In Mirna's basement stood skis, a record player, and a pasta machine. The skis belonged to her relationship with Damir, the records to her years with Filip, and the pasta machine to her last attempt at living with a chef. She wanted to throw none of it away. Every object proved that she had once known what to talk about.
Her friends called her adaptable. When she fell in love, she easily learned the rules of a sport, the names of bands, or the difference between two types of flour. By the third date, she would say, "We like." Her partners enjoyed it until they realized that no second voice could be heard behind their agreement.
After the last breakup, she went to sell some records. The man in the small music shop asked which one she wanted to keep. Mirna named the most expensive. He repeated the question, more slowly. "Which one do you want to listen to?" She had no answer. It was as embarrassing as forgetting her own address.
His name was Andrej, and he hosted an evening show on local radio. He invited her to bring five songs for a segment about people who did not work in music. Mirna accepted before realizing how difficult it would be. At home, she listened to her former partner's records, and every one sounded like someone else's living room.
She called her sister, who reminded her that she had once loved the old pop songs they sang on summer holidays. Mirna found them and, for the first time, played them without feeling the need to justify her taste. She no longer liked one of them. Strangely, that pleased her. She could change her mind without the person beside her changing.
On the show, she became flustered, mispronounced a songwriter's name, and said one song reminded her of the family's broken-down car. Andrej did not interrupt to add an expert fact. Afterward, he asked whether she wanted coffee. Mirna agreed, then immediately added that she did not like jazz, which was playing in his shop.
"Good to know," he said.
They began seeing each other, but she did not buy any of his favorite records just to have something to say. She kept her Tuesday pottery class and Sunday walks with her sister. One evening, Andrej suggested a concert that sounded exhausting to her. She told him to go alone and that she would wait at home with a book. When he left, the silence was perfectly comfortable. Mirna played her own song, loud enough to hear from the kitchen.