The carpet on my face is scratchy. It smells like dust and dead spider. I lift it to breathe. I crawl on my back and my head hits the leg of dining table. I drag myself toward the cold teapot.
“Once the ceiling is lifted, we could get out of here,” Ahmad says. He is holding the fridge on his chest and its metallic bottom has set visible traces on his skin.
“Once the walls are painted, we’ll take a few days off,” I say. “Do you like to have some coffee?”
“Without sugar,” he says.
We are running out of sugar. “I’ll go grocery shopping this afternoon,” I say.
“Imagine the backyard after the whole landscaping has been done,” Ahmad says. “We’ll sit in the patio and we’ll watch the view at night.”
Something’s walking on my face. I shake my head. The cockroach is tossed to a corner. Ahmad drags himself closer to me, but his balance is off and the fridge falls on the baby’s rocking chair.
“Something broke,” I say.
“It’s my back,” he says.
I gasp. I push the wall on my left to reach him, but he laughs.
“I was kidding,” he says. “It was just a cramp.”
Workers are singing a new song this morning. I wouldn’t understand the meaning of the lyrics. They’re going to make holes in the walls and on the ceiling. They’re going to add more lights and will hang new curtains.
But I never told them what I really hoped for.
We cannot communicate.
“Ahmad, how long would it take to add skylights?”
“It wouldn’t take forever,” he says.
I grab the used plastic cup by the teapot and pour coffee for Ahmad. I slowly push the cup on the floor. Ahmad pulls his hand to reach the coffee. He turns his head and stares at my face. He has the most amazing eyes.
We hold hands.
Workers sing a love song.
“We’ll have a baby as soon as this damn remodeling’s done,” he says.
I nod in silence and my other hand crushes the cockroach.
Cockroaches don’t know how to cry.
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