03
I woke up early the next day, started packing.
Halfway through, Jake walked in, sporting a
pink shirt and smelling like a department store
fragrance counter.
I blinked. He used to hate perfume, so I’d given
it up when we got together, even tossed my
<
own. Apparently, he just hated my perfume.
He saw my suitcase and froze. “Tiffany had a
rough night. I just got a hotel room, that’s why I
wasn’t here.” he said.
That was a first. Jake had never bothered to
explain before. I nodded, not saying anything.
He walked up to me, looked down and asked,
“Are you flying again?”
I nodded. “I guess so.”
He seemed relieved. “I have an errand to run,
just grab something then get going,” he said. “I’ll pass on lunch.”
“Sure,” I said, still packing.
I was going to tell him about quitting my job
I’ll
over lunch and end things for good but it didn’t
look like that was going to happen.
Jake grabbed a red bag and a jacket. “Gotta
run!” he yelled on his way out.
Slam!
The picture frame we had hanging by the door,
it’d been there eight years, suddenly fell to the
floor and shattered.
It was a photo of Jake and me at our first
<
concert, we had our hands together and we
were smiling. That day he’d promised me we’d
go to a show every year. But once Tiffany
became his student, he forgot about that.
The room was dead quiet, the clock ticking
away. I sighed, picking up the glass shards,
then tossed the photo in the trash, along with
any lingering shred of what I thought was love.
