Aidan smacks his lips while eating, saying, “It’s in a month. I know they are difficult. Trust me. They are just as hard on me as they are on you.”
I press my lips together, trying to think of a response that isn’t sharp and bitchy.
The lights suddenly flicker in a rapid motion and when they finally stabilize, the picture frame that was once resting on my TV stand is now on the floor.
The glass shards surround the brittle photocopy of a picture taken four years ago. In the photo, I am wearing an olive-green dress and Aidan is in a pink polo and jeans. Both of us blissfully sitting on the grass of our old campus’s quad mid-picnic, unaware of anything but that moment together.
Now the frame lies several feet away, resting lopsided on the ground. Above the frame, a shadow stretches across the wall, briefly taking the shape of another person. I shift, stepping forward to study the wall.
“Did you see that?” I murmur to Aidan.
Aidan rubs his jaw a few times before letting out a large sigh—saying “I’ll get a broom,” completely unaware of what I just said or the shadow above the screen.
“No, it’s fine,” I snap. “I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“Did something happen at work?”
“I just got called out in a meeting today. I was actually trying to tell you earlier on our phone call this afternoon—”
“Was it Chris who called you out?”
“Not exactly. I mean, Chris invited me to it, which he never does for new clients. I’m just a little on edge about it.”
“Hey, access is good no matter how it happened. As the Whitmores always say, better to be in the outfield than to be sitting—”
“Behind the bench,” I finished. Aidan grabs a handful of Pringles from the can, leaving a smirk on his face as he pops a chip into mouth.
He disappears into my bedroom.
I walk over to the shards of glass covering our faces. Remembering how easy life was back then when the stranger on campus offered to take our photo.
Now, on the floor, all I can feel is a dull ache in my chest, my thoughts about how today went echoing louder than before.
Chapter four
The Light Knows
Isit up straight against my headboard to smell the pillow that leaves traces of him: mint and eucalyptus. His body is creased into the memory foam.
Where did you go?I type.
Once I hit send, I bury my face in that same pillow, letting out a muffled scream before I bounce off the mattress and into the kitchen to begin my day. Even on our nights where he sleeps over, he is never lying there next to me when I open my eyes the next morning.
Just for once, if his body allowed himself to, he would see the dreams that jolt me awake at four a.m. Living alone never felt lonelier than at this time of night.
Resting my phone on the counter, I start the soundtrack of my morning. Work is in a few hours and going back to bed would be pointless.
All I need is a little Norah Jones to whisk my way into a better mood. The smell of cinnamon could cure everything. Every bit of it makes my shoulders relax as I put the tray of cookies in the oven at 350 degrees for fifteen minutes until they are ready.
I don’t even want to take a bite after the cookies finish baking, only admiring my creations as I set the cooled batch in an empty piece of Tupperware.
In my try-hard, fancy blazer and linen pants, I leave the cookies outside Ms. Silva’s door with a note—a carefully crafted note that took seven drafts, only to end up saying exactly what I wrote in the first draft.
After the cookies are dropped off, I send another message to Aidan that he’ll see whenever he decides to wake up—in his own bed.
Charlotte:Late-night drive tonight?
It seems like ages ago that we did those. Lately, I crave it.
