She grabbed a blanket from the sofa’s back and draped it over the armrest closest to me. “It’s clean if you need to warm up.” “Thank you,” I said, feeling the chill from my damp clothes. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like a visitor in a different existence, one that wasn’t consumed by hurried deliveries and worries about rent.
So, Evan, she began taking a seat across from me. What’s your story these days? Are you still climbing trees and demolishing mailboxes? No, I deliver groceries now. It keeps me occupied and well, dry usually, I said. Apparently, she teased, gesturing toward my soaked shoes. Usually, I chuckled. Today is an anomaly.
We continued to talk about nothing profound, our favorite television shows, the weather, the changes in the neighborhood. She told me about her dog, who was apparently cowering under the bed upstairs, terrified of the thunder. She mentioned that she worked from home, handling freelance interior design projects.
Mostly, I help people make their spaces feel like home again after a separation, she explained with a ry smile. A bit ironic. I listened, taking in the small details. The chipped mug on her coffee table. The way her hand would rest on the couch’s fabric as she spoke. She had a quiet way of being open without revealing everything all at once.
I found it appealing. At one point, she got up, went to the window, and gently pulled back the curtain. “Still coming down,” she murmured. Then she turned back to me. You know, you were such a kind child, always helping your father, always so inquisitive. You still observe people with that same look. I lifted an eyebrow.
What look is that? She smiled softly. As if they matter, as if you’re genuinely seeing them. I was at a loss for words. I wasn’t accustomed to being noticed in that way, not by customers or by strangers. She returned to the sofa but remained standing behind it, her fingers resting on the upholstery. I don’t typically do this, she said after a pause.
