“What is it, then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel it.”
Something in me just sort of gave up.
Advertisement
If he wanted to end things, I couldn’t force him to stick around.
“Can we talk like adults?”
“Okay,” I said.
He looked relieved. “Okay?”
“Okay. Then we’re done.”
“Briar—”
I stood, grabbed my coat. “Enjoy your wine.”
I couldn’t go home. Home was our apartment.
Advertisement
“Can we talk like adults?” he snapped.
“Adults don’t pull the rug out from under someone and then demand a calm tone.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“With the same voice you use when the Wi-Fi’s out,” I said, and I walked out.
The cold air hit me like it was trying to wake me up. Outside was a sick joke: hearts in windows, couples everywhere, guys holding flowers like trophies.
Two months left. No job.
Leave a Comment