The shopping with Sara dragged on, a never-ending loop as we bounced from store to store in the mall, the afternoon stretching out slow and heavy.
We'd hit the clothing racks already, and now she was deep into jewelry and lipsticks, hunting for stuff to match the dresses she'd bought earlier.
My hands were full—four bags dangling from my fingers, handles digging into my skin, stuffed with her haul: that dress, a pair of heels, some scarf she'd grabbed on a whim, and who knows what else.
We were in a fancy little shop now, all glass counters and bright lights, jewelry sparkling under display cases, lipsticks lined up like candy on a shelf. Sara stood by the counter, swiping shades across her wrist, as she turned to me every five seconds, asking for my take.
I had to smile, nod, play along—anything less, and the people around us would stare, thinking I was some jerk boyfriend who didn't care. My jaw was tight, my patience thinning, but I kept it up, faking it for the crowd.
