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The first time, it's Linda's beloved white cashmere turtleneck. Arguably, Becky had made the boldest possible decision here; going with Linda's favorite item of clothing to wear in winter. Not to mention its price.
Yet, when Linda comes home after an uncharacteristically quick shopping spree, Becky is sitting on the couch, curled up in the turtleneck on the couch, watching TV and eating cereal. It's a strangely domestic scene, seeing the redhead so comfortable and making Linda's place her own.
When she enters the living room, obviously catching sight of the sweater in an instant (it's like a superpower; whenever Linda Monroe enters a room, she can immediately tell how much every present person's clothes cost), Becky begins to grin.
"That's my sweater," Linda says, not sure how to feel but unable to deny the warmth rising to her face.
"Yeah. My shirt got dirty when we were cooking yesterday, so I just figured...I'd throw this on. How do I look?"
Linda puts down her bags and purse and blinks a few times, unsure of how to answer: "I...think you look great. Because that turtleneck is great."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
Becky seems content with that reaction, and settles into the couch, hugging her arms.
The second time is actually just because Becky has nothing to wear. She has been staying at Linda's for a few days, not once returning to her own apartment, and all her clothes are in the wash.
"I can drive you to your place real quick, if you want...," Linda is sitting up in her bed, making it very obvious how against the idea of getting up she is.
"Or..."
"Or?," Becky asks, raising her eyebrows in amusement.
"Or you can just have some of my clothes," Linda finishes her sentence and scoots closer to Becky. It's getting warmer in Hatchetfield and they slept in their underwear, skin on skin like now, but, considering they've been surviving off ordered-in thai food and pizza for three days, they really do need to go grocery shopping.
Becky seems caught off guard by that answer, but smiles: "Yeah, Miss Monroe? Last time I wore your turtleneck, you looked about ready to pounce on me."
"Well, you know," Linda muses, voice dripping with sarcasm, "The situation was very, very new to me. But now it's not, and now you can wear my clothes."
"You sure?"
"Becky, not to be crude, but we were making out not even twenty minutes ago. Sharing clothes is by far not the most intimate thing we've done in this bedroom."
Becky snorts, and gets out of bed to pick something pretty for herself.
The third time is Linda's favorite time, because Becky decided to wear her baby pink negligé. There's barely any talking when Linda wakes up to Becky making breakfast for them in that.
Needless to say, their eggs and toast were cold by the time they got around to eating them.
The fourth time, Becky wears Linda's gorgeous black cape in public. And the looks they get are priceless. Neither of them are embarrassed, why should they be? They're just girlfriends sharing clothes. Linda smirks at that thought. She loves thinking about the fact that she has a girlfriend. And one who is her size so they can share clothes? A dream come true.
The fifth time, Linda doesn't register it as the fifth time. She's not keeping count of it anymore, she has decided that this is normal now.
(Becky tries on a pair of Linda's boots, gasping st the perfect fit.
"I feel like Cinderella."
Linda chuckles and looks Becky up and down. The boots do look great on her—black, high, chic. They fit like a glove.
Becky hits her with the puppy eyes, and Linda has already lost a fight she was never going to take part in in the first place.
"Yes, you can have them."
Pause.
"...Actually, those would look spectacular with my black Akris dress, let me get it. Oh! Or the Max Mara coat—you know what, I'll just get them all, wait right here.")
In stark contrast to other lesbians, Linda and Becky move in together after only almost a year of dating. When they're cleaning out Becky's closet together, Linda finds something that makes her howl with laughter: "Tell me I'm seeing things, Becks, you do not have dungarees in your closet."
Becky, faux-offended, snatches the denim out of Linda's hands and holds it up to herself: "For your information, Miss Monroe, I look great in these."
"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second."
Linda raises her hands defensively, still snickering to herself.
When Becky excuses herself to go to the bathroom, it's just too tempting an opportunity...
Becky returns to see Linda standing in front of the mirror in her old bedroom, posing for herself: "Honestly, who but me could make fucking dungarees work?"
Becky stands there, eyes widened, disbelieving and smiling: "You look adorable."
"I look gorgeous."
Linda hasn't taken her eyes off herself since she put these on. And why should she? Neither has Becky, after all.