She couldn’t remember when she had started noticing chairs.

Ada had been offered the sofa.

She chose the chair.

Nobody noticed.

There was no reason they should have.

The sofa was beautiful. Low, cream, deep enough that the woman already sitting on it had folded one leg underneath herself.

Beside it was an ordinary dining chair someone had pulled into the room.

Ada looked at both.

The sofa would have been fine.

She exercised. She was perfectly capable of getting in and out of a sofa.

Still.

She chose the chair.

The evening continued.

Someone was telling a story.

Glasses moved around the table. A phone was passed from one person to another. Somebody laughed from the kitchen.

Across from Ada, the woman on the sofa changed position.

One leg came out.

A little later, the other followed.

Both feet went to the floor.

She stayed where she was.

Ada watched briefly.

She knew the sequence.

She couldn’t remember when she had started noticing chairs.

There had been a time when a chair was simply somewhere to sit.

Now there were chairs.

And there were chairs.

Some announced the problem immediately.

Too low.

Too deep.

Too upright.

Ada had opinions.

She had not intended to acquire them.

She knew which chair would require shifting after twenty minutes.

Which restaurant would have everybody leaning across the table to hear one another.

Which pair of shoes would become somebody else’s problem halfway through the evening, except that somebody else would also be her.

A few weeks earlier, someone had suggested a restaurant.

Ada knew the place.

The food was good.

The room was beautiful.

The music was loud enough to require everybody at the table to spend the evening leaning towards one another.

Ada suggested somewhere else.

“Why?”

She thought about it.

“The parking is easier.”

This was true.

It was not the whole truth.

The other restaurant had comfortable chairs.

The music was lower.

You could hear the person sitting across from you without moving closer.

And the parking was easier.

Ada had recommended it to three people.

There had been a time when she would park wherever she found space and deal with the distance later.

Now, apparently, later had acquired representation in the decision.

Back in the room, the woman on the sofa had moved again.

She was no longer sitting deep inside it.

She had moved closer to the edge.

Not much.

A few inches.

Both feet remained on the floor.

She wasn’t leaving.

She continued talking.

Nobody else appeared to notice that anything had changed.

Ada did.

Her own chair was unremarkable.

Four legs.

Straight back.

Firm seat.

Ada shifted once.

Everything was fine.

Someone offered her another drink.

Ada declined.

It was getting late.

She checked the time.

It was not particularly late.

Still.

She had work in the morning.

There had been a time when this information would not have become relevant until the following morning.