My finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds.
Then I tapped into her social media feed.
Rufus's name wasn't in the recent visitors list. Or rather, he was probably using a burner account I'd never recognize.
But in the activity feed, the latest entry was crystal clear.
Fifteen minutes ago.
Marjorie had planted two cabbages in FarmVille.
Something seized my chest and squeezed, inch by inch, tighter and tighter.
Cold spread from my sternum out to my limbs. Even my fingertips went numb.
I stared at those two virtual cabbages sitting quietly on the screen, bright green and plump, their pixelated leaves almost garish against the plain little plot of farmland. Next to them were the carrots and corn she'd planted, neat rows, clearly tended every day.
She really was obsessed with that game. Never missed a day.
I used to tease her about it. Told her nobody still played browser games from the Stone Age, that it was ancient history.
She'd laugh and swat my arm. You don't get it. It's nostalgic.
Now I understood.
The nostalgia was real.
It just had nothing to do with the game.
I sat there for a while, then left the train station.
I hailed another cab and went back to the apartment complex.