I waited patiently in the lounge, settling into the worn couch. The dim yellow light above my head cast long shadows across the room, while bright white light spilled from the attached kitchen, the only two sources of light in the otherwise dark space.
The tap water running. Plates clinking together. Those were the only sounds breaking the silence of the night.
Serena and Lydia were both less-spoken people, so there were no words between them as they worked. Just small movements of understanding, Serena washing a plate and handing it over, Lydia taking it, cleaning it with a cloth, then placing it carefully on the growing pile beside her.
The rhythm was almost meditative.
Finally, after about ten minutes of waiting, I heard the final clink of the last plate being set down.
"I'll arrange them," Serena's voice drifted out from the kitchen. "I need to get the hang of where everything is."
