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“No,” I say.

Astrid’s eyes narrow very slightly.

“I heard you.” My voice has gone rough. “The answer’s no.”

Something in her shoulders lowers. Barely. It isn’t relief. It might be the first inch of room I’ve given back since I walked in.

I stand.

Astrid walks me to the door.

At the bench I put my coat on. Tova’s shoes stay lined up underneath it.

“I’m sorry.”

Astrid’s hand rests on the lock. “For asking?”

I think about it.

“For deciding what yes would look like before you got to it.”

Her face changes.

Recognition.

“Thank you,” she says.

I open the door.

“I meant the part about wanting you.”

“I know.”

“And Tova.”

“I know that too.”

I step into the hall and she closes the door behind me.

I write the argument before I decide not to send it.

I can make room without deciding for you. The house was an offer, not a condition. Sweden can be home and I can still ask you to stay. I can wait while you choose.

It’s better than what I said upstairs.

It’s still an argument against no.

I delete it one word at a time.

Quinn’s message is sitting under the empty box.

The season hasn’t paused because I found a bigger fear.

I lock the phone.

Across the lot one square of her apartment is lit above the bare branches.

There’s a house fifteen minutes from here that I tried to give her before she’d seen the inside of it.