Host/hostessJuly 2, 2009
They masked deeper troubles with clinking glasses and noisy dinners. Every night, another friend over. Dinner, plated. Wine bottles, opened. Every night, the dishwasher humming just before they turned in.
In the morning, the glasses sparkled, but their eyes glazed as they wandered the kitchen, the rhythm of their hosting interrupted by sleep. They did not want to know each other, anymore, in bathrobes, with coffee.