They Buried A Promise For Ten Years, They Broke It In Ten Minutes Chapter 03
Owen: [Voice message: Ava, are you coming to dinner Saturday or not? Lily made a reservation. It’ll be awkward if we’re short one person.]
His voice message came Thursday afternoon, a little impatient.
I was packing my desk at work, putting personal things into a cardboard box.
A coworker passed by. “Ava, are you switching teams?”
“I’m quitting.”
“Really? So sudden?”
I smiled but didn’t explain much, just went back to packing.
My phone buzzed again. Ethan posted a location in the group chat—a steakhouse downtown.
Lily: [I’ll go early and save a table. Take your time!]
Owen: [Lily, you’re so sweet.]
Ethan sent a heart emoji.
I stared at that heart emoji and thought about my birthday last month.
Ethan forgot.
At eleven that night, I hinted and asked if he knew what day it was. He thought for a long time and said, “Wednesday?”
Later, when Owen wrote “Happy birthday, Ava” in the group chat, Ethan finally remembered and added, “Happy birthday. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The day after.
Next week.
He never did.
But when Lily’s birthday came last month, Ethan started planning three days early.
He bought her a bouquet of baby’s breath, a custom cake, and posted a grid of photos on Instagram.
The caption said: “Our little Lily is 25.”
Our.
He used “our” for another girl’s birthday, but he couldn’t even remember to say “happy birthday” to me.
I didn’t reply to the group.
Friday after work, I moved the last box home.
Three cardboard boxes and a suitcase. That was all I had after seven years in this city.
My phone rang. Ethan.
“Come to dinner tomorrow. It’s been a while since we all ate together.”
“What time?”
“Six thirty. I’ll pick you up.”
“No need. I’ll go myself.”
He paused. “Why do you keep turning me down lately?”
“I’m not. It’s just not on my way.”
“Fine.” He didn’t push. “By the way, Lily said she learned a new dessert and wants to bring it tomorrow for everyone to try.”
Lily again.
Every call, every conversation, her name had to come up.
Like a thread sewn through every inch of space between me and Ethan.
“Got it.”
“See you tomorrow. Get some rest.”
I hung up.
I sat among the boxes and stared at the ceiling for a while.
I’d lived in this apartment for four years. There was a small water stain in the corner that had turned moldy over the summer. The landlord never fixed it.
Ethan had been here plenty of times and never noticed.
But when Lily visited once, she said, “Ava, it’s so damp in here. That can’t be good for your health. Ethan, why don’t you help her find a better place?”
Ethan looked at me and said, “She never mentioned it.”
Right.
I never mentioned it.
Because I thought he’d see it without me saying anything.
Just like I thought he’d wait for me for the ten-year promise.
Just like I thought he’d remember my birthday.
Just like I thought that bottle of wine would have at least a sip left for me.
None of it happened.
Saturday afternoon, before leaving, I took one last look at the flight confirmation email.
October 13, 2:10 a.m., to London Heathrow.
The day after tomorrow.
Today was the last time I’d see them.