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“What if she goes there and decides she wants to stay?”

I lean back against the stool. I could answer fast, which is usually how I get myself in trouble.

“She might.”

Astrid’s face closes. I keep going.

“She might want Sweden. She might want Texas. She might want both for a while. Making her pick before she knows won’t make it any safer.”

“You make that sound easy.”

“I don’t think it’s easy.”

“You said it calmly.”

“I take punches for a living.”

“That explains nothing.”

“Means I know calm and easy aren’t the same thing.”

She goes quiet and I let her. Eventually she reaches for her phone. Her mother, I assume, or Gabi. She looks at the screen long enough that I understand this isn’t a practical call.

I get up.

“You are leaving?”

“Giving you the room.”

“I did not ask.”

“Nope.”

She looks at me. I hesitate.

“Thank you,” she says.

I head for the living room, and behind me the call connects.

“Astrid?”

Gabi.

“She is going.”

I keep walking. Whatever comes after that belongs to them.

Down the hall, Astrid laughs at something Gabi says.

I go to the kitchen for water, which is the plan right up until I open the cupboard.

No glasses.

Bowls. I open the one above the dishwasher and find them on the bottom shelf, arranged by height, which has never been done to them before.

Astrid is in the doorway with her laptop under her arm.

“Everything all right with Gabi?”