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  Nina exhaled slowly, fidgeting with her hands.

  “Honestly,” she seemed anxious to share. “Because I’m so big, I wear about three tank tops… every day.”

  “Oh, okay.” I paused, hoping I had decent stock upstairs in lingerie. Nina clearly didn’t shop much at all and her uneasiness about the process was obvious.

  “Are you comfortable taking off your shirt so that I can measure you?” I asked cautiously, bearing in mind that I wasn’t in my department and everything about women’s clothing felt off. The ambiance had a specific style to it, albeit hipper and cooler and a little more relaxed, yet not relaxed because there were jeans hanging everywhere, and jeans had the power to really change a woman’s day, for better or for worse, sort of like lingerie. It was just different, I guess.

  “Do you measure around my boobs?” Nina asked, still fidgeting.

  “I measure around your ribcage for the band size and then––,” I stopped mid-sentence, hoping a string of professional words came out. “And then I’ll bring a couple different sizes for the cups, eyeballing it.”

  “Eyeballing it?” she looked confused.

  “Well, them, eyeballing … your breasts.”

  Nina turned to look at herself in the mirror, stopping abruptly at her chest.

  “Let’s do it.” She started to unbutton her shirt, leading me to feel her extreme discomfort, acknowledging that she was on the fence about being fit for a bra at all.

  “Do you prefer that I measure you with your tank top on?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she replied, facing the mirror again, but with her head down.

  Trying to move quickly for the sake of Nina’s time and nervousness, I noted a 36 on the measuring tape and a possible H for the cups.

  “Give me about ten minutes or so to gather a few bras. Once we determine a comfortable cup size, I’ll bring down some more to try.”

  Nina waited as I opened the door, struggling to respond.

  “Alright, thank you. Um, uh, what cup size am I?”

  The vulnerability in her voice forced me to stop and turn around from the hallway.

  “I’m going to grab a couple Hs.” I waited. “And a double-H.”

  “Wow, okay.” Nina’s eyes grew bigger. “Really?”

  Her response, fraught with concern and disappointment, guided me right back up into our stockroom, prompting me to think about Nina’s need for privacy. The place was a mess with bras hanging everywhere, some resting on empty rolling racks, others alone atop file cabinets. I went straight in for our Hs and gathered as many styles as I could find, which wasn’t my initial response, but I had a feeling Nina was downstairs still thinking about her proposed size, and it suddenly seemed better to try more than enough.

  When I returned, she had already changed into a pair of dark denim jeans and a long blazer. Her face was flushed and her skin blotchy, making me wonder how much longer she had in the dressing room. Her other personal shopper, a spunky saleswoman who loved plaid, was on her game, which also made me wonder how close Roxanne was and what I needed to do to make sure our transaction ran smoothly.

  “That looks nice,” I smiled, organizing her bras on the bar.

  “You think?” She asked, hesitant to claim anything.

  “I love fall.” I kept moving around her, unhooking two Hs from a hanger while contemplating which one she should try on first. “Leather jackets, boots, and blue jeans. Can’t beat it.”

  Stripping back down to her tank top, Nina remained silent. I could almost hear her pulse rise as she became more wary of the process, especially as I moved in closer, holding a bra.

  “You mind stepping outside while I put this on?” She asked abruptly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, of course.” I hurried to close the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Pacing the hallway, I took it upon myself to glance in each one of the open rooms, still caught up with the flashy décor and the amount of clothing brought to some of the rooms. Heaps of late summer trends and fall’s upcoming charm sat on floors and hangers and chairs, reminding me that women really do appreciate options.

  I didn’t want to rush Nina, but my time outside of her room was becoming longer—and quieter. She wasn’t moving at all. For a second, I wondered if she was also stuck inside the conversations happening in other fitting rooms, specifically the one directly across from her where a woman felt the urge to release sharp, random profanities and deep grunts. But then I realized, from the sight of her feet planted in the middle of the floor, that she was stuck inside her own room. Motionless.

  “Nina?” I called out softly. “You okay?”

  I signaled for her other sales associate to stay back as she came whippin’ around the corner with another pile of clothes, smile still intact.

  “Yeah, I think so, I …” The door creaked open.

  Nina looked tired and discouraged, saying what I already knew.

  “This doesn’t fit.”

  I eased in closer and pulled on the straps of the bra, hoping to rearrange her breast tissue and give the girls a sustainable lift, but it just didn’t work. Her breasts were too large for the cups, which made her posture difficult to control.

  “I might have a … J,” I tried stalling.

  “What?” Her response plummeted straight into silence.

  “We don’t really carry J cups in the store, but they exist.”

  I stopped myself, thinking about our much needed bra evolution and how far we still had to go.

  “Well,” I paused, “starting to exist.”

  “This is why I don’t shop for bras.” Nina’s response cut straight through whatever pending negotiation we might’ve had coming.

  Although I had no idea what it felt like to carry around breasts that could seldom find comfort, I felt Nina’s deep need for privacy, along with an overwhelming need to make it right.

  “This is why I don’t go up to lingerie. This is so frustrating.”

  I stood listening as her words hit every corner of the room. “Let me see if I have a J upstairs. If not, let’s order one.”

  Nina didn’t respond.

  I quickly moved toward the door to make room for her personal shopper, who in all fairness didn’t quite understand all the layers that go into a woman’s wardrobe, or the mounting tension that began to rob Nina of hope.

  “I’ve got more blouses!” Her tune fell flat.

  I hurried back up to our stockroom, keeping in mind that we never hung whatever Js we came across on the sales floor. The reality of my travels, aside from briefly working in another department, suddenly hit me: I had to go to the stockroom to find her size, because J cups never made it out onto the sales floor. And Nina knew this; she knew her bras had never been hung alongside double-Ds and triple-Ds and Gs. And though it made sense to separate A cups from Gs for organizational purposes, the seclusion still made me rethink our strategies, along with the shame and self-loathing that often crept its way into a woman’s entire being because of it.

  Rifling through a section of Hs, I flipped over every tag, carefully noting the band sizes while hoping for at least one J. When I found the size ring with the letter J carved in white, I noticed two customer-returned bras dangling, a 38 J and a 40 J. They were both tan colored and stitched with a “feminine” bow, but if anyone could work their magic, it was our alterations department. Tightening the bra’s band wasn’t out of the question just yet. Anything was worth a shot at this point. I didn’t want Nina to leave the store feeling completely defeated when it came to her lingerie, nor did Roxanne. So I snatched the 38 J and bolted down the escalator.

  “Nina?” I knocked twice, trying not to peak through the cracks.

  She was quick to welcome me in, wearing one of her three tank tops and another pair of jeans.

  “How are you feeling?” I skipped the small talk.

  “Well,” she stared at the cups of the bra. “Not really sure where to go from here.”<
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  “Let’s try this.” I said firmly. “The band is going to be too big, but I’m thinking we might alter it. I’ll step out—’’

  “It’s fine,” she said jadedly, moving her tank top up and over her head. Her boobs flopped back down as her arms hit her sides. I held onto the thickness of the straps as she moved in closer and lifted her breasts into the cups. With a small push forward, I resituated myself behind her and held on tight to the band so that she could get a look in the mirror.

  “Not bad,” I nodded over her shoulder. “The cups are good.”

  As I continued to pinch the band together with my hands, Nina examined the fit, moving her eyes around every part of the bra, from strap to bow.

  “This has been such a nightmare,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I bet,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound insensitive. “What are you shopping for anyway? You’ve got a lot of clothes in here.” I tried moving the attention off of her breasts.

  She waited to respond, looking around the room at her piles of jackets, jeans, shoes, and shirts.

  “I recently got a new job and, well, need some new clothes.”

  “Alright, congratulations!” I spoke with excitement. “New beginnings.”

  Nina’s head jolted up at me in the mirror as I continued to stand behind her.

  “I don’t get out much. It’s a new beginning for sure.”

  I waited, still holding her bra in place.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have all that you need.” I started to talk slow and deliberately. “I’m happy to order whatever style of J cups you’d like to try. You don’t even need to come in. I’ll deliver them to your house so you can try them on in the comfort of your home and then mail back what doesn’t work. We’ll pay for the postage.”

  Nina thought about my proposition, her arms beginning to relax.

  “Yeah, maybe.” She continued to acknowledge me through the mirror before breaking her pose, letting her breasts fall back into their freedom place. “I can’t keep doing this.”

  I backed away to give Nina space, eyeing her tank top. “Have you been off work for a while?” I asked, really trying to understand what Nina needed without sounding pushy or insincere.

  “Yeah, about a year, maybe more.” She spoke softly. “I had surgery and then sort of lost motivation for life. Fell into a dark place for a long time. And now here I am.”

  “Showing up,” I replied, holding onto every one of her cues.

  “Barely,” she added quietly. “It’s easy to escape, you know?”

  If I understood anything in that moment, it was the act of escaping. I got the gist of wanting to become numb and invisible, a stranger to the world because people and circumstances and truths were so fucking hard. Life had a way of eating us up whole sometimes, dragging us dirty. And Nina didn’t have to say anything for me to comprehend what I presumed to be a year of hell. Vagueness can reveal a lot sometimes.

  “Why don’t you let me mail a couple bras to you,” I said. “Let’s try one in your correct band size.”

  I watched as she began layering each one of her tank tops, overwhelmed with thought.

  “A J?” she scoffed.

  I stood waiting for more cues, wondering how to respond. There was a coldness to Nina that kept me present. I appreciated it because it wasn’t phony or longwinded. She just came in, explaining her needs, while trying her best.

  “Let me get dressed,” she responded for me. “I might take the 38 and see what I can do.”

  “No problem,” I smiled, slowly backing away. “Take your time.”

  As I moved out into the hallway, a woman stopped me from inside her dressing room, trying to cover her naked body with the door.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m desperate,” she said. “And I couldn’t help eavesdropping.” I stood waiting, wondering if I’d ever make it back up to lingerie.

  “Is there any way you can measure me, too?” She opened the door wider, her magenta G-string in full view. I stared at her breasts settled into an old bra and then over to the piles of jeans spread out on the floor. Thinking about Nina and her request to engage away from the lingerie department made me feel apprehensive about having any more bra talk with her still nearby. I didn’t have it in me to assign C cups while another woman struggled to come to terms with her J cups. It just didn’t feel right. Size wasn’t supposed to matter, but it mattered in this moment. And I hated that it mattered because its imprint was dark and punishing, moving through hearts with shards and spikes.

  “Can you meet me upstairs in the lingerie department?” I asked the woman, mentally noting her cup size again. “I’ll grab a couple bras for you to try.”

  Satisfied and eager for my help, she closed her door and scrambled to put her purchases together. I continued to wait for Nina and thought about knocking on her door again to make sure she was okay, but figured she was also gathering her purchases. She’d been at it for a while, which led me to think about my conversation with Roxanne and her comment about “having an important job to do.” I was too quick to dismiss her point, feeling its verity as Nina’s quiet struggles came to light. It was an important job, a hard job, and a lot to make sense of. I’d go from feeling stuck to feeling utterly confused in a matter of seconds, fighting time, and running in circles.

  “Hey, Nina,” I smiled, standing at the counter ready to put in an order. “One 36 J. If you don’t like it, send it back.” Nina weighed her options quietly, making me wonder if I was too insistent again.

  “Do you think this shirt will be okay for the first day?” She asked. “I don’t know what to wear. And the bra—” she hesitated, her face long and tired.

  “I think you’re going to look great in whatever you choose. I say pick something that you will be comfortable in and if it includes a tank top, or three, so be it.”

  Nina looked up from her pile of loose-fitting shirts and baggy sweaters, her daze occupied and difficult to follow.

  “Here,” I helped move things along, sensing Nina’s urgent need to remove herself from the store and anything that had to do with bra shopping. “This is my direct line. Call me anytime, and I’ll mail you something to try.”

  Pulling on the corner of my sloppily written note, she refrained from responding. I knew in that moment that one of my biggest cues had arrived. The tension balling in her hands, and the presence of her personal shopper, led me to back away, knowing that Nina wanted to free herself right back into her own quiet makings. Alone. And allowed to do so.

  Without a moment to breathe, I found my new customer was already waiting for me back at lingerie. Her energy was completely different from Nina’s, and it took me a minute to adjust. Everything was moving so fast, a lot of shifting of gears, and a lot to think about. I rushed to grab a few C cups for the customer to try and then immediately brought her back to a dressing room, trying not to be seen by management—or Roxanne.

  “I grabbed a few 38 and 40 Cs,” I said, moving them across the bar. “I’ll fine-tune as we go.”

  “Wow, that’s it?” She asked laughing. “That was fast!”

  “Well, I figured you’ve been here for a little bit,” I replied with a grin. “I saw all those jeans.”

  She laughed again, and then shrugged her shoulders, letting out a long, thoughtful exhale.

  “Thanks for letting me just jump in. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I sensed her need to keep going.

  “I started seeing this guy and we’re, I don’t know, moving things along. It’s making me all weird inside.”

  “Moving things along,” I repeated with another smile, pleased that she picked up on my signal about staying in the room while she tried on a bra.

  “It’s so hard sometimes!” She tossed aside her shirt before moving her arms through the straps of a black lace push up. “Dating, man. And then all the stuff that comes with it, like feelings and new lingerie and lots of insecurities.”


  I stopped to think about her situation and all its ambiguities, still trying to absorb the changing of emotions—and cup sizes. But I really valued her honesty. She was candid about just being human, and I liked that it showed up so quickly.

  “Insecurities are cruel, aren’t they,” I said, tightening each one of the straps before pulling some of her breast tissue inward. “Especially when you’re dating someone new, or trying to date. I get it.”

  “Right!” her eyes widened, reminding me that I had plans with Chase in less than three hours and was in desperate need of tactics to calm anxiety about being intimate and vulnerable.

  “So you like this guy?” I asked, watching her study the fit in the mirror.

  “I think so.” She took a minute to respond, shifting her gaze to her stomach. “We met online not too long ago, and I’m staying at his place tonight.”

  She moved her eyes back up to her boobs, assessing the fit for a second time.

  “I’m so nervous,” she said, her voice amplified. “And my boobs are so small!”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer to the “small boobs” part, but I could certainly relate to her angst. Although she was far more experienced than I was due to the age difference, I still understood how easy it was to fall into self-doubt while moving through all the awkward stages.

  I threw out an option. “I can get you some lift enhancers.”

  “So they can fall out of my bra when I’m lying on his bed?” she joked before changing her tone. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

  I waited for a second, considering everything she had disclosed in a matter of minutes, recognizing a familiar fear.

  “You look great,” I tried calming her inner voice, knowing I needed the same.

  “A 38 C ain’t great,” she replied, pushing her boobs together. “But it’s what I got.”

  “Did you find some jeans?”

  “Sort of,” she replied, looking down at her shopping bag. “They’ll have to do for now.”

  I grabbed another bra and unhooked it from the hanger, hoping she was okay with less fabric.

  “This one is a little thinner,” I smiled, holding up iridescent white lace.