We Talked for Two Hours.
I didn’t even remember lending it.
When I opened the door and saw her standing there holding a navy umbrella out toward me, my first thought was that she had the wrong flat. We had lived on the same floor for three years. I knew her name was Carol because it was on the small printed label next to her bell. I knew she worked early because I sometimes heard her door at six in the morning. I knew she had a laugh that carried through walls when she was on the phone.
That was everything I knew about Carol.
She said: “You lent me this last autumn. When I got caught in the rain outside the building. I kept meaning to return it and then I kept not doing it and I felt terrible every time I walked past your door.”
I told her honestly that I had completely forgotten about it.
She laughed. The same laugh from through the walls.
I said thank you and took the umbrella and there was a small pause, the kind that arrives when an interaction is technically over but neither person has moved yet.
I asked if she wanted to come in for a cup of tea.
