15. Thora

CHAPTER 15

THORA

Odin does not, in fact, fit into the dressing room of the thrift store. It’s more of a shower stall, honestly, but Odin barely fits in the store at all. He’s just such a huge human being, made bigger with his cast and scooter.

I walk up and down the aisles, searching for “professional research fellow vibe” pieces, and Odin creaks behind me, grumbling that there’s no room for him. A dress catches my eye, and I lean past my companion. Spotting the original price tag on the shiny material, I gasp, startling Odin, who furrows his brow. “What?”

“It’s new with tags. Oh! And it’s my size. I have to try it on immediately.” I shoulder past him toward the dressing room, and I hear him following. I wouldn’t even know what it meant to find an Alice + Olivia dress in a Pittsburgh second-hand store except for Fern, and I have been daydreaming over an issue of Vogue someone left at the bar.

The polo sweater dress has white trim and fancy houndstooth buttons with a really fun spread collar. I’m not even sure what the black fabric is, but the whole thing slides on like it was made with me in mind. I am almost totally flat-chested with no hips to speak of, but as I tug the dress over my head and smooth it along my body, I want to cry because I look amazing. Somehow, this form-fitting dress makes my form look more feminine. I purr as I run my hands along my hips, staring into the tiny mirror in the dim light.

The sound must trigger Odin’s impatience because he snaps the curtain open and then freezes when he sees me in the dress. I watch him taking me in, enjoying the obvious lust in his eyes as he stares at me in the $500 dress I’m about to buy for $6.99. His throat works as he swallows before saying, “You’re getting that, right?” I nod, smiling. I start to imagine wearing it for him, which is stupid because he’s my research partner, whom I fooled around with briefly. There will be no wearing things for or with him. Odin grunts. “I have to get out of here. I’ll meet you outside in what? Half an hour?”

“Do you need me to go? I can take the car to the dealership as soon as I pay for this?—”

He shakes his head. “I told you I’m buying you that outfit. I just need to…” He rubs at the back of his neck and gestures with the fingers gripping his scooter handle. “I don’t fit in here.” Odin reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wallet, and presses a twenty into my hand. “Half an hour?”

I nod as I watch him go and then work quickly to find a few more new-to-me outfits for my new life abroad. When I’m wearing these things, I don’t look like someone whose father orders her to get him a shitty beer.

These are the clothes of a person with regulated emotions and enough of a cushion to approach an emergency with calm. I can’t afford these clothes brand new, but I can sneak into them second-hand. I can reuse someone’s discard, giving it a second life. I should have given Odin the money back, but something tells me he’d be weird about it, so I splurge a little on a pair of flats that go perfectly with the dress and slacks and a boat-neck top I imagine I’ll wear while I walk along the Isis river in Oxford.

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