Better money, your own room, your own work. She paused. It's better than here. In some ways, Odora said, "In most ways. In most practical ways."
Marin's jaw worked. "So, you're going to go?" I said, "I haven't decided." "Why haven't you?" The question came out sharper than Marin had intended.
Odora could tell. The girl's composure slipped by exactly one degree, enough to hear what was underneath it. "What is there here that's better?" Odora looked at her. Marin looked back and then without preparation, without warning, the composure went, not gradually.
It went the way a wall goes when the foundation fails. Everything at once. Women leave. Her voice broke on the last word. Not into tears.
Exactly. Marin was not a girl who cried easily or who allowed herself to in front of witnesses, but into a rawness that was worse than tears would have been. Mama got sick and left. She didn't want to. I know she didn't want to, but she left anyway.
And then there was just she stopped. She pressed her lips together hard. Her hands in her lap had clenched to fists. And now you have somewhere better to go and you'll go there. And it's She stopped again, swallowed.
I know it's not the same. I know you're not her. I'm not I'm not mixing you up. I know the difference. I know you do, Odora said quietly.
But it doesn't matter that it's different. She said it with the precision of someone who had been working through this logic for weeks and had finally found the exact words for it. It still means I learned to do without him someone and then I have to do without someone. I'm tired of learning to do without. The kitchen was very quiet.