Can't Let You Go

I'd never worn much makeup. I put it on for a special reason, but on a daily basis, I just washed my face and put on an acne fighting, moisturizing, sunscreen. Partly, I preferred to sleep in over getting out of bed forty minutes earlier to fancy myself up. Partly, it's that my mother really wanted me to wear it. Zayan, however, loved makeup. Which is why I found myself wandering the aisles of a beauty store. One of Zayan's favorite brands had an early release of their fall palettes.

I would of course have been there with Zayan no matter what, because he'd asked me to come, but I was also the purchaser. Zayan's mother didn't bat an eye when he wanted to buy several yards of silk velvet, at fifty dollars per yard, to make a jacket for me last fall. She didn't question a thirty dollar paint brush or tube of paint. Or the four different sewing machines. Those were for school and honing his skills for his future as an artist. She drew the line at everything else. 

The most money I've ever seen her give him at any one time is ten dollars. Movies? Ten dollars. Out to eat? Ten dollars. She bought all his clothes and shoes without his input. She did a good job of picking things he likes, but still. She wouldn't give him money to go shop on his own.

My mother however, hadn't said a word about my credit card bill which is dotted through the year with purchases from this store. Usually a couple hundred dollars worth. She never questioned why all the makeup I bought didn't show up on my face. She'd always told me she kept an eagle eye on me, and that's definitely true for what I ate, but I suspected she wasn't actually all that interested in me.

Zayan was oohhing and aahhing over the various products and we were playing with the samples as he was filling the little shopping basket I carried. He had befriended one of the clerks there, because that's how he is, and he'd held back one powder-something-or-other that Zayan really wanted out of the new collection. We followed him to the back of the store and heard an argument as we approached.

"I'm telling you, I just absentmindedly put it in there. I'm not stealing it," said a girl's voice.

"That's what every shoplifter says. 'Oh sorry! I don't know how this got in my pocket!' We're calling your parents or we're calling the cops," a man shot back.

I peeked around the corner of the display and was surprised to find Emily standing there. Without thinking about it, I rushed out into the aisle.

"Oh my god, Emily. There you are! I thought you weren't going to meet up with us. What's going on?" I feigned ignorance.

"Nothing," she spat out.

"Are you with her?" the security guy snapped. "I'll have to ask you to empty out your pockets."

"Well you can ask me, but you can't make me," I retorted, full of false politeness.

Zayan ran over to my side then, chuckling uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

"As her accomplice, I have reason to suspect you, too. Empty your pockets."

"Her accomplice? Did you see us walking around the store together? Did you see me put something into my pocket? No and no."

"I saw her put this in her pocket." He held out a package of something.

"Maybe she did if she wasn't paying attention to her actions. She was here to meet me and I'm always the one carrying the basket and making the purchase."

Anton, the clerk who had been with us, reappeared from the back room. "What's going on Thomas?"

"These three are suspected shoplifters," Thomas the guard said gruffly as he pointed at Zayan, Emily, and myself.

"Oh, no. These two have been with me since they walked in. They're regulars," Anton assured him.

"And today, she's with us too, only she didn't find us right away. There has been a misunderstanding. I appreciate that you are just doing your job sir, but in this instance she really is innocent. See all the things we're buying today? Why would I steal one?"