“Can I help you, sir?”
He heard a female voice from behind him. A woman selling men’s clothes. Well, of course. He prepared to tell her to leave him alone, but ended up rooted in the spot like a moron. This girl was flat-out gorgeous. He didn’t even notice what she was wearing, because her smile blew the rational part of his brain right out the back of his skull. Dark brown hair, grey eyes, long lashes, smooth ivory skin—he wondered if it was even legal to let girls like her out in public.
After a moment he realized he hadn’t answered her question, so he cleared his throat and offered her a smile. “You can start by not calling me sir.”
She chuckled. “Sorry. I’m supposed to say that to everyone. What are you looking for?”
Michael threw up his arms. “To be honest, I have no clue. I’m supposed to be getting a new wardrobe, but I have no idea where to start.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll definitely help you get there. My name is Diana.”
She offered a slender, manicured hand. He shook it. “Michael.”
No matter how many times he said it out loud, it felt weird to him. He supposed it was because he didn’t have any physical recollection of someone saying his name: no mother, no father, no teasing children at school, no over-zealous big brother hanging the syllables over his head in an obnoxious way. It was just a name. Like he was just a man.
“Michael. I like that name. Were you named after anyone in particular?” She asked as she pushed aside a few suit jackets.
He brushed his fingertips against the sizeable bump on the back of his head.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s your problem right there. How can you know where you’re going when you don’t know where you’ve been?”
Her question stopped him in his tracks. “What do you mean?”
“I’d have trouble trying to pick out a wardrobe too if I didn’t know who I was already. I mean, think about it. The stuff that happens to our parents and to us when we’re young are what make us what we are. Now, most people don’t think there’s much to a name, but I think it sets a sort of precedent.” She tossed a couple of jackets over his arm. He watched her, enraptured as she continued to explain.
“There are some names that have a destiny like…Butch. With a name like that, you have to grow up to be a bodyguard or an athlete. Guys like Calvin and Theodore have to be those well-groomed guys in those sweater vests you see all the time. The Georges and Marks of the world have to be engineers and scientists or bankers and lawyers.” Four dress shirts: two light blue, one black, one light green. She pressed three white into his hands before smiling that nuclear smile again.
“But you got lucky. Michael is one of those names that can mold to meet any need.”
“How so?”
She shrugged, beckoning him to follow her to the pants section. “Think about all the Michaels in the world. You’ve got Michael Jordan, famous basketball player. Michael Jackson, King of Pop music. Michael Buble, fantastic crooner. Michael Phelps, Olympic bad ass. And if you want to forget about all the pop culture, there’s what the name itself means.”
“What’s that?”
Diana handed him a pair of shoes, dropping her voice as if she were telling him a secret.
“God-like.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch for me, don’t you think?”
She shrugged, grabbing two felt boxes with cufflinks in them and a silver necklace with a tiny padlock around it. “I don’t know. If you’re anything like God, then I certainly don’t mind going to Heaven.”
He laughed. “I think you’re giving me way too much credit.”
“Maybe so,” she chirped. “Take these jeans and shirts and try it all on. See how everything fits and let me know when you’re ready for check out.” She gave him an encouraging push towards the changing room. A peculiar girl, to say the least.
Thirty minutes later, he had a respectable pile of clothes that fit and started counting out all the bills to pay for the stuff. Diana rang up the items with smooth, practiced movements, humming under her breath as she went. He didn’t know the tune, but he knew it would probably stick with him for the rest of the day.
“Your total is $440.50.”
He glanced back down at the money his hands. “I’m a little shy of that. Do you think you can take a couple things off?”
“Sure. What do you want to put back?”
“Maybe one of the cufflinks. The necklace too.”
She pouted. “Oh, keep the necklace. I think it would look good on you. Besides, I think you need it.”
“What makes you say that?”
She leaned in, running a fingernail across the shimmering silver. “Well, my mom told me people who don’t know themselves can have their hearts stolen easily. This necklace has a padlock on it so it’ll protect you. You’ll always have a little reminder to keep your heart safe.”
He smiled. “That’s very corny, you know.”
“I know.”