I don’t usually go to the mall, and especially not on a Friday. It’s a place with too many people — most of them incapable of paying the kind of attention that such an impressive place deserves.

At that hour it had a particular feeling — voices mixed with store music competing with each other without any consideration for other people’s ears.

Smells divided between fried chicken, sweet milkshakes, greasy burgers. All a shapeless combination of the complete disregard people have for sensory experience.

Mayo walked in as if she owned the place. Though knowing her last name, if she told me that was the case, I’d believe her.

"This way," she said, pulling me toward the first store without asking if I wanted to go in. "They change their merchandise every week, which means a lot of new clothes, little one."

"That’s fine — I don’t usually buy new clothes." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"Are you still wearing the same five shirts that I happened to give you?" I nodded. "Oh, RyneRyne — no wonder you still wear that sweater over everything." She pulled harder on my hand. "Let’s go wild with the shopping — you clearly need it."

It was a clothing store I never would have chosen on my own. Bold colors, shiny fabrics, mannequins in outfits that required a confidence in one’s body that I simply didn’t have.

"Is this a skirt?" I said, looking at a mannequin that barely covered its legs, leaving most exposed. "It looks like the shorts I sleep in."

"Are you talking about those athletic shorts?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "Though I’d never actually do sports in them," I said, remembering how exposed they left me. "Mayo, it’s not that I don’t like the place, but this isn’t my style."

"Exactly," she replied, taking a red blouse from the rack and holding it up against my body without permission. "That’s why we came."

"I have my sweater."

"Ryne," she looked me in the eyes. "You have a brown sweater that looks like it survived a war, one stocking, and a green apron. That’s not a style — that’s a crime against fashion."

"I like my sweater."

"I know, I know — but we all make mistakes, and I respect that. But today you’re going to try other things." She set down the red blouse and picked up a dark green one that left the midriff exposed. "This one. Try it on — since you don’t have a chest it’s going to look incredible on you."

"I don’t like showing my body."

"Don’t lie, Ryne — when I met you, you weren’t even wearing a shirt under that sweater."

"That was before — and it was because I didn’t have one."

"Come on, try it on. If you don’t like it that’s fine, but don’t miss the chance to try something new." She put her hand on my shoulder. "My father had a saying: ’Don’t let people tell you — live it yourself.’ And you, my friend, haven’t lived anything."

"I just... I don’t think he’d like seeing me like this."

"And what does Ryne Moore want?" she countered. "See, little fox? You’re so obsessed with him that you can’t look at yourself. You’re so worried about being what he wants that you’re not being what you want." She put the shirt in my hand. "So put it on, see if you like it. If you do, you’ve found your style. If not, there’s plenty more to try."

"Mayo, I don’t think—"

"Don’t say anything," she interrupted, turning me toward the fitting rooms. "You’re going to those stalls, you’re going to take off that ridiculous sweater, you’re going to put on this green shirt and these denim shorts, and you’re going to look at yourself in the mirror. Understood?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"That’s the spirit," she pushed me with a playful smack. "Go on, girl!"

The fitting room was very small even by my standards. But no matter — if I didn’t change, Mayo would keep tormenting me about finding a personality. I sighed. "Only people who have one actually care about that."

I came out of the fitting room.

"You really do look like something, Ryne — look at that little tummy. You could bounce coins off that."

"Don’t say things like that," I interrupted. "You forced me to wear this."

"And you’re not thanking me?" She looked indignant, with an expression so exaggerated it was hard to take seriously. "You’re right — it’s not your style. You look like a chihuahua in a thong." She grabbed a shirt with a defined neckline. "What about this one?"

"I don’t like shirts with necklines."

"Right, I forget you don’t have a chest." She put a hand to her chin. "You’re making this hard for me, Ryne — no curves, no long legs, a body that seems underdeveloped. What if we got you a surgery?"

"No," I said, that being the only syllable of my sentence.

"I understand, I understand." She scratched her chin again. "You have a soft kind of beauty — like a little girl calling someone daddy. With that you already attract all kinds of things."

"Mayo."

"Sorry, sorry. I’m trying to think of your strong points." She sighed. "I’m just imagining a shy schoolgirl saying ’it’s too big’ and being done in two minutes."

"MAYO!"

"Oh, sorry — I didn’t mean to make you relive your trauma. It was a hypothetical." She saw what appeared to be a corset being sold as outerwear. "What do you think of this?"

"No. Never."

"Alright, alright." She put it back on the rack with a dramatic sigh. "You’re impossible to dress, you know that."

"I never asked to be dressed."

"Nobody asks for help when they need it," she declared, moving through hangers with a speed built on a lifetime of spending money. "That’s what friends are for."

We went through four stores with the same dynamic. Mayo choosing, me refusing, her escalating, me holding the line. In the third store she managed to convince me to try on a very short wine-colored pleated skirt — which I’ll admit didn’t look bad on me, though I never said it out loud because that would have opened a door I didn’t want to open.

"It’s the first thing that gets a smile out of you," she said, skirt in hand. "I’m buying it."

"No."

"Beggars can’t be choosers," she called me. "I’ll give it to you as a gift if you want."

"No."

"Ryne, you have a hundred dollars from Nolan and I have a card with no limit. Buy the skirt."

"I have skirts."

"You have one plaid skirt that you wear every single day." She looked at me. "Don’t you?"

I didn’t respond.

"That’s a yes," she said, taking the skirt and walking to the register.

"Mayo, no."

"It’s already decided."

We left that store with the skirt in a bag she placed on my arm with the same naturalness she brought to everything.

"In a week I’ll be twenty-five," she said suddenly, as we walked toward the next store.

"I know," I replied. "How are you going to celebrate?"

"I don’t know yet," she shrugged. "My parents want to throw a big dinner, but they won’t agree to having strippers."

"It’s a family dinner — what did you expect?"

"It’s not just to celebrate my birthday," she walked a couple of steps ahead. "It’s because I’m getting married, Ryne."

I froze, looking at her face with a smile so forced it hurt. "H-how long have you been engaged?"

She smiled, closing her eyes. "You’re being a very happy girl. Friend."

Chapter 23: Mayo V.