Adrian watched longingly as Noud and Carlos, presumably arguing, stood together. What could be causing the tension between the neighbors who used to regularly dine at each other’s places? The Slovak man couldn’t decide what he envied more: the company or the argument.
“What’s going on with them?” he asked his wife. “They haven’t been as close lately as they used to be.”
Dajana joined her husband at the bedroom window, peering outside.
“Does it really matter? Let’s just be happy they’re not arguing with us!”
“I wouldn’t mind being more involved in the community,” Adrian admitted.
“The community? And what exactly do you long for? Gossiping with Carlos about María José’s sexual appetite? Squabbling with Ted or Ludmilla? Watching Günter constantly stuffing his face? Or trying to calm Pauline down when she loses her temper over her kids?”
Adrian’s mouth fell open.
“That’s it? That’s what our life here means to you?”
“Why? What did I miss? The Dutch lovebirds?”
“Come on, Dajana! You must also want to belong.”
“Why isn’t it enough that we hang out with Carlos? Besides, you know he’s sneaky…”
“Be honest, Dajana! Have you never imagined spending a pleasant evening with Günter and his wife? Tasting María José’s pastries with a cup of coffee? Wouldn’t it be nice if Pauline and Viktoria were your friends? You could all get together and gossip over some liqueur…”
Dajana stared into the distance, silently standing beside her husband.
“See?” Adrian whispered.
María José was surprised to see Dajana loitering on her terrace.
“Well, well,” the elderly woman said as she opened the door. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Oh no, not at all,” Dajana blushed. “I brought some palm syrup. I know you bake a lot, so I thought you might find it useful.”
As she handed the bottle to María José, she noticed Ludmilla sitting in the living room. Flustered, she quickly waved at the German woman. However, she forgot that the hand she raised in greeting was the same one holding the palm syrup.
The bottle hit the ground with a loud crash.
“Oh no, the syrup!” María José shrieked.
“Sorry!” Dajana exclaimed and quickly began gathering the larger shards of glass.
“Ludmilla, close the terrace door before Perla starts licking the floor! She loves anything sweet!”
“Well, if this doesn’t kill her, nothing will,” Ludmilla muttered.
Dajana shot a questioning look at the German woman, but she had already retreated inside.
“Need some help?” Günter’s head popped up over the dividing wall.
“No, thanks, I can handle it,” Dajana responded quickly.
“Yes, neighbor, please come and help,” María José cut in as if she hadn’t heard what the Slovak woman had just said.
Within moments, Viktoria arrived with a bucket and a vacuum cleaner.
“Oh dear,” the elderly baker lamented. “My terrace will never be the same! I’ll never get all these glass shards up completely—it’s impossible!”
Dajana cursed the moment she had gone upstairs to her husband. Why had she let herself get drawn into that stupid conversation about the neighbors and fitting in? Now she would be the clumsy fool, the idiot who wasn’t even an owner—just a tenant…