Jahlani lets out a weak chuckle, setting her phone on the counter before dragging the stool from underneath the island.
What does that mean anyway? To deserve somebody?
The apartment is eerily quiet, only the low thrum of the A/C circulating and the dull pitter of the rain against the windows is heard. Summers in New York are her favorite. The breezes are kinder, and the people are softer. It’s also the slow season for the company she’s interning with. As she picks up her mug and takes a sip, the grassy undertones mix with the sweet, floral flavors, warming her throat.
Her laptop is still open from earlier that morning, and she clicks through the graduate student portal looking for her appointment link to register for her last semester.
But a red exclamation mark next to one email makes her catch her breath.
“No,” she whispers, her voice echoing through the still apartment. She sets her cup down too fast, causing the liquid to spill onto her hand, but the sting is nothing compared to the burn in her chest as she reads the wordsregret,unable, andfinancial support.
The second email she sees sends her hands trembling. Standing from the chair, she paces the kitchen, twirling her necklace between her thumb and index finger. She moves back to the laptop, blinking, certain that she’s read it wrong, but no. The words remain the same:
Due to under-enrollment, course number ISTX0200 will no longer be offered.
Jahlani lowers herself once more, her head spinning as she wonders how everything could get so screwed up so quickly.
No financial aid, and the last class she needs to graduate with her master’s—gone.
For several minutes, she tries to just exist. To justbe. She takes several deep breaths, trying to focus on steadying her heart.
When her phone blares, she doesn’t bother looking at the contact and tapsAccept.
“Hello,” she says, her voice hoarse as she cradles it between her ear and shoulder. Static and heavy breathing greet her. “Hello?” she says again before pulling it down to look at the screen. Her eyebrows crease at the unknown number. She hears something and draws it back to her.
“Jahlani,” the voice says, slurring. “Jahlani?—”
Her eyes close as his voice carries through the phone.
“Why are you calling me, Micah? Whose number is this?” she asks, her voice constricting as she thinks of their last few moments together. Loud music and conversation spill through, and she rubs her chest, regretting picking up.
“Jahlani, please. Don’t hang up. I just need a minute.”
She glances at the time on her laptop, and she stands to look for a paper towel to clean the spilled tea. “Fifty-six seconds and counting.”
He lets out a strained laugh. “Jesus, Jahlani. I didn’t mean literally?—”
“Fifty and counting.”
“Okay, okay. I just called … to tell you that I’m sorry about everything. Everything got so … so—fuck,” he says, laughing into the phone.
Jahlani breathes, clenching her fist before transitioning the phone to her other ear. “Are you drunk?”
He laughs again, as she rips a paper towel free, wiping the spill with more force than needed.
“I don’t have time for this,” she hisses, ending the call. She tosses her phone back onto the counter and lets it vibrate as she buries her head in her hands, unsure of what to do.
A weight of uncertainty settles upon her as she looks around. Except for a few things, nothing is hers. There’s nothing to tether her to the space. Not anymore. She wonders if there ever was.
She moves slowly, each step drawing her closer to her past life. As she opens the door to the bedroom, it groans as it swings open, like it’s in pain too. She steps over a pile of Micah’s dirty laundry as she enters the cramped closet. When she sees the white box tucked in the corner, she pulls it out, settling on the floor next to it.
The scent of old paper and lingering coffee fills the air as she works on unpacking the contents—a framed photo of her at graduation with Imani, a random souvenir from her first client during internship, her high school transcript, and finally, a crumpled photograph of her and her mother right before she left for college. It’s faded and spotty, and neither of them is smiling, but it makes her throat sting, like someone’s clamping it shut.
She exhales, tracing her fingers over her mother’s jet black locs, her rounded figure and firm jaw. Jahlani isn’t sure how long she sits in the closet staring, but when her back pinches and her legs numb, she drags herself up.
And when she turns to leave the closet, she takes the box with her, having decided what to do.
She’s not surprised when Micah’s stay becomes extended. A few days turn into two weeks, and by the time his second call comes, it’s too late. She received the email a week earlier, letting her know of her acceptance into another graduate program.
