Lydia said to come by, so I did, but she wasn’t home so I used the key that she hides along the side of one of the windows to let myself in. I’ve been in her house off and on for months, years, days, evenings, mornings, but not often on my own. A house of a friend when the friend is not there is an odd space. I noticed the smell, which is a homey scent of coffee and lavender. She left a few dishes in the sink, maybe I’ll do those for her. I see the jacket I like, hanging on a hook in the hall. I sink into the sofa and sit there, waiting for something to happen.
Later, when she gets home, she wakes me up and I apologize for being in her house, even though she doesn’t care.
Her: I thought you’d let yourself in.
Me: seems like we’ve moved into a new phase.
Her: don’t get wise.
She pulls out a bag of donuts, maple glazed, blueberry cake.
Her: make some coffee.
The sun is low, and the air is cool, and we sit on the porch watching the cat from the house next door chase a bug.
Her: make sure you put the key back.
Love this first sentence.