“Sure do, mon petit chou,” Cliff says with a warm chuckle. I smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. Solène doesn't know about my past with Gill—our romantic past that is. As far as she's concerned, Gill's our distant 'brother' and that's that. At least he remembers to send Solène presents on her … birthday.
“So whatever he did to you, you'll just have to forgive and forget,” she tells me with the confidence of a nine year old and the wisdom of someone much, much older. If only things were that simple … “Anyway, holding grudges is bad for the skin.” Solène pats her pale, pink cheeks and gives me such a serious look that I can't help but laugh.
“I don't think I've ever heard that one before. Where'd you learn that?”
“Vogue Paris,” she states with a flourish of her hand. Nine years old and she's already into fashion magazines. I think Cliff and I might be in trouble.
“And who said you could read that?” my stepfather asks, giving Solène a look of mock seriousness. I feel my lips curling into a smile. Life might be uncertain right now, and Gill might be an asshole, but it's not all bad. Even in darkness, there is light. I am a happy person and I deserve that happiness.
“Let's just say,” Solène says, giving me a theatrical wink. “That somebody slipped it in under my bedroom door.” I wink back at her and we both end up laughing. “Now, I'd dare say, all you need is a new pair of shoes and we can be on our way. Those flip-flops are absolutely not en vogue.”
“Thanks for taking me out,” I tell Aveline as she opens the door to a shop in Belltown, Seattle's most densely populated neighborhood and home to some seriously chic shopping. It's no Paris, but then again, I just left the fashion capital of the world for … rain, coffee, and hipsters. I smile anyway because hey, I happen to like rain, coffee, and hipsters. Well, okay, I happen to like rain and coffee at least. “I know it doesn't seem like much, but having something else to wear besides this,” I gesture at myself, at my plastic flip-flops and the blister between my toes where the strap won't seem to stop rubbing, “will make me feel more like a person again.”
Aveline shrugs as she lets me in behind her and watches as I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the lilac scented air in the shop. A few well-placed candles spread the sweet smell around the shop, letting it mix with the crisp bite of cotton and denim. God, I really am going to miss my closet back home. I wouldn't call myself a fashionista or anything, but I do like to keep up with trends. Besides, what girl doesn't like to dress up? It's like Barbies for grown ups.
“I'm not really into fashion,” Aveline says, a navy hoodie tossed on over her tank top. I think she's got a gun hidden away in there somewhere, but I'm not about to ask. “I'm just psyched we snagged that parking space.” She jerks her thumb out the window and then glances around at the tables of perfectly folded clothes. “Take your time, pick out whatever you want. It's all on your brother, so I don't care how much you spend. He said he didn't either.”
I smile tightly, but I don't say anything, instead trying to distract myself with a rack of designer tops.
It doesn't work.
I glance back at Aveline, at her perfect makeup and her casual clothes, her sharp eyes taking in the entire store with a single sweep. She might have a messy truck, but she's a lot more similar to Gill than I ever was. I have a habit of looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Why not try to see the best in everything, in everyone? The world is already cruel enough; I'd rather look for beauty than trouble.
“You gonna try all of that on?” Aveline asks, trailing me as I start to load up my arms with clothes. Everything I had, everything I was, it all got left in Paris. If I have to start over, I'm at least going to do it in style. If a nine year old can call me out on my fashion faux pas, then I know I'm in serious trouble.
“Of course,” I say, handing my growing stack over to an employee when she asks if I'd like her to get a dressing room ready for me. “Don't you try on clothes before you buy them?”
“Sugar, I buy my shit from Le Target,” Aveline laughs, pronouncing the superstore's name as Tar-jay and shaking her ruby red hair out around her shoulders. “I don't have time to shop for stuff like this. Besides,” Aveline begins, lifting up a Herve Leger dress in a metallic rose gold color, “can you imagine me trying to do my job in this? I mean, I know I'm more on the 'paperwork' end of things, but I like to be ready.” She puts the dress back on the rack and watches as I run my fingers across sleeves, hems, straps. I want to dress her up so bad it hurts. Aveline has a perfect figure, sharp green eyes, and hair the color of cherries. Anything I'd pick out would look great on her. We're strangers though, so I don't feel comfortable asking.