Chapter 9: Packing Up and Letting Go

On the last day before leaving for D.C., I took the house deed to the real estate office.

I spoke directly: “How much can I sell this house for?”

The manager knew I was the lady who sells pancakes on Main Street and that Jason was the senator’s son. He greeted me warmly, wanting to chat.

I lowered my eyes and said, “Regardless of price, sell it immediately. You can take the house the day after tomorrow.”

“After this, I will never return.”

The manager nodded repeatedly and congratulated me.

I just wanted to get it over with, didn’t bargain, and for the first time made a loss.

I took the check and left.

In July, pomegranates were red as fire, and by the river, flowers bloomed in clusters.

In a small gazebo, a couple sat together, the stove burning, tea fragrant.

Natalie held a few freshly picked pomegranate flowers.

Jason wrote poetry on a silk fan, Natalie took it and sniffed it.

The hair ornament on her temple jingled.

Jason sat opposite her, raising his hand to brush petals from her shoulder.

Such tenderness and affection he had never given me.

In the past, I had suggested going out to enjoy flowers.

He always said blandly that he didn’t like it.

At the time, I naively thought he really didn’t like flowers.

But now, it was clear he just didn’t like the person accompanying him.

I was just a rough person; enjoying flowers with me was like playing music to a brick wall.

Not as good as the well-read Natalie.

These days, I rarely saw Jason. They listened to the wind in the maples, rode horses under the moon.

I stood behind a tree, my eyes sore.

I lowered my head and swallowed my tears.

Jason’s hand paused as he held his cup, glancing my way.

I quickly looked away, pretending to see nothing.

There were crowds of tourists; I was just one among many, inconspicuous.

“Jason?”

Natalie called softly.

Jason also pretended not to see me.

The sunlight glinted off the river, and I felt the world moving on without me.