She paused. I have a life there, a job, an apartment, people who know me. I've built something. She looked down at the water bottle in her hands. But now I don't know how to leave again.
Last time I left. I thought I wasn't wanted here. This time I know I am. She swallowed. It's harder to leave when you know.
It should be, Calvin said. She looked at him. It should be harder, he said. That means it matters. She was quiet.
I'm not the same person who left 6 years ago, she said softly. She left because she was running from something. I don't know who I am when I go back this time. Calvin said, "Maybe that's a good problem to have." She looked at him.
How is that a good problem? Because the last time you left, you knew exactly who you were. He said, "You were someone who felt unwanted. Now you don't have that story anymore. You have to figure out a new one."
He paused. "That's not nothing. That's everything." She held his gaze for a long moment. Then she looked back at the dark yard.
"Four days," she said quietly. He nodded. "You'll be okay," he said. "I know." She said it like she almost believed it.
I know I will. A pause. Calvin, he looked at her. There's something coming, she said. Something I haven't told you yet.
Something that's going to change the whole shape of this. She said it carefully. Precisely. Like someone choosing words that won't spill too much. I don't want to say it yet, but it's coming.
And when it does, I need to know you'll be honest with me. About what? She looked at him with steady, serious eyes. About what I should do, she said. When the choice is harder than it looks, he studied her face.
I'll be honest, he said. She nodded, looked back at the dark. "Okay," she said softly. "Okay, they sat there for a few more minutes without speaking." "Four days."