Work Text:
By fifteen, Birita had developed opinions about coats that had nothing to do with survival.
Delaney noticed the change with quiet pleasure.
The everyday navy waterproof was practical, warm and almost indestructible. Birita did not object to it; she simply wanted something else as well. A good coat, she called it, with the emphasis of a person beginning to care about the impression she made when she chose her own clothes.
They found it in Torshavn on a December Saturday crowded with Christmas shoppers. Dark green wool, below the knee, fitted through the shoulders without being fussy. Birita emerged from the changing room and stood in front of the mirror.
Delaney did not speak immediately.
That was how Birita knew she liked it.
The girl in the mirror looked older in a way Birita recognized as her own. Her shoulders had broadened, her face was losing its childhood roundness, and the dark green made her look deliberate and fully herself.
Birita touched the lapel and watched herself in the mirror. "Does it make me look as though I'm trying to be older than I am?"
Delaney stepped to one side so she could see the coat from the back. "No. It looks like something you chose for yourself, and it fits you properly."
Birita checked the price tag and looked at Delaney. "It's a lot of money for something I don't strictly need. I already have the waterproof coat."
Delaney looked at the tag as well. "We can afford it. The question is whether you like it enough to wear it."
Birita turned from the mirror. "I do. I just need to ask something before we buy it. I don't want you still spending money on me because part of you is looking at the girl you found in 1990."
The sentence changed the room.
Delaney did not become defensive. She looked at Birita in the mirror before answering. "I remember the girl I found in 1990 because she is part of you. I'm buying clothes for the fifteen-year-old standing in front of me."
Birita waited, wanting more than reassurance.
She continued, keeping her eyes on Birita. "You chose this coat. It fits the life you have now, and you like yourself in it. That's enough reason for me."
Birita turned from the mirror. "I need to know I can say no without hurting you, and that if I say yes the coat simply becomes mine. I still catch myself wondering whether every nice thing has an invisible bill attached." Delaney said that if they bought it, it belonged to Birita. She could wear it twice a week or twice a year; Delaney would not count.
That was enough for Birita to turn back toward the mirror and enjoy the coat as something she wanted in the present.
They bought the coat.
At lunch Birita draped it over the chair where she could see it. Years earlier she would have monitored every drop of soup near the fabric. Now she ate, talked about school, and occasionally touched the sleeve with the simple pleasure of ownership.
Halfway through lunch Birita looked again at the coat draped over the chair. "There's something else I liked about trying it on. You didn't tell me I looked pretty."
Delaney waited for her to explain.
Birita turned her spoon in the bowl. "People say that more now. That I'm getting pretty, that I look like a young woman. I know they mean it kindly, but sometimes it feels as though they're choosing a version of me before I have."
Delaney asked, "What did you want to see when you looked in the mirror?"
Birita thought for a moment. "Myself, only older. More deliberate, maybe. I wanted the coat to make sense on me without changing me into somebody else."
Delaney kept her attention on Birita. "You looked like yourself in it. Older, yes, but comfortable. I thought you were deciding how you wanted to look, and I liked seeing that."
Birita's shoulders eased. "That's why I wanted you there. You usually see what I'm trying to do before you decide what word to put on it."
Delaney reached for her coffee and told her she was glad Birita had asked her to come.
They ate in companionable quiet.
Later, crossing toward the ferry, a burst of wind lifted the green hem sharply. Birita caught Delaney's arm out of instinct, then realized she did not need help with her balance.
She kept hold anyway.
Delaney adjusted her stride to match.
The old red coat still lived folded in a trunk at home, its black patch visible whenever Birita took it out. The green coat hung by the door and gathered rain, ferry spray and the ordinary marks of being worn. Birita had room for both.
One belonged to the child she had been. The other belonged to the girl she was becoming, and neither asked her to give up the other.