She shakes her head. "No. You don't get it. God. If you can make them look bigger, you can do the opposite, too." "What? Come on. What the hell does that have to do with this? What are you talking about? Why-" I break off because she's just shaking her head, not even looking at me, looking down, shaking her head, and I realize that she's unbuttoning her blouse. Oh. My. God.
THE DOOR IS OPEN. That's all I can think: The door is open. Mom could come back down. She could see. The door is open. The door is not the only thing open. Kyra's shirt is open from neck to waist, black cloth parted over a smooth, dead white stretch of skin, interrupted only by the sterile white of her bra. There's almost no contrast: It's white on white. It's nothing like Victria's Secret catalog or the stuff on TV, but it's better somehow. Because she's only a couple steps away. She's still looking down as she undoes the last button. She doesn't look up at me.