open doorway that the pictures were hanging.
Spring came.
No tea bags.
Daniel began saying hello in the lift.
Then hello became small conversations.
He started regularly helping Mrs. Okafor with her groceries.
In April, I found a package outside my door.
Inside was a new cushion cover.
Grey-blue.
Not quite the same color as the original.
There was a note.
I still owe you a towel.
I’m working on it.
D.
I smiled.
Then put the mismatched cover on my chair.
When Daniel Lost His Mother
Daniel’s mother died in June.
The following morning, he knocked on my door.
Apparently, Mrs. Okafor had told him he could.
I let him in.
Then I made tea.
The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.
Daniel sat at the same kitchen table where I’d once arranged photographs of his discarded tea bags beside copies of my lease.
For a while, he
