-
She looks up. Wipes her face quickly. Puts a quick smile on her face that even she knows isn’t fooling anyone. She has to try, though.
“Hey. You’re home early.”
Richard glances at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He sets his backpack down and goes to wash his hands. “Have you made dinner yet?”
She shakes her head. He doesn’t see her, of course he doesn’t. He’s in the bathroom. He hums, prodding her. “No. I thought we’d go out.”
“Out? Terry, you know I have a meeting early tomorrow.” He sounds bemused. The sound of the toilet flushing, and then the sink is turned on. He calls, “Do we still have the sandwiches from yesterday?”
She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the cough or sob that threatens to spill out. “Yes.”
He comes out, wiping his hands on his pants. She turns around, pretending that the windowsill has suddenly grown an arm that she needs to inspect. “I’ll go heat them, then.”
She escapes to her room.
-
“How are you?” Her therapist asks. The room they have their sessions in is pale and warm.
“Fine.” She sits down. Then she starts bawling her eyes out.
Her therapist has kind eyes, tattoos, and more piercings than she’s ever been able to count. He hands her tissues silently. When her last sniffles die down, her therapist asks, “Do you think you’re unhappy, Therese?”
She shakes her head. Is quiet, though, because is she? Is she unhappy? She thinks it’s possible. But then again, who isn’t unhappy? She isn’t five. She knows the sun sets, the Earth is round, and people are unhappy.
“Can you describe how you felt yesterday, then?”
She reaches for words inside of her. All of them feel meaningless and bland. She says them anyway. “I was reading something about women in asylums, and just started welling up. I don’t know why.”
“Did the story about women in asylums make you feel sad for them?”
She thinks about it. “Yes. But it wasn’t that, either. It was…” She wishes she knew why. “I don’t know.”
Her therapist doesn’t take notes often during their sessions. He still somehow always has a bunch of things to rustle through when they are having their sessions. Therese wonders if her therapist is actually just rustling blank paper. “How long has it been since you’ve picked up a camera, do you remember?”
She knows exactly where her camera lies forgotten. Top shelf of the third bookshelf in their, Richard’s, home office. Next to J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. She hates that book and its insidious red cover. “Maybe a year?”
“Do you miss it?”
Water is wet, the sun rises, and Therese misses photography. “No.”
Her therapist doesn’t believe her, she can tell. “I think you need to find something that makes you happy, Therese. Anything. It can be something as small as watching paint dry, if that’s what you want. Find something that makes you truly excited. Can you try, before our next session?”
The windowsill at her therapist’s office is covered with small petunias. They’re beautiful. Richard is allergic to flower pollen, though. “I’ll do my best.”
-
She tells Dannie everything. He slurps his drink. Asks, “So, are you going to?”
“Going to what?”
“Start taking photos again.” She starts to open her mouth, but he shakes his head and interrupts her, “I know you miss it, Therese, c’mon. That shit you pull might fool Richard, hell, it might even fool your therapist, but you aren’t fooling me.”
She shrugs. Folds her hands over her coffee mug. “I don’t know, Dannie.”
“Why not? What’s holding you back?”
She shrugs. Again. Casts her eyes away and tries to remember the last time she wanted to capture a moment. “No inspiration?”
“Please.” Dannie scoffs. “If you need inspiration, come with me tonight to the club. You’ll find someone who can give you inspiration.”
“Dannie.” Her tone is reprimanding. As if Dannie would care.
“What? Richard can suck it.”
She can’t help but laugh at that. She detaches her hands from her mug and gingerly takes a sip. “He’s still my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t been yourself since you moved in, and I blame him. Plus, boyfriend. Emphasis on the fact that you aren’t married yet. Come have a little fun with me.”
“I can’t.” Therese speaks around the rim of her cup.
Dannie appraises her. When he speaks again, his tone is deadly serious. “Therese, I know I talk a lot of shit about Richard. But I want you to know that if you love him, fine, whatever, I still love you and that will never change.”
Therese is quiet. She senses the ‘but’ that is coming.
“But,” and Dannie pauses. Thinks what he is about to say over. “I don’t think you do.”
Doesn’t she? She quit her job at the market because he wanted her closer to him. She’s still looking for another job. She makes him dinner every night. She does the chores. She reads Ernest Hemingway to talk about him. She keeps her packets of flower seeds buried in her suitcase. She hides her camera away, because he doesn’t like to be photographed.
She sighs heavily. “I know.”
“I think you like the familiarity. I think you like him because he’s boring. But Therese…” Dannie’s eyes are also kind. They gleam with affection. “That’s exactly why you don’t love him.”
The murky brown of her coffee reflection stares back at her. “I know.”
-
“I’m thinking of starting my own website.” She says, conversationally. The clinking of her fork against her plate accompanies her voice.
“For what?” Richard asks. He’s frowning down at his phone.
“My photos.” She shovels another mouthful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. They’re too watery today. She’ll have to add more butter next time too.
Richard taps something on his screen. “Sounds good, babe,” he says. He sets his fork down, furiously typing something. “I’ll be right back. Susan made another mistake with the accounting. I told her fifteen times today to get this right. It’s impossible for people to do their jobs now, I swear to God.”
The mashed potatoes are definitely too salty, she thinks distractedly. Or are they too bland? She hasn’t been tasting them. She stabs her fork in the soft food. The tiny holes her fork tongs make are almost like a smile.
“Did you say something about photography, Terry?” Richard asks her when he comes back.
“Yeah.”
“Are you picking that up again? Just don’t take photos of me.” He smiles, a dimple appearing. Therese looks at it. “Hm, babe?”
She makes a small curve on her mashed potatoes with her fork. “Yeah.”
-
The night before her next therapy session, Richard snuggles up close to her. “Will you marry me if I ask you to, Terry?” He asks, his voice deep and slurred. He’s half asleep. He’s posing the question. It suddenly infuriates Therese.
“I don’t like being called Terry.”
-
“How are you, Therese?” Her therapist asks as he closes the door behind her.
“Fine.”
They talk about nothings. Then her therapist asks her again. “Are you happy?” The petunias are blooming beautifully in the windowsill. Therese shakes her head. “No.”
She looks outside again. The sun is bright. It reminds her of a peeled apple, sweet and complete. “But I’m going outside to take photos at the park today. I think it’ll be good for me.”
Her therapist gives her a real smile. “That sounds great.”
The feel of her camera bag slung over her shoulders, though, is almost foreign. It is like a favorite shoe a size too big. She sits down at the park bench. The feeling of cool metal under her fingers should be calming. It’s not. It burns her, reprimands her. How could she leave it rusting and alone for so long? How had she let herself become this? When did this happen? She closes her eyes against the fighting thoughts. A soft breeze blows by. The smell of grass is warm on her skin. Something else too. Hints of rose.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” The voice is light. Waiting to be acknowledged or refused. It almost feels like soft velvet against her skin.
She opens her eyes. The woman next to her is blond, her hair short, and she’s stunning. In the light of the day, she could almost be an angel. Ethereal. Her gray eyes wait for a response. “It is.” Therese answers softly. The woman’s eyes flicker down to her hands then back up.
“Are you a photographer?” The woman’s eyes aren’t kind. They look at her like they are waiting to pounce. A thrill runs up Therese’s spine. She remembers this game.
“I am.” She waves her camera in the air. “Well, I aspire to be.”
Lipstick lined lips curve into a smile. “An aspiring photographer looking for inspiration in the park, then?”
Therese nods. “You?”
The woman waves her hand carelessly. “Furniture. I’m a buyer.” She pushes back a lock of her hair. It’s only then that Therese realizes she’s chewing gum.
Inspiration strikes suddenly. The woman is clad in something undoubtedly expensive, hugging her curves with flashes of red that sprinkle her clothing with the color of her lips. Her hair is carelessly elegant. No jewelry. She is stunning, brilliant, bold and beautiful. Gum is almost comical in her mouth. Yet it fits her: grace and gum. Aphrodite in the park. No. Sparkling gray eyes watch her. Athena in the park.
“May I take a photo of you?” Therese blurts. She’s rarely asked for portraits before. The woman’s eyebrow shoots up in surprise. “Inspiration,” Therese says, in way of explanation.
The woman’s gray eyes search hers. “What are you taking photos for?”
“My website. It’s under my name, Therese Belivet. I can help you search it up, if you like.” Thank God she had set up the website.
“Therese Belivet,” the woman repeats absently as she pulls her phone out from her pocket. Her nails are also red. “Therese– How do you spell that?”
Her name sounds exotic from red lips. She spells out her name. The sound of the breeze fills in the quiet as the woman searches for her.
“Your photos are beautiful, Therese.” The woman tells her after a moment. She looks up as she says this, her eyes clear and sincere. “Have you thought about selling prints?”
Therese shrugs. The camera is suddenly almost too heavy to hold in her hands. “I haven’t shown them to anyone who might want to buy one.”
The woman nods. Look back down as though in thought. Looks up and smiles. “Alright, then. How can I refuse?”
The photos are stunning. The woman agrees. “I would buy these from you, Therese.”
“I’ll send them to you. Thank you for posing for me. I know people get uncomfortable in front of the camera.” She remembers Richard’s inhibitions all too well.
“You’re a good photographer. You made me feel comfortable.” The woman shrugs. A notification sounds at her phone, and when she checks it Therese accidentally catches a glance of her lock-screen. It’s a young girl, beaming at the camera. Therese feels her heart sink.
The woman looks up, and Therese averts her eyes. She smiles at her. “I’ve completely lost track of time. Thank you for an enjoyable session, Therese. I’ll be watching out for you.”
“Thank you.” The woman stands, her slacks falling down to her ankles. “Oh, I just realized, I don’t know your name.”
The woman tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Checks her phone quickly. Then turns to face Therese fully. She smiles at her, gray eyes entirely on her, “I’m Carol. Carol Aird.” Her phone rings, then, and she frowns down at it. “I must take this. See you around, Therese!”
-
Richard is on the phone when she gets back. She sets her camera down. The dining table is bare. Richard hangs up. Turns towards her. She’s hanging up her coat. “Where were you?”
She bristles at his accusing tone. “What, do I have to report everything I do to you?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“Never mind,” she murmurs. “I was taking photos. Remember?”
Richard runs a hand over his brow. “Okay, but the whole day? I mean, honestly, Terry. We’re out of milk and fruits.”
“Okay, so why didn’t you get any?” She crosses her arms. The bathroom is on the left of the living room. She heads over.
“Because I was at work.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll get them tomorrow.” Richard grabs her arm from behind. She jumps so hard she nearly falls. Instantly, the chilling touch of fear grabs her heart. It squeezes hard. She whips around. Her heart beats so quickly it almost doesn’t. “Don’t touch me!” Her breathing is ragged.
Richard backs away quickly, his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Terry. I just wanted to finish our–”
She tugs her shoes back on. Grabs her coat, her camera. Slams the door in his face.
Her own apartment is bare. Clean. The pots she used to grow flowers in are bare. Scrubbed. A thin layer of abandonment covers everything. She sets her camera down, quietly. Then she tip-toes to her room to not bother the tranquility of home. Her own home. She lost her mind when she thought she could live with Richard.
The sheets are clean. They smell like freshly-cut grass and sunshine. She tugs off her socks and pants. Snuggles in between the covers. She isn’t sure she can manage anything else. Her toothbrush, shampoo, everything, is in Richard’s bathroom. Still, sleep tugs her under almost instantly.
She wakes the next morning to grumbling hunger and text messages. She deals with the latter first. Dannie sends her messages in all-caps. Asks her if she’s okay. She dials his number.
“Therese?” Dannie’s voice is harried. “Oh, thank fucking God. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is still deep from sleep. “I’m good.”
“Richard asked me where you went and I had no idea. Honestly, Therese, can you let me know before you pull the disappearing act on me? I was this close to heading over to Richard’s and murdering him for grabbing you. He knows you don’t like that.”
She chuckles. It feels different. Lighter. “Thanks? I think.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.” She puts her phone on speaker and gets up. The grime she hadn’t washed yesterday is grating now. “My apartment.”
“I thought you sold it?”
Therese opens her closet. “I thought about it. But I just could never put it on the market. I kept paying rent even though I wasn’t staying here.”
Dannie is quiet for a moment. “You really weren’t planning on marrying him, were you?”
It’s almost a revelation. But it feels more like a coming to terms. “No.”
Dannie is quiet again. He’s being more quiet than usual. Therese chooses comfortable sweatpants. “So.” He’s serious. “What now?”
“Now?” Therese finds the fluffy bathrobe Richard hated. “Now, I find a job, keep taking photos, and break up with him. I’m done being tired, Dannie.”
“Good for you.” Dannie is sincere, too. “Good for you, Therese.”
She hangs up.
-
“So, Therese,” her therapist sits her down. “How are you?” The petunias smile at her from his windowsill. Therese answers the flowers.
“Fine.”
Her therapist clicks his pen. Smiles at her kindly. “Did you take photos?”
“Do you ever think,” Therese says instead, “that maybe we’re just living because we have nothing better to do?”
Her therapist’s brow scrunches up. It pulls at the piercing on his eyebrow. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Sunlight streams in through the blinds. It’s a beautiful day, Therese realizes belatedly. “It’s just… I’m tired, you know? Tired of being tired.” She shakes her head. The words tease her. Taunt her. Leap just out of her reach. “I don’t mean that. I just mean that I think I’m tired of living. You know? But I don’t want to die. I just think that living is tiring.”
Her therapist appraises her for a moment. Then he stands up and offers her a chocolate. “Let’s talk about that, then. Is that okay?”
Therese shrugs. She takes the candy. “I don’t know what else there is to talk about.”
He smiles at her. “I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’ She shrugs again. Then he closes the notebook he holds in his lap. Therese knows what that means. He’s about to ask her something unrelated. “But first.” He folds his hands in his lap and leans forward. “Tell me about the photographs you took. I saw the website you sent me. I didn’t know you were so good.”
She blushes.
-
There is a message in her mailbox from a week ago. She clicks it open. The title of the email is simple. ‘Hi.’
The tone of the email comes across a little anxious. A little confident. A little of a lot of things. It makes Therese smile.
‘Hi Therese,
I’m the blonde in the park the other day. I realized as I was writing this that I didn’t introduce myself to you that day. Or maybe I did? I don’t quite remember. Either way, my name is Carol. I hope you’re well.
I meant what I said when I said I wanted to buy your photos. I really liked them. Please let me know if you are up to selling the prints.
Oh, by the way, I found your email on your website. Promise I wasn’t Internet stalking you.
Regards,
Carol.’
She writes back as soon as she can. Which is half an hour later. She suddenly finds that writing an email is almost beyond her. It’s flustering. In the end, she attaches the prints and tells Carol she can have them.
Carol writes back immediately. It’s messy, a bit sloppy, nothing like the formatted email she sent before. She thanks Therese and insists on taking Therese to dinner. ‘To thank you.’
Therese agrees. She doesn’t see why not.
The interaction leaves her with a little flutter in her stomach. Its warmth tides her over the day. Its warmth cradles her even when she steps back into Richard’s apartment to get her things.
“Terry.” Richard opens the door. His face is drawn. Pale. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping well. Therese doesn’t comment. She’s not sure it would be perceived correctly.
“Thank you for helping me pack, Richard.” She nods towards the paper boxes next to the shoe rack. “You didn’t have to.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I thought…” He trails off.
They both thought. At some point.
“Well, I’ll just take the things and go.” Therese nods. He moves awkwardly out of her way. Watches her gather her things in her arms. Doesn’t say anything until,
“Terry?”
She turns back and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
His eyes have gone red at some point. “Are we really…” He trails off. He can’t seem to bring himself to finish his sentence.
She doesn’t tell him again she doesn’t like being called ‘Terry’. “Yeah.”
He nods. He doesn’t offer to be friends. They both know they wouldn’t be able to. He just nods, and says a wordless goodbye. She turns. She hears the click of the door shutting as she steps into the stairwell.
-
“Therese Belivet?” A man sticks his head out into the waiting area. “We’ll see you now.”
She steps into the room, clutching her resume. She’s unsure about any of this. But when she heard there was an opening for a junior photographer at The New York Times, she hadn’t been able to resist. “Hello.” She says to the woman and man sitting behind the desk. “I’m Therese.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” The man says.
“Thank you. It’s Czech.”
They ask her questions about her photography. She shows them her website. Shows them the photos she’s taken since then. They nod, smile. They tell her they like her things. Tell her she has a lot of talent. Tell her they’ll call her.
The call comes.
They don’t hire her.
-
“How are you, Therese?” Her therapist asks. One flower is drooping. Its petals are falling. Therese watches it for a second.
“Fine.”
“Want to tell me why you skipped out on our session last week?” His tone is light. Therese hears the admonishment in the words anyways. She can’t blame him. She does this often.
“I was feeling better. So,” she shrugs. “I thought I’d give myself a week off. Give you a week off, too.” She smiles, and he smiles back.
“Alright. Tell me about your job interview?”
“I didn’t get hired.”
He makes a note in his notes. “How do you feel about that?”
She looks up at the ceiling. It is white. No cracks. Pristine. “Fine. Whatever. I’m interviewing at Amateur Photographer later today. Who knows. Maybe they’ll want me.”
Her therapist looks at her. The sun is in her eyes, so she shields her eyes. She sees a glimpse of something kind in her therapist’s eyes. “I’m sure they will.”
-
“So. Miss Therese Belivet.” Carol is sitting across from her. Her lips are painted a deep red, once again. They remind Therese of apples, of blood, of sweet and bitter. “That’s a beautiful name.”
Therese gives her a small smile. “That’s what my interviewer said the other day.”
“Oh?” Carol cocks an eyebrow. “Interviewer?”
“Mhm.” Therese cups her glass of water in her hand. “I was interviewing for a junior photographer position at The New York Times. Didn’t get it. But they did say they like my name.”
“It is a unique name.” Carol’s eyes twinkle. “Are you trying anywhere else?”
“Yeah. Amateur Photographer, and a few other photography focused magazines.”
Carol taps her chin, her fingers also capped with a coral red. They suit Carol, Therese thinks. Unlike the pale greens and muted colors that Therese gravitates towards, Carol wears bright colors and it is beautiful on her. “I think I’ve heard of that one. Although I suppose if you get in, I’ll become more familiar with it as we go on.”
And it’s a light joke, but Therese sees sincerity and hears it, and it tastes like something she’s missed. It tastes like a cool soda after a hot summer day. She’s drinking it in, gulping it down, like she has never had it before.
Carol lifts her arm to wave their waiter down, folding her menu up. “Have you decided what you want?”
Therese looks down at the food, stupefied for a moment as she remembers that she’s here for food. Nothing really looks appealing, though. “Not yet,” She admits. “You go ahead and order.”
Carol is watching her, Therese can feel it. Yet the gaze isn’t unwelcome, and Therese tries to stop the giddy giggle she can feel bubbling up in her chest. God, she hasn’t felt like a teenager since she was an actual teenager, and maybe not even then. But somehow, Carol is making her feel like a teenager.
Unless this isn’t a date.
The thought strikes Therese cold, and she’s suddenly unsure of her footing in this interaction. Carol must see her pause and think that she’s decided on something, because she waves the waiter over and places her own order. “Poached eggs and spinach, please. And a dry martini.”
Therese hasn’t actually decided what she wants. But the waiter looks over at her expectantly, so she nods, and says something like, “I’ll just have what she has.”
“The meal, or the drink?” The waiter asks promptly.
“Uh.” She feels her ears heat up. This is embarrassing. “Both.”
Carol folds her hands in front of her as the waiter takes their menus away. She seems comfortable but also at a loss for words. After all, they’re strangers, meeting up because Therese asked Carol for a photo. Hardly people who know one another.
Therese starts. “Do you live around here?” She wants immediately to bury herself deep in a hole and never come out. Is there any way she could have said that and not sound like a complete psychopath waiting to murder a stranger? She takes a sip of her water.
“No. I live out in Jersey,” Carol replies with ease, seemingly not finding the question weird at all. “I’m only in the city for business. You?” She reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and her perfume is suddenly tickling Therese’s senses.
“Oh. I- Um. I live in the city. Apartment, you know.” She laughs nervously. “Wow, your perfume smells really good.” Yes, another not awkward thing to say at all. She keeps putting her foot in her mouth, doesn’t she? She takes another sip of water.
“Oh. Harge bought me a bottle years ago, and I’ve been wearing it ever since.”
Finally, something she can ask about that will surely not make anything awkward. “Harge is your…?”
“Husband. Well, ex-husband. We’re going through an overly long and exhausting divorce.” Carol rolls her eyes, and Therese finds it incredibly endearing. “He’s got good taste in perfume, though.”
She giggles at that.
-
“You had a date with a hot, older blonde, and you didn’t tell me, Therese Belivet?” Dannie is pretty much screaming into her phone.
Therese has to laugh at his indignation. “It- I mean, I don’t know if it was a date. She could’ve just been being friendly or something.”
“Being friendly?” He screeches. “Holy mother of Christ, give me patience. She literally wrote and asked to take you out for dinner for pictures. I have to give it to her, she’s pretty smooth. But how, tell me, how is that not a date?”
“She has an ex-husband.”
“And you have an ex-boyfriend. Your point?” Something drops on Dannie’s end. She hears him curse under his breath.
“Okay, but…”
“You have game, Belivet.” And she has to laugh at the way that Dannie sounds so proud. “Real, fucking, game. I can’t believe this. And you said she looks like what, again?”
She’s blushing hard, again. “A Grecian goddess?”
“Oh my fucking God, you have it bad, and I now need to see a picture. Find me one, Therese Belivet. That is not a request.”
He hangs up. Dannie is a whirlwind of emotions. Most people struggle to keep up with him. Therese just smiles and shakes her head at her phone.
-
She’s sitting at work. She had finally found a day-job. Secretary. But every time she stands. Every time she moves. Every time things are silent. Every single time, her heart hurts.
Her hands are tingling. Her stomach is too tight to eat anything. She can feel her head buzzing.
Everything. Fucking. Hurts.
She presses her hand to her mouth. Tries to stop the tears, the trembling. The feeling of anxiety that clenches her stomach close. It’s embarrassing. What is she even feeling? She’s so nervous, anxious, that her feet are numb. Her lips feel numb too.
God, she didn’t think Richard could do this to her. Not now. Not two months later.
But then she thinks about the way that he smiles, innocent and boyish. The way that he always remembered her insecurities. The way that he never pushed. God, she remembers the two years that they were together. Two years. And everything, fucking, hurts.
Her fingers are numb but she pulls out her phone and texts Carol anyway.
‘Can you meet me for dinner?’
Carol doesn’t ask why. She just tells Therese that she needs to check the date to see if she has her daughter this weekend, and then replies in the affirmative a few minutes later. And the pain lessens. Just a little.The anxiety clenching and squeezing her heart turns into the fluttering of butterfly wings in her stomach. Is she a terrible person for this? She wonders, staring at her phone screen. But if she is, she can’t become better. If this makes her a terrible person, maybe she is.
Therese makes it through the rest of the day clenching her jaw. At dinner, she makes Carol and the waiter wait for her order without realizing it, and makes it through about five minutes of small talk before Carol says, gently, "Therese, you seem a little out of it."
Tears spring immediately to her eyes, so instead of answering she puts her face in her hands and asks Carol, “Can you just… Tell me about your day?”
Carol doesn’t ask her what’s wrong. She just starts talking. Therese hums in response, sometimes asks a question, and Carol keeps talking.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Carol only asks as they stand outside, Therese waiting for her taxi and Carol waiting for her.
Therese studies the streets. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry.” Carol’s voice is infinitely soft. Infinitely tender. Therese wants to bottle her voice and cling to it while she sleeps. But the words remind Therese.
She turns to look at Carol. In the soft light of the streetlights, the edges of Carol’s face are all softer, blurred and delicate. Her eyes are stunningly gray, piercing, but they hold Therese’s gently, as though caressing her. She is beautiful, a carving from the ancient times, and suddenly Therese wants nothing more than for this to become a norm. For her to be able to turn to Carol no matter the good and the bad, and for Carol to turn to her with tears and with joy. “I’m not.”
Carol nods. She doesn’t need an explanation, but Therese supplies her with it anyway: “I think it just hasn’t hit me, that I’ve left him after two years together and that maybe, I was never in love with him to begin with. I-” She draws shapes in the air, trying to coax the words out of herself. “I don’t know. But I don’t love him, so I don’t…”
She trails off, horrified because the tears are back and the clenching fist around her heart is back, squeezing. Carol must see the way her eyes water, but instead of saying anything, Carol just steps a bit closer, brushing her arm with Therese’s. Just a little closer, so that they’re pressing against one another on the empty street.
They stand like that until Therese’s ride comes.
-
Her therapist closes the door softly behind her. Therese takes a seat on the new yellow sofa, the same color as the flowers in the office. “New sofa?” She asks unnecessarily.
Her therapist laughs. “Not new, Therese. If you had been here last week, you would’ve seen it. Or the week before.” He gives her a kind of side-eye. She smiles at that. He continues, “So, how are you?”
“Fine.” She tells him. “Breaking up with Richard hurt more than I was expecting, since I knew I was going to break up with him at some point. I just…” She shrugs.
“Okay,” her therapist tells her. “How did you deal with that?”
She shrugs again. “Carol.”
He doesn’t ask further. Maybe he can tell what she’s thinking. Or maybe he can read between the lines.
“It’s going to be Christmas soon.” He says as she leaves. “What are you doing this year?”
She rolls her eyes at him. “I thought you said the session was over?”
He rolls his eyes right back at her. “Can’t I just care about you?”
“Let’s deal with family issues next week, what do you say?” She’s only half-joking.
“Sure, Therese. Sure.”
-
“What are we doing for Christmas?” Dannie asks her.
“We are not going back to the orphanage again.” She tells him, voice hard.
He throws his hands up in the air. “Hey, that was one year. And plus, how was I supposed to know that they apparently all hate us?” Therese just punches him in the shoulder. Asks for another glass of beer.
She sips some. Dannie is watching the football game on the TV.
“Are you going to be spending it with your new beau?” He asks, not looking at her.
Therese very nearly spits out her drink. “What?”
He is definitely laughing as he hands her a tissue. “You know. The MILF that you won’t talk to me about? The blonde bombshell that you’ve been obsessed over for the past, I don’t know, half a year now?”
Therese blushes something furious. “Wha- Okay. First of all.” She’s about to say Carol isn’t a MILF. Then she thinks again. “Okay. Never mind. She has her daughter for Christmas. And she might have plans with her friend Abby. So I’m not going out with her on Christmas. At least… I mean, I don’t know. ”
“Ha!” He pushes her shoulder. “I knew it. Oh, you have it bad, Therese. Really, really bad. I’ve never seen you pine over someone the way you pine over her.”
“Shut up.”
-
“You’re really good at that,” A colleague tells her, pointing at her portraits. “You captured the essence of that person perfectly.”
The picture of a young girl looking up at her smiles. “Thank you.”
“Where did you say you wanted to work at, again?” They’re eating lunch. Her colleague’s meal looks vaguely Japanese.
“The New York Times?” It comes out as more of a question than an answer. But she means it.
Her colleague nods. “You know, they have a winter training program. For aspiring photographers. I heard they accept a good fifty percent of all graduates of the program.” She shrugs, and lifts another sushi in her mouth. “You should try out. You’re really not an amateur photographer.”
Therese thinks about it. “I will.” She finishes the last bite of her sandwich and packs up her photos. “Thank you!”
A week later, she gets a call. She’s been accepted into the training program. Dannie buys her enough drinks so that she’s hungover the next day at work. Carol calls.
“Congratulations! You have to let me take you out to dinner to celebrate.”
Therese blushes against Carol’s voice in her ear. “I haven’t gotten into The New York Times yet. It’s just a training program.”
“Either way,” Carol is firm. “I’m proud of you and I want to take you to dinner. Let me.”
Therese shivers at the command and grins wide. “Yes, ma’am.”
-
She’s gone for a run before she heads over to her therapist this week. Her therapist notes it, the moment he lets her into his office. “Gone for a run,” she explains.
“That explains the leggings.” He nods at her unicorn-printed leggings. She pokes him in the shoulder. “Hey! I like my leggings!”
He laughs. “How are you, Therese?”
“Good.” There’s a silence, a pause, and then her therapist drops his notebook. Therese looks away from the petunias that are now wilting, just slightly, on the windowsill, alarmed. “You okay?”
Embarrassed, he picks up his notebook again, the tips of his ears going red. “Yep. Let’s get on, shall me?”
-
Surprisingly, the invitation for Christmas does come.
“I’m leaving town for Christmas,” Carol’s voice is haggard over the phone. Therese pauses in her typing.
“Oh.” She’s clenching the phone too hard, she realizes.
“And I was wondering, if you don’t have any other plans,” Carol says, slow and deliberate, “if you might like to come with me.”
Therese doesn’t even think. “Yes.” She says, a smile already blooming. “Yes, I would like that.”
Carol’s relief is somehow obvious even over the phone, and Therese wonders if she was nervous to ask her to go with her. The thought’s refreshing. It gives Therese something like a glimmer of hope.
It’s not until later that she thinks to ask, “Where are we going?”
-
They play twenty-one questions on the road as Carol drives. Therese has to dig her nails into her hands to stop the urge to photograph Carol as she sits, sunlight streaming in from her open window and hair whipping around from the wind, cased in the glow of the sun.
“Favorite book?”
Therese shrugs. “The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro.”
Carol’s eyes flicker to hers for a moment in the rear-view mirror. “Oh? That’s an interesting choice.”
“I know most people think it’s his least compelling work, but…” She sighs contentedly, looking off into the rolling waves of crops in the distance, “I loved it. It was warm, you know?”
Carol hums. “I like that one, too. Maybe even better than some of his more awarded ones.”
Therese grins. “What’s your favorite book?”
“The Color Purple.”
“Iconic.” Gay, too. Therese doesn’t add that.
Carol grins at her, all teeth. “Always. Favorite color?”
“Green. Is yours red?”
Carol looks at her in mock surprise. “Why, Miss Belivet, how did you guess?”
Therese just laughs and gestures at her nails. “Says the person with nails always painted red.” Carol taps her fingers along the steering wheel, and Therese swallows hard.
“Favorite drink?”
“Water.” Therese crinkles her nose. “Not a huge fan of alcohol. I’ll drink beer, but I was never the type to party all the time. Not even in college.”
Carol nods. “I can see that.”
“Me being a nerd?”
Carol pokes her without taking her eyes off the road. “No, I can see you being more into movie nights than frat parties.”
“So, a nerd.” Therese tries and fails to stop the corners of her mouth turning upwards.
Carol rolls her eyes. “Sure, darling. Whatever you like.”
Therese chuckles, and Carol tells her her favorite drink is a martini. Therese already knew that, too, but she liked knowing it for sure anyway.
They pass by the most picturesque plain of wild grass Therese has ever seen, and finally she can’t stop herself anymore. She blurts, “Can I take your pictures?”
Carol looks over at her, surprised. “Now?”
“Yes.” Therese is nervous, and she can’t bring herself to look at Carol. She waits for the inevitable rejection. Instead,
“Of course.”
Carol pulls the car over, and they stop right where Therese would have led Carol to anyway.
Before she knows it, it’s night, and they’ve found a small motel to spend the night in. The lady at the front asks them, “What type of room?”
Carol doesn’t look at her as she tells the woman, already pulling out her money, “Two standard rooms should be fine.”
“We do have a deal for the presidential suite,” the woman replies, already holding her hand out for Carol’s money. “A pretty good deal, since it’s the off-season for us around here. Maybe you’d want to consider that?”
Carol’s hand pauses briefly, before she starts, “I think the two standard–”
“Why not get the presidential suite?” Therese interrupts, unsure where this newfound courage was coming from. “I mean, if it’s a good deal.”
Carol turns to look at her, and though it’s only an instant, Therese catches the flicker of something that almost looks like hope passing through the stormy grays. Then Carol’s turning back to the woman, “The presidential suite, then.” There’s a small waver in Carol’s voice that Therese is sure she didn’t imagine.
“Sounds good.” The woman rings them up and hands Carol their room card. “Enjoy your stay!”
-
“Can I ask you why you aren’t spending Christmas with Rindy?” Her daughter’s a sensitive topic for Carol. But Therese can’t help remembering that Christmas is a time for families, and Carol loves her daughter with a ferocity that Therese is sometimes even jealous of. Her mother never loved her the way that Carol loves Rindy, and sometimes it makes Therese jealous, but most of the time it makes Therese happy.
Carol’s eyes flash to her in the rear-view mirror, and Therese can nearly see Carol decide to tell her the truth instead of deflecting. “Harge had a… Family occasion that he wanted Rindy for.”
Therese frowns. “But I thought you got Christmas?”
“Yes, but…” Carol sighs. “I don’t want to put Rindy in a position where she’s caught between us. And since I’m doing Harge a favor, he’ll have to do me one some time in the future. I’ll just, I don’t know, ask for summer vacation or something.”
Carol puts on a strong face, but Therese can see the sadness that she hides just as easily as Carol had known how to comfort her. So Therese does what Carol would do and moves to set her hand on top of the hand Carol doesn’t have on the steering wheel.
“Okay. Should we take lots of photos so we can show her what we see?”
Carol’s eyes flicker down to their hands. Therese can feel Carol’s eyes on her hand, but she keeps her hand there for another moment, an extra moment too long, before withdrawing her hand. She sees Carol swallow.
“Thank you, angel.”
-
It’s the midnight that marks Christmas, and Carol hands Therese a beer. She touches her own flute of champagne against Therese’s with a clink. Therese smiles up at her. This is nice, Therese thinks.
"Favorite flower?" Therese asks, suddenly, remembering petunias and her dead garden.
Carol thinks the question over as she takes a sip of her champagne. "Oleanders."
Therese has to think for a second before she can place it, but once she does, she smiles. It's perfect, for some reason, perfect for Carol. A flower as beautiful as a rose, with just a little more poison. "Red and deadly?"
"The very same." Carol winks. Therese hopes the room is too dim for Carol to see her blush. "What's yours?"
"Lilac." She shrugs. "They smell wonderful."
"You garden?" Therese nods. "I'm terrible at it. But I keep trying." Carol shakes her head, and takes another sip of her champagne.
"I could help you," Therese offers. "I used to be pretty good at it."
Carol appraises her for a long moment before she answers. “Can I ask you a question?” Carol’s voice has gone lower, dropped an octave, and Therese shivers.
“I thought that was what we were doing?” Therese replies, smiling and happy.
Carol moves closer so that the heady smell of perfume is overflowing Therese’s senses and her bare skin is brushing against Therese’s. Carol is so close that Therese could lean forward and capture her lips just like that if she wanted to. Therese just swallows.
“Why did you agree to come on this trip with me?”
Therese’s mouth is suddenly dry, and she breaks eye contact to have a sip of beer. “Why did you invite me?”
Carol looks at her a little longer. Then she is leaning forward again, and whispers, deep and seductive, in Therese’s ear: “May I kiss you, please?”
Therese turns her head and captures Carol’s lips in response.
-
Her kisses trail up Carol’s throat, the pale column of smooth skin that Therese dreams of painting kisses across every single night since their first. Carol whimpers when Therese sucks, just a little, on the soft skin, and her fingers go to Therese’s head.
Carol’s whisper is throaty, in a lower octave than usual, and Therese turns to liquid at the sound of it. “God, Therese.”
Therese thinks about making a quip, but instead just kisses her way back up to Carol’s lips, tantalizing and swollen from kisses already. She’s drowning, floating, dying and reviving with every stroke of Carol’s tongue against hers, falling harder and harder with each groan that she draws out of Carol.
She breaks away for breath, resting her head against Carol’s, but her fingers keep moving, touching and memorizing, painting patterns and poetry of love across Carol’s skin. Carol moans, when one of Therese’s hands finds her nipple, and Therese lowers her head to capture Carol’s lips in another searing kiss as her other hand slowly trails down to where Carol is already so wet, already emitting heat, and it is just as mind-blowing as it was the first time. She brushes her fingers against Carol’s folds, and Carol’s already losing coherence, her kisses starting to become sloppy.
“Angel-” Carol pulls away for just long enough for Therese to admire the soft sprinkle of pink coloring high on her cheekbones. “You’re perfect.”
Therese moves her hand lower, enters Carol with a single digit, her other hand busy at Carol’s breast. Carol moans, a throaty, heady sound that Therese drinks in. She’s addicted. She’s taken a leap and she’s free-falling and God, Therese couldn’t care less.
“I love you,” she whispers to Carol as she begins pumping into Carol’s heat in earnest, as Carol begins to make sounds that turn Therese into a mindless puddle of lust and heat. “I love you.”
Carol gasps, her back arching up, perfect and stunning in all of her glory. Therese keeps pumping, pushing herself down so she can lavish kisses everywhere, on the cluster of freckles on Carol’s ribs, on the soft silver stretch marks low her abdomen, on the small tattoo right at her hip. She takes her time as Carol arches and moves underneath her, carving Carol into her mind.
“I-” Carol gasps out, and Therese sees the signs of Carol coming close, so she pushes herself up and bends down at the same time that Carol surges up to capture her lips. Their kiss is a hurricane, a typhoon that sweeps away all that Therese was and will ever become, remaking her and rewriting her. Therese swallows the moan that erupts out of Carol like lava from a volcano as Carol clenches hard and comes.
Carol closes her eyes for a moment, chest heaving, and her legs twitch a little as Therese carefully removes her fingers. Then she opens them, and the furious lust that burns in them nearly makes Therese come right there and then and she moans, unable to control herself. Carol reaches up to pull Therese down, crushing their lips together, and flips them before Therese can react.
“God, Therese.” Carol murmurs as she presses her own kisses down Therese’s body, the vibrations of her voice sending tremors down Therese’s body. “I love you, too. I love you.”
She kisses all the way down, one hand caressing Therese’s nipple, the other moving down. Just as Carol’s lips reach where Therese wants them, her other hand reaches and grabs Therese’s ass, pulling her closer, and Therese gasps, her eyes rolling back in her head.
Carol’s tongue on her paints worlds and universes against Therese's eyelids, paints time and space all in the stars that flicker across her sight. “Look at me,” Carol commands, the vibrations of her voice sending more shocks of pleasure cascading down Therese’s body. She forces her eyes open, meeting Carol’s stormy gray ones.
“You’re perfect.” Carol says, in awe, and her hand enters her just as her tongue touches back to Therese, and the entire world comes crumbling down on Therese as she throws her head back and clenches hard down on Carol’s fingers.
When she’s finished, she tugs on Carol’s arms, pulling her up, and frantically presses her mouth to Carol’s again, frantically anchoring herself back because her world is being rebuilt and Carol is its foundation.
“I love you,” she pulls apart again, just to tell Carol once again, marveling at the words and her newfound ability to say them. “I love you so much.”
Carol’s voice, already sleepy but so, so content that Therese thinks Carol must be floating the way she is, replies, “I love you, too.” She throws an arm over Therese, and presses a kiss against Therese’s bare shoulder, murmuring, “Tell me again when we wake up.”
And Therese does.