I slid out of the sweatpants, placing both items in a basket that was in the corner. The shower knob was a bit tricky, and I felt like I was having a very intimate moment with it. I finally got it to turn on. When I checked the temperature with my hand, the water was already warm from Bill’s shower.
Placing my foot under the stream of water, I stepped in. The water’s warmth reinvigorated me as I stood there for a long while, letting it lull me. Wiping water from my face, I reached for the array of bottles lined up on a shelf. I popped the top on each and smelled them, satisfied with the calming selection of scents.
In washing off the lingering smell of wood smoke, I finally felt clean. I shut the shower off and opened the glass door;reaching for a towel and wrapping myself in the fluff. I tucked my hair into a twist and wrapped another towel around my head.
Making my way back to the mirror, the counter held a series of products lined up. They looked new—some still packaged. There were serums and lotions I’d never tried or even heard of before.
One small pot read ‘nourishing eye cream and de-puffer.’ I was not about to pass that up. I unscrewed the lid and swept it under each eye with a prayer.
Skincare and makeup weren’t things I put much thought into, but I had to admit, this was exciting. I used some serums on my cheeks next, not understanding what they did, but they felt cool against my heat-ravaged skin.
There was a tube of mascara and some blush as well. Fearing the blush because I couldn’t judge the color, I instead reached for the mascara.
Black I could trust.
I’d used mascara before, and brushed it onto my lashes, marveling at the depth it added to my eyes. There was a lip-gloss as well. I assessed it, determining it was clear. I wouldn’t mess that up. I added a small amount to my parched lips.
Standing back to take it all in, already I looked loads better.
I took the towel off my head and searched the drawers for a brush. Finding one still in the package, I unboxed it and ran it through my hair. The hairdryer Bee used on Bill was still out on the counter, plugged in and warm.I dried my hair.
Next, I ventured into the closet. It had a door both from the bathroom and from the room itself, like an L-shaped pass-through. More options than I’d expected filled the shelves.
Overwhelmed, I spotted some mid-tone gray sweats and a dark, almost black sweatshirt. The sweatshirt read FAVORITE DAUGHTER across the front in a collegiate print. I couldn’t help but cringe, finding it darkly funny that the brand’s name was so ironic. There was no world where I was afavorite daughter.
Delving into Bee’s new lingerie haul, I found the bras. It was a stunning collection. They hung like delicate lace soldiers. Picking a few up, I was amazed. These weren’t my usual comfortable cotton bras. They were barely-there, sheer, and intricately designed, unlike anything I’d ever seen.
I had no idea how they’d even work. My breasts were about to resemble trussed-up sausages. Each had a tag showing a different size, which explained the sheer number there were. She’d bought multiple cup sizes for each style, which was smart. I figured a 32C would fit, holding it up to inspect it.
Shedding the towel, I tried one on to check. It felt right, though I’d need a mirror to confirm. But first, the panties.
Glancing back at the shelves, there was a stack of lace above the hanging bras. Thumbing through, they all matched the style of the bras—very tiny, and very see-through. I found my size and tried to compare the shades to the bra I had on, but ultimately figured it didn’t matter.
Pulling those on, I took my stack of sweatpants back to the bathroom. I plopped them onto the counter next to the sink. Facing the bathroom mirror, I observed my body.
Wow.
Seeing myself like this was a revelation. I never knew Icould look so…sexy.Despite the series of cat scratches; the look had transformed me.
Never in my life had I worn anything like this or felt so confident. This must have been how Betty felt every day of her life. How could you not? I adjusted the bra from side to side, making sure the girls were snug and happy.
Pulling the oversized sweatshirt over my head and the sweatpants up my legs, I almost felt a pang of sadness at having to hide myself again. But this wasn’t my home, and I couldn’t exactly wander around naked, not that I ever did. The cloud-like feeling of fresh fleece replaced that sadness, though—it wasso soft.
I hugged my arms to myself. At last, I was feeling at ease.
When I exited the bathroom, it surprised me to see Bill with his nose in a food bowl. Mr. Beans was watching from a few feet back, but I could tell he was considering his approach before Bill ate what looked like a cat sushi treat. He’d loved those as of late.
Looking around, I then spotted a tumbler with dark liquid on my bedside table next to a steaming bowl of what smelled like soup. Bee must have brought it in while I was showering—at least I hoped so, because I hadn’t shut the bathroom door and Nash would have gotten an eyeful.
I stepped toward the proffered gifts on the side table and lifted the tumbler to smell the dark liquid. Whiskey. I took a sip, allowing the medicinal burn of it to ease and numb my still-raw throat.
There was a remote on the bedside, and I found a TV on the wall opposite the bed. I turned on the Hallmark Channel,a constant for me during the fall and winter. It didn’t matter how many times they replayed the same cheesy movie; I loved it every time. The predictability was what I needed right now.
I peeled back the covers and slid in, finding myself buried under what felt like miles of down blankets and mountains of pillows. The covers felt heavy, as if they were weighted. The feeling was heaven to my still-sore muscles.
Reaching for my soup, I began devouring it. I was starving. I’d eaten little at the hospital since eating around people wasn’t something I was comfortable with, nor did I trust the food there. Getting food poisoning right now was not an option; vomiting was no way to introduce yourself.
The soup was a creamy burst of flavor, like a chili, but it wasn’t dark like normal beef chili would be. It was more of a white shade, the chunks of meat tasting like chicken or turkey. It coated my throat and satisfied the pang of hunger. I could tell it was homemade, free of the tinny taste canned soup always had.
