Her phone is sitting on the kitchen table. As my mother walks over to grab it, I jump in her way.
“Mom, listen, I’m fine.”
“But Julie—”
“Please.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise I am, okay? You don’t have to call anyone.” I don’t want her to worry about me. I can deal with this on my own.
“Alright then,” my mother sighs. “If you say so.” She cups my face with her hands, running her thumbs along my cheeks, and tries to smile. The silver in her hair shines beautifully in the light. Sometimes I forget she was once blond. As we take each other in, my mother glances down. “So what’s in the box?”
I was hoping she wouldn’t notice. “It’s nothing. I was cleaning out my room.”
Without asking me, she lifts the jacket off like a lid and glances inside. It doesn’t take long for her to connect the pieces. “Oh, Julie—are you sure about this?”
“It’s really not a big deal…”
“You don’t have to get rid of everything,” she says, riffling through it. “I mean, you can always store some of it away if you want—”
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t need any of it.”
My mother lets go of the jacket and steps back. “Alright. I won’t stop you on this.”
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
I leave the house through the garage door. Down by the curb, I drop the box of Sam’s things beside the mailbox and recycling bin. It hits the ground with a clatter like change and bones. The sleeve of his jacket hangs limply over the side of the box like the arm of a ghost. I straighten my shirt and begin my morning walk toward town, letting the sun warm me up for the first time in days.
Halfway down the block, a breeze rolls leaves across my path as I pause on the sidewalk, struck with a strange thought. If I were to turn around, would he be standing there holding his jacket, staring down at the rest of his things? I imagine the look on his face, and even wonder what he might say, as I cross the street and continue down the block without once looking back.
There is a slight chill as I make my way into town. Ellensburg lies east of the Cascades, so occasional gusts of mountain air blow right through us. It’s a small town made up of historic redbrick buildings and wide open space. It’s a town where nothing happens. My parents and I moved here from Seattle three years ago when my mother received a new job at Central Washington University, but only she and I stayed after she was offered a full-time position. Dad returned to his old job in Seattle and didn’t look back. I never blamed him for leaving this place. He didn’t belong here. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here, either. My mother describes Ellensburg as an old town that’s still figuring itself out in an age where everyone wants to be in the city. As much as I can’t wait to leave the place, I admit it has its charm.
I cross my arms as I enter downtown, noticing the changes brought by spring these last few weeks. Flower baskets bloom beneath streetlamps. A line of white canopies runs down the main block for the weekly farmers market. I cross the street to avoid the crowd, hoping not to run into anyone. Downtown Ellensburg is usually beautiful, especially during the warmer months. But walking these streets again, I am reminded of him. Sam waits for me to get off work and we grab falafels at the food stand. We watch a movie on “five-dollar Sundays” at the theater and then wander through town together. When I sense him standing around the corner, waiting for me, my heart races, and I think about turning back. But no one is there except a woman lost in her phone. I pass by without her even noticing.
My friend Mika Obayashi and I arranged to meet for coffee at the diner on the other side of town. There are plenty of coffee shops around, but I texted Mika last night saying I’m in no mood to run into anyone. She replied, Same. Inside the diner, I am seated at a booth by the window near an old couple sharing a menu. When the waitress comes, I order a cup of coffee, no cream, no sugar. Usually I add some milk, but I’m training myself to drink my coffee black. I read somewhere online that it is an acquired taste like wine.
I’ve only had a few sips when the bell jingles from the ceiling, and Mika comes through the door, looking for me. She’s wearing a black cardigan over a dark dress I’ve never seen her wear before. She looks better than I expected, given the circumstances. Maybe she just came from one of the services. My mom told me she spoke at the funeral. Mika is Sam’s cousin. That’s how she and I met. Sam introduced us when I first moved here.