Breakfast was a languorous meal, with many crocks and trays scattered all over the scarred table. We were eating leftovers, in leftover season. This was the lull before the grind of winter. We served chicken fat and apricot jam on pancakes. We passed around the bowl of sour cream and banana mash. We ate Dumpstered ham, with a greenish, metallic tinge to it, and sweet potato puffs, fragrant with nutmeg. Isaac sat across from me, by Osha, who spoke about gullywashers she had known. In some parts of the mountains, it rained ten feet a year.

I gave Isaac a long look. I let myself feast on every detail. He had his hood up against the cold, but I could just see the toenails of his tattoo at his eyebrow. I looked at his wide, dazed eyes. I looked at the down on his knuckles. He was too soft and skinny to be an Asher. He looked like he didn’t belong.

I told myself I was letting him go.

I told myself that this was only hard because it was temporary, my past jutting into my present. I told myself that over the course of years, I would forget him, and that was good and natural.

As breakfast concluded, I grabbed the compost and gestured to Isaac. “Here, I’ll just show you how to add to a compost pile, if you ever want to make your own.”

I was so focused on Isaac that I didn’t notice Bay until I was crashing into him. I stumbled back. He steadied me with his hands. “Pedal to the metal, Harmony,” Bay said. Isaac was watching.

“Hey, brother,” I said, though I didn’t want him to be just my brother.

Bay said, with his hands still on my shoulders, “Has Isaac treated you right?”

I glanced at Isaac, who looked small next to him. “Maybe,” I said.

“I’ll squash him for you,” Bay said. I was delighted. Bay turned to Isaac. “Looking forward to leaving, friend?”

Isaac shrugged. “Show me the compost?” he said to me.

Bay gave me a shake, and Isaac and I walked down to the kitchen garden.

“He was standing there so that you’d bump into him,” Isaac said. “What’s wrong with his arms?”

“He tried to fight me,” I said. “I won.”

Isaac laughed uneasily.

“Sheep shears,” I said. “But he got over it. We’re in love now.”

“You never used to be so mean,” he said.

“Have you forgotten why you left me?” I said.

“Bay told me he sleeps with all the new girls.”

I shrugged, feeling winded. Maybe we were both lying. I stuck my shovel into the compost pile, but Isaac, of course, merely watched.

I said, “I’m not going to meet you and my mom on Valentine’s Day. I want you to understand that I’m not leaving here. I reject you and your various proposals.”