Judy Greer

If they don't fit, we can exchange them, she said.

But when Monica tried them on in the hotel later, the fit was perfect.

In a bit, I might have a glass of wine here first, Martin says, and gestures towards a pile of academic journals on the nightstand.

There's an article I've been waiting to finish.

Monica nods and takes up her satin purse.

Then we'll just be down in the lounge.

We should get our cab by around a quarter till.

She knows better than to try to coax him out.

She knows enough to leave him to whatever abstract imperative he has decided upon.

In the hallway by the elevator is a narrow mirror.

Monica stands in front of it and waits.

She is 34 years old.

Since high school, she has always looked her age or older.

Her mother is 52.

When Monica was in her 20s, they were often mistaken for sisters.

Her mother was delighted by this.

After her divorce, she went out every Friday night, and every Friday night she asked Monica to join her.

The elevator arrives, and she tucks herself into the tiny space.

Her mother was divorced at 40.

Free as a bird, she liked to say.