Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
I choke some cereal down, struggling not to snap at my mom.
“I haven’t used a satin pillowcase yet, but I will,” I manage in an even tone. “I just want to put them through the wash once first. Besides, I’m nineteen, Mom. Middle-age is a long ways off.”
My mom tut-tuts, examining me with a careful eye.
“It’s closer than you think! Besides, you know those pillowcases will help your hair too, Amy. The wild knots and tangles on your head give me the chills! I swear, I never had hair like yours even when I was a child. Goodness, how did you turn out like this? Have you ever seen such an unruly bush, Andrew?”
My dad merely peers over his paper at me, before snapping it back in place.
“No,” he says in a flat voice. “She didn’t get that from my side of the family.”
I suppress an urge to roll my eyes because my parents are so looks-oriented. They’re like Ken and Barbie: all plastic, but with red hair instead of blonde. Yet what can I do? I’m related to these folks, and they’re the only kin I have. I guess I have to put up with the side-eye and rude comments. Meanwhile, my mom continues to blabber on about her beauty routine.
“Amy, I don’t expect you to follow my instructions to a tee, but could you just please try? The crease on your cheek really bothers me, and even with a satin pillowcase, you have to try and sleep on your back. It’s the only way to keep your face from getting smushed. Do you want to wake up years from now to see that your features are literally lopsided from side-sleeping? It’s a thing, you know.”
“Mom, I’ve seen plenty of old people, and they don’t have lopsided faces.”
“Oh, but they do!” Amity trills, waving a perfectly manicured hand in the air. “You’re just not looking. Use your eyes, sweetheart, and you’ll see the truth to my words.”
I stare sullenly at my cereal as I chomp away. This morning has gone from “okay” to “really bad” in a matter of seconds, but I have to make the best of it. They are my parents after all. With a smile, I look up.
“Guess what? Work is going well! Chloe has some great ideas, and I’m so happy that she brought me on as a product manager. We’re brainstorming together, and whenever I see her, I’m so inspired. She’s an incredible businesswoman.”
My dad lowers his paper.
“You left McDonald’s right? When your friend opened her own business? What was her store called again?”
“A Woman’s Secret.”
His mouth twists.
“And what do they sell?”
“Clothing,” I reply in a smart tone. “Things that a woman might want, like sexy lingerie and perfumes and whatnot.”
“I see,” Andrew says in a cool tone, his blue eyes sharp. “Where’s the boutique located? Downtown right? I know they had some retail vacancies come up recently in that area, so maybe I’ll stop by.”
I laugh.
“Oh no, we don’t have a physical presence. A Woman’s Secret is an on-line retailer. Our customers browse our products on their phones and order right off the web. We don’t have a physical presence because it’s unnecessary. Haven’t you heard of Shein, that Chinese fast fashion company? Their revenue is in the billions, and they have no stores at all. Literally zero.”
My dad looks skeptical.
“No brick and mortar?”
“Definitely not,” I assure him. “Like I said, it’s unnecessary these days! People buy straight off the web, sight unseen. Other than photos of course. Chloe hired a professional photographer to take some stills of our products, and they turned out amazing. People are snapping up our products right and left.”
My dad’s about to speak again, but my mom interrupts.
“But at some point, will A Woman’s Secret open a physical location?”
I blink.
“I don’t know. I mean, we just started. I think Chloe’s still figuring things out, from managing inventory to grappling with supply chain issues. You know that’s been a thing ever since the pandemic. But maybe. I’m sure at some point, we might rent some space and try selling in person. That would be awesome, right?”
It’s clearly the wrong question because my mom gets an agitated look on her face, her lipsticked mouth twisting with horror.
“Please don’t,” she says. “I couldn’t bear it if my clients saw you working at a place called A Woman’s Secret. Andrew, tell her no. This can’t go on because you know that the store’s not selling lingerie. They’re selling fetish wear,” she adds in a horrified whisper.
“I’m sorry?” my dad asks, finally putting down his paper. “What are you talking about?”
“Okay, okay, A Woman’s Secret isn’t your usual lingerie shop. In fact, we sell a lot of clothing that’s not even lingerie. It’s sexy stuff. You know, aprons that have cut-outs—”
“Cut-outs?” my dad asks, looking befuddled. “Why would you have cut-outs on an apron?”