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“That means yes.”
“It means both.”
She takes another bite.
The listing is not under the sugar bowl anymore. It is in the drawer with the rubber bands and the spare keys, and Tova has not asked me to take it out.
That is worse than asking.
My phone is face up beside the invoice. His name is not on the screen and I am aware of it anyway.
Maren told him about the clinic before I found the words to do it myself. He sent one message that evening.
Can I come over?
I answered no.
His reply came before I could decide whether the period in mine had been too final.
Okay. If that changes, call me.
He has not sent a solution with a question mark attached to it. He has not called Gabi, or arrived with coffee, or produced a lawyer, or offered me the keys to a room he believes could hold us.
He has done exactly what I asked.
Tova sets her spoon down. “Are you applying for jobs today?”
“I have already applied for two.”
“It’s seven thirty.”
“The internet opens early.”
“Which ones?”
“The university clinic. And the hospital system north of the city.”
“The one with the bad parking, where you have to go around the whole building and then there’s the gate that doesn’t work, and you said the person in the booth has given up on his entire life.” She says this with her chin on her hand. “You hated it there. You said it out loud in the car. I was in the car.”
“That is not part of the professional assessment.”
“It should be.”
I put the invoice into my bag.
“Gabi will collect you after the appointment. I have a meeting that may run late.”
“The lawyer.”
“Yes.”
Tova looks toward the drawer that holds the house.
“Can we still go to Sweden?”
It is quiet, and it is not the question she asked me over a paused laptop. That one was want. This one is a door she needs to know still opens.
“Yes,” I say. “We can.”
