The Us You Wanted Us to Be
I stared at Hawk and Hawk stared at me. When his unhappy look didn’t shift, I decided to speak.
“Hey,” I said.
He kept staring at me. Then he moved to the table lifting the Nordstrom’s bag and pulling out a familiar box with the words “Jimmy Choo” on the top. It wasn’t familiar because I owned a box like that, just that I’d seen them the multiple times I’d tried on a pair of Jimmy Choos. He dumped the bag on the table and then put the box on the table. Then he sent it sliding down the table toward me.
As it was shoes, and Jimmy Choo shoes, reflexively I moved fast, my hand carrying my clutch darting out to catch it before something tragic happened, like a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes falling to the floor.
With my hand resting on the box, I looked at Hawk, my heart beating fast.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He dipped his head to the box and growled, “Open it.”
Hmm. Still unhappy.
I dropped my clutch and wrap to the table, picked up the box and opened it.
Then my heart seized.
In it was a pair of silver, watersnake, platform sandals – slim slingback strap, peep toe, four and a half inch spiked heel. Elegant. Gorgeous. Scary expensive.
The shoes Tracy had been hiding in the shoe storeroom at Nordstrom’s for me for the last six weeks. Shoes I wanted so badly I could taste it. Shoes I told myself I would save to afford. Shoes I was never going to buy because I could never afford them, even with Tracy’s discount.
But my mission was to own a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes before I died. Some women had career goals. Some women wanted to be good mothers. Some women wanted to do their bit to save the world. My life goal was owning really beautiful, really expensive shoes.
My eyes lifted to Hawk.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Those the shoes you wanted?” Hawk asked.
I blinked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You got ‘em.”
It took some effort but I succeeded in not hyperventilating.
“You bought them for me?” I asked as it hit me. Security system. Panic buttons. Window repair. Shoes that cost over seven hundred dollars.
What was going on?
“You wanted them,” he answered like it was as simple as that.
I felt my head get light. “How? Why?”
“Babe, you gonna put them on or what?”
“How? Why?” I repeated.
He sighed. “Your friend said you had them on hold. I know where your friend works. I sent my girl to find them. She found your girl, your girl got ‘em off hold, I bought ‘em, now they’re here.”
He stopped speaking so I prompted, “That’s the how, what’s the why?”
“Gwen, you wanted them.”