My place doesn't appear to be very messy, and neat freak that I am, I still feel self-conscious about the random papers piled on one end of the kitchen counter, where I am also depositing the letter from Canada Revenue and the notice for a public hearing. I can look at them later.
"This is a nice, cozy little place you have here", says Francois. "Would you like us to take off our shoes?"
"Yes, please do."
Carl has said nothing about my place, and, given that he is accustomed to far grander accommodations, I rather like it that way.
"It is rather small", say I, and I really can't find the words to describe how sad and neglected this place feels since I've been away the past week. It needs again to be lived in, but this time I feel like I am coming back to a place that has always been empty. "Please make yourselves at home."
Perhaps the act of making coffee for guests will help reorient me to my little condominium. It certainly isn't big. It is one of the older towers in Yaletown, and I bought it with Greta fifteen years ago when it was still relatively cheap. I could expect a little equity if I sell it.
"Do you both like your coffee strong?" I call from the kitchen.
"No need to ask", says Carl
"Ditto", says Francois.
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