"It is late on Saturday morning, and the oldest one and I are sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table, staring at our laptops in silence. We are silent because we are both working on the same puzzle, and neither of us wants any help from the other at this point. The front door opens and my wife comes in, bringing with her the middle one and all his worldly possessions."
"There was an actual point when all three of our adult children had flown the nest, when we suddenly had an embarrassment of spare rooms and a sense of unlimited possibility. Now all I can think is: it's a good thing I didn't buy a rowing machine. I guess we're back to big milk, I say, tipping the last of a dainty pint container into my coffee. Can you help us unload everything? my wife says."
Late on Saturday morning the narrator and the oldest child sit at the kitchen table working on a puzzle in silence. The wife returns with the middle child and many of his belongings while the youngest remains away but retains a key. The house that once felt empty after all three children left now fills again, prompting comment about unused purchases and a need to rearrange. The middle child's possessions are partly stored under stairs and in eaves. New household rules and routines are proposed, including midday dinner confirmations and possible phone alerts, as flat viewings and returns punctuate the day.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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