So I picked up my phone and texted him.
"You forgot your lunch. I can bring it by."
He did not answer right away.
I waited a few minutes, watching the little screen like it owed me something.
Nothing. No typing bubble. No quick thanks. No, "do not worry about it."
I figured he was in a meeting.
That was always the safe explanation with Jeremy. Meeting. Call. Deadline. Client.
His job had a whole language built to explain why he was unavailable.
I looked down at myself.
I was wearing black leggings, an old gray sweater with one sleeve stretched out from years of tugging it over my hand, and sneakers that had seen better days.
My hair was pulled into a loose bun that was not cute enough to be intentional. It was the most "I was not planning to leave the house today" outfit possible.
But the chicken was still warm.
