said almost nothing.
Then he began talking about his mother.
Who she’d been before she became ill.
What she liked.
The things that irritated her.
The particular shop where she always bought tea.
“She called me last Sunday,” he eventually said.
His voice tightened.
“She didn’t know who I was.”
I waited.
“But she still asked whether I was okay.”
I thought about that.
“Maybe some part of her still knew what mattered.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yeah.”
After another silence, he said:
“You didn’t have to let me in.”
“I know.”
“I behaved badly.”
“Yes.”
“I was careless first.”
“Yes.”
“Then I was rude.”
“Very.”
He almost smiled.
“You were completely right.”
“I know.”
That made him laugh quietly.
Then his expression became serious again.
“And you still kept taking my packages.”
“The complaint was about tea bags.”
He looked at me.
“The packages were about being neighbors.”
“They’re separate.”
Daniel
