Dutifully, May struggled into the pants, which were odd and tight but which, she had to admit, made her thighs look kind of impressive.
“Those are amazing,” Celestine said with approval.
“I have anaconda thighs.” May gazed at herself in the pants. Strangely, she felt neither approval or repugnance, but something in between. “I look like I could squeeze a man to death with them.”
“I know. Like some kind of marvelous Amazon warrior.”
“Terrifying.”
“Sexy.”
“You think?”
A brusque nod. “I do. I’m getting more styles. You stand there looking at yourself in those pants for a moment, and try to see yourself as I do.”
May stood as instructed. After a few seconds, she got bored at gazing directly at her hips. She looked at herself as a whole person, head to toe.
The longer she stared, the more alien her own image became.
That wasn’t her in the mirror. Not May Fredericks from Manitowoc, Wisconsin, who sometimes bought the same top in three different colors to avoid having to think about it too much. It wasn’t Dan’s May, plain and steady.
This was a tall stranger whose honey-blond hair had dried wavy and windblown. An unknown woman in snakeskin pants who looked like she might eat you up and spit out your bones if you crossed her.
This was the woman who’d exacted vengeance against Dan for wrecking what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful moments of her life.
A powerful, impolite, passionate woman.
And the weird thing was, May recognized her.
She was the person May had always known she was, deep down. The person no one had ever encouraged her to be.
But in New York, she could be whoever she liked. If she wanted to leave the store wearing faux-snakeskin pants, no one back home would ever find out, and New York wouldn’t bat an eye.
Celestine returned with a rolling rack of pants, and then her friend Leon brought some shoes to look at. Another salesperson, named Mona, arrived with tops. It all became kind of a blur, and somehow fun, having all these people fuss over her while calling jeans “denim” and tossing around words like peplum and marled. Mona handed her a loose-fitting sweater with wide stripes, and May said, “I can’t wear stripes.”
“Honey, you can wear anything you want.”
Thinking of herself in the snakeskin pants, May whispered the words beneath her breath as she walked back into the changing room holding the striped sweater. You can wear anything you want.
Of course she could. She’d kn
own that. But she’d never really felt it. Every time she bought clothes, she listened to the nagging voices inside her head that said, No, not that. God, no. Not for you. Sometimes, she found a shirt that was so beautiful she wanted to cry, and she bought it for Allie.
May pulled the sweater on. She poked her head through the cowl neck and brushed her hair out of her face. Her loud bark of laughter echoed through the changing room. The sweater had dolman sleeves, and it looked awful.
But so what? It was just a sweater. Not commentary on her value as a human being.
Mona found her another one that was great—a soft, expensive, caramel-colored cardigan with a weird asymmetrical cut that May never would have glanced at twice if she’d been the one flipping through the rack. The front panels hung down almost to her knees, but she liked the way it draped over her body. She was forever buying sweaters that were too short, riding up toward her waist. This one knew where it was supposed to lie.
She tried it on with jeans that were tight enough to show off her hamstrings, which she’d never really noticed before. They looked good in the jeans. Taut and strong.
“You know what I want to wear with these?” she mused. Celestine looked up from putting shoes back in the boxes Leon had brought her. “Cowboy boots.”
Leon found her some. Mona picked her out a new purse on clearance.
Half an hour later, May walked out of the store in her new boots and her tight jeans, striding so that the long front panels of her sweater swirled around her legs.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN