Chapter 2

"Do you want to come in and sit down? I actually made a bit too much pasta," Asher said, placing the bowls on the dining table. He naturally pulled out a chair.

He pulled it out for me.

He did it with the polite hospitality you’d show to any random guest. It was courteous, but completely distant.

I stood frozen in the entryway. The plush slippers on my feet were the ones I had spent hours searching for on Amazon. In the shoe rack by the door, his sneakers were lined up next to a pair of white canvas shoes. Women's size 8. I wear a size 7.

Serena’s hand was still wrapped tightly around his arm. Her nails were painted a soft, dusty pink. She used to only wear bright red, claiming nude shades were too boring.

"No, thank you. I just came to grab something."

"What do you need?" Serena tilted her head, her voice incredibly natural.

"The second shelf on the right side of the bedroom closet. There's a grey knitted scarf."

She didn't move.

Suddenly, Mochi jumped down from the sofa. He scurried over to my feet, frantically rubbing his head against my ankles.

"Mochi, come back here," Serena called out, patting her thigh.

The cat completely ignored her.

Asher chuckled. "What’s up with him today? He’s usually not like this with strangers."

Usually.

Usually, Mochi only clung to me. He hated being held by Asher and would always squirm. I had to support the cat's hind legs from behind for him to calm down.

But Asher didn't remember any of that. Every Wednesday, everything was wiped clean.

"Your cat is really cute," I whispered, squatting down to gently scratch Mochi behind the ears.

"You like cats too?" Asher’s eyes lit up. "His name is Mochi. He’s three and a half. See his left ear? There's a little notch. He got into a fight with a stray when he was a kitten—"

"—and it left a scar," I finished his sentence.

Asher blinked, startled.

"How did you know that?"

Serena quickly took the pasta bowl from his hand and set it down, her soft voice cutting in seamlessly. "I probably mentioned it at the office. I talk about Mochi all the time. Everyone at work knows about him."

She pivoted the conversation so fast, like a seasoned actress following a script. No pause, no hesitation. She shut down his suspicion before he could even process it.

I was the one who taught her that trick. Back when we pitched scripts together, I told her: *If a producer asks a difficult question, redirect the conversation before they can overthink it.*

"Yeah. Serena mentioned him."

Asher let out an "oh" and didn't press further.

"I'll get that scarf for you," Serena said, scooping Mochi up from the floor.

The cat let out a sharp, uncomfortable mewl. She wasn't supporting his hind legs. As Mochi struggled to break free, she just squeezed her arm tighter around him.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it next time."

"Alright then," she smiled. "Get home safe, Chloe. I won't see you out. The pasta is getting cold."

Asher sat down at the table and waved at me.

"Drive safe."

The very first time he said those words to me, he had chased me down half a block from the diner. He was panting, clutching the grey scarf I had accidentally left on the chair. That exact grey scarf.

"Yeah."

I turned around.

Serena followed me to the door, closing it until only a small crack remained. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Chloe, don't come back next week. Every time you show up, his vitals fluctuate. The doctor said he can’t handle emotional stress."

"This is my apartment."

"The lease is under Asher’s name. You didn't put your name on it back then, remember?"

My hands clenched into fists inside my pockets. She was right. I thought we were getting married anyway, so it didn't matter whose name was on the lease.

"What are you trying to do, Serena?"

"I’m taking care of him."

"You called him 'babe.' You're acting like his wife."

"He was the one who called me that first," she said, looking down, her eyelashes fluttering. "He said it to me on the sixth day after you left. What was I supposed to do? Push him away?"

The door clicked shut in my face. The lock turned.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway, I could hear the faint, muffled voices from the living room.

"Is she gone?"

"Yeah."

"Your coworker? She looks kind of familiar."

"She’s new. We aren't really close."

Then came the clinking of forks. Light, casual. Like any ordinary couple having an ordinary dinner.

I leaned my back against the cold hallway wall.

A few minutes later, the living room fell quiet.

And then, a melody drifted through the cracks of the door.

It was shaky, off-key. The pitch went up on the third note, dipped on the seventh, and ended with a long, soft exhale. There were no lyrics, just a soft, humming tune.

My grandma's lullaby.

My grandma was tone-deaf, so she always sang it terribly. I learned it from her, so I sang it terribly too. But Asher loved it. He said it was the only sound that made him feel safe. For seventy-three weeks, I hummed that exact song to him until he drifted off to sleep.

Last month in our shared apartment, I had hummed it casually while sitting on my bed. Serena had tossed and turned on her bunk bed.

"Chloe, what is that song? It's kind of catchy."

"Just something my grandma used to hum. I don't even know the name."

"It's beautiful."

She only asked once.

But now, behind that closed door, she was humming the second verse. Even that long, drawn-out exhale at the end was identical to mine.

My phone buzzed. A Snapchat message from Serena.

*“Chloe, get some rest. He’s asleep. Don't worry.”*

***0