We moved into our building in Jersey City in March. First week, nobody said a word in the lift. On
the 8th day I took the trash down at 6 and saw 5 people on folding chairs in the parking lot.
A man called Pravin waved a steel flask at me and said, sit, there's an
extra cup. I was in house slippers, still holding the trash bag. I sat down anyway.
They didn't ask where I work or what I earn. First question was which town
my family is from. Then an argument about whether the tea needed more ginger. Pravin
said yes, a woman called Hema said no. They both turned to me to decide.
I'd known them for 4 minutes. I said less ginger. Hema smiled like she'd won
something. Pravin went quiet for a bit, then poured me more. That was 6 months
ago. Now it's 6 o'clock every evening, and in snow they move under the awning.
I bring biscuits on Fridays. Last week I found a chair with my name on masking tape.
Pravin's son lives in Melbourne too, about 20 minutes from our daughter. He's already sent her a
parcel. My daughter called and said we'd only been there 6 months and already had a network.
Nothing deep gets said out there. Water bills, who parked in whose spot, cricket scores. Last month
our car wouldn't start at 7 in the morning and Pravin turned up with cables in 3 minutes.
Hema has now decided we need to meet her niece. We haven't been
told why. I'm slightly afraid. I'll go anyway, and I'll take the biscuits.