The Double

𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-ℱ𝑜𝓊𝓇

Taehyung leaves and I turn to the dress sector of the closet to find one I can easily change in and out of while in the car. It's hard to focus, because although this isn't the first time the home has called about coming to calm Eomma down, it feels odd, more urgent. I bite down hard when it occurs to me that her Alzheimer's might be getting worse. The doctors warned to watch for mood and personality changes and I thought I had. Had I been so concerned with this Duna plan that I hadn't noticed?

When I finally found a dress, I have to wipe my clammy palms on my thighs before touching the delicate material. I pull it out and check it quickly, eager to get going. It has a tight waistband and a long skirt with a slit on the side but the real draw is that it zips up the side, so I don't need Taehyung's help to change. The makeup and hair waves go on quickly. I'm getting used to it.

Taehyung arrives—with his key, which I had him get back from Ira in case of future emergencies—as I'm stuffing a skirt and tank into a backpack.

He gives my bag an incredulous look.

"You can't seriously think you can walk out wearing that evening dress with a nylon backpack slung over your shoulder," he says.

"How else do I pack my clothes?"

Like a magician, he displays a plain leather tote large enough to transport a small farm animal.

"Hermès," he says as he puts in my clothes, as if this explains the gargantuan size. Maybe it does. "Where's that hat? You'll need that try to cover your face when we get to your mother because you're fully made up."

I give it to him. "What about you?"

"I'm fine. Duna came back about fifteen minutes ago, so we're good to go. Luckily she was early." He looks me over and I wonder what Duna appearance checklist he runs over before he gives a single approving nod.

We head down to the car and this time I'm able to simply move through the lobby without obsessing about my walk. I'm too worried about Eomma to care—why's she so upset? Taehyung hands me into the car and I give the driver the address.

Then I turn to Taehyung. "Since I'm changing in the car, won't the driver notice that I'm not Duna when we get to the home?"

"I've known Jimin a long time," Taehyung says. "He can keep a secret."

"Good." I pull off the wig and ruffle up my hair. "I need some privacy."

He turns to look out the window, which is luckily tinted.

"Can you cover your eyes?"

"Really?"

"Please just do it."

He shoots me a glance but then covers his face like a child playing hide-and-seek. I get changed in stages to maximize the coverage, like at a badly designed gym where the door to the chnage room could open nay moment and reveal you to the world. On goes the skirt, pulled up under the dress. I unzip the top, turn to face the other way and pull on the tank top. I take off the dress, yank on my hat, and I'm Suzy again, or Suzy with fantastic contour.

"Your turn," I say.

He turns around and peers at me. "You smeared your lipstick."

"I did?"

"Here." He reaches out with his thumb and rubs under my lip.

Oh. My. His touch is gone almost as soon as it happens, but the echo of it thrums through my body.

"It's gone now," he says, looking at my lip.

"Good?" I clear my throat. "What about you?"

He shrugs off the blazer and the collared shirt reveal a white T-shirt that he untucks, then pulls out a smaller bag from his huge bag. Inside are a pair of sneakers. He bends over to out them on, swears as his seat belt ricochets him back, manages his shoes, and then pulls his own hat to shade his eyes. Transformation complete, he lifts his hands as if to invite comment and I have to laugh.