Black Friday At Spencer’s

"Marissa, Marissa, Marissa. In the back of Spencer's?" A deep and familiar voice exclaims with mock astonishment. Holy shit.

My mind races as I contemplate the sudden intrusion. I instinctively drop my head, my curly bangs falling to shield my face. With lightning speed, I twist my head to the left, hoping to avoid any further confrontation.

"Alana, I know him," I muttered, desperately seeking her guidance in this unexpected situation. With a single raised eyebrow and a quick glance towards the two broad-bodied men navigating through aisles filled with whoopee cushions and overly sexualized ugly Christmas sweaters, Alana's eyes flickered back to me before they could even register the presence of two skinny white girls in chestnut-colored Uggs, one holding a chestnut praline latte from Starbucks and myself clutching onto a kamasutra book, a relic from our immature joke earlier.

A look of panic flashed across her face as she silently conveyed her concern. "Do you want to leave?" The mere suggestion of an escape plan calmed the waves of panic threatening to surge through me, but the urgency in her voice only heightened my anxieties.

"SSHHH," I hissed, bending over as if seeking shelter among the selection of dildos. 

"Marissa, hiding your face is not going to make you invisible. Let's leav–" 

A quick thud in the middle of my back causes me to straighten myself back up to Alana. She focuses her attention behind me, her polite smile sending my heart racing a million beats a minute. Oh god.

I spin on my heels to face that 5’11 man with a quirky smile. My eyes landed on a dumb b-b gun his fingers are laced around, a $5 price tag dangling from it. With a playful smirk, I lift my foot to rest on top of the bead that hit my Patagonia hood and now bouncing at my ankles. "I see you found the prank toy section in here.”

He nods eagerly, his excitement palpable as he loops the b-b gun back onto the rack with one hand, the other hand concealed behind his friend.  "Did you see the whoopee cushions?" I chuckle softly, nodding in confirmation. Ironic how one of my first observations in the store now turned into a subject of conversation with a love interest. 

His friend cracks his fingers as Alana shoots me a puzzled look, silently questioning who this guy is. "This is my cousin Alana," I introduce. 

“Hello, I’m Tyler.” Alana's eyes lit up with recognition, as if she recalled me filling her in about Tyler the day before. "Hi, nice to meet you," she greets a little less enthusiastically. He leans in to force a handshake. She scrunches her nose, her grip loose as he’s holding onto every inch of her skin. As their hands parted, she's giving me a look that spoke volumes—part confusion, part disbelief. Her brown eyes linger on his upright posture, chest puffed out like an alpha, his toes pointed directly towards me. His outward palms suggest a sense of transparency. Alana crosses her arms, and Tyler's brown eyes bounce to his friend on the right.

“This is my friend Sam." Alana's eyes flicker to Sam, a stark contrast to himself. Standing at 5'7 with dark curly hair and glasses, he seemed closed off, his arms crossed defensively. It’s a puzzle, the difference between the two men confusing her. I could read the skepticism in Alana's expression, her intuition telling her that Tyler's openness might be more of a performance for his friend's benefit than a genuine display of sincerity.

Tyler, seemingly oblivious to any underlying tension, is still completely fixated on the kamasutra book in my hands. “So. Did you find anything exciting?” 

What? Oh no. Suddenly, the amusement my cousin and I found in the position called the "curling angel" isn't something I feel comfortable with him knowing just yet—I mean, I've only known this guy for like three weeks, and he might think I'm freaky deaky if I try to explain myself. His friend, clearly amused, also has his eyes glued to the kamasutra book. Time to shift the attention away from me. 

As Tyler stands before me, his frame clad in a similar thick track and field varsity jacket, I notice the array of pins adorning it. Each pin reveals that he’s been awarded three years of varsity status for throwing. My focus lingers on the pins for a moment before trailing upwards to where his right arm folds behind his back. There, tucked inconspicuously against his side, a white hanger peeks out from beneath the jacket. It’s a subtle detail, easily missed amidst the flurry of activity in the store, but it caught my eye as he took a step forward from his friend.

"Did you?" I ask. 

He unwraps the surprise from behind him, displaying a pair of plain white mid-calf socks with the title “cum sock” on the top, eliciting laughter from his friend. I stifle a giggle as Tyler explained that it was a gag gift for his stepbrother but he was getting a pair for himself. Then, he pulled out another pair adorned with mini pizza characters—pizza slices with smiles, legs, and arms. Only him. So on brand. It’s so weird. I cup my head in my hands as laughter threatens to spill out.

"Is there something wrong with my Christmas gift choices, Marissa?" Tyler teases, grinning at my reaction. I shake my head. "No, no," I look up to catch Alana's uninterested blank face before returning my attention to Tyler. "What’s the occasion?"

"When I go home to make pizza with my dad, now I have socks to match.” 

I blink extra hard, struggling to register the sheer stupidity and boyish simplicity of that statement.  

 “What’s your occasion?" His meaty fingers point at the Kama Sutra book – knew he wasn’t gonna let that one go. 

I take a step back toward the checkout line. "No, no, I wasn't, I was just look–" 

"-Suuurrree," his voice carrying a deep, long exaggeration that resonated with a hint of disbelief. 

"Next customer, please," the cashier announces, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of the store. As the friend of Tyler's tilts his chin upward, acknowledging the cashier with tight black ringlets in a short bob, who bid farewell to the one customer in sagging skinny jeans, now departing the store, the line inches forward. His eyes scan upward, silently tallying the remaining heads before he would be first in line. Four in total. Tyler's friend steps forward, prompting Tyler to follow. 

"So, is there anything else exciting for Black Friday?" Tyler inquires, ignoring Sam’s gesture to part ways. 

"We're going to watch Bohemian Rhapsody really soon," Alana’s voice laces with impatience. There’s so much similarity to Sam’s demeanor, though Alana is at least more vocal about her desire to leave, even if it is still indirect.

“What are you guys up to?"  I ask. 

Tyler lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well, it's not as exciting as Bohemian Rhapsody, but we had the best shopping experience at Home Depot before this," he confesses, nudging his friend with his shoulder. Sam nearly stumbles but manages to catch himself, quickly adjusting his glasses in an attempt to play it off. Clearing his throat, he nods in agreement. "We got a new lamp," he adds with a hint of pride.

"Oh, wow," I exclaim, trying to muster up enthusiasm for their mundane purchase. "That's crazy! It probably was more fun than our movie will ever be, so hard to compete with that one." Tyler's friend chuckles. 

“-Then when I heard you were at the Rockaway Mall, I made this guy come with me to stop in," Tyler adds, indicating his friend beside him. 

Alana and I exchange a glance with each other, rolling eyes in disbelief at his efforts to court me. "Or was it just the cum socks that were on the top of mind?" I jab, giving him a light slap on the arm.

Tyler's face flushes slightly at my remark, but he quickly recovers. "You got me," he admits.

Alana fixates instead on the bustling crowd outside the store.  I could tell she was longing to join the throng of busy shoppers, each with their hands laden with colorful bags brimming with holiday gifts.

"Okay, we gotta head out to meet the rest of our family," I reluctantly place the kamasutra book down on a counter. "But it was good running into you, and nice meeting you, Sam.”

"Nice meeting you," Sam lets out a wave. “I’ll see you later.” Tyler assures, nodding in agreement. As we step out of Spencer's and into the bustling mall, I gracefully sink onto a nearby bench, strategically positioned across from a charming Auntie Anne’s pop-up shop. Alana disposes of her empty Starbucks cup in the nearby trashcan before settling beside me, crossing her legs with a sense of ease.

"I don’t like him, Marissa.” 

My heart plunges down to my stomach. "Why not?" I manage to squeak out, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat. Honestly, I thought he nailed that introduction.

"He’s just… too forward. Not a good feeling.”

"But I like forward," I countered, attempting to convey my appreciation for Tyler's boldness.

It was disheartening that Alana, someone I've looked up to since I was little, expressed disapproval—she's been like the sister I never had, and our bond, from Pennsylvania sports games to sharing clothes and discussing boys, has been everything to me. Despite the distance since I moved to Jersey, her opinion means the world, so when she voices her concerns about Tyler, it shakes me.

Looking back on that memory and our connection over the past five years, it feels like a blazing ember—intense, unforgettable, and filled with lessons. While Alana's warning might come from a place of love, it's baffling how she could judge a long-term connection that, for me on Black Friday in 2018, had only spanned three weeks, while she had barely met him for ten minutes. Tyler hadn't even seen my goofy side yet—though that changed when he caught me joking about a kamasutra book—a moment I now look back on with a mix of nostalgia and cringe-worthy embarrassment. The thought of him seeing that side of me felt uncomfortably premature...but I digress.

Despite Alana's reservations, I found myself intrigued by Tyler's confident demeanor and playful charm, acknowledging her disapproval while remaining open to forming my own opinion. What struck me at first was his ability to effortlessly command attention, his words carrying weight and his gestures imbued with a sense of purpose. He embodied the qualities I've always admired in potential partners—confidence, assertiveness, and a hint of humor that added warmth to our interactions.

Tyler's flirtatious banter, though bold, was tempered with a genuine sincerity that made me feel valued and seen. Despite our initial encounter being brief, he made a concerted effort to leave a lasting impression, taking the time to engage with my extended family—a gesture that spoke about his character. As Alana's warnings lingered in the back of my mind, I recognize the potential pitfalls of falling for someone who seemed like Tyler on the surface. I'm grateful that I didn't cut ties back in 2018, as spending five more years getting to know him allowed me to uncover a genuine connection that shattered the elusive "bad boy" stereotype.