Sasha slid her mobile across the kitchen counter. She stood still for a moment, taking in the whiteboard above the counter. The postcards pinned to the board fluttered lightly in the afternoon breeze flowing from the windows opposite. She was so grateful for the cool air; temperatures were in the thirties, and the day was sweltering.
"Damn!"
She’d grown accustomed to the luxury of Grant’s apartment, and now that he was, finally, coming home, she would have to move. Sasha felt her cheeks redden in response to her selfishness. She crossed the room and leaned out of the window, letting her hair ruffle, cooling her thoughts.
"He’s coming home," she told the wind, as if it would sympathize.
Grant had been so good to her after her messy split from Anton. He was on a mission to see as much of the world as possible before he settled into a job at his father’s company.
"It’s going to be a sedentary life. The least I can do is get the travel bug out of my system. I’ll send you a postcard from every picturesque place. You can stay here and look after the place for me; get yourself together, you know?" She heard Grant’s words reverberate as if he were standing in the room behind her, and no time had slipped by.
Of course, she’d realized that at the time there was an unspoken offer for her to join him and that his well-serviced, security-efficient apartment didn’t need looking after. She’d played dumb and seen him off after a glass of bubbly in his living room.
Reluctantly, she pulled herself back into the kitchen and took in the double-door stainless steel fridge, the six-plate gas hob, the shiny eye-level oven, the cut glass in its mile-high showcase, and the wine in the bamboo wine rack.
"Oh, Lord," she sighed, "why didn’t I think of that straight away?" She headed over and inspected the reds. She selected a Pinotage and found a glass and a corkscrew before settling in a chair at the counter across from her offensive phone.
She reached up and loosened the whiteboard from its mooring, laying the world in pictures across the counter.
Grant had turned photos into postcards for her benefit: there he was, looking fit, slim, and happy on the Swiss slopes. Then he was taking in the sun beside the azure Greek ocean. Smiling faces, beautiful places She felt an uncomfortable longing for what could’ve been coarse through her veins. She shook herself out of it, forcing her eyes to connect with Grant’s two-year-long excursion in paradise.
Before she knew it, he was at the door. She heard his key turn, and her heart somersaulted. Nerves shot.
"Sasha! God, you look great."
"So do you. All tanned, healthy, and relaxed." She felt the air charge. He stared at her as if willing her to say the right thing.
"So, let’s sit. Let’s drink, reminisce, and plan. Shall we?" she slid into a chair and watched him compose himself.
"Planning sounds so good. It sounds wonderful. I’m so tired. You would not believe."
An arrow of dread pierced her heart. She felt her breath quicken. It felt as if she’d read his mind.
The worst part was that she’d known it all along. She’d known, and she’d let it go. The comfort of the apartment, the prestige of the address—everything was so desperately tempting. Then there was Grant, with his expressive lips and quick wit.
Her soul clenched when she saw her words drain hope from his warm brown eyes.
"I’ve found a studio apartment on Second. It’s only minutes away. I’m really, really going to miss this place. Thank you. Thank you. You’ve given me opportunity, time, and space. I love you muchness."
She felt bitterness radiate. But all he said was:
"I’ll take the couch tonight, and we’ll go and take a look your studio in the morning."
