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I let the tears fall down my cheeks. I allow the sobs to rack my body. The sadness grows until it’s gripping my whole heart in a vise, and I curl in on myself, squatting down on the ground, hugging myself tight with my knees toward my chest. My breath heaves at the aching pain of losing Mariah when I’d just found her, and I feel her loss in every square inch of my body.

After a minute, the tears begin to slow. The pain recedes to a dull ache. My eyes stop producing tears, and after a few hiccups, my chest releases its tight hold. I can breathe again.

I stand slowly, bleary-eyed, and take a long, deliberate inhale, followed by a cleansing, shaky exhale.

And I feel... better.

Not good. Not right. But better. I breathe with a new sense of clarity, of understanding that life doesn’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes things are just sad, and that’s okay.

As I drive away, leaving the cabin behind with all the memories, hopes, dreams, and missed opportunities swirling in my mind, the light catches my bracelet, drawing my attention. I tilt my wrist back and forth, watching it sparkle, and smile. I may be leaving the cabin behind, along with all the things I’veleft unsaid, but perhaps I can take what I’ve learned with me. And, in a way, it will be like carrying a piece of Mariah everywhere I go.

Even if I’m about to see her for the very last time.

Back in Chilliwack, each step I take toward hair and makeup feels like my feet weigh a thousand pounds. I grip the familiar handle and push the door open, understanding the finality of such an action. I peer around the brightly lit room, full of hustle and bustle; I miss it already. My eyes land on Mariah at her station. She’s already looking at me, as if she’s been staring at the door, waiting for me to walk through it. My heart rises into my throat, nearly choking me.

I step toward her, and the closer I get the more everything around us fades. We stand there for five heartbeats, simply regarding one another. Without a word, I sit in my seat. Mariah comes up beside me, then begins our ritual: the soft pads of her fingers swirling the cool liquid over my skin, the expert brushstrokes along my cheekbones, my jaw, my temple. The gentle care she takes with my eyelids, with my lips, taking more time than she ever has before, as if she’s relishing it just as much as I am.

When she’s finished, I open my eyes, and she’s so close. Her eyes meet mine, then flutter down to my lips. I breathe her in, beckoning her closer. She leans in, barely a millimetre, my pulse quickening in response, and—

“Mariah, I need to speak with you.”

We pull apart abruptly, the room coming back to life around us with its noise and light and familiar chaos.

Mariah clears her throat, regarding Jimmie before her. “Sorry, what is it?”

“I received a call yesterday asking for a reference,” he states, his expression stony.

I glance from Mariah to Jimmie and back, the air thick with suspense.

He cracks a smile. “I put a good word in.”

We both exhale in a long whoosh.

“Wow, thanks, Jimmie. I don’t know what to say.”

“I told them you have a lot to learn, but your talent is obvious. Though it sounded like they were planning to hire you with or without my approval.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” Mariah’s voice is flat and without intonation.

“And you.” Jimmie turns to me. “Seems like you’re stuck with us for another round of Christmas. Yueyi told me everything. It looks like we’ll be together again in Whistler before summer is out.”

“Great. Thanks, Jimmie. You’re the best.” I, too, seem unable to bring emotion into my voice. This has never happened to me before.

Jimmie regards his clipboard and moves to the other side of the room. We both stare uncomfortably at the floor.

“Congratulations,” I say finally, trying my best to mean it. “I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you do.”

Mariah nods. “You, too. I’m excited for you.”

“Yeah, same. Super excited.”

“You’ll do amazing.”

“We’re both moving up in the world.”

“Getting what we want.”

I can’t even force a smile. I meet Mariah’s gaze, and it seems she can’t, either.