For a second or two, something flickered in his eyes. Apology? Maybe. His lips parted, like words were coming.
I held my breath.
Nothing.
He turned, opened the door, and left.
I sat there.
Knees hugged, in the empty bed, footsteps fading down the hall.
Snow started outside, and I saw flakes build on the glass, tapping silently.
I sat in that choking quiet maybe two minutes, then got up, grabbed his forgotten plaid cashmere throw from the couch, draped it over my shoulders, and went to the window.
Watched his black Audi pull away. Phone in hand, chat open, cursor blinking blank.
What to text?
"Text when you're home." Nah, not his mom.
"Family okay?" Worse, laced with snark I didn't want.
I flipped the screen down on the sill, looked out again.
Boston snow at night had this weird beauty, streetlights turning flakes gold, world hazy and quiet like a blurred film photo.
I used to love it, dragging roommates to wander Charles River, noses red, hot cocoa in hand, bitching about life, laughing till tears.
Then Paul. Then more waiting on his texts, less time for what I loved.
When did it start?
Honestly, no clue. Bit by bit. Tiny bends, little "whatever"s, "just this time". Till one day, the line's shifted way back from where you'd sworn it stayed.
Worst? You did it willingly, called it mature, understanding, "I'm a reasonable adult woman."
Mom used to nag, "Casey, you're too soft, nice guys finish last, learn to say no."
I'd blow it off—old-school crap, irrelevant to modern dating.
Now, here, wrapped in his blanket, staring where he vanished, Mom seemed smarter than I'd thought.
My breath fogged the glass in a blurry circle. I drew a line with my finger, nothing else, watched it fade.
Then I remembered the promise.
Last summer, Cape Cod, that Airbnb facing the Atlantic, wooden deck out back, night breeze salty with waves, moon huge like a stage prop.
He turned to me, eyes dead serious, the kind you couldn't doubt. "Once I get my MBA, we'll go public, take you to Hawaii, watch the whales."
My reaction? Head on his shoulder, world feeling right.
Casey White, you idiot.
Hawaii, whales, going public.
Lined them up in my head, stared hard, then laughed—a bitter, absurd huff, not joy.
