Felice’s mom was going on a date. She was only going out within the same building. Felice and her mom lived on the seventeenth floor. Kate, the date, lived on the third. Annamae was there to keep Felice company so her mom didn’t have to feel guilty. That’s how Felice explained it when she invited Annamae to sleep over.
“I know it’s probably a bad idea to date someone in the building,” Felice’s mom muttered as she checked herself in the mirror by the door.
“It’s convenient,” offered Felice.
“My chief criteria in a romantic partner.”
“Don’t wear those earrings,” said Felice.
“Which ones should I wear?”
“Literally any others.”
Felice’s mom angled her head left, then right, looking in the mirror. Dangly wooden peace signs. “No, I like these,” she muttered. “How’s my lipstick?”
“You need more. It doesn’t even look like you’re wearing any.”
“Good,” muttered Felice’s mom.
Annamae was coming to realize that was just the way she talked. She had a way of not really moving her mouth. She would make a good ventriloquist.
“All right, girls. Wish me luck. Text if anything catches fire.”
“Good luck,” said Felice. “Not that you need it.”
Felice’s mom, halfway out the door, turned back. “Aw!” She blew them kisses. “I’m so glad you’re here, Annamae, to keep Felice company! Have fun!”
Felice put a finger to her lips and beckoned Annamae over to the closed door, where they stood listening to Felice’s mom sing “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top” until the elevator came. Felice raised her eyebrows at Annamae and pantomimed dying of laughter.
For supper they had individual chicken potpies and root beer floats. Felice took a bottle from a cabinet over the sink and poured some on top of each of their floats. She said it was cherry syrup. It tasted of medicine.
After, they tried on clothes from Felice’s mom’s closet. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” said Annamae as Felice’s head emerged from the neck of a pistachio silk blouse.
“She doesn’t mind as long as we’re careful.”
They took turns modeling outfits in front of the long freestanding mirror in the bedroom. Through the window beyond the mirror shone the lights of other apartment buildings, tiny squares against the darkness, a geometry of other lives. Annamae found a crushed velvet jacket the color of ginger ale. The cuffs came way past her hands. Felice rolled them up for her. “You look good,” she said, her reflection meeting Annamae’s in the eye.
Annamae felt shimmery inside, like a column of heat vapor. She had a dim memory of a time when she’d leapt on the sidewalk while watching her reflection in a shop window, and she’d seen not one but two bodies leaping in the glass. One leaping a split second after the other.
But was that true?
What if I’m not me? thought Annamae. Or what if I’m not only me? What if these thoughts I’m thinking aren’t mine, but only seem that way? What if someone else put them in my head? Will we ever meet?
Feeling hot and dizzy, she bent toward the mirror until her forehead touched the glass. She let her reflection slip out of focus. Kissed herself on the cool, hard lips.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Felice.
“Nothing.” She couldn’t shake the thought that she might be unreal. What if she was only somebody else’s invention? And everything she said was only a ventriloquist’s voice speaking through her. “Blah blah blah,” she said, hoping to break the spell.
“Are you going to barf?” Matter-of-factly, Felice instructed, “If you’re going to barf, make sure you take off the jacket first.”