“I’ll grab a few C cups just in case the Bs don’t cut it.”
She became contemplative and focused as she looked in the mirror at her breasts.
“You can put your shirt back on if you’d like. I’m going to be a moment.”
She stared at me softly.
“I’m still learning where everything is around here.”
“That’s okay,” she nearly whispered, pulling on the torn straps of an old bralette.
“Let’s talk style.” I moved closer to the door, sensing her need for my release. “You mentioned pastels.”
“Yeah, any of those are fine.”
“Are you wanting underwire?” I asked, uncertain as to whether or not I should’ve been suggesting underwire at all. However all of our pastel bras that she had been looking at carried underwire.
“I guess I’ll try one.” She shrugged her shoulders, just as confused as I was.
Lily was far removed from her comfort zone and I wanted to make sure she left feeling secure in whatever she chose to wear, given that her dad approved. Rarely, if ever, had I helped a father-daughter duo. It was difficult to navigate, which was why I tried letting Lily guide me through the process, and also why I was strategic in my pursuit in finding her the right options. A stronger bralette wasn’t off the table, prompting me to grab a couple of our newly padded styles, as well as a couple T-shirt bras before rejoining Lily.
“Alright, Lily,” I said, hanging a few smooth cup bras on the bar. I waited as she looked them over and checked the size on the tag. “Let’s start with a 32 B and move from there.”
Bashfully facing the mirror, Lily stalled while I slid out and rested against the wall. I listened as she wrestled with the hanger and then repositioned her body somewhere in front of the mirror.
“You can come in,” she said, reaching for the doorknob. I checked her fit before moving in to tighten the straps. “Let’s try a C.”
Resting against the wall outside the room again, I tried sparking conversation with the intention of making her bra fitting somewhat less awkward. A silent dressing room had a way of making things feel painfully uncomfortable sometimes. There was so much inner conflict and reflection happening from just being inside a dressing room. Remove a shirt—and a bra—and things immediately changed, bringing a potent mix of emotions.
“So, is that your little brother?” I asked, adjusting her straps again.
“Yeah, he’s kind of annoying sometimes.”
I laughed, recalling strong sibling rivalries growing up.
Lily turned toward the mirror and analyzed her new bra. “Can I try that black and white polka-dot one?” she asked shyly. “It’s toward the front.”
“Sure.” I hesitated, picking up one of the padded bralettes. “I say throw on one of these and let’s see how you feel for comparison.”
As soon as I made it back out onto the floor, Lily’s dad had returned with her little brother, standing right next to Lily’s requested polka-dots.
“How’s she doing?” He asked concerned. “We’re back a little early.”
“She’s good!” I amped up the enthusiasm only to have it dissipate moments later.
“That’s great,” he sounded relieved. “Thank you so much.”
The shade of his skin color changed again, making me look over in the young boy’s direction as he tore apart a Rubik’s Cube. Tenderly placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, his words became slow recollections of long and desolate verities. “Their mother recently passed away, and we’re out trying to regain some kind of normalcy. Getting bras was always her mom’s thing and I just want her to be comfortable in whatever she needs.” My heart bounced against my ribs as I looked down at the young boy, who continued to manipulate his cube, and then back up at the father.
“I’m … so sorry,” I responded slowly, trying to hold eye contact while my body turned to Jell-O. “I’ll make sure Lily is comfortable in whatever she chooses.”
“I really appreciate it,” he replied, pulling his son in closer. “She’s had a tough go of things lately.”
Everything felt different as I dragged my feet back to Lily’s room. She was so young, too young, to not have a mother. And here I had her all to myself, shred into sorrow, while trying to understand her evolving identity as a young, motherless daughter. I fidgeted with her polka dots I snagged from the display tree once her father turned around and waited by her door.
“How are you doing, Lily?” I asked, relaxing my approach even more.
She welcomed me in and then stepped back toward the corner, wearing the light-colored T-shirt bra I had started her in.
“You like that one,” I smiled, still standing by the door.
“It’s okay, I guess.” She looked down at her chest.
“Here.” I passed over a polka dotted push-up bra. “Let’s try this.”
Back outside her room, I continued to rest against the wall, listening to her movements as she experimented with another bra. I wondered how her father was doing with everything, having two kids and a completely different lifestyle thrown at him out of nowhere. I also couldn’t help wondering what all Lily was exposed to. It’s terrifying to watch what happens to the mind and body when death becomes frighteningly close. I hope she saw the sky when it parted to make room. I hope that whatever is burned into her memory won’t deprive her of living fully. I’m sorry you have to experience this. I’m sorry you were cheated. Losing is the worst.
With unmeasured mania, I recounted my mother’s final hours. Her eyes sunken and her lips splintered. “This is big,” she’d whisper, waiting for me to respond as I plummeted into her vacancy, hoping to say something that would put her at ease. But I always failed, encouraging her to let go. Game over. Battle lost. Defeat strong. There has to be something better.
“Yes, Momma, this is big,” I’d say to delay my hopeless comeback, slowly gliding a small sponge around the inside of her mouth, releasing just enough coldness to soothe the aching from her ulcers. They were crowded and red around the edge, taking over her once eloquent speech.
“Really big?” she asked, holding onto my finger, her fixed stare moving from the bottom of my chin up to the dark lines stretching along the ravaged bends of my eyes.
My knees buckled as my face landed in her palm.
“Bigger than us.”
“Well,” she said, running her fingers through my hair. “How do my boobs look in this gown?”
Bringing me back to reality, Lily opened the door wearing exactly what she wanted.
“That looks great,” I smiled, admiring the black polka dots and soft pink edging. “How do you feel?”
“Good, I really like this one,” she nodded, moving in closer to the mirror. The room became quiet, yet peacefully numb. Everything that was going on inside of Lily had showed up in waves of recognizable redolence. I knew better than to strike up a conversation about her mom dying, but something in me wanted Lily to know that I knew all about her loneliness and longing. I understood her need to hide in her bedroom all day, away from people with opinions so that she could dream privately. I knew that the hallways at school appeared smaller and louder, making the long stretches between classes a crowded maze with no way out.
Staring at the bags under her eyes, I reached for the doorknob. “Your dad told me about your mom. I’m really sorry.”
Her head shot up as I stood gripping the coldness of the handle.
“She’s with you, Lily. I promise you that.”
She paused, surprising me with her response and long stare. “Do you really believe that?”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”
She looked down at the ground and then back over to me.
“I just wanted to fix her.”
Heaviness pulsated all around us, nearly dragging me to the floor.
“I know,” I whispered, trying not to cry. “I know.”
Giving Lily
privacy to try on another bra, I slipped out of the open crack in the door and rested against the wall again. There was a long, forbearing silence as I made the decision to stay, free from interruptions and unimportant demands, happy to tighten strap after strap while Lily quietly determined her needs. She was steadfast in her pursuit and held in a deep dolefulness. It didn’t take long for me to internalize a series of apologies. Lily’s forthcoming years weren’t empty. Not completely. But they were going to be confusing as hell. I quietly acknowledged the significance of my return to the lingerie department again, and how different it felt. Camille was right. I was exactly where I was supposed to be, fumbling toward every guiding measure of Lily’s grace. “How are you—”
Lily interjected as I re-entered the room, catching me off guard with how forthright she had become. “So when does it all go away?” she asked, her eyes pleading.
I stared at the small freckles lining her collarbone, quietly connecting their innocence. “Never,” I replied, refusing to lie to her. “But you’ll learn how to live with it. Right along with all the wisdom that will set you free.”
Lily nodded, moving her gaze to the floor.
“Life, huh?”
I waited, trying my hardest not to come undone, feeling every crashing beat. Finally, eyes brimming with tears, I added confidently, “She’ll find you.”
mountain high
Moving into day eight of heavy rain, the lingerie department braced for a busy Sunday. Pockets of deep floods spread throughout Seattle, making the roads impossible, and the colors dark and dismal. Sundays had become one of my favorite days to work. The store opened late, our shifts were shortened, and people came to spend money, which always seemed to convey an element of irony for me. It was the only day that carried its own energy, separating itself from the slow ticking of the clock.
Standing in line to check out the moneybags, my manager, Shay, joined me looking tense. “There’s coffee and doughnuts in the back,” she said, nudging my arm. “And two of our girls called out sick. Prepare for a storm.”
I hurried to sign my name along the dotted lines, and then sifted through a stack of cash for the registers, praying my sloppy count was close to accurate. The department was spick and span with absolutely nothing out of place from the night before. Even the front panty tables, as burdensome as they were, held orderly piles of Hanky Panky thongs and other thin pairings. I didn’t have a lot of opening duties to check off other than a quick dusting around the mannequin’s edges before I double-checked the customer hold bar for any miscellaneous items.
“Opening in five, Seattle,” the weekend manager addressed the store over the speakers. “Make it rain, team!”
Laughter filled the floor as everyone picked up on the sarcasm.
Shay and I spent the next few minutes hanging a new shipment of panties on hangers while talking skincare until our first Sunday morning shoppers arrived, one of them rocking a newborn baby as she approached the counter.
“There’s two,” she whispered, turning around a stroller where another baby slept.
“Nursing bras?” I asked, walking around the counter.
“How’d you guess?” She smiled, following me toward the dressing rooms.
“You’ll have plenty of space in here,” I said, unlocking our large dressing room.
Staring at her swelling breasts, I reached for the measuring tape as she slowly lowered her baby into the stroller.
“Please give mommy ten minutes,” she murmured, blowing a kiss. “I beg you.”
I waited while she unbuttoned her shirt, falling into the quietness of the morning.
“Oh no!” She quickly covered her breasts, startling me. “I’m leaking again!”
I looked at her nipple area, soaked with breast milk, and realized we were out of Kleenex, which usually sat atop the table for prostheses appointments, but unfortunately it always went fast.
“I have breast pads somewhere in here.” She unzipped her diaper bag, still cupping her boobs.
I looked down at her babies, staring at me side by side. “How about I gather you some Kleenex just to have,” I said, watching her press her shirt up against her nipples. “I’ll grab a few nursing bras, too. I’m pretty sure you’re between a 34–36 double-D, maybe a triple. I’ll be quick.”
I rushed for the stockroom, grabbing a few styles of nursing bras and a box of Kleenex for the dressing room. On my way back, Shay stopped me, slightly flustered, and working to strike a balance. “My customer from the other day is back to exchange some lingerie. The man who was shopping for his wife after finishing chemo.”
“Yes.” It all registered, igniting more heart patters.
“If you need me, know that I might be in the back pulling items for him. Monique is on her way.”
Moving faster, I opened the door to my nursing mother’s room and found her rocking one of the babies again, pacing back and forth as the crying became more strident.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her inflection rundown. “I thought for sure he’d sleep and now he’s refusing to feed.”
“Take as long as you need,” I replied, casually assessing her nipple area that had large outlines of circles from the breast milk that continued to soak through her bra.
“I grabbed a couple different sizes and styles, and then Kleenex if you need it for anything.”
“Maybe I will sit in here and see if I can feed him.”
“Absolutely. I’ll check back.” I smiled, closing the door.
“And please, take your time.”
Back out on the sales floor, I found Shay and her customer organizing a pile of lingerie at the register. They were focused and meaningful in their search. Bright reds, soft pinks, and sexy blacks covered every inch of countertop, from sheer lace bras to silk negligees.
“Beautiful,” I said, hovering next to Shay.
“Isn’t it?” she replied, picking up one of the sheer cup bras. “What’s your opinion on this one? Too itchy?” I moved in closer to examine the bra, and the man, whose indecisions also spread far.
“I don’t want to push her to wear anything she’s not ready to wear,” he said, feeling around the intricate lace. I could tell he was struggling to make everything about his thoughtful idea perfect, which made it easy to remain devoted to whatever he needed. His patience said it all.
“I say go for it,” I smiled, moving out quickly from behind the counter as more fierce crying hit the doorway of the dressing rooms.
When I reentered the room, she looked as if something broke inside of her, clutching every last fragment of hope while she rocked two crying babies against her naked breasts.
“I’m going to leave here with a nursing bra if it kills me,” she spoke sternly as her eyes welled up with tears. I stared at the babies’ small round heads pressed against her flushed chest, and then along the floor of the dressing room scattered with diapers, burp cloths, and a couple pacifiers. “I haven’t even had a chance to try on one of the bras,” she added, rocking back and forth.
“Is there anything I can grab for you?” I asked, feeling slightly hopeless.
“Vodka,” she replied with a hard-earned grin.
I laughed, watching her move one of the babies closer to her boobs.
“How about I take over the stroller while you try on a bra,” I said, unhooking one of the nursing bras. “I can check the fit quickly and switch out from there.”
She took me up on my offer and slowly lowered life back into the stroller. I attempted to quiet the crying by pushing and pulling on the handle, but to no avail. Their tiny wails grew louder as my distressed mother grew increasingly tired. She was done, and I knew it.
We hurried to cover her nipples with Kleenex and fasten a bra. “Let’s go up a cup size,” I said before I even had it hooked. “I know you need to feed, but you still need a little bit more coverage. Next size should do it. Are you good with pink stripes? I just realized I forgot to grab that one.”
She paused and took in a deep breath as I resumed pushing and pulling the stroller.
“I’ll take anything right now,” she fought to respond.
I watched her run her fingers through her disheveled hair as she sat down in the chair.
“My boobs are bleeding, and I haven’t slept in two days.”
I looked down at the babies, their tiny tongues flapping with every forceful wail.
“You can always take some home and bring back whatever doesn’t work.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I gradually backed up toward the door, reassuring her that I would be back with a top-selling style.
The sales floor began to pick up as I booked it for the stockroom. With two bra fitters out, the day was bound to become a lively maze, leading me into every corner of the department. After I located the pink striped nursing bra, I noticed that the man was still at the counter with Shay, adding bathrobes and silk pajamas to his purchase. I had no idea where anyone was and only heard Monique’s voice as it lingered in and out of the fitting rooms. The department was challengingly bare of bra fitters. But then I spotted Monique, desperate, and marching in place.
“I’m going to pee my pants. You mind bringing my customer in room five these bras and panties?” I looked down at a stack of our finest lingerie, coming in a crotchless black to hot pink lace. “It’s for Hazelle. She’s a personal customer of mine. Hopefully she’ll keep you around and you can hear about her life as a swinger.”
“A what?” I asked confused, adding Hazelle’s bras and panties to my nursing bra.
“A swinger,” Monique shouted as she bolted toward the women’s lounge. “You know, marriage with a few perks.”
“Jesus,” I muttered softly, wondering what I was about to walk into.
Looking through the cracks of Hazelle’s door, I noticed parts of her still body in front of the mirror. “Hi there,” I said, knocking lightly. “Monique asked me to drop off a few items for you while she ran to the restroom.” The door immediately swung open and out came Hazelle wearing a leopard G-string and horseshoe nipple rings.
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