“I’m starting to wonder whether or not being late is a habit of hers.”
The fork that I had been twirling between my fingers, spinning like the rotar of a helicopter, stopped moving, for my fingers still when I heard Aurora speak. We had been immersed in complete silence up until then, and I hadn’t had a problem with it—I didn’t want to talk to her in the first place.
“Who are you talking about?”
I placed the fork back onto the table again, making sure that it was back in the exact place where I had picked it up from. I knew that it would only confuse me if I put it down somewhere else—I had a process that helped me remember which piece of cutlery to use for what dish.
“Hera. Who else would I be talking about?”
“How do you expect me to know who else you invited to dinner? And if it
