Dreaming in English by Laura Fitzgerald

again, resting my eyes on the striped-fabric hammock under a tree near the little waterfall and goldfish pond. The very sight of it makes me yearn for the chaos in my life to take a break. I wonder if there might be a way for time to stand still, just for a little while. Just so I could catch my breath.
    I’m still looking wistfully at the hammock spot when Rose pats my hand. “Have you seen my guesthouse, Tami?”
    “Only the outside.” I look to her tiny pink adobe guesthouse and its sweet windows, with green-painted trim and blue-painted flower boxes that contain red geraniums. A French door opens to the backyard, and there’s also a second door that can have the bottom half closed and the top half open. You can lean against it from inside and have a pleasant conversation with a neighbor—it reminds me of Dorothy’s farmhouse in The Wizard of Oz , a movie we took back with us to Iran that I’ve seen perhaps one hundred times. The second door opens to a small patio at the rear of the guesthouse.
    “Let me show you the inside.” Rose leads me to it, and right from the doorway, I fall in love with its brick floors, multicolored walls, and the hand-stenciled tile sign that reads, LET US LINGER HERE A WHILE IN THE FOOLISHNESS OF THINGS . I read that over again and think yes , that is exactly what I want to do—to linger in this delicious moment of my life. I love the little messages Rose paints on her walls and in her garden. To me, they’re like invitations to a magical world.
    “What do you think of it?” she asks. “Other than the fact that it’s so small?”
    “Oh, it’s beautiful!” I scan the one-bedroom house again. The kitchen area has open shelves with bright dishes and there are tissue-paper flowers in a vase on the kitchen table for two. “There couldn’t be a sweeter place.”
    “Why don’t you stay here for a few days?” she says.
    My heart skips a few beats. “What do you mean?”
    “It’s going to take at least a few days if not a week or more for you and Ike to find a place, get his credit checked, and get your utilities hooked up, right?” Rose says. “All those things take time. And meanwhile . . .” She raises her eyebrows mischievously. “Meanwhile, you could have a mini vacation here and maybe get this living-alone business out of your system.”
    “I don’t think I do want to live alone anymore,” I say. “I think I’m over that idea.”
    She shrugs. “Then Ike can stay here, too.”
    I break into a broad smile and walk onto the private patio, with Rose following. Glass-shard wind chimes sprinkle the air with their light sound, and two hummingbirds busily gather their nectar from the potted honeysuckle plant. A red robin perches on the frame of one of the patio’s two chaise lounges, and I imagine myself with a pretty pot of tea, sitting there—successfully reading an American novel, with the robin reading over my shoulder. I can picture it perfectly. And to have Rose so near! Rose, who always makes my heart feel at peace.
    I turn to her, having realized that what I most wanted when I made my big declaration to Ike wasn’t, in fact, to live alone at all. It was to have a choice.
    “If it’s okay with Ike, could we pay you rent and stay longer than just a few days?”
    “You’d like to live here?”
    “To live here, yes. To linger here,” I say. “If that’s all right with you.”
    “I’d love that.” She’s teary-eyed.
    All of a sudden, I’m crying, too. She puts her arms around me, and I cry and cry and can’t stop crying. At first my tears are happy ones, but too soon I’m heaving with sorrowful ones, and angry ones, and relieved ones, and, finally, tired ones. Rose pats my back and shushes me in a way that tells me I can keep on going as long as I need to. At long last, I get control of myself and step back.
    “I’m sorry! My gosh!” Embarrassed, I sniffle and wipe away my tears. “I think I really do just need to catch my breath.”
    “You’re