46:PM

June continued preparing her apartment for Terrence’s visit, even after it became apparent he would not arrive. She arranged the furniture, thinking Terrence is not going to like this chair or I wonder what Terrence will see first and then she would stand at the entry, letting her eyes fall on the problematic chair, and the carefully arranged photographs, and the strange carved bowl that June loved but knew for a fact that Terrence would not love, and there it was, anchoring the whole of the room together, sticking out like a bruise. It was wood with tarnished metal accents, nothing fancy, something she had found at a secondhand store when she was looking for curtains to hang so that Terrence would not see the metal blinds and think less of her.

It concerned June that she was taking the sentiment too far, but there was a certain enjoyment to be had from preparing the house for a man, for cleaning and waxing the floors with the thought that he would, at any moment, walk up the stairs (in these fantasies, he had his own key), drop his bag on the couch, and touch her casually on both shoulders before stepping around her to open the fridge. June told herself, This fantasy could be of any man. This was, in theory, true. But for that night, it was Terrence, and in the morning it would be Terrence, and June tried not to think beyond that.