22
Falling in love with Mat was the feeling of jumping from a very high perch, yet somehow it was also the feeling of safety; of a key sliding into a lock; of gears meeting precisely; of the teeth of a circular saw running along the wood’s grain; of a sharpened pencil. How could all of this be true at once? Ava’s heart skipped as their Swyft navigated back to her apartment, the woody, lacquered smell of the Steinway factory lingering on her jacket, in Mat’s hair, in his sweater as they leaned with each turn the car took.
They’d had no dinner plans – when was the last time she hadn’t planned three meals ahead? – and Mat was ordering sushi on his phone. ‘What do you like?’ he said.
‘Miso soup? And a California roll?’
‘Miso soup and a California roll? What is this, the Great Depression?’
