"Things are different," he said. "Things changed."
She was crying over the jarlsberg, trying to listen out for the whistle of the kettle.
"So there's no changing back?"
He only shook his head. He took two tea cups from the cupboard and passed her the knife. In one quick jab her sandwich was cut and she passed him half, knowing that he would take it. He did as he slipped two bags into the cups. Together they poured the water, then the milk and went and sat outside. They stared out over the backyard, at the weeds that needed pulling and the dirt that needed to be mulched over. He told her he'd call someone tomorrow about it and she smiled. It reached her eyes and he saw it as he left his crusts on her plate. He got up and returned with a biscuit she had made, the ones that she had never liked. She watched him as he dunked it briskly into his tea and smiled at the taste. She took her last drop and he took the two cups into the kitchen, her following with the plate. He put his shoes back on at the front door, and pulled his jacket over his arms. She handed him his keys and wallet and he slipped them into his pockets.
"I'll call about the mulch in the morning," he told her.
"Thank you." She closed the door behind him.
She never saw him again but two days later a man appeared to mulch the back garden.