It's been a particularly busy period at the furniture store. Imported European products are all the rage at the moment, and Carol's clients have been on her back all month about whalebone dressers and teak wardrobes with inlaid mother of pearl. And not just from the British Isles; they wanted something more exotic, something from as far North as Scandinavia. As a child, Carol's mother had insisted on a Norwegian governess in an attempt to make sure Carol knew where she came from. Carol had complained loudly as she was put through the rigour of learning Norwegian, and it has since regressed to schoolgirl standard from lack of use, but Carol has never been more grateful to her mother now as she negotiated with Nordic furniture makers to secure those elusive pieces. It's definitely earned her glowing compliments from her clients, and a handsome commission.
Carol comes blowing through the door of the Madison Avenue apartment, removing her pumps while calling out her apologies for being late. When she gets no answer, she pads down the corridor in stockinged feet, and sees Therese at their dining table poring over a set model, cardboard clippings and wood shavings spilling from table to floor. "Hello, darling." Carol stands behind Therese's chair, kissing the top of her head, and in response, Therese reaches up and pulls Carol's face closer to hers so their lips meet. Carol is reminded how, despite her annoyance at her busy schedule taking time away from her and Therese, it doesn't take her long to feel human again, not when Therese's hands are caressing her face and tangling into her hair. Carol is reminded of what she has, here with Therese, in this apartment they can call their own. And it's far beyond what she dared to dream for herself, six years ago, as she lay in her bed in despair, in that cavernous Ridgewood house after yet another conciliatory dinner at Harges' parents'.
It is almost as if Therese senses Carol's lost in her thoughts, pulling her swiftly back to the here, the now by biting Carol's lip lightly. Carol moans softly into Therese's mouth, her hands moving down the side of Therese's ribs, her thumbs stroking lightly under what she can feel is the underwire of her brassiere. But this moment is broken when Therese suddenly gasps about dinner in the oven. Carol watches, amused as Therese and flies from her seat in a panic. Nothing's ruined, thankfully, and Carol cleans up while Therese fixes dinner. "So, we've got the wardrobe, thank heavens. Even Janice is losing patience with her and she's a sweet girl. Mrs Lacey is happy to have her wardrobe, and I'm happy to get her off our backs." "That's wonderful, Carol."
As they sat down to dinner, Carol chatted on about work before remembering, "Oh, Abby wanted me to tell you, she met a Bert Currah at a social last night. He's from money– then again, that's every person that Abby meets– and he's looking for an assistant designer on a new Pinter play. It's been getting around a lot, apparently. Abby's given him our number, he said he'd call tomorrow... Therese? You're miles away tonight, darling. Is something the matter?" Carol studies Therese carefully; there's a look in her eyes that Carol can't quite place. It's not completely foreign, but there's a certain shine she's never seen before. Even after sharing their lives for such a long time, Carol still felt she didn't know all of Therese. And she like that: waking up to a person who was slightly different than the day before. Therese was growing even more into herself, and Carol was discovering Therese just as Therese was discovering herself. And tonight, it was like Therese had a light in her gaze, a light that seemed as if someone had lit a fire in her and she was glowing. "She's clearly got some news", Carol mused. But pushing Therese wasn't going to get it out of her. It pleased Carol though, and this… something that had her in its spell could wait after dinner. After she had Therese on the chaise with her feet on Carol's lap, as was their regular routine, and after she's plied Therese with a couple of drinks–
Therese hasn't had a drink all evening.
That was– milk. In a glass on the kitchen island when Carol had come home. Her glass now… It's filled with a clear liquid. It's most certainly not vodka, Carol had seen her fill the glass from the tap, but she'd been going on about the clients she just didn't think.
"Sweetness, are you–" Carol chokes on the words, and come now, Carol, of all the times you pick to be ineloquent, what's the matter with you? "Am I what?" And yet. Carol cannot bring herself to utter those words, to break what she suddenly realized was a quiet magic that had perfumed the air. "Are you– You haven't had a drink all evening. Are you…?" Carol trails off in a whisper, her heart seemed to have leaped into her throat. "I am." Therese looks at Carol and the smile she's kept in all night leaps onto her face majestically, beatifically, leaving dimples in its wake. Carol's heart feels like it might burst, and even as Therese's smile grows, her eyes fill with tears, and so do Carol's and neither of them know how but Therese ends up in Carol's lap and they are sobbing– Oh what fools we are to be crying at such glorious news– and they're laughing, wiping away each other's tears and Carol kisses Therese's face, her eyelids– still damp– her nose, the apples of her cheeks, those dimples and catches her upper lip. And everything makes sense now, Carol doesn't remember ever being this happy, no, not even when she found out she was going to have Rindy. Of course, she had been joyous, and she kept it to herself for days, relishing the clandestine secrecy of having such precious information only for herself. But this. "You're going to be a wonderful mother, Therese." "You'll have to teach me." "Of course, my angel, and you're going to have a beautiful baby." "No, we." Carol feels the familiar surge of love wash over her, except now it feels like a torrent, a tidal wave of emotion and again she's unable to speak so all she can do is kiss Therese again, until they're both breathless with more love than their hearts have space for, and brush her fingers lightly against Therese's abdomen.
Carol tells Therese all the time, in the afterglow of their lovemaking as they lie tangled up in bedcovers and arms and legs and thighs still firmly pressed there. Therese usually laughs, squeezes her hand and tells her it's the sex that makes her talk like this. But Carol knows, with every fibre of her being, ever since she saw a petite brunette wearing a godawful Santa hat standing apprehensively behind a glass counter filled with dolls in a department store. Carol has always known, but as she looks into Therese's eyes, and recognizes now the luminescence she'd seen earlier, she's never been more sure of it. She's found her home.