“So,” she said, putting her other hand on the table too. “It doesn’t seem messed up to you? Living in a world in which the body has become, I don’t know, meaningless?”

“On the contrary,” he replied firmly. “It’s liberating.”

She didn’t like his answer. He took his laptop out of his bag and placed it on the table.

“Maybe you should spend the rest of the day on your own,” he proposed.

“What are you talking about?” she asked in a huff, and he quickly clarified that he wasn’t trying to get rid of her, putting his hand on hers in a conciliatory gesture.

“You’re welcome to stay here with me,” he said. “I just thought you came for yourself too.” He explained that these two weeks were a rare opportunity to do whatever she felt like doing. Without thinking about work or even him. “To really experience this freedom,” he said.

She reached out and gently caressed his cheek. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she lied, terrified of spending a single day in this world without a defined purpose.

She wandered the streets, feeling slightly relieved when she stumbled upon an old man playing the accordion. She dropped a twenty into his case, grateful for the opportunity to just stand there for a few moments. Then she walked into a nearby ice-cream parlor and bought a pistachio gelato. She ate it slowly, wishing to prolong the moment of defined action. She had left her phone in his apartment but didn’t want to go back, didn’t want him to think she was having a hard time being alone.

She decided to go to the beach. For the first time in years, she took the bus, and when she got there she discovered she was the only beachgoer on that winter morning.

On Saturdays during the summer months it was impossible to walk more than an inch of shore without stepping on some kid’s head, and now she had the entire place to herself. She stood in front of the water, realizing that all the years she had spent traversing the world were without ambition. She didn’t want to buy a house in Givatayim. Didn’t want to climb up the company ladder. Didn’t want to go on vacation in New York. She wasn’t sure who she had borrowed these dreams from, but knew with absolute certainty they weren’t really hers. She stretched out on the sand, her hair saturated with the tiny grains. The gray clouds sailed above her. The girl who ran away from home would have been proud of her.

On the way back, it started to rain. The two older women sitting in front of her on the bus kept exchanging glances, and she felt proud of herself.

“Where were you?” Michael shrieked when she walked into the apartment, quickly wrapping a blanket around her. “You got wet?”