Diane stood outside holding a casserole dish.
No warning. No invitation.
“You’re welcome,” she announced as she walked past me.
For the next two hours, she took over my kitchen. She used unnecessary bowls, abandoned eggshells beside the trash can, splashed oil across the stove, and scattered flour over the floor.
Then she carried coffee into the living room and spilled it across the freshly cleaned tiles.
She looked directly at the stain and walked away.
“Diane, you spilled coffee,” I said.
She crossed her legs and smiled.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
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