CHAPTER 3

I stood there in the middle of the bathroom, still half-naked, my skirt hiked up around my thighs, feeling the slow aftermath of him leaving my body. Filth. That was the only word that fit.My eyes stayed fixed on him beneath the spray. He stood with his back to me, broad shoulders turned toward the water, completely at ease. Water streamed down the length of his back and disappeared beneath the suds gathering around his waist.

He soaped himself with the same casual movements he might have used on any other morning, as though what had just happened between us had been nothing more than a moment of quick release. My fingers tightened around the edge of my skirt. I was still watching him, waiting for him to look at me. To acknowledge the silence stretching between us. To give me some indication that, despite everything, I hadn’t been completely foolish for letting him this close. But he didn’t. He simply tilted his head beneath the shower, letting the water wash over him. And suddenly, I felt ridiculous.

“Happy anniversary!” I said. The words came out muffled, almost swallowed by the steam still hanging thickly in the bathroom. I watched his face carefully, anxiously, waiting for something . A smile. A change in his expression. Maybe even that small spark of surprise that would tell me he had remembered after all. But no , instead, He just stared at me, brows faintly drawn together, like I’d spoken in a language he didn’t quite understand. My stomach sank.

“...Our anniversary,” I added quietly.

I swallowed.

“Well... supposed to be our anniversary today.” The silence stretched for a second too long. Of course he hadn’t remembered. I forced myself to smile, even though my face suddenly felt stiff.

“Ohhh... shit...” he muttered eventually, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeahh, it’s supposed to be today...” His voice flat and reluctant. “It is,” I answered. I tried to keep the hope from cracking in my voice. I wanted him to meet my eyes. I wanted him to say something more. Happy anniversary, or I love you, or I’m sorry I forgot, anything , even a stupid joke about it would have been enough. Instead, he stepped out of the shower. Water still clung to his skin, trailing down his shoulders and chest as he reached for a towel. He barely looked at me as he dried himself, his movements unhurried, almost painfully ordinary.

Then he walked past me. Straight into the bedroom. Without another word. I remained where I was. For a moment, I couldn’t move, listening to the sound of water dripping from the shower head, each drop marking another second of me standing there like an idiot.

I looked down. My panties were still lying on the cold tile. I bent down and picked them up, avoiding my own reflection in the fogged mirror. I set them aside before stepping beneath the running water myself. I reached for the soap and began scrubbing myself, slowly at first, then harder than necessary. I dragged the soap over my skin until it squeaked beneath my fingers. As though cleanliness could somehow erase the last hour. I was so excited about today, that I imagined how it might go, thinking about us while he apparently hadn’t spared the date a second thought. I dried myself slowly and got dressed, taking my time because I wasn’t ready to face him yet.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, Jason was already fully dressed. I found him in the living room, phone in hand, thumb scrolling lazily across the screen. I stopped at the doorway and watched him for a moment. He didn’t look up. I hurried into the kitchen before he could see the disappointment spreading across my face.

I’d spent the entire afternoon baking lasagna, it was still warm in the oven, its edges bubbling beneath a golden layer of cheese, I had to adjust the taste because he said he didn’t like it too salty or spicy, I just wanted everything to be perfect. I pulled the dish out carefully, setting it on the counter as the heat rose against my face. I reached into the cupboard and took out two plates, placing them side by side.

For a few long seconds, I just stood there. I stared at him through the open doorway. My heart beat too fast. I took a breath. Then another.“Will you be staying back?” I asked at last, forcing a smile as I began to serve the lasagna. “I made lasagna.” He finally looked up from his phone.

One hand rose to scratch absently at the back of his head. “Ohh, cool.” That was it. I swallowed and continued serving, pretending his lack of enthusiasm didn’t bother me. “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “It’s a special recipe that has been in my family for generations. I bet it doesn’t taste like the regular kind.” I smiled at him as I placed a generous portion onto his plate, then served myself. I had expected him to at least ask about it. Maybe tease me. Maybe tell me he was looking forward to trying it. Instead, he barely glanced at the food.

“Sounds really lovely,” he said. Then he paused. “But I have a lot to handle today.” My hand stopped halfway toward the table. “Oh.” I responded. He was already getting up. He adjusted his clothes, picked up his phone, and headed toward the door as though the conversation had already ended.

I stared at his back. “You’re not staying for dinner?” The words escaped before I could stop them. I quickly dropped the serving spoon onto the counter and hurried after him. Jason had already reached the door. “I won’t,” he said without turning around. “I’m really busy. I’ve got a lot to attend to.” He reached for the handle.

“Maybe I’ll try that recipe sometime another time ?.”He said it as he opened the door. I watched him step outside, then turn and walk down the porch stairs without hesitation. His footsteps grew fainter as he made his way toward the street, and I stood there in the doorway, staring after him.

“Okay...” I said, frustration slipping into my voice. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to sound casual even though my chest felt tight. “...Yeah, I’ll just make you another one when you arrive, because it is that easy!!!.” I sarcastically said , loud enough for him to hear. I wanted him to stop and say, ...Wait. I’ll stay.... . But he didn’t.

He didn’t wave. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t even slow down. He simply kept walking until the distance between us swallowed him up. I stepped back inside and slammed the door shut so hard that the sound echoed through the house. I leaned against it, closing my eyes as I took a deep, painful breath. My throat tightened. I pressed my lips together, fighting the sting behind my eyes. I’d wanted him to stay for dinner.

That was all. It wasn’t too much to ask. Was it?