Chapter 2

2: 2

The next morning, first thing, I handed in my resignation.

The HR director looked at my letter, and something in his face shifted toward surprise.

No wonder.

Everyone at the company knew how hard I pushed myself. Working through my days off was normal for me.

My coworkers used to joke about it, asking who I even had in Southport, that I'd grind myself down like this just to get a foothold here.

"Have you really thought this through?"

He set the letter down gently on the desk and rubbed at the space between his brows, tired.

"That project of yours went well. Once it's finalized, your promotion to manager is a done deal."

"Leave now, and you walk away with nothing."

The word manager made something in me stir.

The fingers hanging at my side curled tight without my meaning them to.

Freshman year, I signed up for the English speaking competition. My timid nature and the way my back would never straighten got me cut by the teacher.

It was Mabel, our class president, who stepped up for me.

"Neville's spoken English is excellent. I think he should get a shot."

Sophomore year we joined the photography club together.

She taught me composition and color grading with her own hands, coached me until I took first place in a photography contest.

Junior year, the startup competition.

The business plan, the slides, the pitch on stage—every step, Mabel walked me through it, and she put me up on that winner's platform.

I know I'm not clever.

Every step I took forward, I was stepping into footprints Mabel had already laid down for me.

So even as we walked step by step toward being in love, there was always gossip trailing behind us that we could never shake.

The year we graduated, we joined the same company.

That was the first time I wanted to stand on my own, to stand beside Mabel through my own ability.

I said, "Can we hold off on going public with our relationship?"

"Mabs, just wait for me."

"Within three years I'll make manager, and I'll stand shoulder to shoulder with you."

Back then Mabel had come in through the talent-recruitment track, starting at manager level.

I was an ordinary campus hire, still anxious every day about making it past probation.

Winters in Southport are cold.

Mabel scooted over next to me, gave a little wave of her hand, and wrapped me in with her under that cashmere blanket she treasured most.

She didn't ask me why. She didn't call it a pipe dream.

There was only the same support and trust she always gave me.

"Neville, go for it, no holding back."

"Whatever happens, I'll be right here waiting for you."

This year happens to be my third at this company.

The new deal was worth over a hundred million, and I'd spent close to half a year grinding to close it. From the very start I'd been aiming for that manager's seat.

Soon we'd be able to go public, and start planning the wedding.

When I turned around, Mabel was in fact still there where she'd been.

Only now there were two roads forking in front of me.

That night, I went home from work alone.

The apartment was pitch dark and dead quiet.

I felt along the wall and switched on the living room light.

Standing in the doorway, I took a long look, for the first time in a while, at this little home that belonged to me and Mabel.

The plates I hadn't had time to wash before leaving that morning were still stacked in the sink.

The cashmere blanket I'd tossed on the couch during my Sunday nap was still there days later, half of it drooping to the floor.

This was just how the apartment was.

Three hundred out of three hundred sixty-five days, the only signs of life in it were mine.

Before, I never once felt lonely.

The couple's photo on the cabinet by the door, the matching mugs we'd fired together on the dining table, the handmade dumplings she'd frozen ahead in the fridge.

Mabel wasn't there, but her love was around me all the time.

Now the love had lies mixed into it.

And the apartment turned frighteningly cold.

Then the other door behind me was suddenly flung open.

The draft blowing through from the living room across the hall caught the hem of my shirt and knocked the photo off the wall.

The glass frame cracked where it landed, lying sideways between me and Mabel.

I crouched down on instinct to pick it up, and that was when my brother's excited voice rang out.

"Neville, I've decided, I'm going to get the marriage license!"

I froze, and without thinking opened my chat with Mabel.

No messages.

But that photo of my back, the one she'd kept pinned to her profile for five years, had quietly, soundlessly come down.