I said it before I could stop myself.
“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. It was fake.”
“So I guess I’ll take the job,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Why not. I think it’s what you want. If it makes you happy.”
Happy sounded wrong. Like a sign taped over a crack in the wall.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to do it.”
She picked up her bag. Her hands stayed steady. Mine didn’t trust themselves to move.
“Good,” I said.
“Good,” she said back.
She left.
The bell rang once and went quiet.
I stayed where I was. My feet felt nailed to the floor, my hands useless at my sides.
The diner felt hollow without her. The refrigerator hummed on, steady and uncaring. The lights buzzed overhead, too bright for a room that suddenly felt empty. Every sound echoed back at me, sharp and lonely.
EMILY
The suitcase sat open on the bed like a mouth waiting to speak. I stood in the middle of my childhood bedroom, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. Outside, dark clouds were gathering.
I folded my gray cardigan and placed it on top of the other neat layers. My hands moved on instinct. I couldn’t remember packing the dress underneath. The navy suitcase wasn’t mine. Borrowed from my dad’s closet. A scuff marked the corner. I liked that. It looked like it had been places.
My father stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee. His other hand held the frame like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come in.
“You sure about this, Em?”
I didn’t look up. I smoothed a sweater’s sleeve. “It’s a job of a lifetime.”
“You’ve said that three times already.”
I gave him a look. The old one. The one I used to give him when I didn’t want to talk about school or boys or anything that hurt. It didn’t work when I was thirteen. It didn’t work now.
“I just…” His voice dropped. “You don’t seem happy.”
I paused. That landed harder than I wanted to admit. There was no edge to his tone. Just truth.
“I am happy,” I said. “This is good for my career.”
He stepped inside. His coffee smelled like cinnamon. “You’re allowed to want things. Just make sure they’re your things. Not someone else’s picture of success.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave a soft sigh under me. “If I stay, I feel like I’m giving something up.”
“If you leave, you might too.”
I looked up. He didn’t say more. Just held my gaze, quiet and sure.
Jason’s voice came back to me. The night at the diner. The way he didn’t ask me to stay. Like letting me go was love. Like not fighting for me was supposed to be noble.
But it didn’t feel noble. It felt like a door closing.
