‘Why don’t you try this?’ she suggests. I peek out and see that she looks flushed, happy. ‘I know it might not be the most practical thing, but…’ She shrugs and laughs. ‘It could be fun.’

Fun. I feel like I haven’t had fun in I don’t even know how long. And this is meant to be fun, isn’t it? No matter how we got here.

‘Okay.’ I take the dress, which feels like spun spider webs, thin and silky. ‘Thanks.’

Grace insists on seeing me in the dress, and so, with a self-conscious smile, I sashay out into the store. The dress is ridiculous and sexy – low-cut, swishy around my legs. I’ve never worn anything like it.

‘Oh, wow.’ Grace claps her hands together. ‘You look amazing! One hot mama.’

I laugh, a little bubble of pure happiness rising inside me. I didn’t expect to have fun here, but I am. And Grace seems to be happy too – asking me to try on other stuff, insisting on s

eeing me in each outfit, exclaiming over everything.

‘We’ll take it all,’ she announces at the end, and I boggle. All of it? I’ve tried on a dozen outfits at least. She sees my surprise, and shrugs, smiling. ‘Why not? You look great in everything. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun shopping.’

‘Me, neither,’ I admit. I have had a lot of fun, something I never expected.

Back in the dressing room, when I am taking a top and jeans off, I notice the price tags. One hundred and thirty dollars for the shirt, two hundred for the jeans. It’s like a bucket of ice tipped down my back. How can I buy this stuff, how can I let Grace buy this stuff, when Amy is still going to school with a duct-taped shoe, and Lucy’s elbows are covered in scabs? How?

I sink onto the plush stool in the dressing room, the clothes crumpled around me, my fragile happiness burst like the soap bubble it was. I feel guilty for having fun, and yet helpless too. What can I do, besides accept the clothes as the gift they are? Then Grace pokes her head in, her eyes sparkling.

‘Do you have time for lunch?’

Eight

GRACE

I’m still buzzing slightly as I pay for the clothes, surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed myself. Today was meant to be simply something to tick off my list, but watching Heather come out of her shell, shy and hesitant, and then start to enjoy parading around in the clothes… it was nice, to see that. To know I made it happen. And the truth is I don’t get out with friends much, or even at all. Can I call Heather my friend? In this moment, yes.

‘I hope you enjoy these,’ I say as I take the six gold-corded shopping bags and loop them around my wrists. Heather seems a bit quieter since she came out of the dressing room. ‘What about lunch? There’s a cute little place around the corner that does salads and soups. Why don’t we go there?’ I don’t really have the time, but I’m also weirdly reluctant to have the morning come to an end.

Heather blinks me into focus, smiling uncertainly. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Thanks.’

A few minutes later we’re settled in a plush booth with large menus hiding our faces. While Heather is studying hers with a rather endearing intensity, I scroll through the messages on my phone. Nothing too urgent, thank God. I can spare another half an hour, at least.

‘So,’ I say, once we’ve ordered and the waitress has taken the menus. ‘How are you finding all this?’ I give her a frank look, determined to be honest, maintain the tone we set before. ‘Is it… is it very hard?’

Heather stirs her iced tea slowly, her gaze lowered. ‘I haven’t told my kids yet. Or my friends. Only Kev and my sister know I’m pregnant.’

That surprises me. She looks pregnant, at least to me. ‘You’re going to tell them sometime, though,’ I remark, not quite making it a question. ‘Sometime soon.’

‘I know.’ She smiles wryly. ‘You’d think they’d guess, right? But it’s winter, and when I’m outside, I wear a big coat.’ She sighs and pushes her drink a little bit away. ‘I don’t know, I just don’t want to deal with the fallout, you know? Everyone’s going to have an opinion.’

‘Yes.’ I can only imagine. Although actually, I can’t. Her life, her family, her friends are all outside my realm of experience. And now that I think about it, I haven’t told anyone I’m adopting, so we’re basically in the same boat.

‘But let’s not talk about all that.’ Heather waves a hand. ‘Sometimes I feel like it’s all I think about. This baby. Giving it away.’

Her confession alarms and moves me in equal measures. I picture Heather lying in bed, unable to sleep, wondering what the right thing to do is, and whether she’s strong enough to do it.

‘Okay. Let’s talk about something else.’

Cue silence as we struggle to think of what to say, how to unite our experiences. Heather laughs, the sound bubbling up, and then I’m laughing too, although I’m not sure about what. Maybe just the oddity of the situation, the awkward intimacy of it.

‘Have you seen any good movies?’ I finally ask, and she shakes her head.

‘We never go out.’ A pause as she slurps from her straw. ‘Have you?’

‘Nope.’

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