Eventually she leaned into me.
I put one arm around her.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
I still loved her.
That was the hardest part.
If Petra had become evil, leaving would have been simple.
She hadn’t.
She was still the woman who could make a room feel warmer by moving one lamp.
Still the woman who knew my coffee order.
Still the woman who sat beside my father in the hospital after his surgery.
Still the woman who once drove three hours through snow because Theo’s wife went into labor early and we wanted to be there.
People do not become monsters merely because they fail you.
Sometimes they remain fundamentally decent people who repeatedly make one part of your life unbearable.
That can be enough.
The night before my flight, I stayed with Todd.
Our townhouse had already transferred to the new owners, and Petra was staying temporarily with Vera while looking for an apartment.
Todd lived in Queen Anne.
We drank beer on his roof deck.
The Seattle skyline stretched below us.
Space Needle.
Lake Union.
Dark water.
Lights along the hills.
“You nervous?” Todd asked.
“Yes.”
“Finally.”
“What?”
“You’ve been weirdly calm for six weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Same thing.”
I looked toward downtown.
“I’ve never even lived outside Washington.”
“Singapore’s slightly outside Washington.”
“Thanks.”
“What if you hate it?”
“I come back.”
“What if you love it?”
“I stay longer.”
“What if Petra calls?”
I stared at him.
“She will.”
“You answering?”
“I don’t know.”
Todd nodded.
“What if she says she made a mistake?”
“She already has.”
“What if she asks you not to go?”
“She already did.”
“And?”
“I’m going.”
He lifted his beer.
“Then I guess that’s the answer.”
We stayed outside until almost midnight.
Todd drove me to a hotel near Sea-Tac International Airport.
The airport is south of Seattle, in the city of SeaTac, and I had booked a room close enough that I could take the hotel shuttle in the morning without depending on traffic.
My flight departed at 10:15 a.m.
Seattle to Tokyo.
Tokyo to Singapore.
I lay awake until nearly two.
Thinking.
About the house.
Petra.
Ford.
Damon.
Singapore.
The absurd fact that my entire life fit into two checked suitcases, one carry-on and a storage unit.
At 6:30, I woke.
Showered.
Dressed.
Airport.
Security.
Coffee.
Gate.
Petra texted at 8:47.
Hey. What does your weekend look like?
I stared at the message.
It was such an ordinary sentence.
Maybe that was what irritated me.
For weeks, we had barely texted beyond logistics.
Now, on the morning I was leaving the country, she asked like we were still two people comparing Saturday plans.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I took a photo at the gate.
Boarding pass in hand.
Departure board behind me.
SIN via NRT.
I sent it.
No caption.
Petra called immediately.
I declined.
Another text.
Are you seriously leaving today?
I replied.
Boarding soon.
Eli, please call me.
I put the phone in my bag.
Petty?