“Right, because my stature is the issue here.”

I glance around, finally able to take in the rest of her place now that I know this is all of it. A twin bed with a pink comforter with tiny flowers on it. A six-drawer dresser that also serves as a nightstand and a desk with her laptop, lamp and books on it. A folding camp chair tucked in the corner is the only seating other than her bed. On the wall opposite her bed there’s a two-foot-wide counter with a sink and one upper and lower cabinet. There’s a hot plate taking up the remainder of the counter, its cord hanging precariously close to the sink.

I move toward the kitchen area.

“This is where you live?” I ask, examining the hot plate, before opening the cabinet above the counter. A variety of brightly colored mugs and a mismatch of plates and bowls are on one side, while a few box dinners and miscellaneous pantry items are on the other.

“Would you like a tour?” Chloe can’t help but laugh at her own joke. “It’s supposed to be funny, because you don’t need a tour to see all of my stuff. It’s all within arm’s reach.”

I don’t find this funny at all.

“I can tell you’re excited. You’re thinking ‘wow, look at all the deeply personal items I can peruse through to get to know my fake girlfriend better.’”

I look around again. There is a stack of books by her bed. Instead of a closet, there’s a clothing rack affixed to the wall with garment bags on hangers.

I push one aside to see the label on the front.

“What’s Threads?”

“It’s a wardrobe service. You pay a monthly fee and they send you outfits for the week. You return them when you’re done and they send more. I figured since I don’t have much room for clothes or a budget it made the most sense. Also, it’s eco-friendly. I feel better about not purchasing so many clothes and they have really cute designer stuff that I wouldn’t be able to afford anyway. I’ve been telling everyone about it. I think if we all did something like this it would really help cut down on fashion waste in our landfills.”

It occurs to me; I haven’t seen Chloe in the same outfit twice. It’s a shame that pink skirt she wore on Monday isn’t hers. I’ve been thinking about it all week. My hands fisting the bubblegum pink material to push it up around her hips and explore what’s underneath.

I shake the thought loose.

“All your clothes are from this service?”

“Not my underwear or pajamas.” She moves to the dresser and pulls open a drawer. “See?”

I’ll admit I’m interested in Chloe’s underwear, but now isn’t the time.