Chapter 24: Goodnight, Marit

In April I came home from my first week behind the counter with flour in my hair and my feet aching.

The street door had three names beside it now, and the third one was mine.

I climbed the stairs slowly and let myself in with the brass key.

The flat was dim and warm.

A pot of something was ticking on the stove, and in the sitting room the lamp was on low.

Nils sat at one end of the sofa in his scrubs with his shoes off.

Florian sat at the other with a sketchbook on his knee, and he did not look up.

"She's alive," Nils said. "Flour and all."

"I run the counter," I said. "Sort of. I get the whole shop in autumn."

"Sort of."

"I'm allowed to be proud for a minute."

"Take the whole week," Florian said, still drawing.

I dropped my bag and my coat on the floor and stood in the lamplight.

I was so tired that my knees shook, and I was happier than I had ever been in a room.

"I have a request," I said.

They both looked at me.

"I want to play the game."

Nils's mouth curved slowly. "Which game?"

"The first one."

Florian put his pencil down.

He closed the sketchbook and laid it on the arm of the sofa, and the room changed around him.

"Say it out loud," he said.

"I want to lie down on the sofa with my eyes shut. I want you to talk about me like I'm asleep.

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