“Oh yes, this is a magical hat for you.” She beams. I blush.
I’m standing in front of a mirror in a tiny workroom off to the side from the main shop. Light fills the space from the twelve-foot high window. Colourful fabric and hats in various stages of conception sit on work tables next to sewing machines and torturous-looking hat pressing contraptions.
“Really?”
She is older than I am, with long, greying hair, pulled back. Her partner, who has been in and out of the studio, pops in from the back room.
“I have to tell you,” he says, his eyes alight beneath the brim of his own hat. “That seeing you in this hat, it makes me smile. It’s making everyone smile.” He points to my companion, who has been standing patiently behind us in the main shop, watching everything transpire.
He is smiling. He nods.
I’m sorry I made you weep.
“The red in the fabric matches the rosiness of your complexion and the blue, well…you can see for yourself what it does for your eyes.”
I look in the mirror, nodding and smiling.
“It’s good to have someone to share the experience with, someone patient and supportive, like your friend over there.”
“Yes, it is.”
I feel like I’m using you, he said.
“Our friend, the one who told you about this place…I hope he’s well. He’s a lovely man. The next woman he’s with will be a very lucky woman.” She’s looking into the mirror, into my blue eyes, I think. How could she know?
Not for me.
“You’re right. About the hat. I’ll take it.”
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