She'd gotten Therese extra rolls of film for Valentine's and a plethora of sketching tools for her birthday. Now that Christmas was rolling around again, Carol found herself unsure of what to do.
Carol tried to subtly ask Therese if she needed any extra photography supplies (if, of course, you wrote subtly in large capital letters, painted in an obnoxiously bright red), to which she responded she didn't. They didn't need any new books because Therese was still trying to catch up with their home collection and had access to the library anyway. She hadn't gone through more than two of the sketchbooks Carol bought her, and Therese waved dismissively when asked about new clothes. No, Therese didn't need new clothes, because she bought new clothes with the last of her savings, remember?
So there Carol was, meticulously window shopping with the valor and determination of God himself. Yes, this time she felt sure of herself. Maybe. She vowed to get a gift this week (but that's what Carol swore to herself for the past two, she argued to herself). It'd be easy enough to hide if she got something small—maybe a necklace of sorts, something with their initials inscribed on it?—because Therese never really looked through Carol's things without being asked to.
For a moment, she jostled around the idea of perfume but immediately dismissed it. Therese liked to use Carol's perfume, the adorable little creature, and last she checked, the shops were out of stock. Perhaps a new makeup kit, but no. Therese already had hers (and Carol liked the shade of red of Therese's lipstick, especially when it was smeared messily all over her own neck too much to buy something new). And those were all trivial gifts, to boot.
Therese might have whined to her about how she didn't need to worry about materialistic gifts, that simply spending time with Carol was all that she would ever want and need. But Carol was someone who gave into her own interests far too often, and right now, her current interest was indulging Therese.
The search and thought process continued for a while longer. Something handmade? A laughable concept, because Carol was utterly useless when it came to craft. A new cigarette case? Maybe, put that one on the backburner. She sighed. The suitcase had been an easy gift to pick, because she knew even as she bought it that the suitcase was just a hint at the idea of getting Therese to take a trip with her. The camera had been an easy gift because Therese once mentioned she needed a good camera, and what was a better camera than the latest generation Canon?
Her pace slowed as her eyes flicked to the window of the music store.
For a moment, Carol wondered. Though she didn't plan to buy a record—they owned plenty of those—it wouldn't hurt to peruse through the aisles and see if she could find a little something. She hardly even knew if this was the right kind of music store to be looking through, but she had time. Quite a lot. Inside, a clerk asked her if she needed help. Carol said she was fine.
She found the little book propped up against a wooden stand, and Carol picked it up with curious fingers. A published book of some of Billie Holiday's greatest hits, made especially for the piano player (and the desired vocalist, although Carol did not sing and hardly planned to start). Her mind flitted back to a moment when Therese mentioned something about the piano. "I try to arrange my own work, but I don't have the virtuosity of seasoned players, don't you know? It'd be nice to try to learn something worth its salt." She flipped through the pages, as though her decision needed any further solidifying. She looked through the store even still, and picked up some Tchaikovsky, even though she never really cared for his work and because she knew it would only sound better as Therese nervously fiddled with the keys.
Carol returned home to the final remnants of a chord being played out. It would often be like this, Carol lost in her own thoughts and brought back to reality by the sound of a dissonant note or two being played out on the piano. Sometimes it would be followed by a song played delicately, either for fear of disturbing the neighbors or for disturbing Carol. Sometimes, Therese would only play one or two notes and then stand up from the piano, the rickety old bench squeaking with relief from her weight. Carol assumed Therese must have been arranging something with a nearly-blank page set in front of her and the phonograph moved just so. She was horribly cute when focused on something. Carol's little go-getter.
Therese looked up at her in surprise, before that expression quickly melted away into a look of warmth and Carol felt the tips of her lips begin to perk into a smile as well. She kept the music books tucked away neatly in the bag of groceries. Therese tried to stand up to help her but Carol swatted her hands away with a little grin. "Nuh-uh, my turn. Sit back down, darling."
One hesitant look later and Therese shrugged, slinking back to the piano bench. "How was your day?"
"It was good," Carol responded without a second glance at Therese, turning to stow away some cans in the cupboard. "I thought you were working today," she continued, placing the bottles of milk into the icebox.
"I thought so too," Therese admitted. She was no longer focused on her arrangement, but instead on Carol. "I read the schedules wrong. I don't work until Thursday, but I do have some longhand work I need to do before then."
She nodded absentmindedly. "Well, isn't that something? Do you feel like heading somewhere tomorrow?"
Therese seemed to ponder the possibility for a moment. She shook her head. "I'd rather stay inside with you, I think."
Carol hummed a note of acknowledgment and grabbed the empty bag. Or at least, the would-be empty bag. Therese must have noticed the way Carol held it awkwardly and she suddenly found herself regretting the fact that she hadn't thought to drop the books off at a friend's until a more appropriate date. "What's in the bag?"
"Christmas gifts I have to wrap," Carol said nonchalantly. "And no, Therese, you're not allowed to peek."
Therese smiled and snapped her fingers. "Darn." Carol went to their shared room and sighed. It was only last Christmas that she'd been spending her nights alone here, in an apartment that was far too large for just one person. She'd been ambitious back then, and good at knowing what to do in order to get what she wanted. That didn't exactly work at the Ritz, she reminded herself. And Therese did not move in immediately, either.
Ah, if only Christmas day would come sooner. The anticipation would kill her (of course, only until Carol forgot that she'd even bought anything in the first place), but she supposed she could bide her time. Carol slid the stack of books under the bed and made a mental note to grab them out on Thursday.
She returned to the main room to find Therese who had already cleaned up her own workspace, sitting on the couch with a loving smile on her lips. Therese patted the spot next to her, and Carol couldn't help but indulge.