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'Just be honest.' you tell me over and over, you stand in front of the telly, hands on hips, half-pouting and second-guessing yourself. I don't know what else to tell you other than the fact that it suits you.
The living room is dimly lit, two old lamps and the television illuminates everything behind you as you still linger before me, your head hangs and you play with the ring in your ear. Whatever I say isn't enough currently.
I realise now that maybe that isn't the best way to go about it... we've been shopping a couple of times; charity shops mainly, on our hand-to-mouth wages. I see you stare at the women's clothing and stride to the men's section, I try and gauge your sizes from your tensive browsing of shirts and trousers and I can feel the frustration radiating from the way you separate each garment on the rack.
In the window of a Debenhams, you pretend not to study a red dress on display. It suits you, brown hair and blue eyes, I keep saying that, that's why I bought it.
My mouth is dry from gin and tonic and speechlessness back in the living room. You stare at me with worry, worry that your shoulders are too broad, you tell me your torso ruins the fit of the dress completely, that you should just forget it. I can't repeat myself all night.
I wish you'd say 'we'. Joint effort in making this the new norm. I know you won't buy these things for yourself, you're too scared, terrified of moments like these where all you can do is convince yourself that it wasn't meant to be.
I stand up and ask you to turn around, you sigh and show your back to me and as I suspected the zip on the back of the dress isn't even done up. It's quiet. Each tooth closing onto one another wraps the garment around you, fitting you as a woman, as it should. I move your hair out of the way and finish zipping up the dress; you grew it out staying in Manchester, you still haven't seen your dad since moving home, you know he'd tell you to cut it off.
You feel the difference in fit, I can see it on your face, rubbing your palms against the fabric on the side of your ribcage and hiding a smile.