3: 3

What met my eyes were dresses, all kinds of them.

Ones picked out with fine embroidery, ones that fell past the knee, ones cut close at the waist with slits, plain ones with no pattern at all. Everything.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Took out my phone and photographed them one by one.

Then closed the closet.

Turned and walked to the couch on the side, and lay down on it without much thought.

The couch was cramped and narrow, and with the two of them laughing on and on next door, I slept badly that night.

The next morning I got up early and changed.

Put on my shoes, ready to head out for my run.

But then Morris came out of the bedroom, still bleary with sleep.

When he saw me.

His hands paused, and a second later he lifted his wrist to check the time.

"How come you didn't wake me for the run today?"

Morris had always kept up his morning runs.

But the me from before never liked them.

Not until an illness three years ago, when the doctor advised me to fix my schedule and get more exercise after I was discharged.

After I came home from the hospital.

Morris started coaxing me into running with him in the mornings.

At first.

I was thoroughly unwilling.

But under his little encouragements, bit by bit, I somehow fell in love with running without even noticing.

Then, from some day I couldn't pin down.

Morris would run half the route with me, then take a call from Savannah, and say to me in a hurried voice:

"Savannah's got something urgent. You go on running by yourself first."

And every time, after my run, on the way home I'd spot him at the breakfast stall, Savannah sitting beside him.

The two of them eating, talking and laughing.

After long enough.

I'd even gotten used to the Morris who turned back halfway through and left.

"I want to run on my own."

The words done.

I reached out to push the door and head outside.

But Morris caught me by the arm, a trace of concern in his voice:

"All these years, I've always run with you. And it's still dark out. I don't feel right about you going alone. Wait for me to change and I'll come with you."

Watching his back as he walked away, for a moment I felt oddly unsteady.

"There, let's go."

Changed now, Morris smiled and held out his hand to me, wanting to hold hands the way we used to.

But I drew my hand back without meaning to, and walked outside as if I hadn't seen it.

Sure enough.

Halfway through the run.

Morris's phone rang again.

After he took the call, he turned to look at me, his face anxious:

"Savannah's got something urgent. Go on running by yourself first, I'll come catch up with you in a bit."

The dark stretched out all around.

Panting, I said softly:

"Morris, do you really have to go?"

But all he left me was his back as he turned and hurried off.

I pulled my eyes away.

Kept running.

When the run was over and I was walking home, I caught sight of two familiar figures standing side by side up ahead.

Right then.

Morris and Savannah were standing in front of the woman selling flowers.

Savannah looked through the bunches one at a time, holding each up for Morris beside her to see:

"Morris, which one do you think is prettiest?"

"None of them are as pretty as you."

The sweet line slipped right out of him.

Beside them the woman smiled and pointed to one of the bunches:

"Take this one. It means people in love will stay together forever. May you two young lovebirds be happy always."

I stood where I was.

Watching Morris and Savannah smile at each other, nothing in their eyes but the other.

No explaining, no denying.

As if this was simply how things had always been.

The downpour came all at once.

As if he'd seen it coming, Morris opened the umbrella in his hand and, without thinking, tilted it toward Savannah's side.

The two of them turned to leave, still talking and laughing.

And then their eyes met mine, standing there in the rain.

4: 4

Morris came striding over.

He stopped across from me, holding the umbrella over Savannah.

He reached out and wiped the rain from my face, and there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Maybe ten seconds passed.

Then I heard Morris say quietly,

"The rain's coming down hard, and this umbrella only fits two. Savannah's on her period, so let me take her back first and then come get you. Go find somewhere to wait out of the rain."

But this was the middle of the morning market strip.

Where exactly was there to shelter from the rain?

The two of them brushed past me.

I waited until they were well ahead, and then I finally called out to Morris, my voice steady with resolve.

"Morris, let's break up."

But of all the timing.

A car drove past just then, its engine noise mixing with the rain and swallowing my voice whole.

Morris looked back at me, blank.

"What did you say?"

"I said—"

But before I could finish, Savannah, standing at his side, suddenly grabbed his arm, her voice going weak.

"Morris, my stomach's starting to hurt again..."

"Whatever it is, it can wait. I need to get Savannah home first."

With that, he looked away, took hold of Savannah beside him, and hurried off toward home.

"I said, let's break up."

But the two of them were already long gone. Only the downpour answered me.

I laughed.

And started running through the rain.

For seven years, Morris was always making me wait. In the wind, in the rain.

But not once.

Not once did I ever wait long enough for him to come.

And now.

I wasn't going to wait anymore.

It was just a bit of rain. Really, it was nothing.

When I pushed the door open and stepped inside,

Morris was carefully blow-drying Savannah's hair, murmuring the whole time.

"Your hair has to be dry or you'll catch a cold easily. You were like this as a kid. I just ordered your favorite, the cold-brew yogurt parfait. Have some first. Whatever you want for dinner, I'll make it."

At the sound, the two of them looked up on instinct.

Seeing it was me, Savannah pursed her lips at me, her tone put-upon.

"Lottie, how do you even put up with Morris? He fusses so much. Can't you rein your boyfriend in?"

In the past, if Savannah had said something like that, I would definitely have smiled and answered,

"You're his best friend. He's only doing it for your sake."

And Morris would follow it up with,

"Our Lottie really does understand me best. I wish you could be as considerate as Lottie someday."

But now.

I only tugged the corner of my mouth.

And turned to walk toward the bedroom.

I had a ten o'clock meeting with the wedding coordinator.

After he finished drying Savannah's hair, Morris came into the room, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and studied me in the mirror.

His gaze landed on my very short skirt, and for once he frowned.

"You're going out?"

"Why are you wearing a skirt this short?"

In all the years I'd been with Morris, I'd stuck to long sleeves and long skirts.

All because of one offhand remark of his about feeling insecure.

So I put away all my short skirts, and I even cut off contact with every male friend I had.

I slipped out of his hold on instinct and said flatly,

"I like it. Is that not allowed?"

He froze.

As if something had suddenly dawned on him, Morris sighed, and when he spoke again there was a helpless note in his voice.

"Lottie, are you angry?"

"Just because I was a little late coming to get you? But you're back now, aren't you?"

With that, he reached out to pull me toward him, and there was a coaxing edge in his voice.

"Come on, let's not make a fuss."

"I bought your favorite breakfast dumplings. Come eat breakfast."

But the one who loved breakfast dumplings wasn't me. It was Savannah.

In seven years.

I'd told Morris countless times that I didn't like breakfast dumplings, yet every day after his morning run he'd bring me a portion of them.

"I've got somewhere to be, I'm heading out. You two take your time."

I couldn't even be bothered to argue with him.

I just picked up the bag beside me and walked right past him.

But Morris grabbed hold of me again.

"What do you have to do? I never heard you mention anything."