"Marlin, when you get there," Kirsten said suddenly, "will someone be picking you up at the airport?"
"Yeah. Housing's already arranged too."
She nodded and didn't ask anything else.
The pot came to a rolling boil, steam rising and blurring her face.
Through that veil of white, I seemed to see so many things from the life before.
Her getting up in the middle of the night to feed the baby. Her bustling around the kitchen preparing the whole family's New Year's dinner. Her dozing in a patch of sunlight on the balcony, her hair turning white strand by strand.
She would never go through any of that in this life.
Peter had always been better at loving someone than I was.
That meal lasted close to three hours.
When it was over, Peter went to pay the bill. Kirsten stood waiting by the entrance.
I walked out behind her. She heard my footsteps and turned around.
The two of us stood under the light outside the restaurant, neither saying a word.
Traffic noise filled the street. Someone waited at the curb for a cab. A vendor pushed a cart of roasted sweet potatoes past us.
"Marlin."
"Are you..." She hesitated, as if weighing every word. "Are you really just leaving for work?"