Without another word, I whipped off my T-shirt and held it up to her face.
“Get the dress off me!” she cried, her voice muffled by the cotton.
Shirtless, I was fumbling around looking for a zipper when Olga returned holding a pair of high heels. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of us, her expression horrified. She probably thought we were trying to have a romantic tryst right there in her shop.
“She has a bloody nose,” I explained. “Can you help?”
Olga shrieked and dropped the shoes as she raced for us. Twenty seconds later, she was cradling the dress and looking with alarm at the red stains on my white shirt. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Felicity shook her head. “It’s not that bad,” came her muffled reply. “I can wait it out.”
“No,” I told Olga. “She’ll be fine. Is the dress okay?”
“I think so.” She held it up and gasped. “No! There is a spot of blood right here on the neckline! It’s faint, but I can see it. The dress is ruined.”
I smiled at Felicity. “Then I guess we have to buy it.”
“I’m sorry.” Next to me on a bench in Washington Square Park, Felicity stared down at the garment bag across her lap. She’d tried to pay for it while I ran over to the men’s shop next door to Cosette Lavigne to buy a new shirt, but her credit card had been declined.
“Don’t be.” I put my arm around her.
“This dress was too expensive.”
“It’s worth it.”
“I bled all over your white shirt.”
“That’s why I bought a black one.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“You never have to be embarrassed in front of me.”
“No?” She looked up at me.
“No. I guarantee I’ve made a way bigger fool of myself. Did I ever tell you about my road test when I was getting my driver’s license?”
She shook her head.
“I had such a bad panic attack, I had to stop the car, get out, and walk home. It took me another month to try again.”
She smiled. Her feet started swinging. “I never knew that.”
“I was too ashamed to tell you. Then there was the time I took an F on a presentation in a college class because I got up to give it but instead of going to the front of the room, I walked out the door.”
“The teacher didn’t offer to let you redo it?”
“Sure he did. I said no way. And then there was this girl I was kind of crazy about—I totally blew it with her.”
Her feet stopped moving. “What girl?”
“This crazy smart, smokin’ hot babe in the Chemistry Club.”
She laughed, swinging her feet again. “Yeah? What did you do?”
“I worked up my nerve to ask her to the prom, but at the end of the night, I fucking shook her hand instead of kissing her.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I was scared. I never thought she’d want to be with a guy like me.”
“Smart? Handsome? Section leader of the marching band?”
“I was a nerd with a filthy mind.”
“That’s the best kind of nerd.” She gave me a little sideways smile. “You should reach out. See if she’ll give you a second chance.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
We sat there for a little while longer, just watching people go by with their friends or dogs or significant others, hands clasped. A little old couple toddled by, arm in arm, and the woman’s steps were so tiny and slow, the man took one for every four of hers. They both had glasses and thinning white hair. Hers was sort of short and fluffy and his was combed over from a deep side part.
“He’s carrying her purse,” Felicity whispered. “How cute is that?”
When the woman spotted the bench, she pointed at it, and the husband led her over. Immediately, Felicity and I scooted down to make room.
“Thank you,” said the man, helping his wife sit down next to me, then seating himself on the other side.
“Of course.” Felicity leaned forward and beamed at them. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”
“Yes. We’ve walked in this park just about every Saturday for seventy years,” said the woman. Then she laughed. “I just can’t get as far as I used to.”
I smiled. “That’s what benches are for.”
“But it’s our anniversary,” she went on, “and I said, ‘Edward, we have to walk today.’”