“It’s time to say goodbye,” I said. 

She pushed out her chair from the dining room table and stood up. I walked over and hugged her. 

I held her against me, her cheek bone resting against my chest, the top of her head fitting perfectly under my chin. I raised my hand from her back and held her head in a more gentle, caring embrace. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you … so much … for everything. You are beautiful. You are smart. You are kind.”

I didn’t expect to cry, but I suppose you can’t really say words like that and really mean them when you’re leaving your lover and not cry. 

With one tear on my cheek, I said, “I love you.” 

Then, “Can I have one last kiss?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to make it more difficult than it already is.”

I hugged her and held her, more softly, more tenderly than my customary tight and constrictive embraces. 

I dropped my arms and turned around to pick up my box. She followed me to the door. I opened it and she held it open behind me. 

“Bye, Cole,” she said. 

When she used my first name it shot like an arrow through my heart. She never called me by my first name. She always called me “babe.” 

“Bye,” I said, with as much care and love and gratitude and solemn regret as I could fit into that one word. 

She closed the door behind me. I don’t even remember stepping down the stairs.

When I got out by the curb and set my box by my feet, I looked down and noticed one of her dark curly hairs was wrapped around my fingers. I saw the last part of her holding on to me and I wanted to turn around and march right back up the stairs and set my box down and stay.