I look away when the door closes behind them, and without even thinking, my attention drifts to the house I’d forbidden myself from glancing at. I ink it to memory, too. The faded chalk in the driveway, the bright-white window shutters Eli repainted two weeks ago, the kid-sized shoes on the front porch—probably abandoned after Zoe decided she’d be more comfortable catching bugs barefoot.
I look away sharply, the tears catching me off guard. I need to leave now if I don’t want to become a sobbing mess right here in this driveway. With straightened shoulders, I put the key in the ignition and start backing up.
“Wait! Cassie, wait!”
I pump the brakes, my head whipping up as a tall figure runs down the front porch stairs.
Eli is wearing nothing but sweatpants, his hair all over the place, a panicked look painted across his features. I roll my window down, and when he leans over it, red blotches covering his face, I don’t think I’ve ever found him more beautiful.
“I couldn’t let you leave like this,” he says, breathless.
“We said no goodbyes.”
“Fuck goodbyes.” And then he’s in my bubble, his lips on mine, hands in my hair, and I’m breathing again. I’m gripping his chest, soul-deep relief flooding me at this last taste of him. He’s cramped through the window, our elbows and heads knocking against the edges. It doesn’t stop us. He smells like Irish Spring and outside air, like what I imagine when I think of happiness.
Too soon, he’s pulling away, his eyes glossy—with lust or with grief, I’m not sure.
His throat works, but as he tries to find words, nothing comes out.
“Will you call?” I ask.
The way his lips blanch is all the answer I need.
“I think you were right the last time. I don’t… It’ll only make things harder.”
I nod, nod again, then turn back toward my steering wheel. “I understand.”
This is it, then.
A strangled noise comes out of his throat. “I… If ever…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “I’ll be here. All right?”
I dip my chin once more, but he doesn’t give me the option to keep looking away when he brings my head closer to his lips so he can kiss my forehead. He remains close, his breath warm on my skin. “You’ll always be the one that got away.”
It looks as painful for him to back away as it is for me. When he’s taken a step back, he pauses, as if to say something else, but then he taps the hood twice and keeps his attention on his feet.
I look in my rearview mirror for as long as I can, but he never glances back up.
I’m numb throughout the drive. I don’t put on any music, audiobook or podcast. I don’t think, either. I just listen to the voice of my GPS and eventually wind up home—if I can even call it that. Aren’t you supposed to feel better at home than anywhere else?
Once I park in the underground garage, I turn off the ignition and lean back in my seat, staring at the concrete wall for a long moment. Long enough that I’m jolted to attention when Ms. Langley, my eighty-nine-year-old neighbor, knocks on my window with a worried look. When I turn, she presses a hand to her chest like she’d feared the worst, then slowly makes the trek to her car.
I get out and leave all my stuff in the car before I take the elevator up. I expect comfort to overwhelm me when I step insidemy apartment, but the only thing I feel is nausea at the smell of overripe bananas I’d forgotten on the counter.
I go to the couch, sit, and wait. I’m not sure for what.
And then, finally, the tears hit.
I cry for Keira, for not being able to be there for her during this rough patch, and for having to leave when our relationship was just getting good again. I cry for Mom, who continues to live with a man who has never put her above his personal struggles. I cry for my niece and nephew, who I might not see again for years and who will grow up without me in their lives. I cry for Zoe, who became such an intricate part of my life in so little time. I cry for the job I have to return to, even though I don’t feel nearly as excited for it as I should after being away for two months.
And most of all, I cry for Eli, and the loss of something that never had the time to fully bloom.
I’m curled over on my couch, the satin throw pillow under my cheek drenched in tears, my breaths cut through with hiccups. My vision is so blurry, I can barely see in front of me.
Despite having been alone in this place since Michael left months ago, it’s never felt this lonely. I feel like crawling out of my skin, like the walls are closing in on me. Images I haven’t seen in a long time flood my mind like a film reel I never wanted to watch again. Michael telling me he can’t do this anymore, leaving with a gym bag full of clothes with a pitying look. My doctor tapping my hand like a simple touch could compensate for the world-ending news he just shared. Taking the overnight bus out of Cape Weston eleven years ago, crying in the last seat with a bruisegrowing around my eyebrow as I left the life I knew behind. Eli not looking up earlier when I drove away.
My hands are shaking as I pick up my phone and dial my best friend’s number. She answers on the third ring.
“Cass, hey! What’s up?”
