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Miles takes my shoulders and turns me around so we're eye to eye. His expression gets mock serious. "One more negative word about your boobs, and I'm dragging you into that dressing room and forcing you to appreciate them."
This pang shoots straight to my sex. He's so good at making me forget everything but how much I want him.
"Maybe we should go to another store," I say.
He shakes his head. "Try on the dress."
"You want me to try on clothing?"
He presses his lips against mine. "I want to think about you naked in that tiny dressing room. Go." He steps away and plants on one of the boyfriend chairs just outside the dressing room.
He's not actually my boyfriend, but I guess the chair doesn't know that.
I take the dress in a few sizes and let myself into a fitting room. While I'm changing, I take in my reflection. I can almost see myself through his eyes, physically, at least. Tall and thin doesn't have to mean gawky. It can mean modelesque. And my boobs might be tiny, but they have a nice shape. He certainly seems to like them.
The dress is flattering. When I pull my hair behind my ears, the way my sister wore hers, I can see the resemblance. It's there in my dark features, my nose, the shape of my lips. She's gone from my parents' house, but she's still there in my face. I still look like her. Whatever they do, they can't take that away.
I step out of the dressing room to show off to Miles, but he's talking to someone else. A woman, around my age. She must be a fan. She has that starstruck look in her eyes.
"I love that song No Way in Hell," she says. "Is it really true it's about falling in love?"
Miles shrugs, effortlessly casual. "My lips are sealed."
My heart pounds. She thinks it's about love, too.
It's not just me.
I run through the lyrics in my head. Damn things are the only clue I have to what Miles feels and they're doing me no good.
His eyes turn to me. "I'm buying you that dress."
"That isn't necessary."
"Already picked out some things to go under it."
The fan blushes madly. She stares at us, dumbstruck, like she just caught Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie having sex.
I collect my clothes in the dressing room and make my way back to Miles. I like the dress. I'm staying in it. About time I wear something bright.
The fangirl is still watching us, but I don't care. I sit next to Miles, lean in close, and whisper in his ear.
"Is it about falling in love?" I ask.
He stares straight into my eyes, steel expression giving nothing away. "It's about whatever you want it to be about."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're going to get."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mom's jaw drops when I walk into the restaurant. Recognition flashes on her face. And then it's there—the pain of losing Rosie. I know how that feels. Some mornings I wake up and think of texting her only to realize I can't.
Some nights I toss and turn, desperate to ask my big sister for advice. But I can't. She's gone.
I know it's wrong to push Mom like this. I should let her grieve her own way, in her own time. But I can't take it anymore. I can't keep pretending.
We're all hiding. Miles hides behind his songs. My parents hide being their perfect image.
