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“And Gabi didn’t know we were coming.”
“No.”
“That was weird.”
“Yes.”
“She looked scary.”
“She was tired.”
“She looked like she wanted to kill you.”
“That is true. It will not be the last time, either. I can be difficult.”
Tova laughs briefly.
Then she looks at the suitcase again.
“Are you and Colt getting divorced?”
“I do not know.”
“Are you going home?”
“Not tonight.”
She nods, and this time I do not add anything to make the answer easier.
After a moment she stands.
“Gabi said there are chips.”
“There are apples.”
“She specifically said chips.”
“They are behind the apples.”
“That’s hostile.”
She goes into the kitchen.
I open the laptop again but do not read the page.
There are two new replies since this morning. Both of them begin by thanking me for my interest. The second one spells my name correctly, which is more than the first one managed.
That is six.
Both nights I have woken and filled a glass of water in Gabi’s kitchen before I remembered there was nobody to put it beside.
Three pages of notes sit beneath the job listings. Names of clinics I used to refer patients to. Equipment I liked working with. Things I miss doing and things I do not.
At the top of the third page I have written one question and left the rest blank.
What would I build if the choice were mine?
Gabi asked me that in a booth with her fork down and I could not answer her.
