“And yet you still brought me my packages.”
“Because being right about one thing doesn’t mean every other part of a relationship has to disappear.”
He looked at me.
“The complaint was about tea bags.”
I continued.
“The packages were about being neighbors.”
“They are separate.”
Daniel was quiet.
“Most people would hold a grudge.”
“Grudges are expensive.”
I smiled.
“They cost more than towels.”
That made him laugh.
A real laugh.
Later that summer, Daniel moved out.
Without his mother nearby, he no longer needed to live in the building.
He found a smaller place closer to work.
“A place I can actually settle into,” he told me.
I knew he remembered what I had said.
I helped carry a lamp and two bags of bedding down to the moving van.
At the curb, he held out his hand.
I shook it.
“The next person in 4B,” he said. “Warn them about the woman downstairs.”
“I’ll tell them she’s reasonable.”
I paused.
“As long as they are.”
He laughed and drove away.
There is someone new in 4B now.
A woman in her thirties.
Friendly.
A little overwhelmed.
I gave her the same card I give everyone.
Maintenance numbers.
Recycling schedule.
Building rules.
She has herbs growing on her balcony.
