Chapter 1

Before my surgery, my best friend asked me, "You and Vivian are practically married. Why do you suddenly want to break up?"

I handed him my phone. "Because of one message."

The chat stopped at noon. I'd sent Vivian a photo of my lunch and complained that the takeout was awful.

Four hours later, she replied with one word: "Yeah."

But on social media, I saw her like the lunch Miles had posted, with a comment underneath it that read, "Takeout isn't healthy. From now on I'll cook for you like I did today."

Below that was a pile of little back-and-forth nothings between them, lively and endless.

I stared at the post for a long time. Then I deleted the message sitting in our chat box: "What did you have for lunch?"

I scrolled back through the rest of it.

For seven years I'd told Vivian every tiny thing. Flowers. Grass. The stray cat downstairs. At first she talked back just as eagerly, and then her replies thinned out into "yeah" and "uh-huh."

Because Miles had come home.

Love comes with the desire to share. Everything she stopped telling me, she was telling someone else.

"Aaron Shaw? They're ready for you."

The nurse was calling.

I looked out the window, then walked over.

Vivian, the sunset is beautiful today. But I don't want to send you a picture of it anymore.

Chapter 1

By the time I got back from the hospital, it was after eight at night.

I was still standing in the doorway, hadn't even gotten my shoes off, when I heard Vivian laughing.

She was on the phone with Miles, having the time of her life.

"I thought that movie was hilarious too. Let's go see it in theaters again sometime. The plot was insane, especially the ending—"

Vivian glanced up and saw me in the doorway, white as a sheet. Her expression didn't change at all.

She just put a hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm in the middle of something with Miles, so I'm going to the study. I was tired today, so I didn't cook. Order yourself some takeout.

"You've got a bad stomach and your surgery's in a couple of days, right? Order from a chain. They're cleaner."

Then, without waiting for me to answer, she put the phone back to her ear.

"Oh, Miles, there's this documentary you'd love. Have you seen it? It's called—"

She turned and walked straight into the study, and shut the door behind her.

I looked at the spot where she'd disappeared, then down at the surgery paperwork crumpled in my hand.

I shook my head at myself and let out a short, humorless laugh.

I'd wanted to sit down with Vivian and do this properly — say the word "breakup" out loud, face to face. Seven years had earned at least that much.

Turns out she couldn't even spare me the time.

I'd just come out of surgery. I was weak, worn out, and not remotely hungry.

So I skipped the takeout, took a shower, and figured I'd say it once she was off the phone.

I waited a long time. Long enough to nearly finish booking the ticket out. Vivian was still in the study, tirelessly chatting away with Miles.

It reminded me of when we first started dating.

Back then we could get half a day out of a single commercial on TV.

Now I couldn't remember the last time she and I had gotten past five sentences.

It was probably last week, over the reception menu.

We'd actually talked for a while, for once — and then we'd torn into each other over a single dish. Steamed grouper.

I'd dug my heels in about cutting it.

"Vivian, I'm allergic to seafood. I physically can't eat grouper."

She'd been impatient with me.

"So don't eat it. Miles loves fish.

"Can you not be so selfish?"

That stopped me cold.

I still don't understand how cutting a dish I'd end up in the ER over, at my own reception, made me the selfish one.

Naturally, it ended badly.

The menu never got finalized.

Looking back, that was the day I should have ended it. I just couldn't make myself let go — I had to wait until today, until Vivian forgot I was having surgery at all, before I'd give it up.

At one-thirty in the morning, she finally deigned to come to bed.

I'd been slumped against the headboard, half under, and the sound of her woke me the rest of the way.

I sat up and looked at her, seriously.

"Vivian. There's something I need to tell you."

Chapter 2

Vivian sat down on the edge of the bed and took one look at how serious I was.

Then she let out a long, put-upon sigh.

"Aaron, I've been working all day and I'm wiped. I really don't have it in me to sit here and go over every little thing.

"Just go to sleep. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

She dropped flat onto the mattress beside me, turned her back, and closed her eyes.

The room went horribly quiet.

All I could hear was her breathing leveling out.

Everything I'd meant to say was stuck in my chest, and my throat ached with it. I cried without making a sound.

It was my phone that pulled me back.

A text from the airline. Ticket confirmed.

A flight out just after midnight, tomorrow night.

Vivian and seven years, left behind in this city together.

I wiped at my face, curled up, and fell asleep.

Early the next morning, Vivian was up before me for once, bustling around the kitchen in an apron.

When she saw me come out, she smiled at me, soft and warm.

"You're up? I made you breakfast. Eat it while it's hot."

I blinked, thrown. It had been so long that I didn't quite know what to do with it, and my face tried out a smile.

"Thanks. I won't leave a bite.

"What did you ma—"

I stopped halfway through the sentence.

On the table sat two boiled eggs with the yolks scooped out, a pile of hard, blackened crusts, and a few lettuce leaves gone limp at the edges.

Vivian untied her apron as she explained. "Miles said he wanted a sandwich the way I make it, and we had everything, so I made him one. He likes the yolks and the soft part of the bread, so I saved those for him."

She nodded at the scraps.

"You've got a bad stomach, sure, but that's no excuse to be picky. Finish the rest."

Then she took the calcium milk I'd bought for myself, two bottles of it, and dropped them into her lunch bag.

"Looks like we're almost out, so I'm taking these. Remember to pick up more. Oh, and be a dear and do the dishes for me.

"I've got to drive Miles to work. I'm running late."

The door slammed.

I stood beside the table, looking at the leftovers she'd left on the plate.

I wondered if it was some aftereffect of the surgery, because everything hurt. All of me. I couldn't get a full breath in.

I sank into a chair and cried, hurt and humiliated.

I cried until my eyes swelled shut. Then I got up slowly, and scraped every last bit of it into the trash without touching a bite.

I went back to the bedroom and started packing.

I didn't own much. Seven years, and it came out to the weight of two large suitcases.

It wasn't until noon that the hunger finally registered.

I thought about it for a long time, and then I messaged Vivian anyway.

"Are you free at lunch?"

"I'll come to you. Let's eat. There's something important I need to tell you."

Vivian didn't answer, which surprised no one.

I scrolled through my feed. Three minutes earlier, she'd been commenting under one of Miles's posts.

I set my jaw, copied my own message, and pasted it into the comments under that post.

She replied instantly.

"Busy. No time."

Something in me went bitter, but I didn't send anything else.

I just called her.

"Aaron, I told you I—"

"Twelve-thirty. I'll be at the place across the street from your office."

Then I hung up.

I didn't give her room to back out. I didn't give myself room, either.

I sat in that restaurant until ten past one. Vivian still hadn't shown. I'd decided she was standing me up and had picked up my phone to call again—

Vivian finally walked in.

I opened my mouth, and Miles popped out from behind her.

"Hey, Aaron. I saw your comment, so I figured I'd crash lunch.

"You don't mind, right?"

Chapter 3

I didn't say anything. I just looked at Vivian, cold, waiting for an explanation.

My staring wore her down.

"I went to pick Miles up. That's why I'm late.

"Sorry."

"Mm," I said, with nothing behind it, and picked up the menu.

Vivian watched me, a little startled. She'd expected a scene, and instead the whole thing had slid right past.

I raised a hand for the server.

"The prix fixe, please. Swap the wine for warm water."

Across the table, Miles leaned in and pointed at the menu, wheedling.

"Oh, the date-night platter looks so good. Too bad Aaron can't do seafood, so we can't. But Vivian and I both love it. What if we got one anyway?

"Aaron, would that be okay?"

Vivian's brows pulled together.

We'd already had a fight over seafood on the reception menu, and now this — a date-night platter. However close she was with Miles, even she knew it wasn't appropriate.

"Miles, maybe let's not order the—"

"Sure."

I cut her off without looking up.

Vivian's eyes on me went strange. In the end, she still didn't let him order it.

She kept watching me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for the reaction.

Sorry to disappoint. There wasn't one.

I wasn't putting on a show. I just didn't care anymore.

The whole meal, Vivian started to say something to me two or three times, and every time Miles chattered right over her.

I ate quietly and listened to them talk about movies, about work, about whatever funny thing had happened that week. That easy warmth between them was exactly what she and I used to have, seven years ago.

It wasn't until we were leaving that Vivian finally remembered to ask.

"Aaron, this important thing you wanted to tell me. What is it?"

I wiped my mouth and picked up my bag.

"It's between the two of us. It should be said with just the two of us.

"Come on. You should get back and take your lunch break."

Vivian knew she had no ground to stand on, so she let it go, but she gave me an awkward look.

"So... Miles's office is way out of the way, and it's hard to get a car around here. I need to drop him first, so..."

I heard what she was actually saying, and held up my phone for her.

"I've already got a ride. It was easy.

"Go ahead and take him."

Vivian looked guilty then. She came over and reached for my hand, ready to smooth it over with something sweet.

I moved out of reach without making anything of it.

"My car's here."

I turned toward the door.

She followed a couple of steps, swearing up and down. "Aaron, don't worry. I'm leaving work early today, I promise. I'll come home and spend time with you."

I nodded. That was the last time I chose to believe Vivian.

Back at the apartment, I finished handling everything that needed handling. The suitcases stood squared away in the entryway.

Impossible to miss. Easy to grab on the way out.

At five o'clock, the door opened.

It was Vivian.

I wasn't sure what to make of it.

She never got off before five-thirty. This was leaving early.

Had she actually come home early for me?

Chapter 4

I leaned out of the bedroom, and before I could get my feet under me, Vivian blew past and slammed into my shoulder.

I went into the wall hard. My back lit up.

She didn't so much as glance at me. She went straight for the master bedroom and started tearing through drawers.

I pushed myself off the wall.

"Vivian, what are you looking for?"

She didn't lift her head. Her voice came out rushed.

"Miles is on an IV. I'm going to the hospital to sit with him.

"They keep the AC freezing over there, so I need a blanket. Where do we keep the blankets?"

I didn't answer that.

I asked her something else instead.

"Didn't you say you were leaving early today to spend time with me?"

She found the blanket and swept past me again, already hunting for something else. Her tone soured.

"Does being sick make your hearing go too?

"I just told you Miles is on an IV. I don't have time today. Another day."

But Vivian, we were out of other days.

Everything I'd been holding down — all of it — came up at once, and my voice cracked open.

"What if I need it to be today?

"Miles is sick. He has a mother and a father. Failing that, he has coworkers and friends. Vivian, what are you to him, exactly? Why are you walking out on the man you're supposed to marry to go sit at his bedside?"

That stopped her.

She turned and looked at me like I was a lunatic throwing a tantrum.

"Miles and I grew up together. He calls my mom his godmother. Is it really so monstrous for me to take care of a friend?

"Aaron, can you please calm down.

"Stop inventing things just because you're sick!"

She crammed everything into a duffel and headed for the door.

I couldn't help it. I stepped into her path.

"Vivian, don't go.

"Stay. Just listen to me for a few minutes. I'm begging you."

She looked at my red rims, hesitated for a second or two — and there was no tenderness in it. Only irritation at being held up.

She stepped around me. She even kicked the two suitcases out of her way, and waved a hand at me without turning.

"I honestly don't know what's gotten into you—

"Fine, fine. I'll be home early."

Then the door slammed.

Bang.

The apartment went quiet, and all I could hear was someone crying.

It was me.

I sat down on the couch and waited for Vivian to come home.

An hour went by. I sent her a text. "Coming home?" — Read.

No reply.

The second hour, another. "I really do have something important to tell you." — Read.

Nothing.

The third hour: "Last time I'm asking. Are you coming back?"

This time it wouldn't even send.

She'd gotten sick of me and deleted me.

I stared at that hateful little red exclamation point and felt like a punchline.

The tears had stopped a while ago.

At the fourth hour, I sent Vivian one last message.

"Vivian, let's break up."

The red mark lit up the instant it left.

I was past caring. I picked up my suitcases and walked out.

At the fifth hour, I was at the gate having my boarding pass scanned when her friend request came through.

I hit decline. Then I put up a public post. "Vivian Song and I have broken up. Consider this notice."

I put the phone in airplane mode, sat down, and closed my eyes.

The plane lifted off, and I went under.

When tomorrow's sun came up, all of it would be new.