Mrs. Okafor had apparently told him he could.
I made tea.
He sat at the same kitchen table where I had once spread photographs, lease clauses, and complaint paperwork.
He didn’t talk much at first.
Eventually, he told me about his mother before she became ill.
The things she loved.
The way she always called on Sundays.
The tea she ordered from one particular shop.
“She called me last Sunday,” he said.
“She didn’t know who I was.”
His voice tightened.
“But she still asked whether I was okay.”
I thought about that.
“That was still her.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
After a while, Daniel said,
“You didn’t have to let me in.”
“I’ve lived here eleven years,” I replied. “What happens between neighbors in the middle matters.”
He looked at his tea.
“I behaved badly.”
“Yes.”
“I was careless first. Then rude.”
“Yes.”
“You were completely right.”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“And yet you still brought me my packages.”
“Because being right about one thing doesn’t mean every other part of a relationship has to disappear.”
He looked at me.
“The complaint was about tea bags.”
I continued.
“The packages were about being neighbors.”
“They are separate.”
Daniel was quiet.
“Most people would hold a grudge.”
“Grudges are expensive.”
I smiled.
“They cost more than towels.”
That made him laugh.
A real laugh.
Later that summer, Daniel moved out.
Without his mother nearby, he no longer needed to live in the building.
He found a smaller place closer to work.
“A place I can actually settle into,” he told me.
I knew he remembered what I had said.
I helped carry a lamp and two bags of bedding down to the moving van.
At the curb, he held out his hand.
I shook it.
“The next person in 4B,” he said. “Warn them about the woman downstairs.”
“I’ll tell them she’s reasonable.”
I paused.
“As long as they are.”
He laughed and drove away.
There is someone new in 4B now.
A woman in her thirties.
Friendly.
A little overwhelmed.
I gave her the same card I give everyone.
Maintenance numbers.
Recycling schedule.
Building rules.
She has herbs growing on her balcony.
Nothing has ever come over the railing.
And every morning, I sit outside with my coffee.
My chair.
My plants.
My slightly mismatched cushion.
My peace.
People sometimes think being reasonable means accepting everything.
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