08
Three hours went by, and Jake left the airport
and went home.
When he got home, he went to hang his coat,
then noticed the mark on the wall where our
picture used to hang. He saw it in the trash, still
broken, still there. He picked it up.
He finally remembered. That picture was from a
concert, eight years ago. And he remembered
the promise he made to me that night. Since
Tiffany came into his life, he hadn’t taken me to
a single concert, and it was like he started
drifting further and further.
And yet, he couldn’t figure out why I had left.
He always made up for it with gifts. Like the LV
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10:28
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bag after the concert with Tiffany.
He checked the closet to find more signs that
he had treated me right. But besides three exact copies of the LV purse, there were only cheap necklaces, and dollar–store scarves.
He saw all the gifts I had. And that they were all cheap, repetitive. He’d never noticed it before. Then, he remembered all the gifts he’d given to Tiffany: the diamond necklace, the Hermes
purse, the Cartier bracelet. And every single one
was worth more, and had thought put behind it. He finally understood.
He sent a text message.
“Hey, I need to fly to Paris, ASAP.”
