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Everly sniggered. The sound invited a glare for Logan.
She shrugged at him helplessly. She hadn’tmeantto hit him with the shirt, but it was amusing. At least to normal people who weren’t vying for the title of the world’s top curmudgeon.
“I think we’ve got plenty of closet shots,” he grumbled.
“Just one more thing.” Everly balled up the hoodie and heaved it out the open window behind her bed. She didn’t want that thing’s presence in her house. Too many bad fashion vibes. Its sleeves spread like wings against the wind, catching air for a second before it landed in a nearby tree. The brittle autumn leaves burst around it in a plume of dust. Maybe the neighborhood squirrels would make a nest out of it.
Sharing a satisfied smile with Jazzy, Everly returned to her place on the bed. Part of her wanted to do that with her entire wardrobe. Sacrifice it to the wildlife and start over, even if it left her with nothing but a bath towel to wear to work for the next three weeks.
“Maybe designers think that these weird patterns and shapes will hide the size of our bodies?” Everly shrugged.
“I guess ugly will do that. But I hate that way of thinking. Nothing we put on ourselves is going to change the body we have. A structured jacket or multiple layers is not going to turn this”—Jazzy gestured at her soft midsection and thick thighs—“into an hourglass shape. I’m only going to be miserable because jackets are basically prison cells for your arms.”
“Oh my god,right?” Coats were the worst. “It’s like, do you want a potato sack that fits your arms, or a properly fitted jacket that you can’tmove in? There’s no compromise.” Everly was considering buying a poncho this winter, so she could wear a layer over her sweaters without feeling like she couldn’t raise her arms past her waist.
“You know our motto. Fashion is supposed to be fun and make us feel good.” Jazzy swept another item off a hanger and shook it out in front of Everly. This one was a spandex tunic tank top with a satin sheen. “Okay, please tell me this thing fits neither of those criteria for you.”
Everly barked out a laugh. “Why do I have that? It looks like it belongs on a figure skater.”
Jazzy glanced down at it. “You’re right.” Draping it over her body, she danced around the room, moving her arms like she was gliding over ice. “How do I look?”
“Team USA better make room for you in the next Olympics.”
Everly’s cheeks hurt from smiling. It was so much easier to think about clothes with someone who understood. If she’d tried to make fun of these outfits with Becca, her best friend would have insisted Everly looked good in all of it. Because that was the only way she knew how to deal with their size difference. Instead of acknowledging that Everly was fat, Becca tried to deny it out of existence.
But Everly didn’t have that luxury. And with Jazzy she didn’t have to try. The same way it had been with Grandma Helen. The weight it lifted off her chest left her almost light-headed.
As Jazzy wandered off to gather the mess of dresses from the top of the bureau, Everly tried to tidy up the bed. Her underwear—mostly cotton hipster briefs in neutral shades—was strewn across the comforter and buried beneath her well-worn beige bras. Just out there in the open. She glanced up, horror tightening her chest when she saw Logan’s camera pan over the room.
If there was ever any question of whether she possessed an iota of sexiness, tonight had cleared that right up.
As soon as she thought no one was looking, she stole a handful of panties and scooted them under the sheets.
Jazzy laughed. “I think we’re long past bashful, hon.” She pointed to the chaos. It would take Everly hours to put the room back together. Her drawers and closet had been organized by style, season, and frequency of use, a system she’d honed through meticulous trial and error over the past few years.
Everly groaned. “I don’t understand what my underwear has to do with making me over.”
Jazzy sat down beside her. Her signature “wardrobe day” red handkerchief was tying back her tight black curls, and she wore black yoga pants and a high-necked trapeze tank in a muted tangerine that looked gorgeous against her deep brown skin. Even this casual, she was more put together than Everly would be in a ball gown.
“What we wear for only a few people to see says more about us than the costumes we put on for the rest of the world.” Jazzy swept a hand toward the prints framed above Everly’s dresser. They were reimagined covers she’d made of her favorite books:Alice in Wonderland,with a shattered tea set before a mirror that reflected back the same tea set, whole. A top hat hanging from the mirror’s edge.A Tale of Two Cities,with an illustrated guillotine, empty except for a scarf fluttering in the wind. A cup of hot cocoa set before a snowcapped mountain for her favorite cozy queer romance. And forWuthering Heights,Catherine Earnshaw with a round body like Everly’s, staring longingly at Heathcliff as rain battered them atop a grassy cliff.
“You’re an artist,” Jazzy said. “It’s clear from your décor that you love color and print. But all I see here,” she nodded to the detritus of undergarments behind them, “is someone who wants to blend in. Disappear.”
Everly couldn’t meet Jazzy’s stare. She glanced toward the doorway, like she could somehow disappear through it without having to move.
“And then these…” Jazzy grabbed one of her cotton swing dresses. “How many do you have? Seven?”
“They’re comfortable.” Plus, they always seemed to be on sale.
Jazzy eyed her warily. “And having one or two as staples is fine. But this is like a uniform.” She let the dress fall to the floor, where it blended into the mountain of dark fabrics. “It’s like you didn’t want to think about getting dressed.”
Everly had to grip her comforter in her fists to keep from folding her arms over her chest. It was as if Jazzy had stripped her naked, leaving her torn open and exposed. “I don’t.”
Jazzy cocked her head. “Why not?”
Everly cleared her throat. She spent a good three minutes picking at some invisible lint on her leggings. “Putting thought into what I wear feels like inviting attention. I don’t really want that.” Not anymore. She already struggled with so many ways that she felt like too much. She didn’t need her clothing to add to it.
Jazzy stood and ducked into the living room. When she returned, she was holding the multi-photo frame that hung in the entryway. It was full of pictures of Everly from the end of high school and early college. Setting it in her lap, Jazzy said, “You weren’t always that way.” She tapped her nail at the center picture.
