DeeDee thanks her in French and let’s her know we’re okay to keep looking on our own, gesturing at Ingrid and I as she says we’ll probably be a while.
“I don’t think there’s anything in this store I would wear,” I say in a low voice once the saleswoman is back at the cash register.
“We just got here! Come on. We have to at least go through the whole place.”
DeeDee pulls out a few options, but I shake my head at all of them. She holds some navy blue thing with lace all over it up to me and squints.
“This could work, but you’d need small boobs. How big are your boobs, anyway? I can’t even tell.”
That’s kind of the point.
“I’m, uh, a C.”
She puts the blue lace back on the shelf. “Then it’s a nope for this.”
After another ten minutes of searching, we do find one black jumpsuit I don’t hate, but I put it back on the rack as soon as I see the price.
“Nope, nope, nope,” I chant in response to DeeDee’s protests as I lead the way out of the store. “I am not paying two hundred dollars for something I won’t wear more than once.”
Ingrid nods in agreement while DeeDee sighs.
“I needsomethingto work with. What kind of clothes do you like?”
“The kind that don’t cost two hundred dollars.”
She huffs and throws her hands up. “The style, Paige! Give me a style! Is there anything you have ever wanted to wear, besides sweatshirts?”
I open my mouth to answer and realize I don’t know what to say. The truth is I don’t know if I evenwantto wear sweatshirts all the time. I just do it. It doesn’t always work, but for the most part, it keeps people from staring at me.
That’s been my goal for so long it’s like an instinct I don’t even think about. I know what attention results in, and I do everything I can to avoid that. It’s the same reason I don’t wear makeup in public; I just decided that wasn’t an option, and I haven’t questioned it since.
DeeDee grips my good shoulder and spreads her other hand out in front of us in a ‘picture this’ gesture. “If you could wear anything in the world,ma belle, what would it be? If nothing else mattered, what would you wear?”
I think about it. I really do. I stare at the mural on the side of the building across the street. It’s a huge fish bowl done with spray paint. There are a few red and orange goldfish swimming around inside.
If I could wear anything, what would I wear?
“I think...um...”
I scan the rest of the block. There’s an Ethiopian restaurant, an Irish pub, and another clothing boutique with old records strung from the ceiling as decorations in the window display. The mannequin’s dresses aren’t sparkly.
“Let’s go in there,” I say before I have some kind of existential fashion crisis right here on the sidewalk.
We get inside the shop, and I feel like way less of a bumbling idiot than I did at the place across the street. They’re playing an Alt-J song on the speakers. The clothing racks are all made out of industrial piping, and I don’t see any bows. The storekeeper smiles and calls out hello before going back to folding shirts at the back of the room.
“This is much better,” Ingrid says as she heads over to look at some denim jackets.
They don’t have much for formalwear, but DeeDee manages to find a section with dresses fancy enough for a wedding. It’s an eclectic store, with only a few of each item. I flip through a bunch of dresses in different styles before stopping on a dark green one edged with black.
“Oooh, pretty!” DeeDee says over my shoulder.
I pull it out, and she takes it from me to hold it up to my body. The tight silhouette looks like it would fit. It’s sleeveless with a high neck, and there’s some sort of twisty thing going on with the fabric at the front that knots at the waist.
“Do you like it?” DeeDee asks.
I find myself nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”
She grins. “I think yourfriendwill like it too.”
Heat creeps up my neck. That’s exactly what I’ve been picturing since my fingers first landed on the fabric: stepping out of a hotel room and feeling Youssef’s eyes trace the lines of my body.
I can admit I want to look good for him, but it’s more than that. I want to look like me. I want tofeellike me. I’ve spent so much of my life playing defence, reacting and adjusting to block every threat. I’ve spent so long thinking even the memory of Youssef was one of those threats.
But what if he wasn’t?
What would I do? Who could I be?
DeeDee pulls the dress away and lays it over her arm.
“Come on.” She steers me over to the cash register. “I think we found your dress.”
