“We’re out of the Mexican brand?” I asked.

“No, I prefer this one.”

“Say,” I asked her while she waited for the water to boil, “if someone told you you could see Shira’s dreams, on TV for instance, would you watch them?”

“Of course,” she said with her back to me.

“Yeah, me too, that’s why lately I’ve been thinking—”

“Actually, maybe not.”

“No?”

“Yeah, on second thought, I wouldn’t want to,” she announced and sat at the table, mixing a teaspoon of sugar into her tea.

“But why?”

She said worst-case scenario she’d watch a nightmare and agonize over how her girl was suffering. “And worse than worst-case scenario, I’d happen to catch a good dream.”

“How is a good dream a bad thing?” I couldn’t understand. “You said yourself it wasn’t so terrible.”

“Of course it’s not terrible!” she exclaimed. “Living inside a dream? It’s great. But that doesn’t mean I want to see with my own eyes how happy she is without us,” she concluded, basically saying it was easier to live with the ambiguity. I told her I couldn’t understand her. That I’d jump at the opportunity without thinking twice; that I had the feeling it would solve everything; that I couldn’t stop thinking about it since I started going through the notebooks; that if we understood what she was dreaming about, we could find a solution to the whole situation.

“How exactly? What good would it do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said, “but I’ll know once I see her dreams.”

“You know you’re just fooling yourself, right?” she said, and took a small sip of her tea. Then she said she didn’t understand why I was getting so worked up about it; it wasn’t as if it was actually an option. “Haven’t you realized yet that we’re not a factor in this? That this whole problem is between the girl and her own consciousness?”

“We’re not a factor?” I asked, raising my voice. “Last time I checked, we were her parents.”

She lowered her cup onto the table, putting her hand on mine. “You’re better than me at this,” she said, and after a few moments added, “luckily.”