Hanna wavered, considering letting Dinah have the dress, but then she pictured Vince grinning at her across the table in the ice cream shop. “I saw the dress first,” she insisted.
“I touched it first.” Dinah pressed the dress to her chest. “It’ll look better on me, anyway.”
“It absolutely won’t look better on you.” Hanna held out her hands. “Your boobs are too big.”
“Yeah, well, your body is too straight-up-and-down.” Dinah lifted the hanger over Hanna’s head so she couldn’t reach it.
Hanna grabbed for it. “You’ll look pathetic in it.”
“You’ll get sick of it in a week.” Dinah hid the dress behind her back. “I can tell you’re a fickle bitch.”
“I am not fickle!” Hanna shrieked. “You’re whiny! And your tattoo is hideous! It’ll clash!”
The girls glared at each other.
“Just give it to me!” Hanna lunged behind Dinah’s back. “It isn’t right for you, okay?”
Dinah stepped out of her way. Hanna let out a huff and dove for her again, yanking the dress out of her hands. “Ha!” she crowed, waving it over her head like a flag and running for the dressing rooms. A couple of shoppers looked up in surprise. A saleswoman paused at the counter, her mouth hanging open.
“Come back here!” Dinah screeched, right on Hanna’s heels. Hanna wove around the racks of clothes, the entrance to the dressing rooms in full view. All of a sudden, she felt two heavy arms wrap around her waist and pull her down. Dinah fell on top of her, and for a moment Hanna was squished into the tattoo on her arm. She felt the dress being pried from her fingers.
“How dare you!” she muttered. “Get the hell off me!”
To Hanna’s surprise, Dinah rolled off her, the dress still securely in Hanna’s grip. Dinah wasn’t even looking at her, instead staring at something in the dressing rooms. “Shh!” she whispered.
Hanna pricked up her ears, afraid she was going to hear the eerie high-pitched giggle that had been haunting her lately. But instead, she heard a loud smacking sound coming from inside one of the dressing rooms.
“What is that?” Hanna said, slowly rising to her feet. She crept closer to the dressing rooms, which were empty except for the noisy stall. Two pairs of shoes peeked under the door, one of them dark black boots, the other prissy black-and-white heels that looked vaguely familiar.
Hanna exchanged a knowing look with Dinah. With a slight nod of her head, Dinah encouraged her to move closer. Hanna tiptoed a few more steps toward the room. The shoes and boots under the dressing room shuffled. The slurping sounds increased in intensity.
Suddenly, the door flung open, and two people tumbled into the corridor. Hanna pressed against the wall, pulling Dinah with her. There, reflected in the three-way mirror, was a guy in a red Santa suit, Santa hat, Santa beard, and shiny black boots. “You’re so hot,” Santa said in a skeevy voice.
He was sucking on some skinny girl’s neck, and the girl was running her hand through his beard. Hanna stared at her. The girl’s chestnut hair was swept into a messy French bun, her ass was nonexistent, and on her thin, ballerina-like wrist was a very familiar silver David Yurman bangle.
It was Kate.
Hanna grabbed her phone, which was conveniently in her bag’s front pocket, and snapped a picture. Then she and Dinah sprinted out of the dressing room. Out of breath, they collapsed on a table of jeans and stared at each other for a pregnant pause. At the exact same moment, they both burst into peals of laughter.
Chapter 12
Soul Mates
A few hours later, Hanna sat on a ripped barstool at Snooker’s, a college bar in Hollis. There were sports jerseys all over the walls and ugly green banker’s lamps behind the counter, and the air smelled like fried mozzarella sticks and stale beer. An old Bruce Springsteen song played on the jukebox, and the room was packed with loud college kids.
“Okay, who would you rather hook up with,” Hanna said, scanning the crowd, “Mr. I’m Taking Over Daddy’s Company in Five Years, or Mr. The Only Interesting Thing About Me Is That I’m Irish?” She pointed at two college boys nursing beers in the corner. The first guy wore a preppy button-down and had a smug look on his face that only someone with a trust fund could pull off. The second guy had doughy features, red hair, was wearing a T-shirt that said DUBLIN on it, and was drinking—of course—a Guinness.
“Ugh, neither.” Dinah popped the olive from her martini into her mouth. “Look at the girls they’re with! Is that a Burberry bag she’s carrying? That is so 2001!”
“Says the girl who wears poodle skirts,” Hanna teased, poking Dinah on the arm.
Dinah pretended to be offended. “Poodle skirts are retro,” she said haughtily.
“I forgive you,” Hanna said. “After all, you’ve got an awesome bag.” She pointed to Dinah’s quilted Chanel on the stool. It turned out it wasn’t a fake—Dinah’s aunt who worked at Bazaar had put her at the top of the waiting list and scored her one from the New York flagship store.
The bartender set down another martini for Dinah and another vodka-cranberry for Hanna, and they clinked glasses. A warm sense of happiness washed over Hanna as she took the first sip. After she and Dinah had scampered away from Kate and Santa in the dressing room, they’d ditched the Elizabeth and James dress on a random table, called a truce, and decided to hit the college bars. Dinah had left her car at the mall, and on the drive over in Hanna’s Prius, they’d chatted about fashion, beauty products, celebrities, and their favorite suburban boutiques, Hanna’s four most favorite topics. The conversation had come naturally, as though they’d been friends for years.