You have a lovely shop here, some really unique items.” I compliment.
“Thanks.” Mia responds with a genuine smile.
Looking around the store, I see that I am her only customer. No one else is here, and there was no one in the store when I came in either, yet the street outside is busy and the other shops I passed were full of people. “I’m surprised you aren’t busier.”
“Ah, yeah. I’m not from around here and I don’t sell the same style of clothing as all the other shops. Crescentwood residents seem to stick to their own.” She says embarrassingly, probably expecting me to realise my mistake of walking in here and turn around and leave.
Giving her a knowing smile, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m not from around here either and let’s just say, the people have been less than welcoming.”
“I hope it gets easier for you. I’m glad you like my stuff, though. I’ve put your dress in a garment bag so it doesn’t crease. I can hold on to your purchases until the end of the day, if you want to do more shopping, or wander around town some more.”
“That would be great,” I say gratefully, “I need to grab some food. Would it be okay if I came back for them in an hour or so?”
“Yeah that’s totally fine. I’m here all day.”
Paying for my purchases and saying goodbye to Mia, I leave the store just as my stomach starts to grumble, reminding me that I haven’t eaten yet today. Wandering down a less busy side street, I notice a quaint little café called The Quirky Bird that doesn’t look too busy.
Pushing the door open. I’m greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries. Approaching the counter, there is a display case full of cakes, desserts, and pies, each one looking better than the last. The overhead menu offers soups and sandwiches as well thankfully - as yummy as the desserts look, I need real food right now.
“Hi, how can I help you?” an older woman with a friendly voice and warm smile says to me.
Giving her a genuine smile of my own, I respond, “Hi, can I get a bowl of your soup of the day, with a slice of apple pie, and a cappuccino please.”
“Of course.” Ringing up my order, “that will be twenty dollars. Is that for here or to go?”
I can’t remember what the conversion rate for that is off the top of my head, but I decide not to care. A girl has to eat. My father can’t be pissed at me for buying food. Besides, I did tell him I was out having lunch with girls from school today.
“For here, please,” I respond to the woman.
“Go grab a seat, hon, and I’ll bring everything right over to you”, she says, handing me back the bank card and receipt before walking off to get my order together.