All the rental company’s things were restored to their rightful places, just like in the pictures that I had looked at in the rental agency office. We were all being called back from somewhere else. I was. I felt certain that with everything brought back to just the way it had been before we’d come, that I would begin to sleep soon. That I would be allowed to. That the world would return to its place under my feet.

I practised saying the new names of things as I cleaned. Robinet. Balai. Compteur. Enfant. I was surprised to find that the night passed easily this way, when usually it was so long. I got out the knives even, to sharpen them, and I got out too the little stone that the rental company had left for that purpose. Scritch. It made such a wonderful noise! The knife on the stone, getting sharper and sharper and sharper. Crickets in the apartment, chirping, keeping me company, well, it sounded a bit like that. Like music! Scritch, scritch, scritch.

In the early early morning, I ran to the little store on the corner. I was there right when it opened. I grabbed eggs and coffee, bacon, bread, croissants, wild strawberry jam. I cooked breakfast, arranged the table, cups, bowls, plates, paper napkins folded under forks. Sparkling glasses placed just so, ready for juice. I felt so happy just then, in that moment, I felt that I could have cooked a thousand perfect breakfasts all at once.

M woke up, showered, and came and ate with B and E. He smiled at the way E brought her animals to the table and set them up in a ring around her plate, ready to watch her eat. He ran his fingers through B’s silky puffs of hair. He also looked sometimes at me. We all smiled at each other.

Then M pushed away from the table. He put his plate and cutlery in the sink. I have to go to work, he said. Of course, I said. Have a good day, I said. I’ll be back tonight, he said. I’ll be back for dinner. OK, I said, that’s great, and I felt at once a desire to cook the most wonderful thing, boeuf bourguignon maybe where you open up a bottle of wine and let the whole thing just slide into the pot, something extravagant, and exceptional and surprising, and I also wanted to empty all the pots onto the kitchen floor and shout at him, who will cook the dinner you’re saying to me now that you’re going to eat. Who will cook that. He kissed me on the cheek. He picked up his briefcase. He went to work. My mother always told me that happiness is a choice, only sometimes we have to hold to it very tight and keep choosing it.

Part Two

January

Visiting hours are two to four. That’s what the sign says. The one that you’re spraying and wiping. You can’t see it now under the cloth but that’s what it says. In case you didn’t know. In case you sprayed and wiped without really looking. Which is quite understandable! But that’s what it says: two to four: visiting hours.