They ate near the window as the sky darkened. Rosa asked how Lena had learned to cook the dish. “An internet recipe and a little panic,” Lena admitted. Rosa nodded as if that were a respected culinary tradition. Then she described a family dinner where she had forgotten the rice entirely.
When Lena stood to leave, Rosa reached for the empty serving spoon. “You don’t have to feed me to visit,” she said. Lena was relieved she had said it first. “You don’t have to wait until Sunday to knock,” she replied. They exchanged numbers, then laughed at how formal that felt after sharing dinner.
The next Sunday, Lena nearly talked herself out of going back. She had laundry to finish and a work email she could plausibly answer for another hour. Finally she put two oranges in a bag and walked down the hall. This time she checked the
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