After ending the call, I pulled out a suitcase and started sorting.
The cups we painted together.
The charms we tied together at the church.
The things we bought were matching sets.
Every one of them turned into trash, stuffed straight into garbage bags.
During that stretch, Zaria kept texting me.
A photo of a broad hand rubbing her stomach.
[Chase said my tummy aches. He has this special rubbing trick that makes it go away. Astraea, has Chase ever rubbed your tummy before?]
A hot plate of pot pies was shown late at night.
[I offhandedly said I wanted chicken soup, and Chase drove fifty kilometers to buy them for me. Nothing tastes better than chicken soup, and nothing is more fun than Chase, hehe.]
After dragging my suitcase to the trash area and throwing everything out, I blocked her.
There was no sadness.
Only a huge, freeing ease.
By the time Chase came back, it was already noon the next day.
The moment our eyes met, he seemed briefly startled by the makeup I had put on purpose.
Smiling, he walked toward me and reached for my hand.
“Good girl. Since you know you were wrong, come eat. I bought chicken soup for you.”
The cheap plastic box held only a few torn skins.
He rubbed his nose awkwardly.