“I’m not sure you do. Because if you did?—”
“I understand, Ruslan.”
Polina comes back in with both mugs. She sets one in front of me and sits across the table, pulling a leg underneath her in the chair as I end the call.
“Everything alright?” she asks.
“Work.” True enough.
She watches me for a second with dark eyes. I know she doesn’t buy it. I also know she’ll let it go. She’s good at knowing what to push and what to leave alone.
She wordlessly slides the sugar bowl across the table.
We sit in her kitchen with the building quiet around us. I look at her. She’s got one leg tucked under her and her hands wrapped around her mug. Her hair is holding the cold from outside, and I think about how many nights I have left that will look anything like this.
Not enough. Not even close.
And sitting here, I don’t know what I’m going to do about that.
