"Hey, Paige. How's it going?" Miriam's grandson Ari
shifted the packages in his arms to the floor behind the
counter, then disappeared and popped back up like a
jack-in-the-box.
"Ari, dear. I have another delivery for you." Miriam
appeared from the curtained doorway behind the front
counter and looked over her half-glasses at him. "Right
away. Don't take two hours like you did the last time."
He roled his eyes but took the envelope from her and
kissed her cheek. "Yes, Bubbe."
"Good boy. Now, Paige. What can I do for you today?"
Miriam watched him go with a fond smile before turning to
me. She was impeccably made up as usual, not a hair out
of place or a smudge to her lipstick. Miriam is a true
grande dame, at least seventy, and with a style few women
can pul off at any age.
"I need a gift for my father's wife."
"Ah." Miriam inclined her head delicately to the left. "I'm sure you'l find the perfect gift. But if you need any help, let
me know."
"Thanks." I'd been in often enough for her to know I liked to wander and browse.
After twenty minutes in which I'd caressed and perused
the new shipment of fine writing papers and expensive
pens I couldn't afford no matter how much I desperately
wanted one, Kira found me in the back room.
"Okay, Indiana Jones, what are you looking for? The Lost
Ark?"
"I'l know it when I see it." I gave her a look.
Kira roled her eyes. "Oh, let's just go to the mal. You
know Stela won't care what you give her."
"But I care." I couldn't explain how important it was to…
wel, not impress Stela. I could never impress her. To not
disappoint her. To not prove her right about me. That was
al I wanted to do. To not prove her right.
"You're so stubborn sometimes."
"It's caled determination," I murmured as I looked one last time at the shelf in front of me.
"It's caled stubborn as hel and refusing to admit it. I'l be
outside."
I barely glanced up as she left. I'd known Kira's attention
span wouldn't make her the best companion for this trip,
but I'd put off buying Stela's gift for too long. I hadn't seen
much of Kira since I'd moved away from our hometown to
Harrisburg. Actualy, I hadn't seen much of her even
before that. When she'd caled to see if I wanted to get
together I hadn't been able to think of a reason to say no
that wouldn't make me sound like a total douche. She'd be
content outside smoking a cigarette or two, so I turned my
attention back to the search, determined to find just the
right thing.
Over the years I'd discovered it wasn't necessarily the gift
itself that won Stela's approval, but something even less
tangible than the price. My father gave her everything she
wanted, and what she didn't get from him she bought for
herself, so buying her something she wanted or needed
was impossible. Gretchen and Steve, my dad's kids with
his first wife, Tara, took the lazy route of having their kids
make her something like a finger-painted card. Stela's
own two boys were stil young enough not to care. My half
siblings got off the gift-giving hook with their haphazard
siblings got off the gift-giving hook with their haphazard
efforts when I'd be held to a higher standard.
There is always something to be gained from being held to
the higher standard.
Now I looked, hard, thinking about what would be just
right. Don't get me wrong. She's not a bad person, my
father's wife. She never went out of her way to make me
part of their family the way she had with Gretchen and
Steven, and I surely didn't rank as high in her sight as her
sons Jeremy and Tyler. But my half siblings had al lived
with my dad. I never had.
Then I saw it. The perfect gift. I took the box from the
shelf and opened the top. Inside, nestled on deep blue
tissue paper, lay a package of pale blue note cards. In the
lower right corner of each glittered a stylized S surrounded by a design of subtly sparkling stars. The envelopes had
the same starry design, the paper woven with silver
threads to make it shine. A pen rested inside the box, too.
I took it out. It was too light and the tiny tassel at the end
made it too casual, but this wasn't for me. It was the
perfect pen for salon-manicured fingers writing thank- you
cards in which al the i 's were dotted by tiny hearts. It was the perfect pen for Stela.
the perfect pen for Stela.
"Ah, so you found something." Miriam took the box from
me and carefuly peeled away the price sticker from
beneath. "Very nice choice. I'm sure she'l love it."
"I hope so." I thought she would, too, but didn't want to
jinx myself.
"You always know exactly what someone needs, don't
you?" Miriam smiled as she slipped the box into a pretty
bag and added a ribbon, no extra charge.
I laughed. "Oh, I don't know about that."
"You do," she said firmly. "I remember my customers, you know. I pay attention. There are many who come in here
looking for something and don't find it. You always do."
"That doesn't mean it's the right thing," I told her, paying for the cards with a pair of crisp bils fresh out of the
ATM.
Miriam gave me a look over her glasses. "Isn't it?"
I didn't answer. How does anyone know if they know
what they're doing is right? Until it's too late to change
what they're doing is right? Until it's too late to change
things, anyway.
"Sometimes, Paige, we think we know very wel what
someone wants, or needs. But then—" she sighed, holding
out a package of pretty stationery in a box with a clear
plastic lid "—we discover we are wrong. I'd put this aside
for one of my regular customers, but he didn't care for it,
after al."
"Too bad. I'm sure someone else wil." I wasn't surprised a man didn't want the paper. Embossed with gilt-edged
flowers, it seemed a little too feminine for a dude.
Miriam's gaze sharpened. "You, perhaps?"
I waved the flowered paper aside and shoved my hands in
my back pockets as I looked around the shop. "Not realy
my style."
She laughed and set the box aside. She'd painted her nails
scarlet to match her lipstick. I hoped when I was her age
I'd be half as stylish. Hel. I hoped to be half as stylish
tomorrow.
"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some
"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some
new notebooks right here. Suede finish. Gilt-edged pages.
Tied closed with a ribbon," she wheedled, pointing to the
end-cap display. "Come and see."
I groaned good-naturedly. "You're heartless, you know
that? You know al you have to do is show me…oh.
Ohhh."
"Pretty, yes?"
"Yes." I wasn't looking at notebooks, but at a red,
lacquered box with a ribbon-hinged lid. A purple-and-blue
dragonfly design etched the polished wood. "What's this?"
I stroked the smooth lid and opened it. Inside, nestled on
black satin, rested a smal clay dish, a smal container of
red ink and a set of wood-handled brushes.
"Oh, that's a caligraphy set." Miriam came around the
counter to look at it with me. "Chinese. But this one is
special. It comes with paper and a set of pens, not just
brushes and ink."
She showed me by lifting the box's bottom to reveal a
sheaf of paper crisscrossed with a crimson ribbon and a
set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a
set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a
drawstring.
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