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“Not three weeks.”

“No?”

“Ten days. Or twelve. Or two weeks.”

“You asked for four weeks this time.”

“I know.”

“What changed?”

She turns her spoon over.

“Nothing bad.”

“I did not ask whether something bad happened.”

“Three weeks was good. I liked it there. Lina’s there. Nobody says my name wrong.”

I wait.

“But I kept thinking about here.”

“What about it.”

“My room. Gabi. The rink.”

Colt’s eyebrows go up. “The rink?”

“Not you. The pretzels.”

“Devastating.”

“And my cereal.”

“You said my cereal was disgusting.”

“It is. I still thought about it.”

She stops.

“And you two.

“I think I wanted to know I could.”

“Could what?”

“Go back.”

She is quiet for a moment.

“And still want to come back here.”

I press my tongue against the back of my teeth.

“I did. Want to come back, I mean. I didn’t know that before I went.”

“And.”