“Worth it, don’t bug about the comments on ur post,” he wrote.

I sent him and went straight to the comments—

@Naurene48: Call your mother, Anna.

@anylonelyshark: lol

@soccermami: yeaaaa, what would your mother say?

@ronnguyy: leave her alone haters, she’s gorgeous

@Naurene48: Anna, you need to call me.

@jessajack27: omg

@witchcraft1998: she looks stoned

@beccatorres: girl, call your mom

@deesousa: call her

@Naurene48: Call your mother or these comments persist.

I held my phone at arm’s length. I was going to cry and didn’t want to. Nor did I want to block my mother. Nor did I want to call her and listen to her anger, her fear, her threats. But I needed to make her comments stop. I rushed out of the dress, out of the room, to the register. I stood in line, fidgeting, and watched Leah’s story. “Morning run ” it said with a picture of a trail that snaked along the ocean.

The shoppers ahead of me took their receipt and walked off, loaded with bags. I put the dress on the counter with the clutch and the saleswoman scanned the tags, then my phone. She watched the computer monitor. We waited. I was sweating, nervous. About the expense of the dress? About tricking Jake into buying it? About my mother?

“Is there another payment method we can use?” the saleswoman asked.

“I’d rather not,” I said and she sighed, reached for the phone again, scanned it again. I counted breaths, imagined grabbing the dress and running. Somewhere far, so the saleswoman couldn’t find me. Somewhere my mother couldn’t find me, either.

“Okay, it went through. Can I get you a garment bag?”

“That’s okay.” I smiled to make up for my clipped tone.

“Are you sure, hon?”

I said yes and she began to wrap the dress. “I’m in a rush,” I added, and the saleswoman quickly folded it into a bag she handed over, no eye contact.

I walked to a set of couches outside the Bloomingdale’s entrance, touched my mom’s number on my phone and counted the rings. They seemed timed to match my heartbeat.

“Anna.” Her voice through the fuzz of Bluetooth and distance was sudden. I woke to it with a jerk and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Honey,” she said.

“Mom,” I managed.

“We have to talk,” she said. “I’m late to an appointment, though. I’m walking in right now, I’ll call you back in an hour.” I heard the phone switch over from Bluetooth. A voice in the background said, “Checking in?” and my mom whispered, “Yes.”

“Okay?” she said to me. “It’s important, okay?”

I said okay and she said okay, then we hung up. When she called me back, I was picking out shoes. I didn’t answer.

6.