Time Will Tell

I grab a pair of pink frilly socks and hand them to the baby on my hip. “You like them?” I ask her. She just stares back vacantly and nods. I smile at her. She puts them in her mouth and I laugh and pull them away. I walk over to a rack full of clothes and pull two dresses to the side. One is purple and one is blue. “Which one do you like better?” I ask her. She looks at both of them and then points to the blue one. “Me too,” I tell her, holding it up to her. “It goes good with your eyes.” She keeps staring at me uncomprehendingly, but I keep prattling on. “We can get your name on it. What do you think? In… light blue? White, red, yellow? I’m thinking yellow. Like a nice light yellow. Yeah, baby?”

Emma’s only three. She doesn’t even care what clothes she wears as long as they’re comfortable.

A girl who works here comes up to us, smiling at Emma and then at me. Her hair is in a sloppy bun and she has on a brown t-shirt that reads Bouncing Baby Boutique. “Would you like me to hold these at the front for you, miss?” she asks, gesturing to my arm, a pile of clothes folded over it.

“No, thanks—actually I’d like to check out now,” I say. She nods. “I wanted to get her name on this,” I tell her, holding up the blue dress. “I was thinking light yellow.”

“Definitely,” the girl responds. “Do you want it pressed or embroidered?”

“Whatever can be done today,” I tell her. “Before my dad realizes my mom gave me his credit card.”

The girl laughs and takes the things from my arm and the blue dress from my hand. “That would be the press, but I’ll make sure it looks good. You can sit over there,” she says, gesturing to a corner with plush chairs and a long couch. “I’ll call you over as soon as I’m done.”

I give her the name I want on the dress and walk over to the corner, plopping the little girl down on the couch. She giggles. I kiss the top of her head and sit down next to her.

I’m about to die of boredom, staring at a black and white picture of a baby and a duck, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, thankful of something to do, but my mood quickly shifts when I see who the text is from.

Reese. Reese is my ex-boyfriend. We broke up because he wanted space—space to be with other girls. Last night I was really stupid, though. I was at this party with my best friend, Erin, and Reese was there. He started flirting with me, and dancing with me, and then I ended up going home with him. This morning when I left he told me that he wanted to get back together, but I’m not really sure that’s what I want anymore. All the time I spent without him gave me time to think and I realized that he was never that great of a boyfriend in the first place. He forgot my birthday, he tried to make me choose between him and my family and he was never especially nice to me—not unless he wanted something (meaning sex). I told him that I would have to think about it, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to tell him no, I don’t want to be with him anymore. That doesn’t mean that he won’t sweet talk me into changing my mind, though.

Like now he’s asking me to go to his mom’s birthday party with him. He says he wants his beautiful girl by his side. I roll my eyes.

Sighing, I turn off my phone and put it in my purse—it was about to die anyway. I’ll text him back later what I decide.

“Is this your daughter?” a voice asks, waving at Emma as she sits down in the chair across from us.

I smile politely, but really I hate when people ask me that. “Uh, no, this is my niece, Emma.”

The woman smiles apologetically and crosses her ankles as she sits her purse on the floor. She looks familiar.

“I’m sorry, you just never know anymore,” she says. I laugh. “She’s a gorgeous baby,” she comments. “Are you here for her?”

“I am,” I tell her. “Today is her birthday, and I’m buying her a few things.”

“How old is she?” the lady asks.

“She’s going to be three.”

“I can’t wait until my granddaughter turns three. One year olds are such a handful.”

I smile. “I didn’t actually see Emma too much when she was that little. My sister just moved back, so for her third birthday, the first I’ve been a part of, I feel like I have to spoil her a little bit.”

“Absolutely true,” she grins, leaning forward and holding out her hand. “I’m Sarah Roberts.”

“Teagan Foster,” I introduce myself, taking her hand.

“Oh! I knew you looked familiar! You’re Emile’s daughter, right?” She seems ecstatic. She also doesn’t wait for an answer. “I haven’t talked to your mother in forever! We used to best friends, you know? My son, you probably wouldn’t remember him, but you used to have play-dates with him.”

I just nod. I always hate when this happens. I thought she looked familiar, but I still don’t remember her. It’s always awkward when people come up to you and tell you that they knew you when you were just ye high, and you have no clue who they are.

“I am going to have to call your mother! Maybe I’ll invite you all to dinner!”

“That’s a fabulous idea,” I say, glancing up just as the girl at the counter waves me over. “But I have to go now,” I tell her apologetically. “I can’t let the birthday girl miss her party.”

“Of course not,” she says.

I grab my purse and heft Grace back up on my hip. “So, Mrs. Roberts, I guess I’ll see you?”

“Absolutely.” She smiles. “Bye, Teagan!”

I go up to the counter, hand the girl my dad’s card and then take my things and leave, waving at Mrs. Roberts one last time before heading out of the door.