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A pair of jeans with holes in both knees. I consider them. No. Jamie has nicer legs than that.

I work my way through the closet, taking what I like and leaving what I don’t.

His dresser is easier. I take all the underwear. All the socks. The sleep clothes are disappointing. I already bought better ones.

There are two empty suitcases on the top shelf of his closet. That makes things easier. I open the larger one on the bed and transfer everything from my bags.

The smaller one can hold his shoes. I don’t take all of them. He owns a pair of brown loafers that I don’t understand. They stay.

By the time I’m finished, the closet looks better. There are gaps between the hangers now. Room to see what should’ve been thrown away years ago.

His vanity is much better. The top is crowded, but everything has a place. Brushes in one cup. Eyeliners in another. Palettes stacked by size. His nail polish takes up an entire shelf beside the mirror.

I sit in his chair. This is where he makes himself pretty. I open the first drawer. More makeup. Most of it stays.

I already bought better versions of nearly everything, but there are things here he’s used enough that the labels have worn away. Those go in the suitcase.

A lipstick near the back is almost gone. Dark plum. I twist it up and recognize the color immediately.

He wore this the first Thursday I followed him home. Keep.

There are false lashes in the next drawer, little pots of glitter, nail files, cotton swabs, and three kinds of makeup remover.

Jamie takes very good care of himself.

Above the mirror is a small wooden plaque.

YOU ARE FUCKING FABULOUS.

I stand and take it off the wall. There’s a clean rectangle in the dust behind it. I’ll put it above his new vanity. I put the plaque in the suitcase, then check the last drawer. Hair clips. Pins. Elastics. Ribbons. I take all of them.

Jamie has a lot of hair. He’ll need them.

I finish with the vanity and look around the bedroom again.

There’s a narrow bookshelf beside the window. Most of it is records and books. I don’t have room for all of them today. Something yellow sits on the top shelf.

I go closer. It’s a duck. Or it used to be. Most of the yellow has faded to a dirty cream. One eye sits higher than the other, and the fabric over its stomach has gone thin from being handled. Somebody sewed one wing back on with green thread.

I pick it up. The stuffing has settled strangely inside. Its neck flops when I turn it over. Ugly little thing. I like him.

There’s a book underneath where he was sitting.

The Ugly Duckling.

The cover is worn soft at the corners. I open it and find Jamie’s name written inside in uneven block letters. Except it isn’t Jamie.

ELLIOT

I take a pen from his vanity and draw one neat line through the name.

Beneath it, I write JAMIE.

Better.

I put the book in the suitcase, then settle the duck on top where he won’t get crushed.

Jamie can keep a thing that comforts him, as long as the comfort lives in my house.