Rummaging through my dresser, I tossed t-shirts at him, but he vetoed every one of my choices. Either they were too small, too pink, or too form fitting. Finally I found a grey regular cut t-shirt in a size large and flung it over to him.
“This is it, Bud. Take it or leave it.”
He held it up, grimacing when the beam from the flashlight revealed the slogan on the front. Team Edward. “Oh my god.”
“What?” I asked, feigning innocence. “I got it on opening night.”
“And you didn’t pick a Team Jacob shirt? What’s wrong with you? Werewolves beat vampires any day of the week.”
I held my hand up to stop the blasphemy. “No. Just stop. Team Edward is where it’s at. End of story.”
Bodhi sighed before wadding up the t-shirt and tucking it under his arm. “I’m not going to like these sweatpants you speak of, am I?”
“Probably not.”
After considerable effort, I found a pair of sweatpants in a larger size and walked them over to him.
He didn’t even wait for the spotlight before he complained, “These are yoga leggings, not sweatpants.”
“Same thing.”
“No, so incrediblynotthe same thing.”
Grinning mischievously, I shoved a pair of flowered panties into his hand. “For you.”
Bodhi barked out a laugh and tossed them back in my face before disappearing into the bathroom with his Team Edward t-shirt and a very flattering pair of butt enhancing yoga pants.
“So, is that a ‘no’ on the panties?” I called out.
Silence was the only response.
* * *
Bodhi emerged from the shower a new man. Not only did he appear relieved to have the ash and soot gone, but the decontamination proceedings had given him a surprisingly cheery disposition. Instead of sulking about in his unflattering post-catastrophe outfit, Bodhi fully embraced it, modeling his new body positive wardrobe on the makeshift catwalk he’d created smack dab in the middle of my tiny living space. Careful to keep my voice to acceptable landlady-levels, I whisper-hooted my approval as he whirled around in his skin-tight sweatpants.
“Universe,” I lifted my arms to the heavens. “Hold me back.”
You would have thought he was swinging from a stripper pole the way I was carrying on. If I’d had cash readily available, it would have already been tucked inside his waistband.
After the show, Bodhi collapsed onto a kitchen chair, a wide smile splashed across his face.
“You seem to be feeling better,” I said, fanning myself for effect.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Me? No. I always perk up when hot guys strut their stuff in my living room wearing Twilight memorabilia.”
“How often does that happen?”
“You know, not as often as I’d like.”
We smiled, a comfortable camaraderie settling between us.
“Damn, I feel good.” Bodhi slapped his hand on the table. “Like I can take on the world.”
“Don’t you take on the world on a daily basis?”
“I wish.”
