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Black, broken, and brittle hangers crushed under the black boots adorned with a two inch wedge. An actual heel would have easily punctured the discarded hangers that were overflowing from the gray bins. The bins read “processing” and “additional processing,” but slapping a label means nothing. At the end of the day, bins are bins no matter what their purposes are. Today, they are storing the discarded hangers. Tomorrow, they will store the returned packages. Sunday, they will be empty long before 8 P.M.
The cashier held her device in one hand, and supported her body against the counter with another cold, clammy hand. If it were 8 P.M. on a Sunday, she would long be home sprawled over a couch, watching a documentary on any biological topic that did not already fill her brain. Last week she spent her precious time on hagfish and job applications.
Sidbury was one of the retail stores under the Oletus company, and while the job was not as bad as the cashier expected, at 27 years old, it was really time to start her career. Being an associate at Sidbury was only supposed to be temporary. It was a miracle she was hired at all in this job market, especially since she was out of work for 8 years.
The cashier looked up- mostly to see how many minutes left in the hour to close, but also to check for customers. Only three people came in since seven, but as she expected, two just came in line.
“I can take you over here,” she called out, directing an old customer to register two. She abandoned the few clothes left to be rehung, pitying her progress as she saw the customer come in with a large, cardboard box.
“I have a few returns to make,” the customer said, peeling open the two flaps of the box loosely connected by a piece of scotch tape. While she dug through the crinkling bags, the cashier typed in from muscle memory her ID and pin into the register. The top of her screen read ‘Welcome back, Melly!’ but more importantly, 8:03 P.M.
“Yeah, of course! Are these online or in store?” the cashier tried to reel in her fleeting enthusiasm.
“So, this one is from Christmas. I bought too many!” she laughed, while pouring out dozens of pajamas still vacuum sealed in clear plastic bags.
When she scanned the bag, the horrifying purchase date request popped up. It was only February, and with Oletus’s lenient policies, the pajamas should be worth a merchandise credit at least. The only time Melly ever saw that pop up is from purchases over 6 months ago, and a year of experience taught her well that elderly women are a force to be reckoned with.
“Do you remember when you bought these?”
“Oh, just last year. I saw the policy, February 15th, and today is the 14th.” She pointed to a printed image of the website page.
“My apologies, but February 15th is for card member returns. Are you a card member?”
“What is a card member?”
“Do you have a credit card with our store?”
The woman adjusted her metal framed glasses and rested her hands on her purse. “You know, a few years back, I think before Covid? No, it was after Covid when I signed up for the store card to get the 40% off discount. I made a HUGE purchase for my daughter’s baby shower- it was her first daughter. Can you believe she had three sons in a row before giving me a precious granddaughter? I’ve always been a girl mom- I just love buying those frilly dresses which actually, I have a few that were too big in here- I bought those in January. But after Covid, I signed up for the Oletus credit card, but I have no idea what happened to it! Can you see why they closed it out on me actually?”
“Do you believe in life after love?”
“Uhh, have you used the card recently?” Melly asked the seventy or so woman.
“Actually, I think I used it on this purchase,” she said, inspecting purchase dates on the bag her vision was likely too poor to see. She revealed from this act alone that the cashier would have over twenty items to process before closing, and this customer will take quite a while.
“Can I have an additional cashier, please?” Melly requested on her walkie.
“I can feel something inside me say, ‘I really don’t think you’re strong enough, no!’”
“What was that?” the older woman brashly asked.
“I was calling for another cashier… so I can spend more time helping you! I wouldn’t want to rush you,” Melly forced a weak smile. Her smile felt crushed by the throbbing pain on the two sides of her head, and as much as she wished to turn off the music, Mary was a huge Cher fan and would spend the rest of the shift bitching about how her favorite song was turned off despite it playing fourteen times in the past six hours.
“Oh, thank you, thank you. I know it is quite a lot, but I still want to know what happened to my credit card.”
“I can check the status for you if you type in your social security number- oh not that screen the one on your right,” Melly directed. She tapped her fingers against the screen, paying attention to 8:03 becoming 8:04. “Ok, looks like you do not have a credit card with us. You can always reapply and get the 40% off again, but the card does close after five months of inactivity.”
“Oh? I didn’t get a letter. Do you know where my letter is? And I swore I just used the card a few months ago.”
“Do you believe in life after love?”
But Melly couldn’t even believe in herself making it through the end of this shift. She looked beside her to see Emma taking a customer on her left. Her smile felt genuine unlike Melly’s crooked smile. It felt like half of her face was droopy while the other half was barely holding on to her sanity.
“Do you have the date for your return? I will check for you after,” Melly lied, hoping to speed up the process.
“Hmm, oh it is on the bag, yes, yes, last Christmas,” the old woman pointed a mulberry nail to the date on the bag.
12/13/2023.
Next to the time reading 8:05 read 02/14/2025.
“So unfortunately, this return is over a year old…” she began, “The system won’t even let me take it back.”
The woman straightened out her glasses, but ultimately they just became more crooked. She pushed the muse mark patterned bag inches into her wrinkled face, inspecting the date. “Are you sure I can’t get a store credit? You guys have done it for me before.”
“Perhaps near the end I can check. Can I see the next package?”
By 8:14, $263 returned to various credit cards the older woman had- some she admitted having no clue about. Another $43.22 was put onto a merchandise credit that she fought hard against, but accepted defeat once hearing she is receiving the same amount she paid for regardless.
Unfortunately, the problem Melly worked hard to push aside reappeared once the final package was scanned. She spent the past eight minutes, eyeing the bag pushed near the other register.
“Sorry, just need to grab this bin from you,” a soft-spoken girl said. Melly looked down and the saw the girl’s short, light brown hair. Even without looking down, Emma’s appearance was apparent by the clicking charms on her name tag.
She stood up, carrying both bins of hangers away from the registers with her surprising strength. The bins weren’t necessarily heavy, but working with Emma over the summer revealed the girl had a total sleeper build. Beneath her loose, teal sweater were slightly toned, freckled arms. It was nothing extraordinary, but one August day with an abnormal amount of trash, the slightly toned arms became sculpted and defined. Melly had nearly dropped her bin of hangers seeing the girl effortlessly toss bags into the industrial size bin that were over half her height. It sent a strange chill through Melly who moments ago, was melting onto the gum stained concrete.
The cashier inspected the year old package. While this lady was ordering clothes for her grandkids, Melly was sliding a divorce paper across the table. When the package arrived, she was probably meeting with her attorney for the first time. Now, when this doting grandmother finally got around to returning the package, Melly had spent a year back as a middle class cashier. Maybe if she just stayed for a few more years she would have her PhD completed and easily find a job in research with her connections. A simple drop in social class eradicated her knowledge, experience, expertise, and identity as an entomologist.
“Well, the system still won’t let me take the return due to its age. I can try to return it as no receipt, but I will need an ID- and I can only return the items for their current value,” Melly explained to a disconcerting woman.
“Ok… we can do that.”
Melly scanned the first item valued now at $1.07.
“Wait, why does it say $1.07? I paid almost $15 for that shirt and it is brand new!” She tapped with her mulberry nail against the illuminated card reader.
“As I said, I can only give you the current value for it,” Melly explained once again to another perplexed face.
“But I paid $15, so I want $15,” she scoffed.
“Yes, but it is a late return.” Melly scanned the next items, giving the woman a grand total of $9.78 for her ten items.
“No, no, here, I have the receipt in my emails,” she objected, scrolling through her brand new phone.
“Do you believe in life after love?”
This had to be a new record. This song was just on five minutes ago! Melly’s heart ached, mourning the precious five minutes she lost with any other overplayed song. Her heart ached, just how it did when she missed her town’s parade. That day over fifteen years ago, she overslept for the first and only time of her life, missing color guard practice, and losing her spot in the parade. She didn’t care much about color guard, but the generous scholarships were a fair price to pay for a couple of hours of after school practice.
“I can feel something inside me say,”
The frustrated woman continued to scroll, analyzing the screen like a predator watching her prey. Her nails were claws, bouncing and attacking the dozens of unprompted advertisements on the screen. Her determination was impressive, refreshing the screen every ten seconds rather than allowing it to load. Melly knew not to say anything as it would only provoke the woman.
Yet again, it was already late and her shift would end soon. Nothing could ruin her shift at this point. Of course, everyone at Sidbury just had to be in a relationship. The closing team today consisted of Melly, Emma, and one of the managers. Typically, three more people would be scheduled to clean up the store, but the general manager, Valentina, predicted the store would be slow today. Melly couldn’t complain. They were still 40 minutes away from closing and the store was spotless.
“Here, I found it,” the old lady interrupted the cashier’s thought.
As the lady directed her attention to a list of items, varying between 15-20 dollars each, two boys, maybe college aged, hung around the candy section beside the registers.
They whispered softly to each other. Hung in the blonde’s arms were two sweaters- one yellow and one green. If her memory was correct, the green one had a frog on it and the yellow had a duck. Of course, with how many clothes this store had in rotation, it would be impossible to confidently know.
“Are you sure? You already paid for dinner,” the brown, neck length haired boy whispered, loosely hanging onto the arm of his friend.
“You paid for our date last week. I already told you last week that I don’t want you to even reach into your wallet.”
“Yeah, I left it home like you asked!” he laughed, stepping back towards the sock session.
Damn couples on Valentine's day. Who even makes a clothing store their last stop? Melly could name hundreds of more romantic places. In this shift alone, she yearned for brunch at eleven, shopping downtown at twelve, grabbing a pastry at two, spending some quality time on a walk, dinner at five, and sharing a cake while watching a corny movie at eight. Instead of grasping at static clothing, she could be sprawled on the couch underneath a large blanket with a pillow between her chin and legs. She could be in pajamas instead of tight jeans with her hair down instead of in a braid. Most importantly, with her boyfriend instead of a customer who won’t take no for an answer.
“I’m sorry, but the policy is policy,” Melly responded once the lady finished scrolling through a plethora of aged clothes.
“This is ridiculous! Can I speak with your manager, please?”
“Sure. I’ll call her over, but she will tell you the same thing.”
She reached for her walkie, and after a tired breath, requested, “Can I have a manager at the front, please?”
To be honest, she had no idea which manager was closing tonight. Shifts swap and get cut so often that it is near impossible to know who is working. It didn’t matter much. All the managers were the same when it came to returns; policy is policy.
“I’m coming over now,” the manager replied on the walkie.
Before she could even sigh in disappointment, a larger woman with a knee length skirt walked over. Keigan came up to the register and immediately typed in her login.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked the older woman.
“Well, this cashier over here said my returns are too old, but I just got them during Christmas,” she explained, cutting off the glaring issue.
“Keigan, it is from 2023-”
“Oh no problem! I’ll override it. Melly, can you take those two best friends over there?”
She could only nod. Melly had nothing personal against Keigan. She was sweet, always encouraging the associates even if the store performed badly on a certain day. When Emma was first hired, a customer falsely accused her of not giving her twenty dollars in change. She held her ground well, but it was undoubtedly emotionally tolling for a new hire. Keigan offered her an additional break and bought her a frappuccino. Any other manager would have offered an additional ten minutes at most, but Keigan always went above and beyond. Unfortunately, her kindness extended to customers who really didn’t deserve it.
“I’ll take you two over here,” Melly called out to the two boys on line.
“Is the theater by our house fine?” she caught the blonde hair boy asking his friend.
“We can just stay at home. You’ve already spent so much money today,” the friend contended. “And look, these shirts are thirty-five dollars each!” He started to head back to where he found the candy, but his shirt was pulled by the friend.
“No, hun. If you want it, I will buy it. It’s just three dollars.”
Melly took the candy and scanned it. “Do you have a phone number to type in?” She asked the couple.
“Oh, yeah I’ll type it,” the blonde blandly replied. They seemed like a classic case of love birds completely infatuated with each other and only able to express a hint of enthusiasm to anyone else. “Do I have any points?”
“Nothing in your account, but if you sign up for the Oletus store card, you can save-”
“No.”
“Your total is 73.20.”
It was worth a try.
Time went by slowly. Really, the store should have just closed at eight. Electricity and wages cost more than the measly hundred dollars made in the past hours (which was more likely to be canceled out by the lady’s returns), but Melly was relieved when she opened her phone and saw the clock read 8:55.
In five minutes, the cashier leaning against her cart would transition to a driver. She would finally have access to an ibuprofen, a warm shower, and a bed. There was nothing left for her to look forward to today. Most days, she had little to look forward to. Sure, she was happy with her relationship despite only dating for a few months, but she could not say she was satisfied. Nothing was wrong with working as a cashier, especially since she made decent money with flexible hours, but what if in a few months she was still here? What if while her friends all moved to passionate positions she was stuck, with her only offers being becoming a manager for the store? What if in another year, while her boyfriend propelled in front of her in his career, she would be left behind, and soon, literally tossed to the side? Her talents were wasting away below the LED lights, yet without connections, status, or money, there was nothing. She had no colony nor respect of her own.
Her mom said she had no one to blame but herself. Becoming so dependent on a man ruined her chances of building her own respect or career, but honestly, what did she lose? Marrying her high school sweetheart gave her access to high society and free education. Even with scholarships, prestigious universities would be out of reach. The real mistake was divorcing before gaining any assets of her own. 18 year old Melly made no mistakes, but the Melly from a year ago, blinded by emotions, stripped herself away of her advantageous position.
“Hey, how come you are working tonight,” Emma interrupted the tired woman, lost in thought.
“Oh, I already took off two days this week for doctor appointments. Getting away with a third would be difficult,” she replied, swaying back and forth against the cart. Emma sat on top of hers, holding onto a men’s shirt table.
“I’m sure someone could have covered you. Besides, you have tons of PTO. I use mine up as fast as I earn them!” she giggled to which Melly giggled as well.
“64 hours of PTO so far,” she enunciated while reading her phone screen.
Beep. “Is anyone in the store?” Keigan asked over the walkie.
“IS ANYONE STILL SHOPPING?” Emma yelled.
…
Silence
“No one is in here,” Melly replied over her walkie.
Emma sprayed some cheaply produced body sprays and fiddled with a stand of necklaces. “Aww, this one is cute,” she said, holding it up across her neck.
“It suits you well, actually. You like the color green a lot, no?”
“Pink is my favorite, but I don’t wear it much,” she said, putting the necklace back neatly on the stand.
“What do you think everyone did today?” Melly asked generally while studying the different sock patterns.
“Victor was here doing shipments this morning, but he left at 11. He is probably hanging out with his boyfriend doing gay shit.”
“Yeah, that describes what most of them are probably doing,” Melly sighed. Maybe the key to getting Valentine’s Day off is to be gay. “Hey, what happened to you and that doctor?”
“Honestly, she just stopped texting me back. It is a larger age gap, but I’m graduating in the spring,” she said, jumping back onto her cart. “I didn’t find it weird, but maybe she did.”
Beep. “Alright ladies, let’s get out of here!”
“Thank God,” Melly sighed in relief. Her headache drifted away once the music turned off, but her legs only got more tired and her stomach growled louder.
“I could really go for a fried egg right now,” Emma dreamed while throwing her bag over her shoulder.
“It’s a bit late for a fried egg.” Melly grabbed her purse. This one was a gift she got from her boyfriend in December. It was a coffee brown, corduroy bag that hung off her shoulder. It could fit her tablet and notebooks well, plus the two front pockets embroidered with flowers fit her tinted chapstick and pencils- just in case she was ever in the mood to elevate her notes during her meal break.
“Meal times are just a social standard, Melly,” Emma enunciated as Keigan typed in the password for the door.
Although she is not a keyholder, Melly has closed the store a few times. She is thankful for the addition of another manager, though, to ensure she will never have to do that job again. The security console is puzzling, checking every rack and pile is an ass, counting the registers is unforgiving, and trying to assert any authority over high schoolers is… impossible.
To simply put it, closing the store is like a thousand machinations arranged, each one waiting to find your flaws and take you down.
“Da, da, da, daaa!” Emma mocked the alarm as the doors opened.
Melly stepped out, immediately wrapping her arms beneath her flat chest. She tried to put her fur hood up, but it flew off with another cold gust of wind. Once again, her arms retreated to the warmth of her body, and her gloveless fingers fidgeted with the fleece lining in her jacket.
“Would you look at that! Only three girls closed the store tonight, and we still did it faster than five of the boys,” Keigan laughed while twisting her key into the lock. “Melly, is your ride here yet?”
Crap, I completely forgot I didn’t drive today.
“It should be any moment now, but Brynhildr’s store is still open,” she answered, pointing to the Target across the street.
“Just stay warm,” Keigan asked, walking into the parking lot.
“Good night!” Emma smiled, lifting herself into the passenger seat of her father’s green van.
“Good night!”
A lot of people assumed Melly preferred winter. It is a quiet season where one could dress modestly and easily find solitude. In this shopping center, for example, at 9:10 P.M. in July, a few teens would be loitering in the parking lot, customers would still be running out of Target, and there would be more than just one elderly couple leaving the supermarket. The closing crew would never consist of just three people, but it would surely consist of six rowdy teens and one lazy manager.
Winter was her least favorite season. It is quiet, but dead. The solitude is not peaceful, but eerie. Even if it just for a few months, all life retreats, expending the little energy it has to survive in unfavorable conditions. Each little shiver her fingers made, bouncing between an incorrect letter and the backspace were her body’s fight for survival. Moreover, with her current living situation, the winter made for some unproductive months,
The former entomology student always feels snobbish for saying this, but in her old marriage, she learned that money is time. When you have money, you can spend more time doing whatever. Every fall, she would be flown over to South Africa to study a more aggressive species of bees while still earning credits in a complex exchange program. When fall approached and enough progress was made for her research, she went back to the mid-Atlantic, skipping a brutal winter and coming off the plane, embracing the dewy season.
This is her first winter in a while. She moved to America at nine, and before that, experienced mostly mild winters with the occasional snow and below 0 temperatures. Then, she was slapped in the face, arriving near the freezing coast, surviving consistently chilling winters under the threat of electricity being turned off. To make matters worse, the weather is so confusing that one week, it will be fifty degrees, breezy, and sunny, but the next week? Three days of snow and a fourth day of icy rain to make it impossible to shovel. Of course, the property her parents suspiciously rented required them to unbury themselves, and the budget never permitted an extra fifty dollars to spend on someone else to do their work.
Well, at least she is stable enough and pays a generous HOA fee to never worry about that.
A series of vibrations erupted from one of the pockets on Melly’s left side. She unwrapped her hands, patting down each pocket looking for her phone.
“Just shoot me up my a** crack with a c** sho-”
“Oh, fuck you Norton messing around with my ringtone again!”
“Sore out my body like Pilates, boy don’t stop,”
“Fuck, why does this jacket have so many pockets,” Melly grumbled in frustration, shaking her heavy coat as the vibrations and explicit song erupted at maximum volume.
“Just cover all my gums with a c** shot,”
Of course, an older couple came right out of the mattress store, just to lay their judgy eyes on the scene. No, please! Right here is a self respecting lady who would never willingly make indecent music her ringtone. Look at me! I am no whore or immature 12 year old like my boyfriend is! No, my boyfriend isn’t 12 either! He is a respectful, considerate 28 year old with an immature humor. I’m not dating a 12 year old!
…
Who am I talking to?
“C** shot, c** shot”
“In my crotch, in my crotch!”
Her hands latched onto the phone, and feeling the buttons through her pockets, she was able to mute the erotic music. Seconds after, she finally gripped her hands around the cold case, bringing the phone up to her ear after reading the caller ID.
“Norton, where are you?” she shouted between the howling winds disrupting her speaker.
“Where are you? I’m outside the store.”
“I’m in front of… a mattress store,” she said, looking up to confirm her location.
“The hell are you doing all the way over there?” he asked, as his silver Honda Civic pushed forward.
The phone beeped as he ended the call- or Melly’s ear ended the call. Either way, she stood, waving in front of the store like a kid waiting to be picked up by the bus. She really needed to get a car. She was driving fine up until two weeks ago when her engine started smoking on the parkway. The car did have over 230,000 miles on it, and of course, Norton still tried to sell it with the excuse that it has a ‘clean title, only one small dent on the bumper, and a Toyota.’
Jolting forward and back, the silver Civic parked at the curb, but the engine stayed on. Exhaust poured from the rear pipe and entered the frosty air, forming a thick white cloud. That thick cloud of fumes waved playfully in the wind, taunted with the girl tugging at the handle.
“Norton! If you don’t open this door, I’m throwing your rock into the creek where it belongs,” Melly shouted, still tugging on the handle.
He finally unlocked the car door.
She leaped into the car before the next gust of wind could blow her hair into more disarray. Norton always kept the passenger seat adjusted to her height, so it was easy to get in even with taller shoes on. She looked through the dark, tinted windows that somehow made day feel like the evening, and night feel even quieter. The only reason she is dating a guy with windows much darker than the legal limit is because he claims “medical reasons.”
As far as the papers say, the tint is completely legal due to his migraines, yet in the few months Melly has spent living with the man, she has never once seen him have a migraine. Again, this is excused for an incredible pill he is on right now.
A familiar song came out from the radio, causing the woman to distance her head a bit from the window where it was pressed against. “Hm? What song is this? I feel like I’ve heard it,” Melly asked, still looking towards the mattress shop.
“Lanugh el ay,” the man next to her muddled.
“What are these inarticulate words you are say- oh my gosh.”
Her words came out fearful when she turned her head towards her boyfriend. He was still wearing his work clothes, but on top of it was his leather vest and black cowboy hat, nestled on top of gelled curls that ended near his neck. He took some extra time on his skincare, but more notably…
“I think you have something in your mouth.”
He took out the white rose tucked between his teeth, and with his free hand, gently grabbed his lover’s. He placed the rose between her hands, watching as Melly’s eyes inspected the rose. Her eyes then followed to her boyfriend’s.
“What is this for?” she asked rhetorically. Even if it was late and she hasn’t seen her boyfriend since 7 in the morning when he left for work, it is still Valentine’s Day. She already said she didn’t need anything, but of course Norton would have to return the favor if his girlfriend got him a new piercing (which he was wearing as well).
“But wait!” he paused, turning towards the backseat.
“Norton, it is past 9, my legs are tired, my lower back is aching, and- o-oh!” She was interrupted once again by a bouquet being tossed into her lap.
By manipulating the blue and white roses, Melly saw the bits of silver sparkle that reflected onto the car’s black interior.
“Let me be honest, I couldn’t find real blue roses,” Norton sighed, shying away into the driver’s seat.
“It would be a botanical miracle if you did,” Melly teased, admiring the roses. She felt a smile reveal on her pink lips and a strange burn in her eyes- maybe it was just the glitter.
“A few more things,” he said, reaching in deeper to the backseats.
“You can step out of the car if you need to, or you can wait until we get home,” Melly suggested, but holding a bag, Norton shook his head.
“That wind could change landscapes. No thank you. My hat could blow away, you know,” he satirically explained.
Melly removed the tissue paper and pulled out another bag. She held it up near the light, and a gasp escaped her mouth. “You found these?!” she exclaimed, bringing the chocolate pomegranates close to her chest.
“I fought some snooty musician for them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Uhh, one more thing- just to make up for the bouquet being a bit small.”
“Really, this is enough you dop,” Melly pleaded, already reaching into the bag of pomegranate chocolates she has dreamed of since Christmas.
“Actually, this might have to wait for when we get home,” he sighed, twisting his body back into the driver’s seat.
“That’s fine with me,” she mumbled between bites of chocolate pomegranates.
The car jolted forward as it entered drive. At a slow, legal pace, they passed by some stores and a lone Ruby Tuesday in the center of the plaza. That was the first “chill place” the couple went together.
Norton, after a series of bad relationships, took a more cautious approach after meeting Melly. He did a simple Google search. Actually, it was a Yahoo search, because he never found out how to change his browser. Anyways, he knew why the name on the luggage tag at the airport looked so familiar. The American news provided little substance- just a few articles on some academic achievements and the death of her husband, but the British news opened up a cavern of tabloids.
Celebrated Entomologist Killed by Manipulative Maid.
Immigrants are Ruining the Futures of Young Members of the Academia- Melly Plinius, the Maid who Snuck into High Society.
Despicable Me(lly) Refuses to Confess in Court.
Of course, there were a few more racist titles.
Norton admitted that he believed some of the rumors initially, hence why he waited three weeks after their meeting to respond to Melly’s messages, but then he remembered he was broke and would have nothing to worry about. Despite being broke, he still only took the widow to expensive restaurants to impress her.
She looked back at him.
One arm rested outside the driver’s door window, and his right rested steady on the wheel. His eyes didn’t linger off the road, but he kept a gentle grin on his face. Others would read it as smug- like the look of an executive after giving himself a raise- but Melly didn’t read it that way. It was a genuine smile.
So why were her lips stuck in this entrenched frown?
Dissatisfaction? Well, even in her prime, she spent most of it known as the wife of an entomologist. The story slowly started to flip in her last year of marriage. Science was no longer companionship and a time for the couple to bond, but a competition. With competition came envy in its most disgusting form.
She touched the lumpy scar on her cheek, still concealed with make up- customers always had to make it a discussion point. Joshua couldn’t handle his wife’s success, and the money was not enough to keep her obedient.
Her mind wandered farther. She tried to see into Norton’s, but could not find a definite answer. Why was he with her? Why spend all this money on ephemeral gifts? His career was going well, so why stay with her? He could have women circling him, touching his bare chest and teasing him. He could fuck his favorite one or take a quanitive approach to his sex life.
She couldn’t keep staying behind like this, letting herself get beaten by customers. Sure, her wealth was gone and her name was tarnished, but an old friend once told her that tabloids are temporary. ‘Wait a few months, and everyone will forget until they have reason to remember. When that happens, put on a show for them, and they will forget about your last bad performance.’
Natalie was one of the few friends she had outside of her marriage, but she disappeared months before the divorce. Their situations were similar. Two poor women from agricultural villages: two women who married charming, wealthy men: two women who started to become more famous than their husbands: two women who suffered a humiliating betrayal.
Once again, why did these negative thoughts taunt the woman on this magical evening? What a fool she is to be lost in the past instead of enjoying the sweetness of the present.
“Hey, you okay?” the raspy voice interrupted.
“Hm? I’m… fine. Why do you ask?”
“You stopped eating those pomegranates. With how quickly you were eating them before, I was worried about our toilet,” he drifted.
“Norton Campbell.”
“It’s a serious concern! We only have one. Just read how much fiber those things have!” he raised his left hand, laughing at his ‘serious concern.’
“Very amusing,” she rolled her eyes, curling her lips back up. “Are we almost at the house?” she asked.
“Why? Do you need the bathroom that badly?”
“Norton. I would threaten to cover your seats in glitter, but it seems between my flowers and your hat, you have that covered already.”
“Heh, I’m almost offended. You think I’m the type of guy to get pissy about glitter?” he smirked. “Anyways, we’re only another five minutes away. Hope you’re enjoyin’ the music.”
“I don’t know any of these artists particularly,” she admitted, “but I liked some of the Lana Del Rey songs.”
“Ya like jazz?” Norton asked with a dramatic finger gun he made with his new free right hand.
“I’ve listened a few times. I don’t have much preference for music,” she confessed, fiddling with the bouquet in her arms.
“Seems like you don’t have a good taste in movies either,” he scoffed, putting both hands back on the wheel and rolling up the window.
“How come?”
“Have you seriously not seen the Bee Movie?”
“Please, Norton. Why would I watch a foolish kids movie when there are plenty of educational, worthwhile documentaries that are just as entertaining to the right mind?” Melly explained, looking away to the last businesses before they got off Main Street.
“I don’t think you understand the severity of this. This movie demonstrates something that could happen to our marriage,” Norton justified. “What if you leave me for a bee?”
“Lord make this dof stop talking. Why talk about marriage when there is no ring on my finger? And, what are you talking about? Do you not understand how ridiculous you sound at the moment?”
“I originally planned for you to pick our movie for tonight, but it seems I need to introduce you to a work of art. This movie, despite its comedic nature, critiques the issues with exploitation and capitalism in our society. If you don’t appreciate that, then maybe you would care about the environmental aspects,” he pursued, but Melly could only laugh.
“You say things like this, and it makes me wonder where all my worries come from.”
Norton stayed silent for a moment, and that silence made the girl beside him nestle deeper into the leather seat. Like a guilty child who said too much- even in the right moment,- she turned her head away, dreading the next word to come out of his mouth.
“What does someone like you have to worry about?” he said abruptly.
She anticipated for something to come out of his mouth, but not for her to have to take each word apart, piece by piece. “‘You?’ What do you mean by that?”
“Yeah, that didn’t come out the best,” he sighed, twisting his head back to park in front of the townhouse. He parked the car, but only turned off the engine and lowered the music, leaving the two together with an inaudible back track.
“What I mean is, you have all the resources at your finger tips to turn things around-”
“Yet I don’t,” she interrupted. “I have the equipment, I have the knowledge, I have the discoveries, I have the damn name even! I used to have hundreds in a room listening to me, and thousands more reading articles with my name in them,” she paused. “But it wasn’t my name that got their attention.”
Norton held his hand uneasily, unsure of how to approach her. His hand shook, wavering between an attempt at the unfamiliar physical comfort or leaving her be. He left his mouth agape, letting the woman bring her knees up. A tear didn’t leave her eyes, but the glistening surface exposed everything and nothing all at once.
“I’m not a liar,” he began, resting his hands on top of the wheel. “That last name, at least initially, was a reason for people to listen to you. It got you on those front pages- I mean, no matter if I was in Mexico, California, or Eastern Europe, your name was on some sciency article.”
“And? Look at our positions now. It is survival of the fittest,” she argued back, resting back into her seat.
“Stop it with the ‘survival of the fittest’ bullshit.”
“Well, you can quit it with this pitiful attempt of cheering me up,” she snapped, still looking away from Norton.
…
The music quietly hummed in the background. It was another Lana Del Rey song- something about Mountain Dew. Again, not the music Melly typically listened to nor that Norton listened to, but it was a cute playlist he made. Even if it was outside his more hardcore music choice, the songs were still nice and romantic.
The glitter reminded her of the bouquet laying in her arms, loosely cradled like a child, slowly forgotten in turmoil. She still had her work clothes on. Sure, they’re just typical clothes, but they are a constant reminder of her failures, the same failures her boyfriend tried to push away from her thoughts.
Oh fuck this.
She looked down, rolling her eyes.
Melly just ruined Valentine’s Day.
Twice technically.
She finally turned to her boyfriend, who stayed in the car, looking straight ahead in thought. He supported his head with his left hand against the driver’s door and stared blankly. ‘Damn, why am I dating this ungrateful bitch?’ ‘I could be with someone so much hotter right now.’ ‘I could be with someone who wasn’t so self destructive.’
But Melly wasn’t self deprecating enough to believe those thoughts. She knew Norton well, even if their relationship wasn’t very long. He was probably thinking about how he hurt her feelings, or how the gifts must not be good enough for someone who spent years with a wealthy husband.
“Norton-”
“Shh, I’m listening to my car’s engine hum.”
“Norton Campbell the car engine isn’t on.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes wavered toward her.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been so frustrated and honestly jealous of you. I mean, you are the American Dream, working your way up through the corporate ladder. It’s admirable and I wish I could match that,” she confessed. “T-thank you for trying to cheer me up. It means a lot- the gifts too,” she brought the roses closer to her chest.
Norton shut off the car’s battery with a push of a button near the wheel. It was now completely silent with the exception of the rear window rolling up. Melly never got to read the time.
“I’m not with you for money or fame. It was risky dating someone with a crazy backstory like your’s, but I don’t regret it,” Norton smiled. “You surprise me with how resilient you are,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “And I want to see you back to your full self.”
Melly stared at him, pushing a loose hair away from her forehead. “You’ve only seen me as a cashier at a clothing store. I can’t imagine what you are going on about.” For some reason, his comment made her a bit nervous, but she stayed composed.
“Again, I’ve seen those articles. It’s impressive what you have done. Even if I don’t understand it, I can respect academia,” he opened the driver’s door.
“Still, I have lost my momentum lately.” she sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt and gathering her belongings.
Norton met her as she was opening her door. He reached out his hand, helping the lady from her seat and gathering the roses and handing her the half eaten chocolates.
They walked up together to the townhouse, his arm now on her back respectfully. She knew in any other circumstance his hand would be on her rear end, but given the emotional turmoil, he acted wisely, keeping it rested on her middle back. Even with his hands full, he fiddled for his keys.
“I’ve got it,” Melly said, taking out her key. She had the main key to the lot while Norton had a copy shaped like a bunny. It was the cheapest model and money was tight when they first moved in.
She let out a relaxing breath, entering the warmth of her home. Norton let go of her as she took off her shoes at the door and tucked them neatly into the cubby. Both heading upstairs for a shower and her bed, and passing out on the couch were appealing options, but it seemed as if Norton wouldn’t join her for either.
“Where are you off to?” Melly asked as Norton turned back outside.
He shoved the roses back in her arms. “The last gift! Oh, by the way,” he started, pointing to his upper lip. Melly thought he wanted a kiss, but he dashed off before that could happen.
“You already got me plenty!” Melly shouted from the door, but Norton had already ran down the steps and dove into the rear seats of his car. “Idiot,” she mumbled.
Even after all that tension, Norton was still prioritizing another gift she didn’t deserve.
Oh well, she didn’t need him here to enjoy the couch. She practically leaped onto the dark green couch after removing her coat and made a pitiful attempt at reaching for the remote on the table in front of her. She took out her phone instead, checking her make up in the camera.
Oh.
She had chocolate above her lip.
That’s lovely. Not only was she arguing like a child, but she looked like one too.
Fuck life.
“Mel! You’re going to let all the cold air into the house,” Norton whined, interrupting Melly’s embarrassment, hauling in a large box.
“What the hell is that?” she revitalized from the couch, wiping her lip, and approaching the massive box he placed on the entrance floor.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he admitted, scratching his head. “Open it up.”
Melly reached for the box cutter they left on top of the cubby. When they first moved it, it was outrageous how many packages were coming into the house. Every day- multiple times a day packages piled at their door step, but even when their spending dwindled, the box cutter conveniently stayed.
She pierced through the first bit of tape, easily accessing the opening. Inside, another box.
“It arrived literally an hour ago! It didn’t even make it onto the door step. I just took it from the FedEx driver and drove off!”
Melly paused. “So… this could be anyone’s package.”
“Oh no, it is us for sure. I took off the shipping label, but it was addressed to me,” he clarified, urging her to resume again.
He swayed back and forth impatiently, waiting for his girlfriend to open the box. Even with the anticipation, Melly took her time, especially after realizing this is a piece of equipment by all the warning labels.
She pulled out of the second box a cylinder in bubble wrap. To most people, they would think this is a pool filter, or a blender, or a coffee machine, or a vase, but Melly recognized from this first part alone that this is-
“AN ASPIRATOR? This is so much larger than my old one,” she brought it closer to her. She got on the floor, ripping through the bubble wrap like a kid on Christmas, revealing the second and third pieces.
“Isn’t that for asthma patients?” Norton asked.
“No, Norton. Remember the vacuum I used to have?”
“Oh yeah, the one for bees?” he recalled.
“Yeah, that one! What you got me is a better version of that. With this, I can collect a larger sample instead of making trips back and forth between hives,” she smiled, but felt deflated again. “It might be some time until I get to try it out…”
Norton squatted next to her, his expression reading ‘oh shoot.’
“Well, maybe this is your chance to get back into research,” he rubbed her shoulder. “Can’t let all that nice equipment you have rot away,” he smiled. “Or that brain,” he jest, rubbing her head. Usually she would get upset at her hair being messed up, but it was already so late she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking away from the aspirator and into his eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Norton tenderly answered back.
Melly put down the aspirator parts and used her free hands to pull him closer. In turn, he kissed her scarred cheek, letting his warm breath linger for a few seconds. Instead of going for her lips, he pulled back, making Melly wonder if the taste of foundation was too foul.
“Want to put on a movie?” he asked.
“I think I want to shower first,” she suggested, trickling her hands to his thighs.
“Can I join you?” Norton pleaded. He asked this question a lot, and usually, Melly’s answer consisted of ‘no,’ ‘cleanse your mind, Campbell,’ or ‘why are you so horny?’ Today, her answer changed.
“Come on,” she held out a hand to her boyfriend who smiled like he saw the sun for the first time. “And happy Valentine’s Day.”
…
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…
While with Joshua, Melly made herself believe she wasn’t into intimacy. She made herself believe a lot of things while with that man, but one thing she didn’t let herself believe was that she could be pushed around.
Norton was humming some tune while brushing his teeth. Melly could hear it echo into the bedroom from the poor ventilation system, but it gave her a moment between her and her jewelry box.
The blue antique box was the only thing she had from her first life- her life as a poor maid pushing through school in an exploited village. No one talks about exploited villages in 2024, so neither will she. This gift from her mom hosts the end of her second life- the wife of a respected researcher. The wife of a big shot, but Norton is right. He says a lot of words, but he is right that she has value.
She held the bee in the vile to her chest. It was dead, of course. It has actually been dead for a few years and she watched it die.
35 hours after Joshua’s attack in the greenhouse,
An attack that mirrored her own.
She stuffed it away as the humming stopped and the bathroom door handle turned.
“Mel, I forgot my pants on the bed, can you grab them?”