Judy Greer

And Monica does.

The lounge is filling, couples dressed for an evening out and a few single men in narrow, dark suits, but Martin is not among them, not yet.

It's difficult to imagine now, Elizabeth says, but this is not a tragedy.

Not for you, certainly, but not for Martin either.

She smiles.

And I think you know this, don't you?

Monica nods.

She is still watching the staircase for Martin for the lovely peacock blue of his shirt.

She will give the cufflinks to Elizabeth to give to him as her own gift.

They are beautiful enough that Martin will not doubt his mother chose them, and she allows herself a moment of pride in this.

Ben, I want to ask you something, Elizabeth says, a favor.

And although Monica cannot imagine what she could possibly do for a woman like Elizabeth, she does not hesitate before saying, of course I will.

I want you to wait, if you can, Elizabeth says.

She touches Monica's cheek with a soft, fragrant hand, and Monica imagines for one moment that the two of them are in this city alone, that they found each other independently of Martin, of anyone, that there is all the time in the world for Elizabeth to teach her how to be someone completely different from who she is.

Wait until we get home to tell him.

Think of the rest of this week as a gift to me.

Can you do that, my dear?

And Monica nods, lays her hand over Elizabeth's, closes her eyes and thinks, I would wait as long as you ask me to, so please ask for longer.

And when she opens her eyes, she sees Martin on the staircase, sees her husband, his face pale and solemn above that lovely shirt as he walks toward them.

He never pretended to be anything he wasn't.