Free The Pink Suit: A Novel by Nicole Kelby

it’s decided, then? Just like that? We suddenly need to figure this out?”
    â€œI thought you’d be pleased.”
    â€œAnd why exactly is that?”
    â€œWell. You know. You have nobody. I have nobody. We’re not getting any younger.”
    Kate felt embarrassed and angry—not prideful—that was what she told herself later. This was not about her vanity or her pride.
    â€œSo you feel sorry for me?”
    â€œNo—”
    â€œDid you ever think that maybe I like the way my life is? I don’t have to answer to a husband. I have a perfectly wonderful life, you know. Extraordinary, even.”
    Later, Kate blamed the beer. She wasn’t used to drinking. But it really didn’t matter what her reasons were.
    â€œThe Wife,” she said. “Maison Blanche. Her Elegance.” That’s how the story began. Kate’s lie was brilliant with imagined detail. “We’re just like a couple of girls together. Chatting away.” She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. “I’ve known her for years, you know. Made her clothes forever. ”
    When she finished, Patrick Harris said quietly, “I’ll take you home.”
    â€œProbably best,” Kate said.
    Â Â 
    He knew, of course. There was no mixing—the Ladies were quite firm on that. Peg would have told him. It was a stupid lie.
    Yet the Ladies got away with such grand stories—totally unbelievable and usually about their Blue Book friends—and no one seemed to care at all if a story was true or not. Why should Kate be any different? No harm done, she wanted to say.
    But downtown was clearly not Inwood.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    A stray lock of gray hair had fallen across Patrick’s eyes, shading them. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but Kate felt his disappointment as if it were her own.
    It was after one a.m. when they left the pub. Patrick put his arm around Kate as they walked down the street. He was shaking. She hoped it was just the cold.
    They stopped at his shop. “I need to get my coat.”
    Kate was surprised that she followed him inside and then up the stairs. She told herself that she didn’t want to stand in the dark, waiting, on the street. Something could happen. People might see her. People would talk. People always talked. But she knew that wasn’t the reason she followed. And so did he.
    They walked up the dark stairs together in silence. The scent of bleach and blood was now faint. Kate held the rail to steady herself, even though she no longer felt drunk. When he opened the door to his apartment, the stairs were flooded with soft light. He stopped on the landing and turned to her, and held out his hand for her to take.
    Kate stood on the landing. Peg had been gone for two months, but the apartment looked as if she’d just gone round to the shops. Her white sweater was folded on the back of her easy chair. Her button accordion was nearby. Kate had never seen so lonely a place.
    Patrick kissed her with passion.
    She kissed him back: embarrassed and chaste.
    It was very awkward. They stood there for a moment, half in the light and half in darkness, unsure of what to do next.
    â€œWe are like fallen angels, you and I,” he said. “That’s what the poet would say. Not wise enough to be saved and not wise enough to be wicked and banished forever.”
    Patrick leaned in to kiss her again, but Kate turned away, just slightly.
    Everything was moving too fast. We’re just friends, she told herself, but knew that wasn’t exactly true—probably never was true. More than anything, Kate wanted to lean in again, she wanted him to kiss her one more time—just so she could be sure that what she felt was not friendship but heat—but the moment had passed. He straightened his tie and stepped back.
    â€œWell. Tomorrow, then,” he said.
    â€œTomorrow.”
    As Kate walked down the