The Stand-In: Waiting in Line for Her "Perfect" Gift

My name is Liam, and I am a professional placeholder.

It’s 4:00 AM in London, and I’ve been camping on a sidewalk in the freezing rain for twelve hours. Why? Because the new limited-edition designer sneakers drop at 8:00 AM, and Chloe "has to have them." She said they’re the only thing that will make her feel like herself again after a bad breakup.

My joints are stiff, and I’ve lost feeling in my toes. I justified the misery by imagining the look on her face when I hand her the box. I over-analyzed the heart emoji she sent when I told her I’d arrived at the queue. To me, it was a promise.

When the doors finally opened, I used my last bit of savings to buy the shoes. I drove straight to her flat, smelling like rain and exhaustion.

"Oh my god, Liam! You actually got them!" she squealed, hugging the box. I waited for the invitation in, for the "thank you" that meant something. Instead, she checked her watch. "Listen, I have to run. Tom—you remember Tom?—he’s picking me up. He’s going to a sneaker-con and I want to wear these to impress him. You're a literal life-saver!"

I watched her run to a waiting car, the sneakers I froze for tucked under her arm. She was wearing them for someone else. I walked to the bus stop, my wallet empty and my body breaking, already wondering if she’d need the matching jacket when it drops next month.