I crouch down, my knees cracking in protest, and scoop up the two garments. The first I finger is a T-shirt I’ve seen Tristan wearing, and is a picture of Tim Burton’s The Corpse Bride. My fingers move over to the other T-shirt, brushing over a print of Johnny Cash flipping the bird. Quinn’s T-shirt.
So here I am faced with a dilemma. Which do I choose? No doubt, Tristan set his shirt down by the door first, as he would never leave his shirt if Quinn’s was already there.
But Quinn would.
Faced with a decision I don’t fail to see the significance of, I stand in the bathroom with Tristan’s T-shirt in my right hand and Quinn’s in my left. But there is no choice to make because it’ll always be Quinn.
I slip on his T-shirt, and I only just refrain from burying my nose into it, taking a big
