Therese sat by her window, a cigarette between her fingers. The thin trail of smoke rose lazily, curling upward to meet the midnight sky. She was sketching a design for one of the theater groups in The Village—a play about lost children adrift in the middle of the sea. Somehow, it was supposed to be a comedy. How grotesque, she thought.
As she finished her sketch, Therese felt an unfamiliar sense of peace. There was something soothing about being home alone, the knowledge that no one would intrude on her solitude – no heavy footsteps that used to blow her thoughts away. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else for anyone. She could just be herself, though she wasn't entirely sure what that meant anymore.
Laughter drifted up from the street below—group of friends going out of the bar next door. It wasn't the first time such sounds had sparked a deep ache within her, a longing that seemed to rise from her very bones. Before she could stop herself, tears began to fall. She couldn't explain why. It was the kind of sadness that had no name, the quiet grief of a girl who missed herself, though she didn't even realize it.
Therese woke up from a growing uneasiness inside her, a tingling feeling on her skin before she could even open her eyes. Her breathing deepened, and as she finally sat up, everything seemed to wash over her like a cold stream of water. As her thoughts returned, she remembered that the audition for the play she was preparing wasn't until tomorrow noon. The uneasy feeling faded as quickly as it had come—until her phone began to ring.
Therese tensed up again at the thought of Richard calling. Not again. With a hint of annoyance, she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi…hello? Is this a good time?" The voice on the other end made Therese's heart skip a beat. It was strong and deep, yet tinged with uncertainty. Though the words asked if she was free, the voice seemed to demand her attention.
"Yes," she replied, staring at the ceiling and closing her eyes. How embarrassing. Before Carol could continue, Therese quickly added, "I'm sorry for not such a warm answer, Mrs. Aird. I… I thought you were someone else." Her words trailed off dully.
"It's quite alright," Carol replied, amusement evident in her tone. "But please don't call me Mrs. Aird, it makes me feel old."
Now Therese was smiling too. "Okay, sorry, Carol." Her voice dropped so low it was almost a whisper, but her smile grew wider. For a moment, silence hung on the other end of the call.
"So… what are your plans for today?" Carol's nervousness was faint but perceptible.
"Oh… nothing in particular. What about yours?" Therese asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner," Carol said, her words carefully measured.
"Dinner? Yes, of course." Therese's response was immediate, her pulse quickening.
"How about I pick you up at four?" Carol asked.