Part I

Saturday, December 5 1953

All through the fallen leaves and frosty breath of autumn, Therese hears the patter of tiny footsteps, followed a moment later by heavier ones, make their way up to the doorstep just after breakfast. Twice a month, always a Saturday.

Carol’s eyes, which she is so certain are grey, somehow manage to light up to a thousand hues every single time. She hurries to the front door, still retaining an air of grace, and Therese contents herself with washing up the coffee-stained cups and crumbed plates — evidence of their shared domesticity. She turns the faucet higher when the door opens to drown out the murmur in the front hall. Harge.

It isn’t exactly jealousy. Although, Therese isn’t totally immune to the twinge of envy that Harge has with Carol something that binds them together indefinitely even beyond their failed marriage — Rindy. She hates herself for feeling that way. Mostly though, it’s guilt that weighs upon her like a stone sunken in the pit of her stomach.

Often, Therese thinks of leaving when Rindy’s there. She’s done that twice before and ended up on long walks in the park. Carol didn’t say anything either time. But when the bell rang on the third Saturday, Carol turned to her with a long, imploring look and Therese swallowed the excuse back down her throat.

And so, it becomes a routine, a habit, and she knows it can’t last. Yet, she hardly wants to insult Carol’s intelligence by stating the obvious. She purses her lips instead and waits with bated breath until December swings round with its puffs of snow and all-round holiday magic. Then, when she least expects, it happens.

It takes Harge eight months to finally break.

Maybe it’s been his intention all along — an elaborate ruse, stringing them along for most of the year before cutting them off when the warmth really counts. Honestly, she doesn’t give a damn. All Therese registers is Carol’s form, rigid against the chair, and the letter that’s tossed on the coffee table.

Fifteen minutes late, the bell had rang out. Carol flew to answer it but it wasn’t Harge at the door. It wasn’t Rindy either, skipping around in all her childish buoyancy that, filled with a balloon, would surely be able to float up to space. It was just some stranger delivering a letter. Carol shut the door and tore open the envelope. In five seconds, it was over.

Isn’t it funny? Therese thinks. Just a jumble of alphabets, but they’re enough to sweep Rindy off someplace else well beyond Carol’s grasp.

And Carol, she isn’t infallible. Therese is under no absurd impression that Carol should be. She expects her to cry, to be angry, to do…well, something. Instead, Carol sits there silently, and that is infinitely more alarming. She tries not to read too much into it either — how Carol still attempts to hold herself together in her presence. But when Therese follows the trajectory of Carol’s gaze, her heart sinks down further.

She longs to run to Carol’s side and embrace her, whisper reassurances and promise to keep her safe forever. Only, It’s not her place. It’s just not her place. Not when she’s part of the equation that sums to a morality clause.

Wordlessly, Therese makes her way to the door. She drags her heavy woollen coat on and lingers by the doorstep with her hand on the doorknob. She wants to say something. She can’t find the words. Carol probably doesn’t care to hear anyway.

It’s Carol who breaks the silence eventually.

“Where are you going?”

Therese whirls back. One of her feet lands onto a shoe and she stumbles a bit. She feels foolish; clumsy when Carol needs her to be sensitive and mature.

“I need to— there’s something. I forgot.”

Carol stares at her for a long moment. Her eyes seem to glint with annoyance and Therese feels herself growing smaller under the scrutiny. Then, Carol looks away.

Therese waits a little longer, but there’s only silence. When she shuts the door, it’s to the sound of Carol picking up the telephone handset.

She wanders around aimlessly for most of the day. Down the street, through the park, along the sidewalk of a busy road. The sun sets early in December. It’s past four, past five, past six. She walks and walks and worries fill her mind up like a shadow she can’t outrun.

They’ve changed and adapted, moulded to fit each other in. Even so, it’s only like Carol to be aloof; cruel, even, when she wants. As for herself, Therese likes to think that she’s matured and become more independent. But that’s hardly the case when she feels like a kicked puppy simply because Carol chooses not to confide in her.

It’s stupid. And selfish. Between intermittent visits from Rindy, the impending divorce and all the town talk, of course it’s taking a toll on Carol. Yet, here she is thinking only of herself. Her need for Carol’s reassurance. Her need for Carol’s love. For Carol.

Therese cradles her arms around herself, shivering in the cold. In the dark, Christmas lights twinkle like fallen stars.

It’s late when she lets herself back in but the apartment is still lit. The stand lamp in the living room casts a soft glow onto Carol. She’s sprawled across the two-seater, her back against the arm of the chair, facing the window. All there is to see is the distorted reflection of the room on the fogged-up glass.

Therese stops a few feet away. After a beat, Carol lowers the cigarette from her lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke and something like an almost-sigh.

“Where’ve you been all day?”

“I…” Therese bites her bottom lip, not knowing what to say. She hears the reproach in Carol’s voice.

Carol turns back to look at her when she says nothing more. Her make up shed for the day, she looks tired, troubled and almost as though…Oh. She’s worried.

“I went for a walk,” Therese blurts out.

Carol’s expression turns incredulous. She’d hurried off in the morning without a single cent on her, no gloves or scarf either. Even to her, it sounds like what Carol would call a half-assed excuse.

Twisting round, Carol lowers her feet to the hardwood floor and faces her fully.

“Abby was here in the afternoon,” she says, taking another puff on her cigarette.

“I know.”

The warmth of the apartment after the cold outside is disorientating. It seems rather impossible that Carol’s eyes flash with anger and soften all at once.

“Of course,” Carol says quietly. Then, louder, she says, “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“No.”

“There’s dinner on the table. It’s probably cold by now though.”

Dinner?

The word flies over her head like some alien language and Therese remains standing there. Then, suddenly, Carol is at her side, steering her towards the table, and pressing her to sit down in a chair. From behind, Carol reaches out and drags a plate closer to her.

“Well. That looks nasty as hell now,” she comments drily. It looks like burnt rubber coated with a sheen of oil.“I’ll heat—”

“I’m sorry,” Therese says abruptly.

Carol stiffens behind her.

To think she has the gall to feel slighted that Carol chooses not to confide in her, when she’s like this. To think that Carol has so many things on her mind and she still ends up having to take care of her.

“I want— you have….what I mean is, I’m here. Whatever that even counts for.” She pauses, and a small breath of laughter escapes. It’s embarrassing how bitter she sounds. “But I’m here for you, Carol.”

Carol doesn’t seem to notice anyhow. She lifts her hand and brushes her cheek. “Oh darling,” she says, her voice so tender Therese feels like crying. “I didn’t want to go to bed alone.”

Turning back, she finds Carol staring down at her. Carol’s eyes flicker through a myriad of emotions so fast Therese tries making sense of it and it’s already gone.

“Eat. Finish your dinner. Then, come to bed.”

Carol steps away and Therese misses her warmth immediately.

When she finally gets to the bedroom, the only light is from the bedside lamp that Carol has left switched on for her. Carol lies with her back towards her but Therese can tell that she’s still awake.

She slips into bed and lies stiffly, on her side and facing Carol. She’s warmed up from the cold, but the chill hasn’t expelled from her body so much as seeped deeper into her bones. Everything seems so fragile.

Carol would probably laugh at her. Youthful theatrics, she’d say. But she’s pretty sure it’s not all in her mind. Not when Carol can’t even bear to admit needing her. She just doesn’t want to be alone.

Therese stares at Carol’s back so intently that surely she must have burnt a path into her skin. Yet, blessedly, miraculously, Carol remains still. She’s not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

With a sigh, she twists to her side and searches for the light switch. The room plunges to darkness the same moment Carol calls out to her.

“Therese.”

Therese fumbles again for the switch but her eyes haven’t adjusted in the dark. Carol, however, doesn’t seem disoriented in the least. She finds her hand easily and threads their fingers together, tugging her closer.

“Stop thinking so much. It’s distracting.”

“Sorry.”

Carol exhales loudly, a puff of breath tickling her cheek. “Hell, stop apologising too.”

Therese stays silent. This close to Carol, she can feel the heat radiating off her body; a silent comfort — even if she doesn’t think she deserves it.

Carol squeezes her hand. “Go to sleep, darling. We’ll talk. Tomorrow,” she says, her voice already heavy with sleep.

Slowly, Therese hears Carol’s breathing even out.

Tomorrow. Of course. Everything can wait for tomorrow.

Therese closes her eyes and when sleep eventually comes, Carol’s hand is still firmly laced in hers.

Sunday December 6 1953

Yet, tomorrow comes and they do not talk. Exhausted from the previous day of mindless wandering, Therese wakes to the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. The hum of conversation drifts through the crack in the door and she recognises Carol’s voice immediately. The other is just as easy to make out, but it draws her lips in a sullen purse.

She’s supposed to be talking to me, Therese thinks resentfully.

From outside, Carol’s laughter floats into the room — loud, hearty and brimming with affection; the kind of laughter that can’t be stifled however hard you try. Carol doesn’t laugh like that — not with her. Annoyed, Therese flings the covers off and stalks out of the room.

They’re sitting in the kitchen. Carol, in her usual spot, and Abby, in hers. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it does.

Abby notices her first and she leans closer to Carol, finishing her thought. The liquid rage Therese feels simmers to a boil but Abby seems oblivious. Sitting back, she waves her over.

“Sleeping beauty finally awake hey,” she teases.

Carol looks back. Therese’s heart skips a beat to see her beaming.

“Well? Scoot on over,” Carol says, patting the vacant chair beside her. Therese walks over quickly and sits down. Wordlessly, Carol passes over a plate of toast and some orange juice. She even leans over and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Oh, aren’t the two of you just sweet,” Abby coos. Therese looks up sharply, unsure if she misheard the mocking note in her voice.

Beside her, Carol only rolls her eyes and Therese looks back down quickly, hoping her reaction went unnoticed. Thankfully, eating soon keeps her occupied.

The entire time, the conversation flows around her like a living creature and of course she’s envious. It doesn’t have to be a competition. Yet, she can’t escape the feeling that she’s competing with Abby for Carol’s affection. Abby knows exactly what to say, how and when. Meanwhile, everything she says sounds clumsy and awkward. It’s horrible to reduce Carol’s predicament to some kind of childish contest. But well, a little bit, it is.

Therese glares down at the toast she’s been picking apart and takes an angry bite out of a corner, utterly disgusted by herself.

It’s forty-five minutes later when Abby drains her coffee and taps the rim of the cup. “Got to get going now. Important appointment and all.”

“Well, finally,” Carol exclaims.

Abby shoots her an unamused glare. Carol just shrugs.

“What? You’ve become a terrible gossip. Don’t call it an appointment when it’s a date. I’m telling you — it’s all that steak Amelia feeds you.”

“You’re awfully nice today,” Abby says; she stands up.

“I’m nice everyday,” Carol shoot right back and together they walk to the front door. Therese watches them go, marvelling at the easy familiarity between them.

She’s almost done clearing the table when Carol returns. Carol sits down again and pulls out a cigarette.

“Abby says goodbye, by the way.”

“Oh. Right,” Therese says awkwardly, balancing the coffee cups and her empty glass in both hands as she walks back to the sink. Couldn’t they talk about something else?

“Also…”

Carol’s tone makes her glance back curiously.

“According to her, you make amusing company when you’re fuzzy with sleep.” Carol tilts her head down to light the cigarette and when she looks back up, she’s smirking. “I must say, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Amusing?” Therese repeats.

“Well, not exactly. The word she used was adorable. I figured you wouldn’t appreciate that as much.”

“No,” she agrees, frowning.

Her seriousness extracts a low chuckle from Carol. “My dour little darling,” Carol says, her eyes glowing with mirth.

How’s she able to sound so…happy? Therese wonders.

She steps away from the sink. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend when you’re around me.”

A flicker of surprise registers on Carol’s face. She draws the cigarette from her lips. “I’m not pretending, Therese.”

“But yesterday—”

“I love Rindy with all my life. But I’m not going to let anyone rule over my entire existence,” Carol says. “No one, not even my child.”

Therese looks at her with uncertainty.

“I’ll be fine anyhow,” Carol continues, firmer now. “The days go on either way.”

She flashes Therese a quick smile. The finality in her tone bades no further discussion and just like that, the window into Carol’s mind shuts in her face.

Surely they’ve made some progress now that Carol has said something about it. Yet, she hears in Carol’s voice only the grim conviction of someone hellbent on convincing themselves. Therese’s imagination conjures up the disparate vision of a summer fly caught in a winter scene. She feels like they’re drifting in a lazy circle, merely skirting around the issue.

Part II

Wednesday, December 16 1953

Still, there is some truth to Carol’s words. The world doesn’t stop; days go on. The rush of year-end publications keeps Therese cooped up at the office and she forgets the feel of sunlight on her skin for an entire week. Everything melds to a blur. Once, she even found herself grasping for a cup of coffee that was actually a photograph. Of eggnog.

Ah yes, and Christmas is coming.

It’s hard to imagine that the name Carol Aird bore no meaning to her a year ago. Times when Carol gazes at her as though she’s aware of precisely what Therese is thinking. Other times yet, when the slightest caress and pressure of Carol’s mouth, hands, body on hers stretches a single pinpoint of time indefinitely.

Anyhow, she finally gets a brief respite on Wednesday the week after. An entire issue gets scrapped when the latest reader survey gets back — no more maudlin accounts of Christmas reunions and holiday camaraderie thank you very much.

She ends up tossing the photograph of eggnog after all. Honestly, she’s only too glad to have the afternoon off to care. And so, while the writing department descends into a flurry of panic, she slips out and heads home.

Carol finishes work early on Wednesdays. A slice of heaven marooned right in the middle of weekday hell, she’d once called it. For once, Therese is back before her.

It’s ridiculous, really — how excited she is about seeing Carol, talking to her; the simple act of soaking up her presence without feeling like keeling over from exhaustion midway through. Therese sits down on the sofa, feeling adrift in the pocket of idleness that seems so vast after the busy week. What did she even use to do when she wasn’t working?

After some fussing around, she ends up on the hardwood floor with photographs of their road trip a year ago strewn across the coffee table. There are some shots of scenery — vast, empty fields and snow and roads that stretch on and on. But most of them are candids. Of Carol, obviously.

She pores over them, finds a stack of photos she’s forgotten she even took. She remembers now. They’d been taken in quick succession, creating something like a flip book effect.

It starts with a photo of Carol, staring ahead at the road. Then, angling her head to the side, trying to get a lock of hair off her face. Therese would’ve reached over and helped her if she hadn’t been so focused on capturing the moment. Click. Next, Carol, glancing in her direction, catching sight of the camera. Surprise. Another shot of lips quirked in amusement. Another one, just a blur of movement — Carol shaking her head, exasperated. Then, after a brief glance at the road, turning back and leaning closer. In the still, the glint in Carol’s eyes is watered down but Therese recalls the exact moment. Like fireflies trapped within her irises.

“Are you or aren’t you supposed to be looking out for our lunch stop, Miss Belivet?”

Therese closes her eyes and remembers.

Carol’s voice loses none of its mesmerising quality in her memory. It sounds like fine silk, or smooth brandy. Something like that. Something refined and unknown, entirely unattainable to Therese.

Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?

Always.

“Doing a damn fine job you are, if I do say so.”

She remembers her own reply — “Well, you’re supposed to be looking at the road.”

Every bit a genuine concern, yet not at all what she wanted to say. But anything else might have sounded stupid.

Carol laughed. “Touché.”

The camera was still raised in her hands and her fingers flicked down on the shutter release. Somehow, she’d managed to capture that precise moment. She picks that photo out of the stack now.

Mid-laugh, the second before she’d turned back to the road. Carol’s eyes were crinkled slightly, looking right into the frame, right at her.

Therese feels herself falling in love all over again.

She sits there reminiscing about the road trip for a while longer. When the telephone rings out, she freezes. She stares down at the scattered pile like incriminating evidence at a crime scene. There’s no reason to feel guilty; still, Therese gathers up the photos and puts them back into the box before standing up.

“Hello?”

“Oh. Therese, hello.”

She’s just as surprised. “Abby.”

Abby recovers quickly. “So…Carol said you usually work late on Wednesdays.”

“Yeah.”

“Is she back?”

Therese glances up to the clock, surprised to find that it’s almost six. She’s been looking over the photographs for over two hours. Carol should’ve been back a while ago, but maybe she’d gotten held up.

“Not yet.”

Abby hesitates for a moment. “Well…I guess just tell her I hope tomorrow goes well.”

“Tomorrow?” Therese asks, annoyed that she can’t hide the confusion in her voice.

“Uh…yes.”  An awkward pause stretches out for few beats. Therese drums her fingers on the table impatiently. Finally, Abby heaves a sigh.

“She’s planning to see Fred. You know, her law—”

“Her lawyer. I know,” Therese cuts over. There’s no pleasure in knowing this morsel of knowledge. It’s like observing the world through a pinhole while someone raves on about the universe outside.

Abby seems to hear the recrimination in her voice and sighs again. “She just told me on Monday too.”

Monday.

Therese tries to think back. She barely said five words to Carol on Monday. Yet, behind the morning kiss and fond smile, Carol had something troubling her. Therese hadn’t even sensed anything.

Tuesday, though — surely Carol could’ve told her yesterday? Carol was reading in bed when she got back. They’d chatted for a bit and she’d even mentioned the party Dannie invited her to on the weekend. Carol could’ve said something then.

Unless she didn’t want to, Therese concludes.

She forgets she’s still on the line until Abby clears her throat.

“She loves you a lot, y’know,” Abby says. Her voice is an odd mixture of earnestness and…what, pity?

“I’m not—“ Therese snaps. She wants to say she’s not that selfish, but realises with a jolt of clarity that she does actually want to hear the assurance. The rest of her sentence shrivels and dies in her throat.

Abby laughs knowingly.

A moment later, a muffled voice carries over from the other end then Abby says, “Well, I have to go. Let her know won’t you?”

“Right, okay. Goodbye then.” Therese drops the handset back in its cradle, feeling spent all of a sudden.

Carol comes back a short while later and when she steps inside, the apartment seems to brighten a few degrees.

“Therese!” she exclaims, genuinely delighted.

For a moment, all her worries melt away. Therese crosses the room and buries herself in Carol’s embrace.

“I missed you,” she says, not caring how small her voice sounds.

“We live in the same apartment,” Carol laughs and Therese tightens her hold, trying to extract something more from the other woman. It works.

Dropping her handbag to the floor, Carol wraps her arms around Therese and draws her in even closer. “But I know exactly what you mean, darling.”

“Tell me,” she demands childishly, her words muffled against Carol’s shoulder.

Carol laughs again and steps back. She tilts forward, kissing her lightly, then raises a hand and pinches her nose. “I miss you like hell, Therese. You’ve been falling asleep on me the whole damn week.”

Oh. Is that why…?

“Sorry. Did you…want to tell me anything?”

Carol seems to waver for a moment but a blink, and it’s gone. Bending down, she picks up her discarded bag and makes her way towards the living room, talking over her shoulder. Therese follows behind.

“Nothing really.” Her heart sinks. Then — “Oh wait, there’s something. On Monday, actually” — her heart starts up again, a quickened beat — “someone tried selling me a fifth-hand third-rate chair for $300. You know why? Because it was green. And it’s Christmas soon.”

She turns back and sees Therese’s sombre expression. “No, not funny? Honestly, it wasn’t even green. A crummy, mouldy looking thing.”

Carol chuckles, but the sound hardly registers above the growing static crowding into Therese’s head.

“Are you even surprised anymore?” she says, not really sure to what or whom she’s referring to. She has to consciously work on unclenching her fists.

“I suppose not,” Carol says slowly.“Therese, is everything alright?”

“Just tired. I’m fine.” She tries for nonchalance but her voice sounds brittle instead. “Abby called earlier. She says good luck. For tomorrow.”

Carol freezes.

“Oh. I was going to…” A pause. “Well. You know now don’t you,” she finishes, blithely. If anything, it infuriates Therese even more.

“It’s okay. I don’t tell you everything either,” she says bitingly but Carol gazes back, entirely unaffected.

“Therese. Abby asked me what I planned to do after last…Saturday.”

She realises her mistake only towards the end, and by then, it would be worse to leave the sentence hanging.

Of course, Therese doesn’t know about Saturday either. Not exactly.

“Right.”

A strangled sound escapes Carol’s lips. Therese can tell she’s at the edge of her patience.

“Does it really matter anyway? There are so many things demanding your attention, Therese. Every one of them far more important that this. My appointment with Fred is practically inconsequential. Boring, even.”

Therese looks down at her feet. Her giddy excitement has long dissipated. She just wants to sleep the night away.

“You’re right,” she concedes. “Think I’ll go and lie down.”

When she looks back up, Carol doesn’t look relieved so much as confused. “Aren’t you having dinner?”

She nearly laughs. Of all times to bring up the topic of food. “No, I suppose not.”

Carol doesn’t stop her, and so she goes.

Thursday, December 17 1953

The next day, Carol has left by the time she’s up.

Sleep eluded Therese till just before dawn and she’s had a long time to think. As usual, Carol is right.

She is neither Rindy’s guardian nor godmother. In fact, only by extension of Carol does she feel the little girl’s absence. Even then, hardly. In the plainest sense of the word, it’s none of her business. Why is it important to her anyway? Because it’s important to Carol…? Or because being in Carol’s confidence would make her feel important?

Oh, the long-reaching clutches of youthful narcissism, imagining herself a shooting star when in fact she’s a dull, stray lump of rock hurtling to an inevitable end.

Therese buries her face into the pillow.

“Everything feels so romantic when you’re young,” she remembers Carol scoffing.

She’d asked Carol how she met Harge. Months ago now, when she’d first moved in. Carol had been distracted all morning, grumbling about forgetting something but she just couldn’t remember what. She paced the length of the living room, radiating nervous energy while Therese tried to concentrate on reading Miller’s Death of a Salesman.

“You can always get it done tomorrow anyway. It’s a holiday.”

Carol turned to her, looking perplexed. “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

“The seventh. It’s Labour day.”

“Is that—” Carol snorted. “Well, of course.”

She said nothing more for a while, but Therese put down her book and stared at her. Finally, she spoke again. “It’s my wedding anniversary. Or, was.”

“Oh.”

“That explains everything though. God knows I’ve been having this funny feeling the whole day.” Carol laughed, an inside joke only Abby would’ve gotten perhaps.

“How did you meet?” Therese asked suddenly.

It was somewhat shocking to realise that she’d never asked Carol that before.

Carol mulled over her question for a while before replying. “The way you usually meet a person, I suppose. By accident. Then, convincing yourself afterwards that it’s some sort of fated encounter.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Ill-fated, more like,” she said, a wry smile on her lips.

“You must have loved him at some point, though. I mean, you married him after all,” Therese pressed, not really sure where she was going with this thread of inquiry. She wanted Carol to refute her words maybe.

Carol didn’t.

“In a way,” she said vaguely.

Therese hated that answer. Hated the condescending tone that crept into Carol’s voice every so often. It said — you’re much too young to understand.

Carol must have sensed her displeasure. Her smile deepened, patronising as ever. “The way the thrill of attention makes you feel lightheaded all the same.”

Though she was smiling, there was a wistful, almost sad tone to her voice. At that time, she’d been much too distracted by Carol’s words to pay it any attention.

“You reduce love to something so…so cheap. Like it’s just some fit of dizziness when it’s so much more,” she accused. She’d been disappointed. Is that all this was to Carol? A spell of giddiness.

“Everything feels so romantic when you’re young.”

Carol looked at her and shook her head like she was missing the entire point.

But was there even a point to begin with? Carol hadn’t even answer her question in the end, she realises suddenly.

The alarm rings and Therese reaches out to shut it. She sighs. She hasn’t even gotten out of bed and she feels drained. It’s yet another long day ahead.

Carol’s already in bed, sitting up against the headboard and smoking her last cigarette when she gets back that night.

“I was beginning to wonder if you lost your way,” Carol teases, yesterday’s argument already forgotten.

Therese smiles gratefully. “Not quite. But I might be losing my mind. We’re still working on something that should’ve been sent out last week.” She falls back onto her side of the bed, shutting her eyes. “How the hell is tomorrow not the weekend yet?”

Carol's tone carries a smirk. “My poor baby. I’m sure I could think of a way to make you feel better.”

Theres shivers at the huskiness of her voice and a familiar tingle of warmth spreads outwards from her chest. She tilts her head to the side, blinks open an eye. Carol smiles widely back at her. She’s happy today.

Oh. Therese remembers now.

“How did the meeting with Fred go?”

Carol waves her question off with a flick of her hand, sending a plume of smoke between them. “Get changed and come back to bed. I’ll tell you everything when you’re here, right next to me.”

The uncharacteristic excitement in her voice surprises Therese. After a moment, Carol prods her side with a foot and huffs impatiently when she still doesn’t move.

“Well, go on. You’re definitely making me lose my sleep and my mind.”

With a groan, Therese drags herself up. She tries to make quick work of her nightly routine but when she emerges from the bathroom, Carol has already fallen asleep. The cigarette is stubbed in the ashtray on the bedside dresser and Carol, still sitting upright with her head tipped forward, fast asleep.

Therese’s heart aches with tenderness at the sight. Asleep, there is a sense of fragility to Carol so markedly absent at all other times. She slips into bed and leans across to shake her gently.

“Carol. Wake up. You’ll complain about a stiff neck tomorrow.”

Carol breathes out a soft moan. Her eyes flutter open a second later. “What’s that?”

Therese grins. “Nothing. I love you. Just go back to sleep — lying down this time.”

“Oh wait.” Carol blinks, then sits forward suddenly. “I haven’t told you what happened.”

“Just tell me tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m awake now,” Carol says.

Therese bites her lip, wanting so badly to be less selfish. “You really don’t have to. At all.”

Something flashes in Carol’s eyes and she’s distinctly aware that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Well. Like I said before — it’s boring,” Carol says casually, her cool tone at odds with the intensity of her gaze.

“No! Tell me.”

Goddamnit, she wants to hear all of it. Of course she does.

Carol shrugs. “There isn’t much to say actually. Harge wrote in some bullshit about the importance of a stable family on Rindy’s mental health. How it’s unhealthy for her to be exposed to certain wayward influences. Bastard. Anyway, Fred wants to go with a psychoanalytical angle. Maternal deprivation. It’s all new material apparently — some study that got published recently.”

She says everything in a flat, almost bored tone, her previous excitement stripped away entirely. Therese wants to burst into tears from frustration.

“That’s a start,” she says instead. “That’s great, Carol.”

It sounds all wrong, the delivery too wooden.

Carol smiles wanly at her, and they sit in strained silence for a long moment.

“This probably isn’t what you’ve expected, is it,” Carol murmurs suddenly, looking away.

Therese tries not to feel hurt. She never expected that they’d be living in a vacuum, driving down a highway with clear skies overhead till the end of time. She hasn’t been expecting anything at all.

“I’m being too selfish I think,” Carol continues. Therese stares at her, nameless dread clawing up at her chest.

“Harge clearly wants to drag it out as long as possible. And whatever I’ve said before, I can’t help feeling gloomy just thinking about Rindy. I’m hardly paying attention to much else.”

Her fear transforms into fury and Therese has to bite her tongue to keep from yelling. “I’m not a pet clamouring for your attention, Carol,” she manages to say.

Carol turns to her. “Darling, that’s not—”

“And if you really feel that way, there’s no reason for you to force yourself to act like it doesn’t all bother you. You laugh when you’re actually hurting inside.”

Carol looks shocked. “Well, I’m making a mess of what I’m saying, aren’t I?” She says ruefully. “You’re right, I miss Rindy dearly. But I’m not lying either. You make me happy, Therese. Joy, sadness, anger — they don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Therese stares back doubtfully, unsure whether to believe or if Carol’s just trying to placate her.

“So, what does Abby say?”

Carol frowns at the sudden topic change. “Nothing.”

She doesn’t want to tell.

“She doesn’t know yet,” Carol adds after a beat, like she knows what she’s thinking.

“But you talk over everything with her,” Therese says, throwing Carol’s own words from long ago back at her. Her tone wavers between a question, matter-of-fact and reproachful.

Carol looks even more disappointed.

“Sometimes, it seems the only way you’ll stay afloat is in the Dead Sea.”

“What are you saying?” Therese asks, her turn to frown.

“Oh, I don’t know. What you want to hear perhaps,” Carol snaps, her patience finally running thin. She looks immediately contrite, but the damage is done and the words hang heavily in the air between them.

There it is. The truth. What she’s been pressing Carol to say the entire time. It hardly feels like a victory.

“You don’t have to indulge me,” Therese bites out.

“And if I want to?” Carol says, calm once more.

You clearly don’t, not really, Therese thinks. Isn’t this the point of our entire argument? Aloud, she says, “Maybe you shouldn’t.” Then, because Carol seems so infuriatingly unaffected by everything, she adds, “Like you said before, whatever we do is just habit in the end. We’d be better off without some.”

Carol’s eyes widen with a glimmer of alarm. Just as quickly, they harden, as so does her voice. “What exactly are you saying, Therese? If you aren’t happy…”

“But it’s not all mutually exclusive, right?” Therese sneers. They’re hurtling to a fiery end faster than her brain can process. She can’t bring herself to care anymore.

Carol stares at her. The undercurrent of cold anger when she finally speaks freezes Therese in place.

“Well, don’t you just have a clever way with words.”

Then, she tugs her robe tighter around her waist and rises out of bed.

The entire room seems to sag down after Carol leaves. Therese finds that she does still care after all.

Saturday, December 19 1953

She’s been at the party for two hours, out in the balcony alone for almost as long. Carol still hasn’t turned up.

Therese wonders if Carol found her note on the dresser; if she’s crumpled it to a ball and tossed it into in the bin; if she’s bothered to read it at all. Or maybe she isn’t even back yet?

But it’s almost eight and all Carol had to do was supervise the seller who’d flown in from Dallas with his shipment of god-knows-who-even-cares and was-it-even-part-of-her-employment-contract? Carol had been quite irritated, walking out of the door with a — “I really don’t get paid enough to put up with all this shit.”

To Therese, it was godsend. Honestly, she didn’t even feel like coming. But they’ve been too caught up in everything lately and she thought maybe they could spend some time out here, away from all of it. She’d been second guessing herself the entire morning and this way, she wouldn’t have to ask Carol directly. Cowardly, sure, but that’s nothing new.

Then she arrives — Dannie is off somewhere and she doesn’t feel like talking to anyone else. Therese ends up slipping out onto the balcony almost immediately.

It’s dark outside but for the tiny glow from the end of her cigarette. It leaks a strain of smoke into the crisp night air. A habit now, because of Carol, and it feels comforting. She closes her eyes, feels the way the music from within rattles the railing she’s leaning on. She should probably just go home.

“Hey. There you are.”

Therese whirls around, startled. The cigarette drops out of her hand, falls off the side of the balcony. It’s just Dannie.

He steps outside and slides the door shut behind him. “Well? What ya doing alone out here? Where’s she anyway?”

“Who?”

“Your, um…Mrs Aird.”

Therese narrows her eyes, not liking how Dannie sounds when he says her name. “Carol’s busy,” she says.

“You alright, Therese?” He asks hesitantly.

“Sure. I guess.”

“If, y’know, something’s up, you can always bunk with me for a bit?”

The question is entirely innocent. It’s complicated, Dannie. He knows. Or maybe, he doesn’t. Either way, he doesn’t pry or ask her anything. She’s glad for that.

“No, it’s fine. It’s, well, just…”

“Complicated?” He offers with a lopsided grin.

She returns a small smile. “Well, yes.”

He walks over and mirrors her pose, leaning against the railing beside her. They stand there in comfortable silence.

“Suppose I should refund you that cigarette,” Dannie says suddenly, digging in his pocket but he doesn’t have any on him. “Huh. Give me a minute, I’ll go find one.”

He disappears inside before Therese can stop him. She shakes her head in amusement and looks back out at the darkness.

Dannie, always so ready to please. She wonders if she would’ve fancied him if she hadn’t met Carol. In some alternate universe she’d never wish to visit, but hypothetically, just suppose — maybe?

No, not really.

Behind, the door slides open again.

“You know you didn’t have…” Therese turns back and the rest of her words fall away. Carol’s finally here.

“Well. You look like you’re having fun,” Carol says.

Therese isn’t sure how to respond. She can’t fully decipher her tone above the music, whether she’s still angry or…?

“I wasn’t sure…if you were coming,” she eventually says, settling on honesty.

Carol shrugs, and takes a step forward. “I’m not mad at you.”

“No?”

She considers for a moment, then her lips curl up in a wry smile. “Not entirely, no. Are you?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Therese says. It’s hard to stay angry at Carol, harder yet when it’s all partly her fault.

Carol nods, her expression turning serious.

“Therese, I think we should talk. I know that—”

The rest of her sentence is lost when Dannie appears at the door noisily. Brandishing an entire pack of cigarettes, he manages to yell out “Look what I—” before noticing Carol.

“Hello, Mrs Aird,” he says, lowering his hand immediately.

“Carol,” she corrects. Her voice carries a trace of irritation and Therese finds herself smiling a little in spite of everything.

Dannie shifts on his feet uneasily. “At least Therese can stop moping around now.”

“Oh?”

“She was saying you’re too busy to come,” he clarifies, seeming immune to the glare Therese shoots him. “But I’m glad it’s all good now.”

Carol lifts a questioning brow.

“I mean…you’re talking, and all, with her.”

“Dannie, you mind?” Therese says with quiet fury.

How dare he — talking about her like she isn’t just right there. Most of the time, she’s fond of him. Other times though, times like this, he’s just another Richard out there in the world. So selectively conscious of everything.

“Oh right. Sorry about that, interrupting ya. I’ll just…hang around inside.” He seems to consider offering her a cigarette but thinks better of it and disappears back inside again with a sheepish look.

It’s quiet for a long moment. Therese fidgets uncomfortably. Dannie didn’t make her sound too desperate, did he?

“Dannie’s like that all the time, you know,” she says. “Always exaggerating things.”

Carol appraises her coolly. “I didn’t realise you and him were so close.”

“Well, he’s stuck around with me for quite a bit.”

She wasn’t trying to imply anything but Carol seems to hear something more in her words.

“He knows,” she says — not a question.

What? About us? Not exactly, Therese thinks. But the way Carol says it doesn’t sit well with her. Almost like an accusation.

“That I went through a horrible time before, yeah. Unemployed and all,” Therese says sharply. They’re both too adept at reading between the lines for Carol not to hear what she means — it’s not always about her.

Carol starts to answer just as someone crashes against the sliding door, loudly. They both jump. Raucous laughter floats out from within.

“A little irritating, isn’t it, this place,” Carol mutters.

Therese clenches her jaw. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to."

Carol shoots her a look. “I didn’t say that. ”

“You didn’t need to.”

“You’re reading into it too much, Therese!” Carol exclaims. “Stop assuming.”

“Well, I hardly know enough of anything to even make an assumption,” she says angrily.

Her words seem to douse the fire in Carol’s eyes. She breathes out a tired sigh.

“Look, let’s go back and talk, okay?”

Talk. Seethe. Argue. Rinse and repeat. How’s this happening yet again?

Therese nods wearily, and though they’re supposed to be fighting, Carol remains firm but gentle when she leads her out. An odd concoction of feelings swirls in her chest — warm adoration mixed with a darker vein of anger and frustration. Downstairs, Carol flags down a taxi and they ride back in silence.

When they get back, Carol unlocks the front door wordlessly and flicks the hallway light on. She turns back to her and Therese is still standing at the door. All of a sudden, they’re both reluctant to break the silence.

Finally, in a quiet voice, Carol asks, “Is that really what you think?”

Therese shrugs helplessly, struggling to find the words now that she’s been given the chance. She’s not even sure if she wants to tell Carol anything. A little bit, she resents how she lets Carol into her world but in turn gets locked out of hers.

“Sometimes, I just feel…invisible,” she says.

“How do you mean?”

She shoots Carol an impatient look. Surely she must know. “You never— you don’t tell me things…Well, I suppose you don’t have to. It’s not like what I think is important—”

“Don’t say that!” Carol interjects.

“Well, it’s true,” Therese shoots back, equally heated. Then, she shakes her head forcefully. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s my problem, anyway.”

“Why are you so…” Carol exhales heavily. “It’s our problem, Therese. It’s my problem too. Why do you keep trying to detach yourself from everything?”

Therese stares at her in disbelief. “You’re the one who wanted me to be more independent.”

“I— When did I even say that?”

“You don’t need—“

Carol throws up both arms. “There you go again! Stop—”

“Will you listen?” Therese yells over her. “I was going to say, you don’t need me. You don’t need me so what right do you have to demand that I do?”

Carol flinches, her mouth still half-open. Then, she laughs.

“Stop it!” Therese says, loud as before. Carol’s laughter dies away just as abruptly.

“Stop treating me like I’m stupid. I’m not as mature, I know, but I’m not a child. You say that I make you happy — but look at us! We’re not happy. You’re just so complex and confusing and I don’t even know…what to do.”

Carol looks at her, incredulous. “I’m complex?”

“Not everybody is fortunate enough to have known you for three decades,” she mutters darkly.

It’s not hard at all to catch onto what she’s saying.

“Therese. I’ve told you that Abby—”

All at once, it's too much to bear. Her skin is a tight, restrictive layer breaking at its seams, no longer enough to hold in all the emotions she has inside her.

“I know! I know. You just make me…I don’t know how to stop feeling. So much, all the time. It’s so unfair because I love you. And you’re just going to leave!”

Carol looks at her with an odd, strangled expression.

“I love you too. And I’m not leaving, Therese,” she says, after a long beat.

Therese looks away. “You can’t just promise me that.”

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you? From before,” Carol asks her abruptly.

“I’m—what?” She looks back at Carol, utterly baffled.

“For leaving.”

“Why would you—No. I’m not. Why would I be?”

Really, she isn’t. Angry — yes, for a while, but it was directed solely at herself. For being weak and overly dependent. For knowing from the start it would all come crumbling down and still getting caught by surprise. For not being able to move on and the gaping void she couldn’t seem to fill for a long time after Carol left.

“I don’t know, Therese. You tell me. Do you know how little you let me know sometimes?” Carol says.

Her anger flares up white and hot. "That’s rich. Coming from you,” she snaps.

“Well apparently, we’re both horrible at communicating,” Carol says wearily.

Disappointment settles upon them like a thick blanket in the silence that follows. At least, that’s what it feels like to Therese. She wonders if Carol feels the same. She’s afraid to find out.

“So, now what?” she asks anyway — because not knowing is infinitely worse.

Carol appraises her for a long moment. Then, with uncharacteristic hesitance, she asks, “Do you trust me?”

Of course I do, Therese wants to retort. With a jolt, she realises that it isn't true. Not entirely, at least. She’s still afraid and waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Carol to change her mind, reconsider, walk out of the door and disappear forever.

She doesn’t trust Carol.

Her heart sinks at the realisation and Carol quirks a small, sad smile like she knows.

“I want to. I’m trying,” Therese says, an apology in her voice.

Carol nods, her face becoming inscrutable. After a moment, her expression shifts again, like she’s made up her mind. She takes a step forward and there’s a note of determination in her voice when she speaks.

“Okay. Try.”

“Okay?”

The question is barely past her lips when Carol advances another step. Therese finds herself flush against Carol’s body. Carol pushes her back and she feels her spine collide painfully against the door. Then, Carol’s lips are on hers.

Carol’s kiss is hard and demanding. After a moment of surprise, Therese presses back into her just as fiercely. She tangles her fingers in Carol’s hair, trying to pour in everything she’s trying to say into the kiss. The tension in the room shifts and swirls, coming alive like a slumbering beast stirring awake.

Then, all too soon, they’re already breaking apart. Breathing hard, she meets Carol’s gaze, takes in her mussed-up hair and parted lips and the way Carol looks back at her, eyes dark with desire. They’re close enough for her to feel Carol’s breath warm on her cheek. Therese feels off-balanced, exhilarated and nervous all at once. She can barely remember what she’s meant to be angry about. It’s all just so tangled up in everything else — spoken, unspoken and the whole lot in between.

“I need you, alright?” Carol says, cradling the back of her head with one hand, and her thumb traces soothing circles on the side of Therese’s neck. “I do, and sometimes it scares me. There are thousands of reasons why…I suppose, I don’t know why you stay.”

Her mind reels from Carol’s admission. “I love you. You know that.”

Carol flashes a small smile. “I know.”

The haziness in her mind lifts a little. “But you don’t know why,” Therese says.

Carol shrugs, but doesn’t deny.

It’s madness really, that she doesn’t know. “Carol—”

“No, it’s fine,” Carol traces her other hand over Therese’s lips, hushing her. “It doesn’t always have to make sense. But it’s still the truth. I need you, Therese. I love you. I’m not going anywhere."

She pauses, and looks at her searchingly before saying, “Trust me.”

And it is that simple, Therese realises suddenly.

The entire time she’s been wanting concrete proof. She’s been wanting to map out Carol’s every look and gesture, to run it under tests and see how it reacts to every variable. She's been looking for certainty, proof, an ultimate validation.

That’s not how it works, though. Too much scrutiny and everything falls apart.

Carol leans closer. Impossibly close, yet they’re still apart.

“Let me love you, please,” she whispers.

What's another leap of faith when she's been in perpetual free fall since the first time she met Carol? Therese filters out all the thoughts and insecurities buzzing in her mind —

— and she nods.

Part III

Sunday December 6 1953
(two weeks prior)

They’ve exhausted the topic of Rindy yesterday. Well, not of Rindy. Carol doesn’t think she can ever get tired talking about her beautiful little girl. But her legal custody — that’s a whole other business.

And so, there seems to be only one logical progression in a conversation about matters closest to her heart.

Therese.

“So, how’s she?”

Abby knows her well indeed.

Carol lifts her cup and takes a sip of coffee, taking her time to reply. It’s hard to find words adequate enough. “The usual, I suppose. Like unwrapping a mystery box, layer by layer. Always a surprise and no end in sight.”

“Really now?” Abby looks amused. “You’ve always hated suspense.”

“From what I recall, you don’t enjoy eating steak either,” she replies evenly.

Abby’s smile widens. “Fair enough. Frankly, it wasn’t too hard to acquire the taste for red meat.”

Carol laughs. It feels good. The tightness in her chest recedes, then sinks back down, heavier than before.

“You should talk to her,” Abby continues, serious now.

“She knows.”

That gets her a pointed look. “But not because you told her.”

“Why, of course. The Sunday special on aspiring divorcée drama. Watch and learn my dear, how goes a proper midlife crisis. How thrilling.”

Abby huffs, exasperated. “For God’s sake, we aren’t middle-aged yet, Carol. And she’s not going to mind. Do you even see the way she looks at you?”

Carol stares down into her cup. “I hate to sound so gloomy. All the damn time. It’s tiring to listen to.”

“Moping doesn’t flatter you.” Abby says bluntly. Then, she softens her tone. “Or gloomy. Look, winter hasn’t stopped her from flourishing either. She’s grown a lot, you know, the past few months—”

Carol glances back up, narrowing her eyes. “She’s not a child. I know that.”

“Christ, I wasn’t implying anything. All I’m saying…” Abby hesitates for a moment. “It makes a difference, you know? Being informed and getting informed.”

Something in Abby’s tone stirs up dregs of memories from long past. Years ago. Rindy. The news of Rindy — well, not yet Rindy at that time. Just a life that was growing inside her, the baby she was expecting. And an Oh. Well, congratulations. Yes, I heard.

“Oh Abby…”

Abby looks at her sharply. “Will you stop reading so much into everything…” Her lips contort in a way that Carol knows she’s about to say something rash, “—is Therese rubbing off you that much?”

She isn’t even sure if Abby intended to derail their conversation. Either way, it works. There’s a moment of startled silence, then they both dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“If you must know…” Carol says after a moment, still catching her breath but Abby raises a hasty hand.

“All I want to know is that you haven’t hatched some harebrained scheme.” She leans in closer, “I know it, you know it. Therese loves you very much.”

It’s true. She does know it. That doesn’t stop her heart from doing a delighted pirouette and for the time being, the warm glow in her chest chases away the shadows of doubt.

All of a sudden, Abby sits back, waving somewhere over her head.

“Sleeping beauty finally awake hey.”

Carol whirls back and there she is. Therese — standing in the hallway, looking endearingly fuzzy with sleep yet still like she’s thinking hard. That restless mind of hers always at work, whirring away, tucking aside stray thoughts and observations and insights.

“Morning,” Therese says softly.

Carol knows she’s beaming like a fool but she can’t help it. Therese lingers in her spot, looking unsure whether to approach.

Oh, silly fools aren’t we both?

“Well? Scoot on over,” she finally says, impatient to have Therese closer to her.

Part IV

Sunday, December 20 1953

Therese burrows closer. Carol’s heartbeat is a steady pulse in her ear and she shivers at the way her skin tingles when Carol traces abstract shapes on her side. They’ve been flirting at the edge of sleep and wakefulness the entire time, but she feels more rested than she has in ages. Outside, it should be getting light soon.

“Tell me,” Carol murmurs sleepily, and Therese hears the words more as reverberations against her ear.

What are you thinking?

Do you know how little you let me know sometimes?

There’s so much to say and yet nothing at all.

They’ve covered so much ground in the past few hours, it’s strange to find that they’re lying in the exact same spot as before. Between lingering kisses and shuddering sighs, Therese thinks she finally understands.

They rely too much on undercurrents, on meanings implied but never actually spoken. It’s only too easy to lose themselves in the undertow. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember they don’t inhabit the same consciousness; that they can’t actually read each other’s minds; that odd as it seems to her, Carol has actually no idea what she’s thinking about.

“I’m thinking…I don’t tell you often enough. I’m thinking that you make me feel complete and I’m not going to leave you either. I love you.”

Sometimes though, words are redundant.

Carol kisses her tenderly and Therese knows exactly what she means.