Chapter 4: Pizza Memories and Fresh Starts

4.

I finished the last line of a project plan, sent it off to the team lead, then just stared at my screen. All I could think about was Caleb James and his smooth, practiced words from that morning.

He’d stood in my doorway, expecting gratitude for the apology and the bags of gifts. I’d told him, “Don’t worry. Since we’ve broken up, I won’t contact her again, whether she’s rich or not. So take these things back—I don’t need them.”

He didn’t even blink. “Just some trinkets, not worth much. If you don’t want them, just throw them away.”

He sounded just like Lillian—casual, like nothing mattered. I couldn’t shake the humiliation.

I thought about Lillian’s birthday. I’d worked overtime, saved up for a gift—cheap to her, but all I could afford. I handed it over like it was treasure. She probably thought I was ridiculous, too.

A coworker knocked on my desk. I jumped, almost spilling my coffee.

“Hey, you see the group chat? The manager’s looking for you—wants you in her office.”

I stuffed my phone in my pocket, straightened my shirt, and headed over, bracing for a lecture or last-minute assignment.

She called me in about an old issue. The company was holding a car show in Fresno, and they needed someone from HQ to oversee it. Promotion, double salary. Only catch? Might have to stay in Fresno for half a year.

A month ago, I’d turned it down. I wasn’t ready to move—still hoping Lillian would come back. Now? I had nothing left to lose.

I said yes.

After packing, I left what I couldn’t carry at Derek’s place, planning to ship it all once I got settled. The company booked me a hotel in Fresno, so I went straight there after landing.

Before leaving, Derek insisted on one last pizza night. We went back to our old spot near Maple Heights University—the same place we’d haunted in college. The smell of tomato sauce and hot cheese hit me like a time machine.

We’d split a two-liter of Mountain Dew and argue over which Friends rerun to watch, her feet propped on my coffee table. When I ordered half-pepperoni, half-cheese, Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Since when do you not eat spicy?”

I blinked. “I do eat spicy.”

He squinted, then laughed. “Then why half-and-half? We both like spicy—just get all pepperoni.”

Only then did I realize the habit. Lillian didn’t eat spicy. For years, I’d just ordered this way by default.

It was a small thing, but it hit hard. We used to sit in the corner, sharing a soda, arguing about which Friends rerun to watch. She’d eat until she was sweating, downing ice water, then grin and say, “Thanks to you, babe, I think I can handle spicy now.”

Funny how habits stick.

Derek ordered extra wings, teasing me for being cheap. “Don’t try to save money on me, man. Next time it’s your treat, and I’ll eat you broke.”

“Next time, let’s do buffet.”

He snorted. “Get lost.”

We joked, reminisced about old roommates and bad professors. It was good to just be friends again, no heartbreak in the room.

No work tomorrow. Derek raised his glass, and we both drank. I got flushed and wobbly, but Derek went full karaoke, singing Mr. Brightside off-key. I paid with my phone, helped him tip the pizza guy, and tried not to laugh when he ran off to harass strangers.

Suddenly, someone called my name. “Adam Brooks, what a coincidence!”

Aubrey, red hair wild, waving at me from a table. I felt my stomach drop. If Aubrey was here, Lillian couldn’t be far.

Sure enough, Lillian was there—calm, maybe even a little sad. The table went silent, all eyes darting between us.

Derek pointed at her, slurring, “Young lady, you’re really a heartbreaker. In my opinion, you need to do good deeds for the rest of your life—maybe even shave your head and become a nun to atone for all the people you’ve hurt.”

She didn’t react, just stared at me. I met her eyes—no anger, no longing, just emptiness. The air felt thick, like everyone was holding their breath.

I grabbed Derek and made for the door, his protests trailing behind me.