“No, I mean it shouldn’t be something to thank me for, because a grown man should be able to back up with a trailer,” he replies,
casting a somewhat unimpressed gaze on the Lanky One, who looks at him as if unsure whether or not this is an insult.
Ove decides not to help him out of his quandary. He backs away and tries to close the door again.
“My name is Parvaneh!” she says, putting her foot across his threshold.
Ove stares at the foot, then at the face it’s attached to. As if he’s having difficulties understanding what she just did.
“I’m Patrick!” says the Lanky One. Neither Ove nor Parvaneh takes the slightest notice of him.
“Are you always this unfriendly?” Parvaneh wonders, with genuine curiosity.
Ove looks insulted. “I’m not bloody unfriendly.” “You are a bit unfriendly.” “No I’m not!”
“No, no, no, your every word is a cuddle, it really is,she replies in a way that makes Ove feel she doesn’t mean it at all.
He releases his grip on the door handle for a moment or two. Inspects the box of cookies in his hand.
“Right. Arabian cookies. Worth having, are they?” he mutters.
“Persian,” she corrects. “What?” “Persian, not Arabian. I’m from Iran—you know, where they speak Farsi?” she explains.
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