The Pre-PartyShe unconsciously kicks the bright blue ballerina flats off her feet in fever as she picks up one of the books on the coffee table – a miserable footstoll covered with an inherited shawl.The Pre-Party
“Ah, listen to this: ‘Together they contemplate the picture: the young wife with the daring clothes and gaudy jewellery striding through the front door, impatiently sniffing the air; the husband, colourless Mr Right, apronned, stirring a pot in the steaming kitchen.’ ” The other girl, in cherry-coloured ballerina flats with bows, stares blankly, in anticipation of a sequel to the sentence, preferably one that makes sense
ReassuranceShe tells me she loves him for inspiration. I’m confused for a moment; does she love him because he inspires her, or has he inspired her and then made her fall in love with him, or is it her that inspires him? She smiles mysteriously, no, she smiles stupidly to give the very effect that there is something mysterious going on within her, and says, almost whispers so as to prolong the mystery, that it does not matter, at all. I shrug, and grin, and try to be as casual as I can. I should have given an even wider smile and told her something overused, like how love is blind and how you never know, but then it would be too simple, even for heReassurance
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