“Are those my rings, too?” said Immie.
“Yes.” There was no pretending otherwise.
“Why would you wear my clothes?”
Jule stepped out of the dress and hung it back on the hanger. She put on the rest of her own clothes and replaced the rings on the dresser.
“I don’t think you do have a guy waiting at the sculpture garden,” said Immie.
“Think what you want to.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry I wore your clothes, and I won’t do it again. Okay?”
“Okay.” Imogen watched as Jule put the sandals in the closet and laced up her running shoes. “I have a question,” she said as Jule made to walk past her into the hall.
Jule’s face still burned. She didn’t want to talk.
“Don’t walk away,” said Immie. “Answer me one thing, all right?”
“What is it?”
“Are you broke?” Imogen asked.
Yes. No. Yes. Jule hated how vulnerable the question made her feel.
“Dead,” she finally said. “Yeah, I’m dead broke.”
Immie put a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t know.”
And just like that, Jule had the upper hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “I can get a job. I mean, I haven’t faced up to it like I need to.”
“I should have realized.” Immie sat down on the bed. “I knew about not going back to Stanford, and you said you fell out with your aunt, but I didn’t put together how bad it was. Seeing you wear the same things over and over. Never buying groceries. Letting me pay.”
Oh. So she needed to buy groceries. It was a code of behavior Jule hadn’t understood until now. But all she said to Imogen was, “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, Jule. I’m really sorry.” Immie was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I think I’ve been assuming things about your life that I shouldn’t assume. And I didn’t ask you to tell me. I don’t have very broad experience, I guess.”
Jule shrugged. “You’re lucky.”
“Isaac was always telling me I had a narrow perspective. Anyway. Borrow anything you want.”
“I’d feel strange now.”
“Don’t feel strange.” Immie pulled open the closet. It was jammed with clothes. “I have more than I need.”
She walked back to Jule. “Let me fix your hair. You’ve got bobby pins loose.”
Jule’s hair was long. Mostly she wore it pulled back tight. Now she bent her head forward, and Immie pinned up a couple of pieces on the neck that had come loose.
“You should cut it short,” said Immie. “It’d look good on you. Not quite like mine. A little longer in the bangs, I think, and softer around the ears.”
“No.”
“I’ll take you to my guy tomorrow, if you want,” Immie pushed. “My treat.”
Jule shook her head.
