First is a pair of jeans and a blue shirt. I strip out of my other clothes, turning my back to the mirror. I do not often look in reflective surfaces. There is no need. My face and body have not changed. Vanity is not one of my vices.
The jeans slide over my hips and settle low. They are too baggy for my liking. I put the shirt on. It's made of a soft material that makes me think of the shirts Ava wears to bed. It doesn't smell like her, but I hope in time it will. All the clothes carry the smell of the human that wore them last. They all carry the residue of blood.
“Let me see.” On the other side of the curtain, Ava bounces up and down on her feet. I pull open the curtain and she beams.
“Not bad. Turn.” She swirls her finger in a circle. I am puzzled. “Spin around so I can see the whole effect.” I turn around.
“The jeans are a little baggy for you. Unless you want your underwear showing at the top like some badass rapper guy.” I have no idea what she means, but I do not like the bagginess.
“No, I do not.”
Her eyes skip up and down and around my chest, assessing the shirt. “I didn't think so. The shirt's nice though.” She brushes a finger across my chest. “Okay, the shirt is a go, the jeans not so much. Next outfit.” I let her push me back behind the curtain.
By the time Ava is finished with me, I have more than a few shirts. In my arms are no less than ten shirts, six pairs of jeans, one pair of black pants, two jackets and one sweatshirt.
She snaps her fingers as if she's remembered something. “Oh, pjs. You need those, too.”
I assume she means pajamas. What would I need those for? “I don't sleep.”
“I know, but it's weird when we go to bed and you're still wearing jeans. I guess you could wear boxers.” Her face blooms with red and I understand her embarrassment. “You're going to be on your own for that stuff. But I could at least get you some comfy pants.” She adds a pair of soft gray pants that I don't try on to the pile.
“Is that it?” The shop is so small that I wish to get outside. The air is stale and old. I can barely smell Ava with all the other things crowded in the shop.
There are so many hints of other lives, other people who have worn these clothes. The places they went, what they did seeps into the fabric. I'm not sure if I can wash it out. I hope Ava's scent will someday drown it out.
“I think so. Not too bad for a rinky dinky thrift store.” We go to the counter and Ava pays with her card. I want to protest, but she is determined. The woman looks from me to Ava and back, pressing her lips together as she puts my new clothes in a bag. We're about to leave when I see something hiding behind a naked mannequin that is missing one arm. It's a dress. Ava needs a dress. The only dress I have seen her in was Texas', and I hadn't seen it since.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” She turns, her hand on the door, the bag with my things in the other.
I gesture at the shop as a whole. She should get something. “Would you like something?”
“We came here for you.”
“You should get yourself something.” She lets go of the door and looks around. Her shoulders slump. I can tell she's tired.
“I don't know. I'm not really in the mood.” Her earlier buoyancy has deflated somewhat.
I move toward the sparkle I'd seen behind the mannequin. “Would you let me pick something for you?” She smiles and looks at the floor.
“Sure.” She takes the bag from me and sits in a chair outside the changing room. I pull out the item that had caught my eye. It's a green and black dress that would hit her right above the knee. I am not a good judge of women's clothing, but I know Ava, and this would fit her. It would also bring out the color in her eyes.
“This.” I hold it up so she can see it. She gets up and comes to feel the fabric watching it shift in the light.
“Wow, that's really pretty. Where did you find it?”
I point to the mutilated mannequin. “Over there. Will you put it on?”
She flushes before saying, “yeah, okay.” She goes behind the curtain and I hear her slide out of her other clothes and pull the dress on. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before drawing the curtain back.
I cannot speak for a moment, lost in her beauty. Her eyes shine bright, her hair tumbles down her back and the dress hugs her frame as if it was crafted for her alone. She adjusts the straps, a nervous tick.
There is only one thing to say.
“You look lovely.”
This time the smile reaches her eyes and a surge of pleasure runs through her, warm and sweet. “Thanks. It's a bit tighter and shorter than I'm used to wearing.” She pulls at the hem as if trying to make the dress longer. I like the length where it is. Besides, it is longer than the dress she wore the night we danced. I have thought about that night many times since.
“What about the gold dress?” I ask. She rolls her eyes again.
“Don't even get me started. That was all Tex. I wouldn't have worn that if I'd known that was what it looked like ahead of time. She knew that, which was why she knew I'd have no choice but to wear it.” She's shifting and twitching inside the fabric, and I can feel her discomfort.
“What is wrong with it?”
She finally meets my eyes. “I don't know. I just feel kinda exposed.” Crossing her arms, she moves closer to me, as if I'm going to shield her indecency.
“You shouldn't hide your beauty.” I take her arms and pull them out. She resists, but lets me.
“I'm not hiding it. I'm just, keeping it under wraps. Like a secret.”
I have an impulse and take one of her hands, holding it above her head. She giggles and twirls under my arm, striking a pose with one of her feet in the air.
“You should buy it and wear it on the date.”
She finally relaxes. “Yeah, and freeze to death.” I often forget that she gets cold.
“You should still buy it.” I like the dress, but I like it more when it's on her. Her hair look like a river of black ink rolling down her back as she turns to go back into the changing room. “Buy it. For me.” She could get away with anything in that dress.
She looks over her shoulder. “Fine.” One side of her mouth turns up in a smile. Effortless.
While she's putting her normal clothes back on I try smiling a few times in the mirror, butI need Ava to tell me if it looks right.
Chapter Eighteen
Ava
If I'd known wearing a skimpy dress would get Peter to look at me like that, I probably would have done it sooner and more often. True, I had worn one that night when we danced, but I'd forgotten a lot about that night, due to the craziness that ensued afterward. Oh no, I hadn't forgotten the dancing. I couldn't forget that even if I wanted to. And I very much didn't.