One office rushes at me with color and patterns—a photo of a cobalt-blue sofa below a turquoise chandelier; a sample of a hot pink, orange, and gold rug; and swatches of diamond-patterned fabrics. I stop walking and look inside. On the back wall there are photos of beautifully tiled Moroccan arches and columns. This house is gonna be dope, I think, before the Emma Watson–looking girl behind the desk, with a brown pixie cut and dark red lips, looks up. She sees Mom, grabs a folder off her desk, springs out of her chair, and quickly tiptoes around the intricately carved cream tile organized on the concrete floor.

She swings her glass door open, says “Hey, Carli,” like she knows me, and runs to catch up with Mom.

“Mrs. Alexander!” calls a different girl, from somewhere behind me.

I turn around like she’s calling me, like I’m the boss. And for a second, my neck gets long, my shoulders roll back, and I’m feeling myself. Like I’m doing it big and I have life all worked out. Then she runs past me to secure her position on the other side of Mom and bursts my little bubble.

The front of the store opens up to the retail shop with its teal-framed floor-to-ceiling windows enticing everyone passing by on Westheimer Road to come on in. Oh my God, it smells so good in here. And I see why. There’s a long rectangular table full of candles. I pick up one with two small crystals sitting on either side of its wick.

“That’s the moon batch candle, hand poured only during full moons,” says the guy behind the hammered gold checkout desk. He’s a young black dude wearing a multicolored, silky, patched jacket. Sounds ugly, but it’s super cute. There’s a huge yellow G on the front, left side of the jacket above a patch that reads Men at Work. And the right sleeve is full of bright blue stars of all different sizes.

“Cool, I’ll take one,” I say, and then add, “Cute jacket.”

“Thanks, made it myself,” he replies.

I can’t believe how much the shop has changed. Mom used to sell only home accessories, but now there are kimono robes, leather totes, woven pouches, handmade jewelry, fancy chocolate, notebooks, gold engraved pencils, and wait— There’s a whole wall of greeting cards. I walk closer to see what they’re talking about.

You have the trying-to-be-cool section with sayings like Yaas Queen and Birthday Squad printed over graphic images. Then you have the legitimately beautiful section with intricate designs and lots of gold leaf. There’s even a whole collage section. A sympathy card with cut-out footprints in the sand. A congratulations card with cut-out champagne flutes. Come on, now. I could do better than that.