“Are you trying to make a point here, Ace?”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “Just seems like a moment for, uh, grand affirmations, so I guess I just wanted to say...Good on you, man. We’re all really happy you guys are doing well.”
I think the pre-show nerves must be hitting him hard or something, but I nod as he claps me on the shoulder before walking off. I’m still watching him go when I see Roxanne’s phone light up on the table out of the corner of my eye.
I glance at the screen and notice the email alert. At first, the words don’t even register, but as the screen fades to black, I repeat them to myself in my head:
Re: Bachelor Apartment, Centrally Located in Toronto
It takes a second before the impact hits. My spine stiffens. I grab the phone, punching in the passcode I’ve known for years and clicking on the notification to open the email up.
Hi Roxanne,
Yes, the place is fully furnished, and you’d be doing a sublease for the next two months. I think the landlord is still looking for a new tenant for after my lease is up, so there’s a possibility of you signing on for longer if you like the place.
It’s quiet, and I’ve never had any problems. I have those extra pictures attached. Let me know if you have any questions!
I scroll down and see she’s been emailing with this person for the past few days. I don’t even stop to consider what I’m doing as I click back to her inbox and scan the rest of her recent messages.
She got a job in Toronto. She’s already found someone to take her apartment here in Montreal. She’s even been texting Monroe about it.
The phone almost falls out of my hands. I keep it from slipping just in time and set it back down on the table.
I don’t know where I’m going as I step outside the tent, but I stop dead in my tracks as Roxanne approaches me. She must see something in my face; she stops a foot away and asks what’s wrong. My hand clamps like a vice around the tent pole beside me, arm straining from the force of my grip.
“You got an email,” I manage to get out. “You...You’re...”
I don’t finish my sentence. It’s like I’m twenty-two again, staring at Monroe’s pity-filled face as the floor falls out from underneath me when she tells me Roxanne is gone.
It’s like I’m eighteen, watching Damien get on a bus while I give him a goodbye wave he doesn’t return, wondering when I’ll see him again and fighting the knowledge that I probably won’t.
It’s like I’m ten, closing my eyes to block out the sight of tail lights as my mom gets in her car and drives away from me for the very last time.
It’s the half-hearted clap of my dad’s hand on my shoulder when he took off in an army uniform to go who the fuck knows where. It’s the night Auntie slammed the door in my face andOncletold me to get off his lawn while Nadia cried inside.
Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves.
“Cole...” Roxanne steps closer, but her eyes drop to the ground. “I was going to tell you. You shouldn’t have found out like this. Not here. Not now. Can we just—”
“Tell me what?” I cut her off. “Tell mewhat, Roxanne?”
She takes a deep breath and looks up at me.
“I got a new job in Toronto. I’m leaving the city. I’m leaving—”
“Me. You’re leaving me.”
The words come out slow and flat, but I can feel my chest tightening. I can feel it getting harder and harder to pull air down into my lungs.
Cool it, I try to tell myself.For fuck’s sake, cool it now.
I can’t, though. It’s too late. It’s too much.
“Don’t.” My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. “Don’t leave.”
“Cole...” I hear my name come out on a sigh. “I knew you would take it like this. That’s why I wanted to properly explain. Can we just wait until after—”
She cuts herself off when I start shaking my head.
