The Hostess

Claret was pouring into numerous glasses. Gay laughter was jingling all other the house. The feet were stomping to the music. That's how you could describe the party that happened last Friday in the house on Harper Street. Its owner, the hostess, was looking her best as always that day. Perhaps even prettier than usual, considering the circumstances. She had a sharp look in her eyes – the look of satisfaction and confidence. She wore a fashionable dress in a color of chamomile and a shiny pearl necklace around her slim neck. The guests cheered at her jokes, adored her company, and were all in all delighted for being invited by this wonderful creature with a sweet voice. However, her laughter was her most notable feature, or at least that's what all the guests claimed. The hostess's laughter was of the kind that could be easily distinguished even in a big loud group, it was peculiar in its melody. Yes, melody. Her laughter was like a classic composition of happiness, ease, and delight.

    When she didn't laugh, she talked in almost a whisper, in a sweet berry-like tone – hearing her could be compared to eating strawberry cheesecake – the tone of a creamy smooth voice with a note of spring freshness and bloom traveled from her throat right to the tip of her tongue whenever she started a conversation. It was a wonder to simply hear her.

    The hostess glided through the crowd of her party as an elegant swan. An anecdote here to move the conversation, a titter there to support a failed joke. Volume up in this room to encourage the dancing, another glass of wine for that empty hand of a joyful person just starting the party, and a blanket for someone who is already quite done and is sleeping there in the armchair. She kept the people talking, she wanted nothing but for them to enjoy themselves at her humble abode, as she usually called her house with a little smile and a modest sparkle in her eyes.

It was a great party.

One final song. One final dance. One final glass of wine. A teary farewell. Hands being shaken. Cheeks being kissed. And finally, the great entrance door closed with a thud. The cheerful hostess slipped down the wall in a hazy state. Like by a magic hand, the hostess turned into an ordinary young woman. Still as beautiful, but something was lost. The smile disappeared from her youthful face, the sharp look became dulled, and it was as if, the pearls too, had lost their shine.

The peaceful silence filled the house again. She sighed in relief as her thoughts slowly transferred from the evening of gaiety and laughter to the mundane activities of her life. There was cleaning to be done.

"So much cleaning", she thought.

The hostess stood up and slowly moved toward the kitchen. Her tired legs no longer wore heels, but she still staggered in exhaustion and pain. She looked over the living room, which just moments ago was filled with people. Now only empty glasses and leftover chocolate cake kept her company in the lonely room. She sighed again and picked up a few glasses and the cake. The rest of the cleaning could wait till tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow sounds best.

She placed the glasses covered in wine tears, truly the last reminders of the party, in the dishwasher and cut two pieces of the cake before putting it into the fridge. She set the plate on an empty kitchen table and put the kettle on.

"Nothing like a sweet ending to an exhausting night," she whispered under breath in a dreamy voice.

She placed a cup on the counter and went upstairs to take a quick shower while the water boiled.

The sound of the running water soon filled the quiet house. The lights were out everywhere except the one lightbulb in the kitchen and the bathroom. So, the pitter-patter sound of the shower felt all the more alive in the dead of the night and the solemn silence of the place.