The Paris Apartment

hear a noise the

with their small dogs and their excellent breeding.
I look at the text message I sent to Jacques last night. Bonne nui

was all a bit last minute, coming here. Ben didn’t sound that thrilled when I called him earlier and told him I was on my way. True, I didn’t give him much

Or, as we say in French: la voix du sang est la plus forte. The voice of blood is the strongest.

And somehow, even though I hate my name, on his lips it sounded different, almost special. I nodded, because I didn’t feel like I could speak.

This place has swallowed time, like something from a fairytale.

eye make-up has run where she’s been crying.

When I told Jacques I wanted to take care of the courtyard’s small garden he did not understand. “There are people we can pay to do it for us,” he told me. In my husband’s world there are people you can pay for anything.

most of my brother’s clothes seem to come from places called Acne (why would you wear clothes named after a skin condition?)

This place, for all its shortcomings, represents security. Without it I have nothing.