Peter hated the mall. The arcade next to the food court made an awful racket. For whatever reason, the designers decided the best place for the phone booths was right outside of that noise factory. Normally, he would simply wait until he got back to the office to call Stacy, but he wasn't going back to the office. He couldn't bear the drive home without knowing.
They were too young to be having these sorts of problems. Peter was only twenty-five. A guy that young shouldn't be shooting blanks. Sure, Stacy was a little older at twenty-nine, a little late for the first attempt, but still not over the hill by a long mile. The first doctor blamed stress. Young couples sometimes try too hard, the doctor told them. Peter didn't think his level of trying had changed much one way or the other, only the frequency.
Stacy blamed herself, though. She took the doctor's words to heart and cooked up the idea that wanting to be pregnant was keeping her from getting pregnant. She stared daggers at any other pregnant woman she saw. Sometimes Peter worried his wife might snap and simply snatch a baby out of a stroller. Stacy's sister didn't help. Brittany loved to gab about how all her friends were getting married and pregnant overnight, adding to Stacy's stress. Brittany also liked to rib Peter about his ineffective sperm, something no one appreciated.
Peter couldn't think of a more perfect storm for catastrophe than their plans for the evening. Stacy came up with the idea months earlier. She wanted to host a dinner party, inviting Brittany and her fiancé Tom, as well as Peter's sister Wendy and her husband Mike. Peter wagered Stacy had been counting on announcing a new pregnancy at the dinner, but things didn't work out. Now they faced an evening where everyone avoided the loaded question of when the hosts would be having children.
He fished in his pockets for change as he stepped into the slightly sheltered booth. The nickles and dimes rattled as he cradled the phone with his neck and dialed his home number. Stacy answered with a chipper greeting. "Hey hon, it's me."
"Peter? Where are you? Sounds like a roller rink."
"Went to the mall for lunch. About to drive back, but wanted to call and see how it went."
He could somehow hear her mood sour over the phone. He could also imagine her slim figure tensing up to hold the phone rigidly as she prepared her answer. "The test won't come back for a few days. We can talk when you get —"
"Just say it now, Stacy, I can't drive an hour to hear bad news. I'd rather drive an hour with it."
She sighed, "The doctor doesn't think...he said it's most likely not me. It's you, Peter. He wants you to come in to give a sample. After that, he'll be able to give us some better recommendations."
A mad giggle threatened to lurch out of Peter's throat, but he held it back. "Recommendations? Like what, find someone else to fuck you?"
Stacy made a loud clicking sound she always made when frustrated. "Don't be ridiculous. It's small stuff. You should switch to boxers instead of briefs. Says you should exercise more and change some of your diet. You're eating at the mall again. Did you have that tomato paste covered grease they call pizza? You have to stop eating stuff like that."
"I didn't call home to get nagged," he grumbled. Some kid in the arcade hit a bonus, and the machine was going wild. "Look, I'll be home in a bit. Everything still on for tonight?"
"Yes, Wendy called right before you did. They'll be here at six, so you should hurry home. I've got the roast in the oven."
They said their goodbyes, more tersely than usual. Peter slammed the phone down on its receiver, hoping the small act of violence would make him feel better, but it didn't. He glared at the arcade full of kids, only vaguely understanding why he disliked it so much. He composed himself and set off for the opposite end of the mall where he'd parked.
As he walked, he brushed by the usual mall fare. Teenagers in jean jackets and leg warmers, most of them with headphones on despite being with friends. Peter didn't understand exactly what drew them to the malls, but they came in droves, almost crowding out everyone else. The others, like him, moved around on the edges of the walkways. Mothers with a trail of hooligan kids behind them. Businesswomen out shopping during their breaks wearing pantsuits with shoulderpads. Other men in loose slacks and polos taking long strides as they whiled away the day. Peter didn't like knowing he was part of the crowd, but where else could he get a late lunch and kill time?
Passing the department stores made him consider popping in to buy boxers. It would be a good show of faith to Stacy if he got home with those under his arm. Maybe he could even swing by the lingerie aisle. He'd read in one of the magazines at the doctor's office that keeping things sexy helped increase the chance of conception. Stacy somehow missed that particular bit of advice in all her research and doctor's visits. She approached sex like Peter prepared end of quarter reports.
In his idle wandering, Peter took a wrong turn, almost walking into a Radioshack. He doubled back, but as he did, he noticed a store with no name above it. A sign hanging in the window read, "A shop with solutions for anyone who can find them or it." He didn't see anyone inside. Strangely all the other mallrats kept walking by the store as if it weren't there, which seemed particularly impressive since standing next to the odd sign was a full sized suit of medieval plate armor. It shined with the reflection of the overhead skylight, yet not one person near the store looked at it. They all looked pointedly away from it. Curious, Peter went inside.
The shelves stacked close together, filled with a strange assortment of items. At first, Peter thought it was a novelty shop, selling joke items and gifts. As he looked around, he considered the items to be more of a real and valuable nature than he initially thought. The suit of armor, for example, did not seem fake in the slightest. One wall had a set of three paintings, each depicting the same ship in different stages of disrepair. Whenever Peter looked at one, he thought he saw the other two change slightly, coming to life with lights and people on the deck. As soon as he looked, though, he saw nothing but the static oil on canvas. Elsewhere in the shop, he found a collection of crystal globes. Some of them flickered with strange internal light. One of them somehow played a movie, showing a scene eerily familiar to the night of Peter's nineteenth Halloween, when he lost his virginity to a girl named Kelly Lee. As he stared into the crystal, believing if he looked hard enough he would see himself, a woman appeared on the other side of the aisle.
"Can I help you?" she asked. She was tall and thin, dressed in a waistcoat overlaid on top of a black, lace skirt which stopped above the knee. Her knobbly pale skin showed before a pair of black and white striped socks led down to a pair of witch heeled boots. She had stringy hair tied into a side ponytail. Her black painted lips parted in a wicked smile as she peered at him with strangely dark eyes.
"Just browsing," Peter said, hoping the woman would leave him alone.
