Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
She held up Adam’s phone to show River a picture of someone in a Santa costume smoking a joint outside the doors to the convention center.
River snorted. "Good lord."
They swiped to the next picture, which was a needlepoint stand that made stockings with sayings on them. The stocking in question said, He died.
"This is like they murdered a giant and then stole one of their socks," Gus said, giggling.
"I assume that’s supposed to be … about Jesus?" River ventured.
"Yeah," Gus said. "People are, like, obsessed with that guy."
The third picture was indecipherable at first, then Gus flipped it sideways. It was someone dressed like an elf, with a long streamer of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of their pointy green elf slipper.
"A triptych of Craftmas weirdness. Good job," River said, high-fiving her.
"Try this on for me." Adam handed them a pair of jeans and a sweater that they would never wear together.
They changed in the bathroom and came out frowning at their reflection.
"You look great!" Adam said. "How do you feel?"
"Um."
"No, no." Gus dismissed. "This isn’t a River outfit. It’s all …" She waved her hands around to indicate general wrongness. "It’s only boy stuff."
"Honey, remember we’ve talked about how clothes don’t have genders. Anyone can wear anything they want."
"Yeah, I know that. But these are not right for River."
Ruling delivered, she splayed her hand gently on Croissant’s sleeping back and patted her softly.
River deeply appreciated Adam’s sincere attempts to uncouple clothes from gender, but Gus got River’s gender intuitively, as only a kid who hadn’t yet been fully indoctrinated into a society hamstrung by binaries could.
"She’s right," River said.
"Hmm." Adam went back to the closet’s meager offerings.
Gus squinted at River’s outfit, then went to stand beside Adam. Side by side, they were a matched set. Both of their blond heads canted slightly to the right, both of their right hands were in their back pockets, and both of them held their weight in their right hips. River took a sneaky picture.
Gus pulled out a pair of bleached jeans, a long red T-shirt, and River’s favorite oversized gray grandpa cardigan and handed them the outfit.
"Fashion show!" she crowed.
This was better. The outfit was more them, for sure. But there was something that still wasn’t right.
"You look great!" Adam said when they emerged from the bathroom.
Gus gazed at them critically.
"I don’t think the red."
"Yeah," River agreed. "Too much for a first date."
"What?" Adam looked from one of them to the other. "Why?"
"Oh, Daddy," Gus said. "You don’t get it."
River bit their lip to keep from laughing at the look on Adam’s face.
"This is better," she said, handing River a bias-cut long T-shirt dyed in shades of purple and black. "Oh and where’s that necklace with the moons?"
River dressed as Gus instructed. When they came out of the bathroom, she had shoes ready: their white Doc Martens.
River looked in the mirror. They’d tried on something similar and decided it looked too sloppy; not date-worthy enough. But Gus was right. This was them. She put the necklace over their head and nodded once, satisfied.
"Do that messy gray makeup thing you do sometimes."
River nodded, feeling better by the minute. Thank god Gus had come along.
"You might have the makings of a personal stylist yet," they said.
Gus wrinkled her nose. "No way. I’m a scientist and I’m gonna invent things that will make the world way better."
"Well, you just invented an outfit that’s making the world better for me today."
Gus cocked her head, considering this reframe.
"Nah," she concluded. "Clothes are not important."
Despite Gus’ conviction, clothes were important to River. Wearing a garment that didn’t feel right—that didn’t feel in line with how River felt—could ruin their whole day.
And they couldn’t always tell as soon as they donned an article of clothing that it would affect them this way. Sometimes an outfit would look fine when they left the house. Then, they’d catch a glimpse in a shop window or a rearview mirror and hate the way it looked on them. The way it made them look. What it exaggerated, what it diminished, and how those changes made them feel.
On the other hand, the euphoria of catching a glimpse of the way something hung or clung that was positive could invest that garment with the power to make their whole day—hell, sometimes their week. It was unpredictable and impermanent, but it was what River was always chasing.
River snapped a selfie and sent it to their friend Mikal.
These boots or black sneakers?
Their phone lit up with a FaceTime right away.
"Lemme see the sneakers," Mikal said.
River held them up.
"Boots," they said. "What’s the makeup situation?"
"I was gonna do the smoky gray shadow?"
"That looks great on you. Hair?"
"I don’t know. Down?"
Mikal narrowed their eyes, examining River.
"If you leave it alone, great. But if you’ll play with it the whole time, or if it’s gonna be in your face, maybe put it up."