Elliot exhales in obvious relief. “Right. Cool. Yeah. Good.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re doing well. You look… you look really pretty in that dress.”
He gives me one last look, and then turns and scurries down the hall toward the trash chute. I stand there for one more second, wallowing in the harsh, specific pain of getting exactly what you deserve. Then I sigh and trudge into my apartment.
I lock the door behind me. Chain, deadbolt, knob. New habit. Every single time I do this, I consider leaving it open. Just to see what might happen. And every single time, I throw all the locks and check them twice.
I set the plaque on the mantel. Then I pick up the aqua envelope from where it’s been sitting on the coffee table for weeks now and lean it against the plaque so they’
