Atmosphere

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Lydia was dressed for a party—she was wearing a blue dress and the sides of her hair were pulled back with two tortoiseshell combs—but her eyes were narrow, her lips pursed tight. Joan realized that being at a party and partying were two different things.

She wanted something, she wanted it so badly. In her bones and her legs. But she did not want him at all.

How did people do this? How did they go through every single day with this kind of excitement inside them? How how how how how. Poor Donna. Having to hide this for so long. It was the single greatest feeling Joan had ever felt.

Certainly this woman could sense the tension. Couldn’t she feel the way the space shifted as she intruded into this world of theirs?

“Then what is it?” “I love hearing you talk,” Vanessa said, smiling at her. Could you burn up from a gaze this bright upon you?

“I don’t know but I…I want to show you every good thing I’ve ever found,” Joan said.

That's it!

Joan beamed and tried to hold back her smile. In all of her time spent watching others, she hadn’t picked up on this part of falling in love, that someone could look at you as if you were the very center of everything. And even though you knew better, you’d allow yourself a moment to believe you were worthy of being revolved around, too.

“I can wake up every single day and choose you, over and over and over again. If you’re in bed next to me, I will take your hand. If you are not, I will go find you. I will spend the rest of my life, if I get that lucky, seeking you out. Not because I promised you or because you’re there. But because I will want to. I will want to be beside you. Every day. Forever.”