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Hopeful

Gwendolyn

T here was something about the mid-morning to early afternoon shift that always messed with Gwendolyn.

Something just didn’t feel complete about it.

Was her morning half gone or her afternoon half saved?

Or was it the other way around?

It didn’t help that Gwendolyn was something of an insomniac.

She couldn’t remember the last time she slept a good eight hours, but it felt like something she lost when she turned thirty.

Still, Gwendolyn did her best to be friendly with customers.

She acted like she didn’t notice the odd glances she received for her outfit.

Even so far north of Seattle, three layers in the middle of summer was something most people side eyed her for.

There was candy to restock, buttons to add, and magnets to organize near the register.

A small collection of items customers had decided they no longer wanted to purchase was piled beneath the conveyor belt.

Gwendolyn would normally run these items back, but she had taken over as primary checkout while Sierra was training.

Catie was closer to Sierra’s age, a freshman at the local community college, and had thick glasses.

She wore makeup—most women did—but hers was a little more creative than most. It was an odd thing for Gwendolyn to get hung up on, but the eye-catching shade of teal was difficult for her to ignore.

Maybe I should go with teal for the shoes—

“Hey, Gwen, do you mind covering for us?” Sierra asked.

“I’m going to run Catie through the promo announcement.”

Oh, please do.

I can’t wait for this train wreck—

“You got it,” she said with another closed-mouth smile.

This was bad. Even on her worst days, Gwendolyn couldn’t remember being this snarky.

It made sense when she was in high school, since it was high school, and everyone was having a bad time.

But at thirty-seven?

The only thing Gwendolyn could think of was the adjustment to the rapid decline of her body as it succumbed to aging.

She was used to the upper back, shoulder, and neck pain from her chest and her poor posture from working on her dolls through late nights.

But the shudder her knees did whenever she stood from a squatting position?

That was new. The frequency of menstrual headaches, too.

Irregular menstrual cycles—that one was also new, along with the return of subtle chin acne.

Hormones, Gwendolyn concluded.

Aging and hormones.

“Just watch me, okay, Catie?”

The new hire nodded, eyes glued to Sierra as she picked up the phone that connected to the store’s intercom system.

Gwendolyn pivoted on her heel and made the 4th of July promo table her horizon before Sierra could speak.

She honestly wasn’t certain she could look Sierra in the eye when she—

“Attention all Master Basting shoppers!”

Gwendolyn bit her lip, trying to smother the scoff in her throat.

She would never understand how such a conservative arts, crafts, and hobby store had ever settled on naming their company Master Basting.

While basting was known as a sewing technique, to the average customer, it meant something quite different.

On an average day, the store would get at least three prank phone calls inquiring about how good their ‘master basting’ was, much to management's distaste. The company wasn’t the first to name their business something unintentionally inappropriate, and would likely not be the last.

Maybe that’s why I stay here, she thought as Sierra continued her pitch. I lack entertainment.

Another lie, but Gwendolyn was very good at convincing herself it was true. Whatever she had to do to get through the day and—

“Gwendolyn?”

She jerked on her heel, eyes coming to focus on a familiar elderly Korean woman. She wore a loud orange top with neon green slacks. A matching, reflective sun visor was perched on her head.

“Mrs. Han, hello,” Gwendolyn greeted with a smile.

Mrs. Han was one of the few golden customers the hobby store had attracted over the years. Gwendolyn could remember her first interaction with Mrs. Han. She hadn’t complained about the store name, hadn’t inquired about whether she was going to church, and hadn’t asked her about potential boyfriends. All things Gwendolyn saw as good qualities in a stranger, but what had really won her over was Mrs. Han’s love of crochet. It was one of the few side hobbies Gwendolyn enjoyed, if only for creating alternative outfits for her custom dolls.

“How are you?” Mrs. Han asked. “Are they treating you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gwendolyn lied, not wanting to burden the older woman with her trivial problems. “How are you? Have you already browsed the yarn section?”

Mrs. Han shook her head. “No, but I do think I have something for you, Gwendolyn.”

The words were innocent, but Gwendolyn was still cautious. Mrs. Han knew how old she was, Gwendolyn may have lied about a few things, but never her age. Was this the start of an awkward conversation about how Mrs. Han’s nephew would be perfect for her? It wouldn’t be the first time someone would try to set her up on a date.

Oh, I’d hate to say no to her, Gwendolyn thought with genuine regret.

“Mrs. Han, I’m sorry, I’m not interested in—”

The elderly woman gently cuffed her shoulder, an impressive task, as Mrs. Han had to reach across the wide conveyor belt to do so.

“No, no boyfriend for you—” Mrs. Han shook her head, dismissing the misunderstanding. “No, I am here to tell you I’ve seen that doll you like so much.”

“A doll I like?” Gwendolyn frowned.

Unfortunately, she liked a lot of dolls, not just the Miss Moxie Dolls . Gwendolyn liked rag dolls, she loved porcelain dolls—though she would never feel confident enough to work with them. They were too fragile for her hands, which would ache from long nights spent painting the delicate features on each doll.

“Yes, yes! The one that—oh, what was the name?” Mrs. Han frowned, a look of concentration crossing her gentle face. “It started with an M … Mary? No... Ma— ”

“Maddie?! Maddie Moxie ?!”

“Yes, that’s the one!” Mrs. Han exclaimed in recollection. “Pretty thing in pink in the window!”

Gwendolyn felt her heart quicken. Maddie Moxie wasn’t one of the originals from the 1960s, but one of the newer generations from 2010. She was part of a set of three, consisting of Molly Moxie, Lolly Moxie, and Maddie Moxie . A collection of limited run dolls that looked near identical, save for their unique fashion and monochromatic color schemes. Molly was royal purple, Lolly, a canary yellow, but Maddie was a gorgeous shade of Y2K pink.

Naturally, Maddie had been a favorite, and nearly impossible to find. Surely, Mrs. Han must have been mistaken. Gwendolyn didn’t dare hope—

“Where?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Over on Rockerfeller Ave, just across the street from the old print company.” Mrs. Han explained. “It’s between a parking garage and that big empty corporate building!”

Gwendolyn vaguely knew where Mrs. Han was describing. There were two churches on either side of that street, and a YMCA . She had seen the tall corporate building on the corner along the way of one of her many bus routes. One of the few perks of being subjected to the bus line was how well Gwendolyn could navigate North Everett. An adjustment to her regular route was already forming in her head.

“I would have gone in to buy it for you, but they weren’t open yet,” Mrs. Han went on. “Strange, since it was the middle of the day. Maybe the owner was on lunch! But it’s very easy to notice on the street. It has a dark blue door, maybe green?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Han,” Gwendolyn said sincerely. “I’m going to head there straight after work. ”

Mrs. Han’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Good!”

Gwendolyn still had to walk a bit to make it to Rockerfeller Ave.

The bus had dropped her off near the YMCA , along with a group of teenagers dressed in thin shirts and swim trunks. They were loud, but harmless compared to some strangers that paid Gwendolyn too much attention. There really wasn’t anything quite like being hit on while stuck on public transit when she was just trying to get to work.

Once her foot hit the old cement, Gwendolyn noted the church on the corner and took off. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, but her pace did double as she walked up the subtle incline toward her destination.

She clocked the old-fashioned printing company across the corner as she walked past the parking garage. Gwendolyn had no idea what they printed, though she supposed it didn’t matter as she spared it one last glance. A small bead of sweat grew beneath the camisole under her work uniform. She had ditched the cobbler apron only to save herself the embarrassment of having the company name plastered across her chest. While she found it amusing at work, outside of the arts and craft store, it was a little embarrassing.

A swell of anticipation grew in her belly with every step as she noted the building Mrs. Han mentioned. It was just as the woman had described it. A lonely, brick faced building overshadowed by the towering, empty corporate building on the left, and the parking garage on the right. It appeared even more out of place, as there were no businesses attached to it. Just an alley on one side and a larger, open parking lot on the other. The origin of the building didn’t matter the moment Gwendolyn spotted the front door. It wasn’t blue or green like Mrs. Han had said. The door was teal. The kind that was more blue than green, but still teal according to the internet.

It had to be a coincidence. The front door of the building that held a doll Gwendolyn had been searching for just happened to be one of the colors she had been fixating on. A lot of businesses did odd things to garner attention. But something in Gwendolyn—that sounded oddly like her mother— told her there were no coincidences.

The shop had display windows on either side of the door. Windows that were filled with odds and ends, but not a single pink doll in sight. Gwendolyn tried not to lose hope as she did another pass with her eyes. There was a chance the doll was hiding in plain sight. Perhaps it was behind the tower of tea cups or the stack of luggage?

Gwendolyn’s hands tightened along the strap of her purse. One way or another, she would have to go in if she wanted to pursue her dream. That didn’t stop the wave of trepidation from rolling in her stomach as her hand rose to the doorknob. The silver handle was no different from any other, but there was something nagging at her.

What were the chances that this little antique store had the Maddie doll? They were rare for a reason, and were snatched up the moment they had hit retail shelves. Mostly by Miss Moxie flippers—vultures who had seen the popularity of the dolls and listed them for absurd prices online. Furthermore, why would an antique store with fine china, period furniture, and old paintings have a plastic doll from 2010?

Was she trying to avoid disappointment? Gwendolyn wasn’t a stranger to the feeling. Whether it was people or herself, life had been cruel more often than not. Even so, why on earth was there a bit of dread building in her belly? Why was she looking over her shoulder, as if someone was invading her space?

Paranoia—it has to be because of the insomnia, right?

That had to be it. Gwendolyn shook off the odd feeling, literally shaking her outstretched hand. Lack of sleep, anxiety—none of it mattered. Gwendolyn was going to get this doll one way or another. With a determined breath, Gwendolyn reached for the handle of the teal door once more only to find it gone.

The door had suddenly swung inward, the cooler air of the interior hitting Gwendolyn’s flushed face. She didn’t jump so much as stare in shock, the sound of the door chime echoing in her ears. Gwendolyn lingered in the doorway, mind still trying to decipher exactly what had just occurred.

“You might as well come in…” A voice called from within, sending a shiver down Gwendolyn’s spine. “I know you’re there.”

Whoever it was, they had a voice she could only describe as smoked honey.