Chapter 4

I didn't answer.

She kept going on her own, her words coming faster now. "Gary can't handle that project alone. He's already working overtime right through the holidays, and I feel bad enough about that as it is. I can already guess his number's going to be..."

"Going to break eighty, probably," I finished for her.

There was silence behind me.

I stared at the blank wall at the end of the hallway. The surface was smooth, and the light hitting it left no shadow to break the flatness.

I'd already bought a ticket to go home alone. But hearing her say she wasn't coming with me for the holidays still tightened something in my chest.

I remembered how, this time last year, she'd curled up against me with her head tucked under my chin, the tips of her ears turning red, asking when she'd finally get to meet my parents properly, asking if I could give her something official between us. I'd laughed at how much more eager she'd seemed than me.

But now, she had changed.

I closed my eyes for a second, then turned around.

"Kimberly," I said it the way you'd ask a math problem, no emotion in it, no shake in my voice. "If someday his number gets high enough. High enough that he wants to sleep with you. Would you go through with it?"

She said nothing. Then, after a moment, she laughed, short and clipped, the corner of her mouth twitching before it settled again, like she'd just heard something absurd.

"Levi, do you even hear yourself right now?"

I didn't answer.

"What am I to Gary? A supervisor to her subordinate. He works hard and he's happy to help, and somehow in your head that turns into him seducing his boss. I've looked out for many others under me a handful of times, and to you that's cheating?"

Was it really just a handful of times? Holding an umbrella for him. Driving him places. Buying his coffee. Bringing him breakfast. Buying him a suit.

That was only what I'd seen. I had no idea how much more there was that I hadn't.

"I'm only asking about the number," I said. "If that day comes, what would you choose?"

"If? You're convicting me over a hypothetical?" She let out an angry laugh. "Fine, then let me ask you one too. If you weren't so paranoid, do you really think we'd have ended up fighting like this?"

She stepped closer, crowding into my space. "Can you try having a little empathy? Put yourself in his shoes. A kid barely out of college, and his boss gives him a cold shoulder every single day. How do you think that feels?"

I looked up at her. "You've never once asked how I feel."

"I can see exactly how you feel! It's right there in that pathetic little number over your head. What am I supposed to do about it? Coddle someone every day who doesn't even want to be coddled?"

Her chest rose and fell as she said it, her throat working.

I'd known that for a long time already. That number was everything I had left. She didn't need to keep saying it.

"Is a straight answer really so hard to give me?"

She was still catching her breath, staring at me for a few seconds.

"No! There, are you satisfied?"

She marched to the entryway and started changing her shoes, her movements sharp and hurried. She grabbed the two paper bags off the cabinet and hurled them to the floor.

"I'm going on a business trip for two weeks. I won't be back before the holidays." She pulled the door open. "You'd better think carefully, if you still want to see me at your parents' place."

The door slammed shut hard enough to shake the whole wall. It took a long moment before the apartment went completely quiet again.

I stared at that door for a while before I finally turned around.

Maybe it was better that she'd left.

I sat back down on the edge of the bed and opened my hand, turning it over to look at it. I'd been clenching it too long. The color hadn't come back yet. It felt a little numb, but that would pass.

Then I started packing my clothes. Two years in that apartment, and everything that actually belonged to me fit into a few storage bags.

The next day, I handed in my resignation at work. The HR manager stopped by to tease me about it. "Heading home to get married?"

I smiled along without explaining and just said, "Don't tell her yet."

For the rest of my working days, I showed up as usual, and no one noticed anything different.

On my last day, I used up my holiday leave. During the day, I went to the mall and picked out gifts for my parents. By evening, back at the apartment, all that was left was the suitcase I was taking with me.

I walked to the entryway and tapped a few times on the electronic lock.

"Fingerprint deleted," the lock announced with a soft chime.

I looked back once. The cushions on the couch were arranged neatly, and the box of fever medicine still sat exactly where it had been on the coffee table. Everything she'd given me was still there. I hadn't taken a single piece of it.

The suitcase wheels rolled over the threshold, and I shut the door behind me.

Quietly. Without a sound.