Damsel in the Red Dress

Rouge

It's about 5 p.m. when the party finally breaks up, and all the Moon family friends start heading home, like small clusters of dandelion seeds shaking themselves loose and drifting away in the chilly breeze.

It's amazing how the noise fades out. Like dimming the lights - the roar of voices subsides into a subtle bubble, chuckle, that reminds me of a laughing stream running over the rocks on the riverbed, or the low tide licking the shore. They pour out through the front door, each one with a word for Kattar or Mrs. Moon, and a promise to come around to see them again soon - a preemptive excuse about their busy schedules tagged onto the end, for when they're inevitably unable to follow through.

It's starting to snow again and Mrs. Moon has to drive one of her friends, the cherry-headed lady, to the subway station. I try not to think of how cold the walk home is going to be but don't succeed.

"I'll be back in about half an hour to clean up," Mrs. Moon tells Kattar, who shrugs from his wheelchair like it's 'no big deal,' but I know he couldn't stand sleeping in this mess.

"There's heavy traffic down on Main Street so I'm going to try and go round by the east route," she adds casually, rummaging through her purse like she's searching for her keys.

That's my part of town.

She glances at me quickly, asking with her eyes if I'd like a ride home.

Not yet.

"I'll stay to help you clean up when you get back," I reply quickly, a little too loudly, in response to the unvoiced question.

She turns to Madame the Ginger without another word and begins fretting about the weather, just like that, with an airy effortlessness that I've never been able to master. In ten seconds they're out in the hallway, swinging the door shut, talking Christmas ornaments and wreaths - decorating doors with wrapping paper. Ugly sweaters. Coffee mugs shaped like snowmen. The last I hear of their conversation is Mrs. Moon's sparkling laughter as the door mutes their chatter into soft indistinct mumblings, fading away with the footsteps.

The click of high heels grows fainter and further, leaving the room to settle into almost peaceful silence. I settle into my familiar disquiet.

Part of me, a small part, wishes I could run after Mrs. Moon and beg her to come back, just so I don't have to face the mess I made sitting in his wheelchair before me - but I'm too old to be crying out for anyone to come and save me, like some sort of princess in a tower. A damsel in distress...

I force myself to look at Kattar, trying to think how to bring up the peonies again. I could just say it, but that would be too natural, which appears to be impossible at this point.

Kattar glows a little rosier than he did earlier. I notice his eyes shining with a bright, excited, light that makes me nervous, and that same over-attentive expression from that day at the hospital. Just the reminder brings the color to my face.

'Please no,' I think, like I begged the chickadee.

I just want this to go down without awkwardness, or any sudden attacks on my heart rate, like the last time.

Just say something.

I brought you the picture - like I promised. The peonies. And the one...the other one.

I think a thousand things, but my nerves hang in the silence, dancing anxiously at every tremor of breath stirring the air in the still room and the afterglow of a thousand different colognes and perfumes.

It's painfully familiar, like the scent of the award ceremony, wafting down the stairs, with the snow sifting outside. And just the two of us.

The worst part is how he doesn't even seem to mind.