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The makeover is supposed to end before the weekend does. On Sunday night, I stand beside the window in Adriana's fitted white dress while my friend Lena takes one final photograph. She has spent two days teaching me how to walk, turn, and stop apologizing whenever the camera finds my face. My work clothes are folded on the bed behind her, ready to restore Adrian before Monday morning. Lena lowers the camera and asks why every photograph of him looks like someone waiting to leave.

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