After one beer too many later that evening in the company of men, I waved them goodbye and headed home. Winter, still struggling to make an impression, went wild with a heavy fall of rain and hail. Too much, but too late I’m afraid. By the time I reached the flat on the second floor I had already started stripping. I sauntered straight to the shower. Thanks, I don’t want to have any dinner. I just want to sleep it off… the week, the rain and the beer.
I woke up luxuriously late in the morning. The kids were cuddled next to me in bed. They’ve come in a little after seven thirty and went back to sleep. I sat out on the balcony, slowly sipping my espresso. The air was refreshingly fragrant, the streets surprisingly clean. From behind the glass I saw them stirring. Friday is their favorite day. We all have breakfast together.
In the kitchen there was little left to actually do. I helped by being unobtrusive. Om Fares had already prepared a beautifully simple, deliciously inviting table. She must’ve thought of everything. There was the bread, the Labne and the olives, Shanklish and white cheese, the Fool and the omelette, apricot jam, mortadella, tomatoes, zeit & zaatar, an apple pie and a hot pot of tea.
A few things needed fixing and with toolbox in hand I made my rounds. A dripping faucet here, a noisy door hinge there. A soiled water filter, a burnt lamp. I used up the hours, never happier, never more tranquil. I lazed about, watched the box. Another espresso, lunch, a chocolate ice-cream and popcorn.
The kids found their preferred cartoons. Om Fares wanted to go for her daily one-hour walk. Not this time, honey. I miss the open road, the mountains, the roar of the engine. I would be back in an hour, I promise.
I made good on my word. She looked healthy and refreshed. I felt serene and revived. The day was well spent. It was well deserved. No thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day.