“Did you ask yourself if I wanted to share my house? If I had worked forty years to have permanent guests? If my dream was to turn into a free boarding house?”
“Mom, do not exaggerate. It was only going to be temporary.”
“How long? A month, a year, until they got jobs? And if they did not get them, was I going to kick them out?”
There was a silence on the other end of the line.
“This is not going to stay like this, Mom.”
“You are right. It is not going to stay like this, because now I am going to decide what to do with my life. And for the first time in many years, I am going to decide alone.”
“Wait, do not hang up—”
But I had already hung up. I turned off the phone and put it in the nightstand drawer.
Through the window, I saw a bus full of tourists arrive. They got off with cameras and maps, excited to discover the city. They laughed, took photos, pointed at historic buildings. I wondered when the last time was that I had felt that excitement for something new.
I decided to go down and walk around the square. I needed fresh air and movement after that call. The square was beautiful. It had large trees that gave shade, wrought-iron benches painted green, and a fountain in the center where children ran around while their mothers watched them from the benches.
I approached the elderly man feeding pigeons. He had completely white hair and wore a well-ironed cream-colored shirt.
“Good morning,” I said to him.
“Good morning, ma’am. You like pigeons too?”
Honestly, I had never stopped to observe them.
“They are very intelligent animals. Each has its own personality. That gray one over there is very shy, and that white one with spots is the greediest of all.”
I watched him feed the birds with breadcrumbs he took from a paper bag. There was something very peaceful in his movements, very deliberate.
“Do you come here every day?”
“Every day since I retired. My wife died five years ago and my daughter lives in another country. At first I came because I did not know what to do with so much free time. Now I come because the pigeons are waiting for me.”
“Do you not feel lonely sometimes?”
“But I have learned that being alone is not the same as being lonely. When you are at peace with yourself, solitude can be very good company.”
His words resonated in my head like a bell. Being alone is not the same as being lonely.
“Can I sit for a moment?”
“Of course, ma’am. What is your name?”
“Emily. Emily Johnson.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Emily. I am David Miller.”
“David Miller?”
“Yes. Why?”
“We know each other. You called me this morning. You are my neighbor.”
He stared at me with wide eyes.
“Are you the lady of the new house? The one with the garden?”
“Was, not anymore.”
David stopped feeding the pigeons and looked at me attentively.
“What happened, Mrs. Emily?”
And for the first time since last night, I felt like telling someone the whole truth. I told David everything, from the moment I signed the house papers to Sarah’s furious call that morning. He listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his eyes reflecting an understanding I had not found in anyone for a long time.
“Mrs. Emily,” he told me when I finished my story, “you did the right thing.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Of course. I have three children, and since I became a widower, all three have had brilliant ideas about what I should do with my house, with my money, with my time. The oldest wants me to move to a nursing home so he can sell my house. The middle one wants me to lend him money for his business. And the youngest wants me to come live with her to babysit her children for free.”
“And what do you do?”
