“Because!” says Ove. “Right,” says Parvaneh, rolling her eyes in a way that makes Ove suspect
she is not accepting his authority on the topic as one might reasonably expect her to.
A few minutes later she’s stopped in the parking area on the other side of the street.
“I’ll wait here,” she says. “Don’t touch my radio settings,” orders Ove.
“As if I would,” she brays, with a sort of smile that Ove has begun to dislike in the last few weeks.
“It was nice that you came over yesterday,” she adds.
Ove replies with one of his sounds that isn’t words as such, more a sort of clearing of his air passages.
She pats him on the knee. “The girls are happy when you come over. They like you!”
Ove gets out of the car without answering. There wasn’t much wrong with the meal last night, he can stretch to admitting that.
Although Ove doesn’t feel there’s a need to make such a palaver about cooking, as Parvaneh does.
Meat and potatoes and gravy are perfectly adequate.
But if one has to complicate things like she does, Ove could possibly agree that her rice with saffron is reasonably edible.
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