My brother took my mother to the countryside for August – “let her have a break from the apartment building.” On Thursday, my mother called from a neighbor’s phone: she had run out of blood pressure medication, and “Wojtek couldn’t be bothered because he was angry.” I dropped the medication off on Friday. My mother was waiting at the gate with a bag.

Three weeks of silence. Two close people sitting under one roof, unable to say a single honest word to each other.

I took my mother to Retkinia. I watered the flowers on the balcony – they survived, albeit barely. My mother took her medicine, checked her blood pressure, sat in her armchair, and turned on the TV.

“Lucynka, would you take me? For a week?” she asked, not looking at me.

My throat felt tight.

Continued on next page:– Mom, of course. Whenever you want.

– In September. When things cool down a bit.

I didn’t know if he was talking about the weather or Wojtek.

I called Wojtek on Monday. He answered on the fifth ring. He said, “Hi.” I said, “Hi.” We were silent for a moment, like Mom and Wojtek had been for the past three weeks. Then Wojtek cleared his throat and asked:

– Did Mom arrive okay?