“Same thing.” She shrugged and held up two dresses and a scrap of fabric that didn’t qualify as clothing by any standard. “Now be helpful. We have options to assess.”
“I hate this one,” I said, pinching the red dress she’d bullied me into buying four years ago. “It itches. And it shows everything.” I grimaced. “And not in a good way.”
The next option was a sheer black slip better suited for a private audience.
I gave her a flat stare. “That’s not clothing.”
“It would be for me.”
But you’re not her,the voice cut through.
“That’s a problem for a different day,” I commented dryly. “Why is that even in my closet?”
“Maybe the universe is telling you something.”
“The universe can mind its business.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty of fun,” I countered, pointing at the slip like it was Exhibit A. “I just prefer things that cover skin.”
Candace huffed but lifted the third dress—a black, silk-draped piece that cinched at the waist. Elegant. Understated. Actually wearable.
My fingertips brushed the expensive fabric. I’d bought it the year Elion finally found its footing. The memory flickered then dimmed.
“This one works.”
“It’s the only one,” she said, smug. “The others were red herrings.”
A laugh slipped out as I blotted my curls dry. Each spiral bounced back into place like it had a mind of its own.
“How are things with Garrett?” I asked, shaping one curl around my finger.
She perched on the counter, legs swinging. “Better, I guess.”
“You guess?” The same answer she’d given every time she went back to him.
“He agreed to therapy. Made the appointment and everything.”
“That’s good,” I said, surprised. “When do you go?”
Her face fell. “It was supposed to be yesterday. He said something came up at work.”
Work. Garrett hadn’t held a real job in years. First an influencer, then a philanthropist—with her money—then a freelance visionary and self-proclaimed marketing guru.
“I’m sorry.” I kept my tone light. “Are you rescheduling?”
“He wants to wait until things settle down.”
“Sure,” I said plugging in the diffuser. “And what’s he doing now?”
She shrugged. “Something in finance.”
I didn’t bother responding. The diffuser drowned out the need, bathing the room in coconut and vanilla. Ten minutes later, my curls were glossy and full.
Candace lifted the black dress from the hanger. I took it and slipped into the closet.
When I stepped out, her face lit up.
