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“No. I’m going to hate watching you spend it. That part’s mine.”
“You are very pleased with yourself.”
“A little.”
“There he is.”
Astrid buys the ticket.
Three weeks. It’s real now.
She closes the laptop. “Do you think three weeks was too long?”
“Want the real answer?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She turns toward me. “You did not say that.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you were being her mom.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m talking to my wife.”
The word comes out before I think about it, and she hears it, because of course she does. She looks down at the laptop.
“I thought two weeks was enough.”
“I know.”
“You think I was being unreasonable.”
“No. I think you wanted one week and started at two because even you knew one was ridiculous.”
Her head lifts slowly. “That is insulting.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
She considers it. “That is not the point.”
“Usually means no.”
“You are very comfortable tonight.”
“I have tenure.”
“You have been married for weeks.”
“Historic tenure.”
She shakes her head, and the tension around her mouth eases, and then it comes back.
