My hand froze on the counter.
It was not just any suitcase. It was Tiffany’s suitcase. Limited edition, ridiculous, more expensive than luggage had any right to be. I knew because Tiffany had sent me seventeen screenshots of it and then cried over brunch when I told her she did not need another travel set. I caved three days later and had it shipped to my parents’ house. My mother had called me generous. Tiffany had hugged me for Instagram and then peeled away before the picture finished taking.
I kept my voice level. “Is someone with you?”
“What?” Brett said too fast. “No. Just the team.”
“Brett.”
“They’re calling boarding,” he snapped. “I have to go. Love you. Mean it.”
He disconnected before I could answer.
Except he did not disconnect all the way.
His thumb missed the end-call button, or the universe finally grew tired of the humiliation and decided I had earned one clean, unfiltered truth.
The screen tilted down toward the airport floor. I watched his shoes cross polished tile. I heard his breath, lighter now, eager rather than burdened. Then a voice slid through the speaker that I would have recognized through fire.
“Is she off?” my mother asked.