Color Me Pretty

but she isn't really listening anymore. She's gravitating towards my dress, my work in progress that I'd rather nobody saw. I don't stop her, though. I feel like I can't even move. She looks so pretty, and I … I don't.
    “I called the number you gave me, and nobody answered. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
    “How did you get this address?” I ask her as she scoots around the coffee table and picks up my dress. I glance away. I should be creeped out that she's here, that she just walked in and saw me parading down the hallway and making an ass out of myself, but I'm not. Frankly, I'm just kind of happy that she's still alive.
    “Um, the Internet?” she says, like that explains everything.
    “That's fucking creepy,” I tell her, but she isn't listening. Kylie tucks some of her bouncy curls behind one ear and unfolds my dress, holding it up to her curvy body and popping out a knee.
    “How do I look?” she asks, glancing around like she's trying to find a mirror or something.
    “Kylie,” I snap, trying to get her attention. “What are you doing here?” Finally, her face gets serious and she puts the dress down. A sigh escapes her moist lips as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes.
    “You said you needed a friend, so here I am.” She pauses and lifts her head to look at me. “And honestly, I could kind of use one, too.” I continue to stare at her. “I drove two hours to get here,” she tells me, and then I, too, sigh.
    “I'm glad you're – ” I pause because I'm not sure how to phrase this.
    “Not dead?” Kylie asks, and I grimace. She just shrugs and moves around the couch closer to me. “Me, too. And it's because of that thing you said to me.” I look at her skeptically. From what I can remember, I was hardly helpful. That, and our discussions primarily revolved around the mundane.
    “What thing?” Kylie smiles and stands up on her toes, so she can reach out to touch my fuzzy scalp. I scoot away from her and give her a weird look.
    “You know, if you got some shine serum and just slicked this forward, it would look fucking awesome.” I don't know how to respond to that. I just stare. I even think that my mouth hangs open a bit. I hadn't ever thought to try to style these fuzz wisps. Holy shit. I reach my fingers up and brush them over my scalp. Kylie steps back and looks down at the floor. Or maybe she's staring at the black suede Tory Burch booties on her feet. I know I would be.
    “That whole, one road, two forks thing.” I keep staring.
    “You mean, you can always find a scenic detour to your destination?” I butcher Emmett's beautiful words, I know, but my memory is better than Kylie's. She snaps her fingers at me.
    “Exactly! That. That, and … ” Kylie looks around like somebody might be listening, and then leans in close. Her voice comes in a whisper. “Those poems, those drawings.” Oh. My face heats up and my cheeks go pink. Better than sallow, I guess. Kylie takes a step back and turns around, moving over to the fireplace and running her hands down the smooth, dark wood of the mantel. “I memorized them both. You're really good at that, you know … writing poetry.”
    “Thanks,” I say, but I don't think I'm any good at all. I think I just scribbled down some words from the soul and they happened to resonate with her. I keep this to myself. If they helped her, who I am to complain?
    “So I thought I'd come over and we could go to lunch and start working out our shit together, like sponsors or something, you know from AA.” I want to say no, to tell her to go away, but it is awfully lonely here. My self-imposed isolation is wearing thin.
    “Okay,” I tell her. “But I don't want to go to a restaurant.” I haven't been to one since the dinner with Emmett's father. I don't know if I'll ever go back.
    “That's stupid,” Kylie tells me, turning back around and coming straight for me. When I move out of the way, she goes directly into Emmett's bedroom and lets out a whistle. “God, it's messy in here.” She pauses. “But also clean. How strange.” The closet doors come open as I step up behind her. “That's what people do. They go out to restaurants and they eat. That's what we're going to do. And then we're going shopping.”
    “But I don't, Kylie. Anorexics don't.” I shudder. Every time I say that word, I get sick to my stomach. I still don't feel like an anorexic. I don't feel like a fat girl anymore either. I just feel … ugly. I guess