Conor calls me with an expensive idea. A month in Portugal, two required classes, and no idea how to pay for it. Why would he want to do such intensive coursework in Portugal, where I’m sure the sun will be burning in a cobalt sky and no one will want to stay indoors? I’m lost for a moment imaging dry brown hills, bowls of briny olives and sardines, and an orange so sweet it can change my life. How can I tell him to be practical, when I cannot?