The entryway floor tile is beige, and weathered, with a slight peel. Almost like it’s been repurposed. Her Opa’s place in Roland had tile like this. He lived there until he died. (The one apartment building in all of Roland.) Gemma’d stay nights with him often, when her dad was out doing … well, who knew. Her Opa was a gentle man. Had been a pastor in Steinbach a long time ago, but by the time Gemma came along, he worked for Prairie Rose School Division and kept a crystal prism in the window that shined colours all over his apartment. And he would visit Gemma’s Oma in Mitchell. His ex-wife, in a sense, though of course no one would’ve called her that. He’d fix up her house. Mow the lawn. Change the oil in her car. Sometimes those two would speak Plautdietsch to each other in passing, and once, her Oma threw her head back in laughter at the kitchen table (“Oh, yo!”) as her grandfather tossed off a remark in his parka, shuffling out to shovel snow. Gemma never saw her Oma be expressive speaking any other language. Gemma’d never learned two words of Plautdietsch, but its cadence always brings her back to that kitchen, and whenever she hears it spoken now, it makes her want to cry.

Despite her Opa’s visits, her grandmother never visited his place in Roland. Why the two of them separated in the first place, Gemma never found out. She’d asked, but—

“Baby? Baby, do they fit?”

Gemma looks up. She steps back through the curtain of beads. Ava’s voice had come from the bedroom. Olive has disappeared.

For a second, Gemma is alone in the living room.

“They do,” she calls out. She adds, raising her voice, “Thanks, Olive!”

“You got it, girlfriend!” Olive shouts from the bathroom.

Gemma goes into Ava’s room and begins doing her hair, putting it up in pigtail buns again.

“There gonna be food at this thing?” Gemma asks.

“Probably. Do you need more dinner?” Ava’s red mouth is a blade on her face.

“No,” Gemma says. “I just like to know.”

“Ah. Yeah, I get that, hey?” Ava steps into her dress, a grey and shoulderless heavy thing. She pulls it up onto her body and the fabric on her skin makes a sound that fills the room.

I might want to stay, Gemma understands as she watches her. It’s right then that Gemma understands this. She’d come here because she hadn’t known where else to go. And she had assumed she’d just crash until either she was told to leave or she figured out her next move. And now she thinks: What if I wanted to stay?

They go up in the elevator and emerge in a glass enclosure with a kitchen and a counter with platters of Chinese takeout. Gemma sees the bags and says, “Lucky’s! Lucky’s is still around?!” She says this mostly to herself. Beyond the enclosure is a wide-open roof with people and a firepit and sun through the clouds. Two men eating chicken balls stand across from them.