Visible City by Mirvis, Tova

of motherhood. “They must not want us to know how their fight ends,” the man said, once the couple shuffled out, both stooped and, despite their argument, clutching each other’s hands. “If they scream in public, don’t you think they want us to hear?” Nina asked. He looked to be in his late fifties, tall with graying hair that swept across his forehead. He wore a pressed button-down shirt and dress pants and had an air of muted distinction that she found appealing. She’d never initiated a conversation though, not wanting to be one of the people who lurked all day, using a moment of eye contact as an excuse to talk. Nor, in case he turned out to be one of these overly loquacious strangers, did she want to be entrapped. “I think we’re neighbors,” he said, and they introduced themselves. “Where do you live?” she asked. “298 Riverside.” “Then you’re right. We live right across the street.” “I’ve seen you outside with your kids, in front of the building,” he said with a smile. “My son is obsessed with the construction. If it were up to him, we’d spend all day watching.” “You should hear what it sounds like in our apartment.” “Have you heard the woman who’s always yelling at the construction workers? She makes more noise than they do. This morning, I almost expected her to start throwing things,” Nina said. He startled slightly. “I’ll have to listen for her. It probably makes her feel better—it gives her the sense that she has control. It’s funny, I never used to think I could get a