Tabby's Clothes

"God, Tim," Tabby whined, taking in her brother's image as he walked into the house, "I was going to wear that shirt tomorrow."

Sharing clothes with Tim was the worst. He got stains on her clothes, stretched out her panties, and didn't bother to ask her what she was planning to wear that week. He was lucky that they were around the same size, both tall, both thin, otherwise he'd be significantly more uncomfortable every day. Not that that would be Tabby's problem. Tim wore her clothes, that was a fact. It wasn't her job to make sure he felt good in them.

"Sorry," Tim mumbled as he brushed by her in the hallway toward his bedroom, "I'll get changed."

"Don't bother," she said, "It'll smell like you now. It needs to be washed. Besides, my clothes aren't in your room, loser, they're in mine."

Tim paused, his hand on the door handle to his bedroom.

"I don't have any clothes of my own?" he asked, like some kind of psycho.

"Why the hell would you have clothes of your own?" Tabby answered his question with a question, "You share clothes with me. You've always shared clothes with me."

Tim just stared at her, blinking in confusion. Was he having some sort of mental breakdown? She'd heard that it happens like that; some sort of absolutely normal thing would suddenly seem insane to the person. Like, as if suddenly umbrellas on rainy days didn't make sense, or using toothpaste on a toothbrush would be preposterous, or Tim wearing Tabby's clothes suddenly being absurd.

Be empathetic, Tabby heard her mother's voice in her head, Maybe he's going through something.

What could he possibly be going through? He was the same dorky brother as always. Sure, his car might be a write-off (oops!), but insurance would buy him a new one, right?

Maybe he had girl troubles. He was single, as far as she knew it, but he was cute! She would never admit it, but something about Tim always got Tabby a little tingly between the legs. And she wasn't the only one! She'd caught her friends giggling about him a few times, talking about how dreamy he was. Not like that loser Gary that he spent time with. How had that idiot landed a girl like Nancy Beardy, anyway?

"But I could, though, right?" Tim asked, letting go of his door and turning toward her.

"Could what?"

"Have my own clothes. That's something I could just do, right? Go get some of my own, so that I don't have to borrow yours."

"Of course not!" Tabby started laughing. This had to be some sort of joke, "You can't have your own clothes! You borrow mine! We share!"

"But other brothers have their own clothes..."

"Why wouldn't they?" Tabby asked, baffled.

"But I can't?"

"I don't know why you're having a hard time with this all of a sudden," Tabby said, "Do I need to call a doctor or something? You've never had your own clothes. Ha! Your own clothes. The whole idea doesn't even make sense."

Tim turned back to his door and opened it, his shoulders slumped. Tabby watched as he took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in, but not before pausing and saying, over his shoulder, "Sorry about the shirt."

"It's okay," she said, feeling like being the bigger person, "I mean, it looks good on you. I have some new tops I got with my birthday money. After supper do you want to try some on?"

"Sure," he said in a sad voice, closing the door behind him.

Too bad he's always so down, Tabby thought, he'd be a dreamboat if he would learn to smile.