In the group chat
The Kettle Argument
It started when Dario wrote that you cannot cook a real dinner in a room with only a kettle. "Couscous," Rafael typed, within seconds. "Eggs, if you're patient. Greens, blanched. Noodles, obviously. That's four courses and I haven't tried yet."
He was on a bench outside the laundromat, and the next half hour was the best part of his day. Dario said steeping was not cooking. Rafael asked him to define cooking. Dario said heat applied over time, and Rafael said that was a kettle, thank you. When Dario finally gave in, with a tired "fine, technically," Rafael felt the fun drain out of the question and switched sides at once. "Although you're right that it wouldn't be dinner. Dinner needs a pan, and something to go a bit wrong."
Fourteen messages, all his. Somewhere in the middle of them Lucia had written, "Didn't get the apartment. That's the third one." He had answered without slowing down: "Clearly fate wants you in a room with only a kettle." Then he moved on. It was only when his dryer buzzed that he noticed what was missing. Lucia answered everything. She sent a small sun to people who posted about the weather. Under his joke there was nothing at all.
He scrolled up and read her message again. She had been sleeping on her cousin's sofa since the spring. He opened a private chat. "Sorry, that was a bad joke," he wrote, and looked at it. That made her comfort him. He deleted it. "Three in a row is rotten, and I walked right over it. What went wrong with this one? And when's the next viewing? I'll come and argue with the agent."
The reply took a few minutes. "Thursday at six. Yes, actually. Please." "Done." He put it in his calendar on the spot, because he knew himself. Back in the group, he posted a photograph he had taken last winter and kept for exactly this kind of occasion: one egg, in a kettle, looking doubtful.