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.

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