“I know, but I was imagining he’d be there to say goodbye or something.”
My eyebrows pull tight. “Do you remember Henry?”
Sydney laughs. “My fault. I’ve been watching snippets of Hallmark movies when I need to clear my head.”
“Watch it,” I say, wagging a finger at the screen. “Next you might accidentally read a romance novel.”
She scoffs. “The first romance novel I read will be yours. And the second one will be your second novel.” She waves an arm. “And so on and so on.”
“These days I hardly feel like writing.”
“You will soon. You’re too good not to.”
“You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”
Her bun flops over wildly as she shakes her head. “Not true. You write a mean grocery list.”
I nod. “I am good at grocery lists.”
Sydney laughs and an immense wave of sadness sweeps me. I’m alone on a Sunday. No roommate, no husband. No family. Just a life in boxes.
“Where’d you go?” Sydney asks. “I can see you, but I get the feeling you’re no longer there.”
“Still here,” I sniffle.
“I’m loving you from DC, okay?”
I nod. “I’m loving you from NYC.”
Sydney shifts, and behind her, I see an unmade bed and clothes everywhere. “Will you promise me something?”
I nod.
“Call me if you get sad. Or call Aidan. Don’t call Mom though. She’d just bash your whole marriage.”
I laugh softly. “You got it.”
“Bye, babe.” She blows me a kiss.
“See ya, toots.” I return her kiss and press the end button.
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I walk back to my room and keep unpacking. When I’m finished with my closet and my dresser drawers are full, I take a shower and blow dry my hair. I gather a hairbrush, two types of combs, hairspray, hair clips, and small plastic rubber bands. Armed with all these things, I plant myself in front of my computer and pull up YouTube. Navigating to my favorite channel, I choose a video and watch the young woman demonstrate a complicated braid. For the next hour, I start and stop the video, following along, until I’ve braided my hair like hers. I messed up four times and had to restart, but I did it.
4
Aidan
“You know,Mrs. Jones, you and I would make a dashing couple.” Grinning at Mrs. Jones, I poke through the candy bowl she keeps on the end of her desk. I’m after the Milky Way I spied near the bottom of the bowl, but the gluttony of Snickers keeps getting in my way. This is probably because I’ve been in here every day this week, picking my favorites until I’m left with second best.
Mrs. Jones laughs, and it makes my smile grow. Her laugh is unique, to put it mildly. It’s more like a hoot, because it literally sounds like she’s saying “hoo” with each breath. “You’d have to fight my husband,” she responds, placing a flattened palm on the desk and pushing herself to standing.
She wobbles, and I hurry around the desk to help, but she shoos me away.
“Doesn’t let this skin suit fool you, Mr. Costa. I’m spry on the inside.”
She walks slowly to the copy machine and pushes a button while I make a second pass through her candy bowl. The machine whirs to life, making its high pitched sounds, and Mrs. Jones turns back to me.
“I know you just pocketed another candy bar, Mr. Costa.”
