it was supposed to be dinner

It was supposed to be dinner. It became breakfast at the place on the corner, then the flea market where she bargained in Portuguese for a mirror neither of you could carry, then the afternoon it rained so hard you gave up on the day and didn't mind. Your phone died on the Saturday and you have never missed it less.

On the Sunday night you finally went home to water your plants and stood in your own flat like a tourist. The mirror hangs in the hall you share now. She still will not tell you what she paid for it.