Page 72 of Atmosphere

“Lydia’s drunk,” Joan said. “But do you see what I’m saying, that she means well?”

“I see that she’s lonely,” Vanessa said, leaning back.

“I mean, everybody’s lonely.”

Vanessa shook her head. “No, not everybody. Are you lonely? You have Barbara and Frances.”

“Sure, no, I know. I’m not lonely.”

“That was unconvincing.”

“Well, are you lonely?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question,” Vanessa said.

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

Joan didn’t want to respond, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I can’t imagine you ever being lonely,” she said. “I can’t imagine that everyone’s not begging to stand next to you all the time.”

Vanessa looked at her but said nothing. Joan was losing control of what came out of her mouth.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Joan said.

“You do not want me to say what I’m thinking.”

Joan knew that this was true. But she also couldn’t resist the temptation. “I don’t know about that. I feel like I could know you forever and still be curious about what you’re going to say next.”

Vanessa leaned forward and lowered her voice: “I thought the same about you, the first time I saw you,” she said.

Joan’s chest began to feel heavy and leaden, like there was an anchor sinking into the tenderest parts of her heart.

“We should go,” Vanessa said. “I’ll drive you home.”

—

They drove in silence. Joanwas unsure what to say that felt true.

When they pulled up to Joan’s building, Vanessa said, “Can we talk inside?” and Joan nodded.

A silence overtook them again as they made their way to Joan’s door and went in.

When Joan shut the door of her apartment, she felt like she could breathe again.

“I need you to understand something,” Vanessa said.

They both stood by the threshold.

“Okay.”

Vanessa looked at her and frowned. “I don’t know how to…” Vanessa exhaled. “I have a recurring dream,” she said finally.

“About what?” Joan hoped it was her.

“It’s my funeral. And I’m in the casket, but I’m alive—I’m actually completely fine. But no one can see that, or hear me. So they are all just crying. My mother is there. The other people change, but my mother is always there. And she’s always sobbing into a tissue. And she always talks about something that I never got to do. Sometimes it’s that I never had a family. Or I never got married.”

“Do you want those things?”

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