Her mouth curved into a grin. She looked like she was going to say something, but then she schooled her features a bit and faced away from the bar again.

“Anyway. Eventually I was like, my kingdom for an outfit that actually fits my shoulders, my boobs, my stomach, and my hips. So I started messing around on my own. I saved up for my own sewing machine. And...it was hard, and frustrating, when I wasn’t an expert designer right from the get-go. But it was also fun. Now that I’m better at it, it’s really fun.” She paused. “I love wearing this dress. That I made myself, that I feel 100% comfortable in, that makes me feel sexy. But most fat people don’t have that, which is so frustrating to me. Society already does enough on its own to make us feel like shit. Having to suffer a lifetime of ill-fitting clothes feels like kicking us when we’re already down. I wonder if most people even know what it feels like, to wear something that actually fits them, how it can be...completely transforming. For people who have never had that feeling, clothes feel like this extra burden instead of something that can make them feel amazing.”

I was contemplating whether I had ever felt 100% comfortable in an outfit, and coming up with a resounding nope, when Lily kept going. But her voice had turned softer, less righteous, and I had to lean in closer to hear.

“Anyway, I think maybe I would have turned to making my clothes anyway, even if I wasn’t fat as fuck. My grandma made clothes, too. She was the one who taught me how to sew when I was a kid, even though I was always terrified that her ancient Singer was going to cut off all my fingers.”

She smiled, and I felt something in my chest open up, grateful and eager to absorb this precious Lily memory. Like suddenly I was tumbling head over heels into her life in a real way. Like with each second, she was further and further from being a mere karaoke crush.

“Going to the fabric store with her when I was a kid was one of my favorite things, this routine that was just ours. I could have spent hours running my hands over all the different fabrics—silk, all the different kinds of cotton, fleece, denim. Knowing that my grandma could take all of that and make it into something useful. And the button aisle!” Lily turned toward me again, moving a fraction closer, as if she needed to be as close as possible to fully exude the magic of the button aisle. “So many shapes and colors. The fucking best.”

She turned away again, taking a sip of her drink, and I felt the loss of her heat.