I guess I have no way of knowing for sure, not unless I sprout a fucking tail during the next full moon.

“Hey.”

Scarlett knocks on my door. I startle, and my phone flies out of my hands.

“Just a sec,” I say, recovering my phone and promptly deleting my search history. “I still have to get dressed.”

“Okay. Put on your costume and then come to my bathroom.”

“Yep,” I say.

I take a deep breath and reach for the plastic sack. I open it and take out the dress. Honestly, it’s generous to refer to this amount of fabric as a dress. There’s a little cape thing, also a faux leather belt and gloves. I put on a pair of stockings so I can feel a little less naked.

I tear up my closet, searching for my brown leather boots, before remembering I lost them the night of the attack. I loved those boots. I got them at a vintage shop in the Village. I could go look for them, but even if they’re still out there, they’ve been left to the elements for the last two weeks, and I’d rather not revisit that particular patch of the woods, for obvious reasons. Tragedy on top of tragedy. I let it go, complete the getup with my suede boots instead.

When I walk into Scarlett’s bathroom, she full-on cries, laughing.

“With the bow,” she squawks. “I can’t wait to see it with the bow.”

“All right,” I say. I’d be pissed, because I look ridiculous, but Scarlett’s so tickled by it, I can’t help but be amused. “Give me a smokey eye or something. Might as well lean in, right?”

She puts on a classic-rock playlist and tells me to hold still when I sing along to “Wild Thing.”

“Your hair looks incredible,” she says as she brushes out my eyebrows.

“I was thinking about braiding it. Better for the costume.”

“No, leave it,” she says, taking a strand and gently running it through her fingers. “My hair is so oily right now. Ash said her hair grew something outrageous with Luca. Like a foot. Any of the good things I was told would happen haven’t happened. Just all this weird, awful shit no one warned me about. Sorry. I don’t mean to be negative.”

“You’re fine. No one wants to be honest about the ugly stuff,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“We live in a society that wants us to be ashamed of our bodies. It’s hard not to internalize that.”

“You’re right,” she says, coming in with the mascara. “Open. Look up. And I don’t know. I feel like if I say anything bad about my pregnancy, suddenly I’m Casey Anthony.”

“That’s crazy,” I say. “You’re way prettier.”

She snorts. “Thanks. Thanks for that.”

“You can always talk to me. I might not understand, but I won’t judge you.”

“I know you won’t,” she says. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna hit you with the setting spray.”

She mists me and then moves out of the way so I can see myself in the mirror. I turn from my reflection, too afraid of what might appear behind me.