Astrid’s knuckles are white, as she holds onto the telephone.
‘Yes’, she whispers, her eyes wide. She is surprised, apparently.
Her mother sits, frozen, less than a meter away at a table covered in a checkered red and white cloth. Her hands are poised, holding a spoon mid-air above a bowl of oatmeal.
‘Okay, thank you’.
Deliberately, and slowly, Astrid places her phone on the corner of the table.
‘I got in’, she says, ‘…but I am going to turn down the offer’.
There is a loud clang, and another. The spoon hits the floor, bounces, and then hides under the table. Astrid’s mother looks mad.