october

They leave the office at 3 pm, and not a minute sooner.

("Lorraine will know," Peggy had insisted, squirming as Stan's beard tickled her neck. "She already hates us."

"She hates you," he'd mumbled back.)

They give the cabbie her address, even though it's further away. Peggy wonders if there are still remnants of Elaine in Stan's apartment that he doesn't want her to see: hair ties on the bathroom floor, socks at the bottom of the hamper, a bottle of wine in the kitchen that she bought and never opened. Peggy still finds the odd reminder of Abe now and then, even two years later.

The weather is warm for late October, and she rolls down the window, turning her flushed face towards the air.

Something had shifted the moment they'd slid into the backseat of the taxi; not in a bad way, but in a different way. Like the further they get from the office, the more real it becomes. Stan looks so relaxed, his hand resting casually on her thigh like it's the millionth time instead of the first, and she can't understand how. She still feels dizzy. Her heart's still pounding.

This isn't how it was with Abe, or Ted, or Mark, or Duck. It's nothing like before. It barely makes sense, it makes perfect sense; she remembers kissing him in the dark, his hand on her cheek, and maybe she's been wearing blinders ever since.

"Say it again," Peggy says, and she looks at him, at Stan, and he smiles and his eyes crinkle up and how did she not recognize it? It's so obvious. It's so obvious.

"Say what?"

She swats at his arm, and he catches her hand and holds it, just holds it, warm in his own.

She can't wait to get home.