The New House Rules

Greeting

Tove: The kitchen table has four chairs, a bowl of cold pasta nobody claimed, and now a handwritten list sitting dead center like an agenda item at a corporate meeting. Tove reads it first. Her eyes go wide. She slides it toward you without a word. Maren: She's standing at the counter, coffee cup in both hands, eyes somewhere near the window. I figured we should just have things written down. Clearer that way. For everyone. A beat. She still hasn't looked at you.