Is that what’s supposed to go on the breast?
“I love this place so much,” Ellie says. “When my sister was pregnant, we went to the same store, but in Georgia—oh, you might know where it is, actually. Off Clive Street?”
Uhhh . . .
Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be from Georgia.
I tap my chin. “Sounds familiar.”
“It’s right next to Peaches Bakery.”
“Ohh, Peaches.” I nod as if I’ve been there a million times.
“Wouldn’t you just kill for one of their cupcakes right now? Which one was your favorite?”
Oh God.
My favorite.
Err . . .
Think of something unoriginal that every bakery would have.
“Chocolate,” I say with a nod.
Her face contorts in confusion. “Chocolate?”
Oh fuck, do they not have a chocolate option? What bakery doesn’t have chocolate as an option? That would be absolutely ludicrous.
“Well, you know—”
She nudges my shoulder with a laugh. “I was sure you were going to say their crumble-cake cupcake, as you just give me those vibes.”
Never in a million years would I have said crumble-cake cupcake.
I shrug playfully. “A chocolate girl here.”
“I’m a chocolate girl myself. Have you tried their pink velvet cupcake? I honestly don’t understand how it differs from vanilla.”
“I was just about to say that,” I say as I pick up a fake breast and examine it. God, it’s so lifelike. “What do they do, just splash some food coloring in it and call it a day?” I ask.
“Totally. But their peach pie . . .”
I wave my hand at her. “To die for.”
“Hello, ladies. Welcome,” a saleswoman says. “Do you need help with anything?”
Ellie spins around with a smile and says, “Looking at breast pumps. I’m Ellie, and this is my friend Lottie. She’s not ready to find a perfect fit, but I’m here to squeeze breasts and figure out what works for me.”
“Wonderful. I’m Ann, and I’m an expert when it comes to breast pumps. Now let me see your breasts.”
Uhh . . .
Ellie goes to lift her top—wow, just like that, no shame—but Ann says, “No, no. Just puff your chest so I can have a better look.”
Ellie laughs. “Oh, okay. I was ready to strip down for you.”
That was obvious.
And entirely unnecessary.
Ann reaches out and asks, “Do you mind if I touch?”
“Please do. It’s why I came here.” Talking to me, Ellie says, “They can fit you perfectly to your needs, and you can test them out on the wall of breasts to see how they would work.”
I glance at the wall of breasts. “Seems as if you have every size there,” I say awkwardly.
“We do,” Ann says as she fondles Ellie. This is weird, really freaking weird. “And you can adjust the flow too.”
“The . . . uh, the what now?”
“The flow,” Ellie says. “They produce actual liquid, so you can get the full experience.”
Who on earth comes up with a place like this? Floating breasts glued to walls with an actual “milk” flow. I’m confused . . . and uncomfortably intrigued.
“Like almost every woman I come across, there’s a sizeable difference between your right breast and left.” Ann lifts both of Ellie’s boobs.
“Yeah, guilty. The left just can’t seem to catch up.”
“No breasts are symmetrical, but some women have a large difference and you’re one of the lucky ones.”
Ellie looks at me. “What boob is bigger on your body?”
“Umm . . .” I grip my boobs. “I think my right?”
“If you’re right-handed, it probably is bigger,” Ann says. She then asks Ellie, “Can I ask nipple size?”
“Why don’t I just show you? It’ll be so much easier.” Before I can even excuse myself to give her some privacy, Ellie lifts her shirt and bra at the same time, flashing both me and Ann.
And there are her boobs, just like that.
Now what the hell am I supposed to do with this? Do I look, do I not look? Do I pretend to find something fascinating on the ground? Do I stare at the wall of breasts? Do I pray the floor swallows me whole?
I was not mentally prepared for this.
“Oh, wow, you have wonderful nipples,” Ann says, and from the corner of my eye, I see her get in close and pinch Ellie’s nipple between her fingers. “Very firm nipple. That will serve you well.”