Her last memory of Boston was the last time she’d seen Tessa. Edith abandoned everything but her books and clothes and a desk that her college roommate, Charlie, had given her. These things she packed into a friend’s old minivan, which she’d drive to Alabama. It seemed significant that her two largest possessions were hand-me-downs, given up when they’d outlived their use.

Tessa held her for a long time. Wet spots on both their shirts when Edith pulled away.

You sure you want to do this, Joni?

Why would you ask me that. The old nickname annoyed Edith. A signifier of intimacy that had been emptied out. After months of worrying what would happen if she didn’t get into grad school, the decision was settled by geography. After two years of dating and years more of love, they’d go their separate ways.

Because I’m afraid, dumbass.

Sorry. She wrapped Tessa in her arms again. If only she could hold on. If she could squeeze their bodies closer. She didn’t want to fight.

You know that when you sleep in a bed, you leave some of your cells behind and take some of the bed’s cells with you? The longer you stay in the same bed, the more you and the bed become a part of each other.

Yeah.

They’d share their beds with new people—strangers, probably, and friends.

Did she want to leave? It didn’t matter. She was leaving.

Look, I saved you from grad school once.

I’ll be okay this time.

You better be. You know my number.

The Boston sun was too much. How bad would it be in Alabama?

We can’t stand here forever, Tessa said.

Well. Not with that attitude. They laughed. The distance between them unbearably small. A line that could never be broken into smaller lines.

I’ll be back, Edith said.

Of course. I’ll look forward to it.

The line was thickening. A no-man’s-land that could be crossed at some enormous cost.

I love you.

I love you so much.

Already the world was projecting Edith away—to grad school, to the writer she’d become. When she returned, she’d return in triumph.

Well. See you around.