Chapter 2

"Are you sure he actually got on that plane?"

Maya poked her head out of the kitchen, holding a mug, her hair looking like a bird’s nest.

The notification from my flight tracker app was still glowing on my screen—7:05 AM, passenger Justin Harris had checked in.

Destination: Denver.

The city Vivian had been living in for the past three years.

"I booked the ticket. It was tied to his ID."

Maya walked over, glanced at the screen, and then at me.

"Chloe, you threw a ticket in his face, said goodbye—and he just left? Without even trying to call you?"

"I blocked him everywhere."

"But he could have used a burner number! He could have shown up at your door! He could have—"

"He wouldn't."

I flipped my phone face down on the coffee table.

"The flight was at 7:05 AM. We left the restaurant at 11:00 PM last night. In those eight hours, he only had enough time to go home and pack a bag."

Maya blinked, stunned.

"So... he didn't even hesitate?"

"Hesitation takes time. He didn't want to waste any."

She slammed her mug down on the table. "Where is he rushing to? His own funeral?"

I didn't laugh.

"I need to go back to the apartment and get my things. While he's gone."

"I'm coming with you."

"No need. I’ll be in and out in twenty minutes."

I turned the key in the lock. I had done this motion for four years. This was the last time, and it felt no different.

The door opened. The place was empty.

His grey running shoes were missing from the entryway. He had indeed come back to pack before rushing to the airport.

On the fridge, there was a handwritten sticky note: *The yogurt is about to expire. Remember to throw it out.*

Four years. All the yogurt in the fridge was always his because I'm lactose intolerant. He ate the breakfast I made him for four years, yet he could never remember that one simple detail.

But he remembered to tell me to throw out his trash.

I searched the bottom of the closet and my fingers brushed against something hard.

A deep blue velvet box, about the size of my palm. I opened it. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a tiny sapphire pendant.

Tucked under the cushion was a card: *Happy Graduation, Viv. - J*

The date was from three years ago.

Squatting by the closet, I called Maya.

"What's wrong?" she answered.

"I found a box at the bottom of the closet. A sapphire necklace with a card that says 'Happy Graduation, Viv.' From three years ago."

"...Why is that still in your apartment?"

"I don't know. Maybe he bought it and never sent it, or maybe she sent it back. But that's not the point."

"What is?"

"Three years ago, around that exact date, he told me he was tight on cash and borrowed eight thousand dollars from me. He said it was for rent."

The other end of the line went dead silent for a few seconds.

"Did he ever pay you back?"

"No. He said 'I'll get you back later.' It’s been three years of 'later'."

I hung up and was about to zip my suitcase when my phone buzzed.

Caller ID: Eleanor.

Justin's mom.

I hesitated for two seconds, then picked up.

"Chloe, sweetie! Justin told me he’s out of town on a business trip. Are you home alone? Why don't you come over for dinner?"

A business trip.

So that’s what he told his mother.

"Eleanor, Justin and I broke up."

There was a pause, and then she laughed—the kind of dismissive laugh used for toddlers throwing a tantrum.

"Oh, sweetie, young couples fight all the time. Justin can be so emotionally clueless sometimes, don't take it to heart."

"Eleanor, we didn't fight. We broke up."

"Chloe, listen to me. He called me last night. He said you've been under a lot of stress lately and your mood hasn't been great. See? He worries about you."

"Did he tell you he went to see Vivian? Do you know about that, Eleanor?"

Silence.

But this silence was different.

It wasn't surprise. It was calculation.

"Well... Vivian is a sweet girl. She and Justin grew up together. It’s hard for her living out there all by herself. It's only normal for him to check on her."

"He has over two hundred photos of her on his phone, from high school until now. Did you know about that, Eleanor?"

I heard her sigh.

"Chloe, a girl shouldn't go snooping through a man's phone. The more you look, the more miserable you'll make yourself."

"Let me ask you this, sweetie—has Justin been good to you? He has, hasn't he? He let you manage the household budget, he came home on time every day, and he didn't mess around with other girls. What more could you want?"

Three rhetorical questions. I couldn't even bother to argue.

Except for the last one—whether he "messed around" or not apparently depended on how one defined two hundred photos and a necklace bought with my money.

"Eleanor, if Vivian comes back to Seattle permanently, who will Justin choose?"

Another pause.

"Well, isn't Vivian doing so well over there in Denver..."

"If she comes back?"

Eleanor didn't answer.

"Chloe, come over this weekend. I'll make you some comfort food."

I hung up. I zipped my suitcase and walked out the door.

In the elevator, I texted Maya: *Eleanor didn't say he'd choose me either.*

She called back instantly.

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what you think it means."

"Chloe, are you ever going back to that apartment?"

I watched the elevator floor numbers tick down.

"That place was never my home anyway."