Page 70

By the time we get off the car, the three of us are laughing and swaying on the sidewalk, with Val still humming the last couple of songs. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.

Later that night, I get into my bed at Ms. Chang’s and check my phone, like I always do before going to sleep. A single unread notification waits for me on the screen, and I swipe it to reveal a text from Celeste.

Happy birthday, Gem.

A warm rush of emotions fills my chest, along with a sharp pang of bittersweet. After trying and failing to decide how to reply to her, I heart the message and hug my pillow tightly to my chest before drifting off to sleep.

The next Monday, James, of all people, approaches my desk.

“Hey, hope you had a good birthday,” he says.

Regretting my decision to work through lunch, I keep my attention focused on my computer and my tuna sandwich, determined not to say a word to him.

“I was wondering,” he goes on, undeterred by my lack of a reaction. “Can I talk to you in private? Not now, obviously. But after work.”

I frown at just the thought of having a one-on-one conversation with him.

And then he asks me the question that makes my stomach recoil.

“Do you want to come over for some drinks? For old times’ sake.”

I stare at him with an open mouth.How does James evenhave the nerve to invite me for drinks at the condo that used to beourhome?

He chuckles nervously. “Look, I still have all the stuff you left in the closet. And I know it’s been several months, but I… I feel like I never explained to you why we… you know. Maybe we can talk while you come get your stuff? Sorry it took so long to get to this point. I think I needed some time to process.”

But then, I finally hear it. The sadness in his voice. The wretched grief and pain that I wanted to hear from him since that first Monday I saw him after the breakup.

I frown. “Did you and Daphne break up?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. But that’s not why I came to talk to you, I swear. Or at least, I don’t want to get back together or anything. Breaking up with Daphne made me realize how fucked up our breakup left me. And I figured, you probably understand that more than anyone.”

I think back to all the thingsIdid after our breakup and wince. Plus, I never found out why James decided to end our engagement. Closure, I guess, would be nice.

I also want my stuff back, now that I have the space for everything.

“Okay,” I finally say.

Later today, we leave the office together, and I notice small changes in the late afternoon light. James’s hair is longer and shaggier than he usually cut it when we were dating. His glasses are different, too, gray instead of the black frames he had when we were together. He seems alot older, more mature somehow, although realistically he probably doesn’t have more than one or two new wrinkles. I wonder if our breakup aged me as well.

He’s familiar and foreign, all at once.

We walk mostly in silence to our—his—condo, only talking occasionally when he brings up the new food trucks or stores that popped up since the last time we walked this path together. He also asks about me and my parents, and I ask him about his family. I hate to admit it, but catching up like this is nice. After all, we dated for seven years, and it’s not like we hated each other’s loved ones during the time we were together.

I guess there will always be a part of my life that’s enmeshed with him, like a part of his will always be with me.

When we get to the condo, James says, “So, I’ve made quite a few changes since, um… you moved out.”

He opens the door, and my jaw drops open. When we lived together, our condo wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was very cozy and warm, with shelves full of books and plants. We also had a TV, on which James and I binge-watched shows and played video games together, all while our soft, plush rug kept our feet warm.

Now, the TV’s still there, but everything else is gone, replaced by sleek leather sofas and a black coffee table. There’s not even a hint that I used to live here, and I don’t know if I feel sad or amazed. If I didn’t recognize the floor plan, I’d wonder if this is even the same condo.

“Looks like a real bachelor pad,” I say flatly. “You did a good job redecorating the place.”

“Thanks,” he replies. “It took me a while to figure out what I was doing, but I think I’m finally getting somewhere. All the home and real estate articles I wrote forHorizonfinally came in handy.”

What are you doing?a voice says in the back of my head.Get out of here. This isn’t your home anymore.

James opens the closet door to reveal four boxes stacked together. I can only assume that’s all my stuff. James carries them to the living room, and I sit on one of the sofas to go through and make sure I have everything.