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There’s a greater unease hovering in my mind but when I try to catch hold, understand what it means, the idea floats out of reach.
“You can’t afford this dress.” Her face crumples with concern. “Did you steal it?”
“No!” Then a random memory pops up and I grab hold. “James just kept mentioning it and I got worried… It’s still got the tags on. You can return it for something better if you like. I just didn’t want you to have to lie for me.”
“But the cost, Pais. This was too much for James to spend and he’s loaded.”
I press a hand to my abdomen, where my anxiety nests. “M-my uncle,” I stammer, swearing internally because I should have come prepared. “He sent me some money and I… I wanted this dress and didn’t think it was right to buy something when I hadn’t returned…”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a weirdo.”
Her voice is so indulgently good-natured, so much like her old self, that I can’t possibly take offence.
Then she laughs. “Now, I’ll have to ruin the dress myself so he can’t make me wear it again. Wait here,” she points to the middle of the floor, and I obediently step on the imaginary spot. “I’d better try it on.”
“You can wear your other outfit,” I say. “I don’t care.”
“Mm. Something tells me James might.” She rolls the bathroom door across, and I fidget, sticking right where she told me while she changes.
When she walks out, she strikes a dramatic pose. Hip thrust out to the side, one arm raised behind her head.
“You look like the world’s classiest pinup,” I tell her, not even stretching the truth. She looks incredible. “I don’t know what you’ve got against gold because it certainly isn’t holding a grudge against you.”
“I just prefer it on my fingers,” she says, twiddling them suggestively. Then she tugs at the hem. “Looks like an evening of not bending over is on the cards.”
“For both of us.” Though with the flowy skirt of my dress, that’s not such a restriction.
As she walks back through to the bathroom to put on makeup, I notice the dress appears even looser on her than it did on me. I hadn’t noticed it so much, day to day, but she’s really lost weight.
If I thought it was something she wanted for herself, I’d be full of congratulations. Instead, I’m full of concern.
The peacefulness earned during my time with Conner today is gone, leaving me awash with doubt. Should I say something now? Should I have said something much sooner?
I’d told her at the first hint that James was crazy but was I meant to reiterate that at every opportunity? Did I leave everything too late?
“You’re always so beautiful,” I tell her, biting the inside of my cheek so my doubt has somewhere to concentrate its energy. Then, because I don’t want to be maudlin for the entire night out. “You must tell me the name of your surgeon.”
She turns to frown at me. “My surgeon?”
“For the nose job.”
She cracks up, nearly doubling with laughter and abandoning her blushes and eyeshadows to come and give me a knuckle rub on the head. “You dork.”
“Hey, don’t hate me for saying what everyone’s thinking.”
“You’re meant to be stopping those rumours,” she says with an undignified snort. “Not starting them.”
“Ooh,” I drawl. “Now I see where I went wrong.”
Her eyes move down to my feet. “New shoes, too? Let me see.”
I wave at the ground. “They’re down there.”
“Do a walk for me. Ooh”—she snaps her fingers—“not here. Along the corridor. Show these wealthy beeatches how they do it in the hood.”
“I’m from Porirua, not Compton.”
“Same diff.”
