Sunday - August 30, 2020 - Sunday flash fiction: Before the party.

It was possible that Aubrey, at any moment, might stop playing the piano and walk over to Loren –––– who was standing in the kitchen, making tea, and pretending not to be waiting for her. She might ask him whether she could get him anything else to drink, other than tea, or perhaps offer to prepare something for the two of them to eat.

The party did not start for another two hours; and although it was the second week of November, and Loren had grown used to the feeling of the sun setting earlier and earlier each evening, he had not prepared himself to be alone with Aubrey in her apartment –––– not on a quiet and still wintry evening.

He was there to help prepare for the party that would not begin for a while, only because she had insisted that she could not find anyone else to help. And as much as anything at all has the potential to be true, this could have been true as well.

Listening to the sound of Aubrey practicing in the other room, an extended segment from Brahm’s Piano Concerto No. 1, Loren sipped from a large forest green mug of piping hot earl grey tea, which he had prepared on his own.

After a few moments of standing, pacing, and thinking of Rose, he sat down on the sofa, opposite the balcony, that faced the giant windows and looked out over west twenty-second-street.

The night’s sky descended upon the city, faster and faster; and outside it began to snow.