“What’s your favorite color?” he asked. It was such a strange question. Why did he care about that? I had just been told my friend was dead, and I was grieving.

“Blue,” I replied, instead of asking him why he wanted to know. I was too upset to ask questions.

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” he then asked me.

“Mint chocolate chip,” I replied immediately, again, not asking him why he wanted to know.

“I would have guessed you were a peanut butter cup fan,” he said, then asked, “What was your first pet?”

I had never had a pet. My mother hated animals. “I’ve never had one,” I told him.

“Why?”

“My mother wouldn’t let me.”

“What pet did you want if you could have had one?”

“A dog. Any dog. I really like dogs.” I had never said that to anyone. But then no one had ever asked me. I surprised myself with the answer.

“What would you name the dog?” he then asked me.

I had to think about that harder. I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. To name a dog, I think I’d have to meet it. Spend time with it. Figure out what name fit.”

“You’d be a good dog owner,” he said.

Why were we talking about this? What was the purpose of all these questions? Did he suddenly have a burning desire to know all about me? I doubted it.

“Favorite movie?” he asked.

I started to tell him that was an impossible answer because I had too many favorites when my phone beeped that I had another call. Pulling it back to see the screen, Heath’s name was there, staring back at me. He was calling to tell me about Mattia. For a moment, I’d been distracted…

And then I understood. What the questions were all about. Rathe had been distracting me. It had worked. The tears were dried on my face, and I wasn’t clenching my hands tightly anymore. Seeing Heath’s name, however, reminded me of the news, and I closed my eyes tightly.

“Catalina,” Rathe’s voice called out to me, and I inhaled deeply.

“Heath is calling me,” I told him with difficulty. My throat was thick from the sudden return of emotion.

“Ignore him. I’ll text him. Now, Favorite movie?” His voice was soothing. It made me want to answer his questions just to hear him talk some more. I found that odd. Craving the sound of a voice was new for me.

“Too many to name,” I replied, after a moment.

“Fair enough. What was your favorite movie as a kid then?” he asked.

“Anne of Green Gables.”

“You read the books, too,” he said with confidence. It wasn’t a question. He was making a statement.

“They were my favorites.”

“Did you read Little Women, too?” he asked.