“Nothing.”
“No.”
“What were you afraid of?”
Marissa walked toward the bedroom.
I followed.
She pulled our medium suitcase from the closet.
At first I did not understand.
Then she placed it on the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“My sister’s.”
“For tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marissa.”
She opened a drawer.
Started packing.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
No crying.
No shouting.
That frightened me more.
“What are you doing?”
“I need space.”
“We have been talking for six minutes.”
“Exactly.”
“And everything you’re saying is ‘we’ll figure it out.’”
“Yes.”
“Because we will.”
“You always say that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
