Page 20 - jesse book

There was no FOR SALE sign, no tenant eager to greet us, no response from our Craiglist poster.
“I don’t know Jess, it doesn’t look like they’re renting,” she said.
“Well can we check?” I said, not letting the walls of my fantasy cascade into crumbs.
“It doesn’t even look like anyone’s home” Tink responded.
The door was red, the stucco a lovely creamsicle color. There was a yard of perfect size, with lush green gas being trampled by heavy raindrops. Two big windows laid on either size and one could barely make out the shape of a piano through curtain sheers and condensated gloom.
I imagined myself on a night not unlike this, bathed in warm light and clad in a velvet black maxi dress, long sleeve, entertaining for the first time. Our friends would be gathered around our massive dining table with just enough wood rot to be acceptable; we found it on the side of the road after all. There would be dingy gilded candlesticks Tink brought home from a Set. Jean would’ve spent all day picking a nice table cloth and making hors d’oeuvres. I would finally emerge and be greeted by uproarious, albeit slightly facetious, applause. The main course of the night was lasagna and we would all oscillate between laughing at stupid shit, and getting quiet during “real” discussions over tines hitting porcelain and everflowing red wine.
Jean and Tink would eventually retire after our last friend makes her way out. All that’s left is me, and the massive piles of dishes. Oh, and of course my lover has stayed behind. They sneak up behind me as I put away a fork. I’m startled, but not surprised by their arms around my waist. They hold me for a second and we rock slowly back and forth as our oven clock reads 12:00. I turn and greet them with a smile.
“I love that oxblood on your nails” they whisper.
I thank them, I had got the manicure the day before and wasn’t