A story by FRILISABefore the door opens.
She was already on her way out when she turned back. Her earrings were on the chest of drawers. The hall light was still on. Downstairs, she heard a car, then a door closing. The evening had begun without her.
She paused at the mirror and ran a hand over the fabric at her hip. A small, almost absent-minded gesture. This was how she had imagined it. Perhaps, back at the atelier, she simply hadn’t had the words.
It was the feeling of being at ease, of being held. Wearing something that knew her shoulders, moved with her and gave her room. She thought of the hands that had pinned the hem, the conversation about the neckline. How much of herself there was in this dress.
Someone was waiting downstairs. She picked up her earrings, closed the door behind her and went down the stairs. For the first time that day, she wondered what music they would be playing.
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