The Body I Have Is Expecting Company

How it begins

1. The Mirror before Supper

I turn sideways as if the mirror has asked for a different arrangement.

Behind me, six chairs wait without opinions. The tablecloth has a stain I intend to place beneath the bread.

Leila arrives carrying pears. She does not announce that I look well.

She asks where the bowls are. I show her. For a moment, my body is simply the place from which an answer comes.

2. A Smaller Preparation

The recipe says stand until the mixture thickens.

I sit.

The mixture continues without taking offense.

Outside, someone is dragging bins along the pavement. Inside, the spoon makes a patient circle. I have spent years believing hospitality begins when nobody can see the effort.

Leila puts a second chair beside the stove. She waits until I nod before taking the pan.

The pears soften. We discuss a film neither of us liked enough to remember accurately.

Nothing is transformed. Dinner becomes possible.

3. What the Guests Bring

One brings flowers. One brings a story that will require correction later. One brings an appetite large enough to make the cook feel noticed.

I bring the body I have. It has carried the shopping, missed a bus, refused a shoe, and made it here without becoming a better example.

Halfway through the meal, I move to the softer chair. Nobody applauds. Nobody tells me how brave the cushion makes me.

The conversation continues around the small change like water around a stone that does not need to explain why it remains.

Afterward, Leila asks whether I want help clearing. I say yes. The word is short. There is room in it for the rest of the evening.

4. The Next Morning

A pear remains in the bowl. A chair stands at an angle. The room has held us without asking anyone to be less present.