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Astrid laughs. Tova does not.

“Is this because she lost her job?”

“Partly because of what losing the job changed.”

“That sounds like an adult answer.”

“It is.”

“I hate those.”

“Same.”

Astrid sits down beside her, and the two of them arrange themselves on that couch without either one looking at the other, the same shoulder, the same hands, the same flat waiting face, and I decide the family resemblance is going to kill me.

“We want to get married,” I say. “And doing it now gives your mother a better shot at staying.”

Tova looks at Astrid. “Would you marry him if you could stay anyway?”

“I would want to,” Astrid says. “I do not know that I would be doing it this quickly.”

Tova turns to me. “You?”

“Same.”

“So this is because of immigration.”

“Yes,” Astrid says.

“And not because of immigration.”

“Yes.”

Tova frowns. “That’s stupid.”

“Also yes,” I say.

Astrid gives me a look.

Tova looks between us. “Have you even been on a date?”

Silence.

Her eyes widen. “You haven’t.”

“We’ve spent time together,” I say.

“At her work.”

“Not all of it.”

“Was there food?”

“Coffee.”

“That’s not a date.”

“I’m aware.”