Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of vulnerability that he quickly shuttered away. “You too.”
Then he was walking away, disappearing into the shadows between streetlights with that silent grace that reminded me he was more than human, even if I'd never understood exactly what that meant. I watched until the darkness swallowed him completely, my chest tight with all the words I'd never been brave enough to say.
The screen door creaked behind me, and I turned to find Mom standing there with that soft smile she wore when she was trying not to cry.
“You could tell him,” she said gently. “Whatever it is you're not saying. You could tell him.”
“There's nothing to tell.” The words came out harsher than I'd intended, sharp with frustration and heartbreak I wasn't ready to examine too closely.
Mom's expression didn't change, but her eyes went sad in the way that meant she saw right through my bullshit. “Oh, sweetheart. There's always something to tell when it matters this much.”
I leaned against the porch railing, staring out at the empty street where Evan had vanished. “It doesn't matter. I'm leaving in three months. He's staying. That's just how it is.”
“That's how it is right now,” Mom corrected. “But right now isn't forever.”
Maybe this wasn't the end of whatever Evan and I had built together over the past three years. But it sure as hell felt like it.
I stood on the porch for a long time after she'd gone back inside, listening to my parents celebrate, their voices bright with pride and plans for my future. They were so happy for me, so excited about the opportunities waiting in Chicago.
And they should be. This was everything I'd worked for, everything I'd dreamed about since picking up my first camera. Freedom, independence, the chance to become someone who mattered in the wider world.
So why did it feel like I was leaving the most important part of myself behind?
10
THE LONG GOODBYE
EVAN
August arrived like a death sentence wrapped in summer heat, each day bringing us closer to the moment I'd been dreading since Nate had first mentioned Chicago with stars in his eyes. Three months of stolen time, of pretending that September wasn't coming, of memorizing the sound of his laugh like I could somehow store it up against the winter that was about to settle into my bones.
Now it was here. Moving day. The end of everything that had mattered for the past three years.
I stood in the doorway of the Harrington house, watching Anna flutter around Nate's room like a bird with a broken wing, trying to make sure he had everything he needed for a life that wouldn't include any of us. Boxes lined the hallway, each one labeled in Nate's careful handwriting. “Camera Equipment - FRAGILE.” “Books.” “Photos - Handle with Care.”
The sight of them made my chest tight, like someone had wrapped barbed wire around my ribs and was slowly tightening it with each breath.
“I think that's everything,” Anna said, wiping her hands on her jeans and surveying the controlled chaos of departure. “Though knowing you, you'll realize you forgot something important the second you get to Chicago.”
“That's what online shopping is for, Mom,” Nate said, but his voice had that forced cheerfulness that meant he was struggling just as much as the rest of us.
I sat heavily in the chair by his window, the one where I'd spent countless hours watching him edit photos or listening to him plan impossible adventures. Now it just felt like a front-row seat to my own execution.
“Evan, honey, could you help Michael load the car?” Anna asked, but her voice was gentle, like she understood that asking me to participate in Nate's departure was its own form of cruelty.
I nodded anyway, because what else could I do? Being useful was better than sitting here drowning in the weight of everything I couldn't say.
“What did you pack in here?” I muttered, hefting a box that felt like it was full of concrete.
“My entire vinyl collection,” Nate said, grinning despite the strain around his eyes. “Couldn't leave those behind. A photographer needs good music for editing sessions.”
“You could have just used music online like a normal person.”
“Where's the soul in that? Vinyl has character, history. Each scratch tells a story.”
I wanted to say that some stories weren't worth preserving, that sometimes it was better to let things go rather than carry the weight of memory everywhere you went.
Instead, I just carried his boxes and tried not to think about how empty his room would look tomorrow, how quiet the house would be without his laugh echoing through the halls.
