This luxury label orgy did not go in her suitcase. Instead, after scurrying to her mother’s room, Alanna stuffed the treasures into a few of her mom’s worn canvas tote bags. Before she could lose her nerve, she slung the bags over her shoulders and rushed down the stairs.
“Heading out?” her mom asked from the couch where she sat knitting.
“Yup.”
Dede eyed the bulging tote bags. “Doing anything interesting?”
“Possibly the best or the stupidest thing of my life.” Alanna didn’t even slow her steps as she stalked toward the door.
“Oh, well, let’s hope for the former. Have fun, dear.”
Then, Alanna was through the front door and slinging her bags into Stella’s small trunk. She revved the GT and peeled out of the driveway. Tearing through town, she focused only on the road. No need to ponder any pesky thoughts about emotions or relationships or L-words trapped in coffins falling down endless voids. Traffic safety, so important.
Before she knew it, Alanna pulled into the parking lot of a familiar drab building that still haunted her dreams. Sucking in a deep breath, she drove around the back of the Goodwill, following the signs for donation drop-offs.
At the sight of a large, open roll-up door in the back of the building, she almost lost her nerve. It was like she could hear her outfits screaming from the trunk, begging to be spared. She’d worked so hard for each and every item and accessory.
But they’re only things,she reminded herself.They don’t define you. They don’t give you worth. The people you love give you worth.People like the Crazy Cat Ladies, Layla, her mom… and perhaps, maybe, a certain someone else who looked extra handsome with a tool belt around his hips.
A stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair ambled out from the opening in the building and peered at her. On shaking legs, Alanna stepped out of the car and pulled the bags from the trunk.
“Donations?” the man asked.
“Yes,” she answered, then, after a pause, added, “I used to come here when I was a kid.”
The man nodded like he’d heard the tale before. “Always feels good to give back, don’t it? You want a receipt?” He gave her a friendly smile as he held out his hands for the bags. Alanna hesitated, her fingers tightening on the canvas straps of the bags.
Maybe a little girl will find one of these things and it’ll make her feel special,she thought.At least until she recognizes that she was already special all along.
With a small whimper, Alanna shoved the bags at the man. Then, she saw a floral-print Gucci bag teetering on the top of the third tote. Her hand whipped out and snatched back the bag.
“That one got sentimental value?” the man asked gently.
She nodded. “Sentimental,” she murmured.
“Keep that one, then,” he told her, obviously having no idea the bag was worth over $2,000. “It’s good to hang onto sentiments sometimes.”
“Thanks,” Alanna said softly. Driving home through the darkness, panic seized in her chest. Had she really just done that? Given tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, bags, and shoes away?
Alanna began to laugh.
Yes.
Yes, she fucking had, and the old man was right. It felt great.
Something broke open inside of her. Alanna felt like a butterfly that had cocooned herself in fancy clothes for the past 10 years. But now she had burst free of those outer trappings. She didn’t need them anymore.
Whatdidshe need?
Alanna was getting close to the answer, but it was still too scary, still too molten hot to touch.
She pulled into the driveway of her mother’s house, her headlights shining across clusters of rose bushes hugging against the railing of the front porch. No fewer than five bird feeders gently swayed from the porch overhang. Alanna couldn’t help smiling.
Somehow, over the past month, the house had grown on her, in spite of all of its imperfections. No, because of them. Alanna opened the front door and looked around. As soon as she could afford to, she’d insisted on living in posh new apartments and condos in Los Angeles, always trying to escape the memories of the dingy old spaces she’d grown up in. But those modernistic dwellings with their chrome silver finishes and white subway tiles had always felt cold. Soulless.
Her mother’s house oozed soul out of every pore, from the bookshelf unabashedly stuffed with photo albums and knickknacks to the handsewn quilt draped over the worn sofa, and the gorgeous wooden staircase railing carved with birds in flight. Even the soft groan of the floor beneath Alanna’s feet felt familiar and comfortable as she stepped through the front door.
“Best or stupidest?” The soft voice came from her mother, snuggled on the couch with her knitting. She wore the faded Smurf shirt again, but this time Alanna didn’t mind.
