“Yeah. That’s the point.” He kicks a loose pebble. It skitters under the U-Haul. “No memories there.”
You type back with your thumbs, slow and careful: you too. don’t forget me. Stay -2005-
Outside, the first firefly of summer blinks on and off, on and off, like a tiny, stubborn heart. And you think, for the first time, that stay might not be a place. Maybe it’s just a promise you carry with you, folded in your pocket, for as long as you need it. “Yeah
You look at the house. At the dented mailbox. At the porch light that’s been flickering since you were both twelve. Stay , you want to say. Just stay. We can figure it out. We can sleep in my basement. We can get jobs at the mall. We can— “No memories there
But the words get stuck behind the lump in your throat.
The year is 2005. The air smells of rain on hot asphalt, cheap cherry lip gloss, and the faint, sweet burn of clove cigarettes. You’re seventeen, and you’re standing in the gravel driveway of a house you’ve only been to twice before. His name is Cole. He has shaggy brown hair that falls into his eyes and a carabiner clipped to his belt loop, holding keys to a Jeep he rebuilt himself.
“You’re really leaving?” you ask, even though you know the answer. The U-Haul is already half-packed. A futon mattress leans against a cardboard box marked KITCHEN – FRAGILE .