afternoon, I went to visit Doña Elvira.
She was sitting in her usual chair, removing corn kernels over a tray.
“Are you already packing?” she asked.
I sat across from her.
“Do you actually want to move to San Blas?”
Her hand stopped.
“Ernesto told me you wanted to live there.”
For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
Somehow, Ernesto’s plan contained two women who were supposedly excited about moving.
Neither of us had been asked.
I explained what had happened without asking her to take my side.
