Chapter 6 The Mirror They Shared
Audrey looked at their reflections before she moved.
Nolan stood in the wine-colored dress with one hand still wrapped around the lipstick. Audrey remained a step behind him, near enough to enter the mirror but not yet close enough to share it.
“With me beside you,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
The answer sounded more certain the second time.
Audrey approached the mirror from the left.
She did not position herself behind Nolan. She did not place her hands on his shoulders or arrange him inside the reflection. She simply stood next to him, leaving several inches between the sleeve of his dress and the gray wool of her sweater.
The mirror had not been designed for two people.
It was tall and narrow, framed in dark wood, angled slightly toward the bathroom door. Nolan could see all of himself if he stepped back, but Audrey’s right shoulder disappeared beyond the edge.
He adjusted his position.
Audrey moved with him.
The frame cut off part of her arm.
Nolan frowned.
“What?”
“The angle is wrong.”
Audrey studied the mirror.
“You are entirely visible.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Understanding reached her slowly.
“You want both of us in it.”
“Yes.”
The admission felt more vulnerable than asking her to help with the dress.
Audrey looked at the mirror’s heavy base.
“It can be moved.”
“Can it?”
“Yes. It should not be, but it can.”
“Why shouldn’t it?”
“Because I paid someone to place it where the morning light is flattering.”
Nolan glanced toward the small bathroom window.
“It is nine at night.”
“Then the mirror has no defense.”
A brief smile passed between them.
Audrey reached for one side of the frame.
Nolan started to help.
The skirt shifted around his legs as he bent, and the unfamiliar movement made him stop.
Audrey noticed.
“Stay there.”
“I can move a mirror.”
“I know.”
“You think I’ll trip.”
“I think the base is heavier than it looks, and your shoes are not designed for furniture relocation.”
“They’re low.”
“They are still shoes you have worn outside your apartment exactly once.”
Nolan looked at her sharply.
Audrey’s expression changed.
“That was a guess.”
“A good one.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked down at the black heels.
“They’ve never been outside.”
Audrey said nothing.
Nolan waited for embarrassment to follow the admission.
Instead, he felt something else.
Relief, perhaps.
One more fact no longer required concealment.
“Then this is their first trip,” Audrey said.
“To your bathroom.”
“It is an exclusive venue.”
Nolan looked at the mirror before she could see him smile.
Audrey turned the frame carefully, shifting it several inches away from the wall. The base made a low sound against the tile.
She angled it toward the center of the room.
“There.”
Nolan stepped beside her.
Now the reflection held them both.
The difference was immediate.
Alone, the dress had seemed like an object Nolan was attempting to justify. Beside Audrey, it became part of a larger image.
Her gray sweater.
His wine-colored sleeves.
Her bare feet.
His black heels.
The contrast made the scene more real, not less.
Nolan looked first at the dress.
The shoulder Audrey had adjusted still sat fractionally higher on the left. The sash drew his waist inward enough to create shape without disguising his body. The long sleeves narrowed toward the cuffs, softening the line from shoulder to wrist.
The color continued to surprise him.
He had avoided red for years.
Red announced itself.
Even the darker shades carried an expectation of confidence Nolan had never trusted himself to perform.
The wine color did not ask permission.
Audrey had been right about that.
He disliked that she had been right.
He liked the dress anyway.
His gaze moved upward.
His face remained unchanged.
No foundation. No definition at the eyes. No lipstick.
The dress made the absence more obvious.
His jaw seemed heavier above the crossed neckline. His skin looked pale under the bathroom light. His hair was too ordinary, brushed into the same controlled shape he wore to work.
The reflection had reached the border between possibility and failure.
Nolan lifted one hand toward his face.
Audrey did not speak.
“My shoulders are wrong,” he said.
“They are not wrong.”
“They’re too wide.”
“For what?”
“The dress.”
Audrey looked at the reflection.
“The dress fits your shoulders.”
“You said it needed alteration.”
“Minor alteration.”
“That means it doesn’t fit.”
“It means clothing is manufactured for approximate bodies.”
Nolan lowered his hand.
“The left side pulls.”
“Yes.”
“My jaw is too heavy.”
Audrey’s eyes shifted toward his face.
“For what?”
He looked at her in the mirror.
“You know what.”
“I know what I think you mean.”
“Then answer.”
Audrey considered.
“Your jaw is stronger than mine.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be.”
Nolan’s attention returned to himself.
His hands looked too large against the waist of the dress. He placed them at his sides.
That was worse.
He folded one over the other.
The pose looked artificial.
Audrey watched without correcting him.
“My hands,” he said.
“What about them?”
“They don’t fit.”
“With the dress?”
“With any of this.”
Audrey looked down at his hands, then at her own.
“Mine are shorter.”
“This is becoming a detailed inventory of the obvious.”
“You asked me not to offer false reassurance.”
“I didn’t ask you to confirm everything.”
“I am not confirming it.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to explain what fitting means.”
Nolan stared at her reflection.
She remained calm, but not detached.
Her gaze moved over him with careful attention.
Not inspection.
Something closer to participation.
“I know what I look like,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I know what women look like.”
“Yes.”
“I am not asking you to pretend there is no difference.”
“I am not pretending.”
“Then you see it.”
“Of course.”
The answer struck harder than denial would have.
Nolan looked away from the mirror.
Audrey turned toward him, though she did not touch him.
“Look again.”
“No.”
“You asked me to stand beside you.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Then we stop.”
She stepped away from the mirror.
The space she left behind felt immediate and wrong.
Nolan watched her move toward the counter.
She did not look disappointed.
That almost made him call her back.
Instead, he said, “You agreed too easily.”
Audrey turned.
“You said you changed your mind.”
“I did.”
“Then the rule is clear.”
Nolan looked at the empty place beside him in the reflection.
The mirror now showed only the wine dress and his unfinished face.
He understood what had changed.
With Audrey beside him, the differences had belonged to two real people.
Without her, they became accusations.
“Come back,” he said.
Audrey remained where she was.
“Do you want me beside you?”
“Yes.”
She returned.
This time Nolan made room before she reached him.
Their sleeves nearly touched.
He looked at the mirror again.
Audrey’s face appeared beside his.
Different.
Obviously.
Her jaw was narrower. Her features finer. Her hair longer, though tied back. She was not wearing makeup either, except for the faint remains of what she had applied earlier in the week and removed before he arrived.
Nolan had been comparing himself to an idea.
The mirror gave him an actual person.
Audrey lifted her hand but stopped before touching his arm.
“May I ask you to move?”
“What kind of movement?”
“Walk to the door and back.”
“Why?”
“Because the dress is not a photograph.”
Nolan looked at the skirt.
“You think movement fixes my shoulders.”
“I think you are judging clothing designed to move while standing as rigidly as possible.”
He could not argue with that.
Nolan stepped away from the mirror.
The first turn felt awkward. He was too aware of the shoes, the stockings, Audrey’s attention, and the possibility that the wrap might open despite two separate fastenings.
He walked toward the bathroom door.
The skirt moved around his knees.
Not dramatically.
The fabric drew inward against one leg, then released. The sash shifted slightly at his waist. His sleeves followed the motion of his arms.
He reached the door and turned.
Audrey stood beside the mirror, watching him directly now.
Nolan walked back.
The heels made a low, controlled sound on the tile.
He stopped.
“Again,” Audrey said.
He looked at her.
“Is that a request or instruction?”
“A request.”
“Why?”
“Because the first time you walked as though the floor might report you.”
Nolan almost objected.
Then he walked again.
This time, he stopped monitoring every step.
The shoes were familiar enough. The dress followed rather than resisted. When he turned, the skirt swung outward slightly before settling against his legs.
He saw the movement in the mirror.
The dress made more sense.
Not perfect.
Coherent.
Audrey’s eyes met his in the glass.
“There,” she said.
“What changed?”
“You stopped posing.”
Nolan returned to her side.
His breathing had deepened.
The brief walk should not have required effort. What exhausted him was not the movement. It was the absence of hiding during it.
“The hands looked normal,” Audrey said.
He glanced at them.
“You were watching.”
“Yes.”
“Closely.”
“Yes.”
The honesty created heat beneath the neckline.
Nolan looked toward the makeup case on the counter.
The tissue-wrapped lipstick remained in his hand, warmed now by his palm.
Audrey followed his gaze.
“Do you want to finish?”
He hesitated over the word.
“Finish what?”
“Your face.”
The answer was practical.
Still, something in him resisted.
“Is that what you imagined?”
“Partly.”
“You imagined doing it.”
“I imagined helping.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
Nolan unwrapped the lipstick.
The case was plain black, worn slightly at the edge. He removed the cap and turned the base until the muted color appeared.
Audrey studied it.
“You recognize it,” he said.
“From the photograph.”
“You could barely see it.”
“I remember the color.”