After 50 Years as Her Stand-In, I Walked Away

Then came another stretch of silence.

Peter sighed and reached over to clap me on the shoulder. "At least have dinner with us before you go. Just the three of us. And don't you dare say you're working overtime."

I nodded.

When I walked them to the door, Kirsten trailed behind.

She paused mid-step at the threshold and glanced back at me.

The look was brief, so brief that Peter, already ahead of her, didn't notice at all.

After the door closed, I leaned against it and stood there for a while.

The living room still held the faint traces they'd carried in. Kirsten was still using that same gardenia-scented shampoo.

I'd breathed it in for too many years. I could have picked it out with my eyes shut.

The end of the month came fast.

Peter chose the restaurant: Rosie's BBQ Joint.

Back when the three of us were kids crammed into the old tenement building, the thing we looked forward to most in winter was sharing a hot pot.

Of course, we couldn't afford anything fancy back then. Just cabbage, tofu, and a few slices of meat.

But the three of us squeezed around a tiny table, fighting over the last piece of tofu in the pot, and that was enough to keep us laughing all night.

The place was packed.

Peter ordered a whole table's worth of food and a case of beer.

"First round. To the three of us, and everything we've been through since we were kids."

I clinked my glass against his and took a long drink.

Kirsten drank too, but she'd never been much of a drinker. The beer caught in her throat and she coughed several times.

Peter grabbed a napkin and handed it to her, patting her back.

"Easy. Nobody's racing you."

Kirsten took the napkin, dabbed her lips, and smiled.

I watched them and thought the picture actually looked pretty good.

"Marlin." Peter poured another glass. "When you get over there, anything comes up, you call. Doesn't matter what time. My phone's always on."

"Sure."

Kirsten sat across from me, busy cooking things in the pot the whole time.

She started with the food, dipping it in and out with that quick bobbing motion to get it just right.

When it was done, she didn't put it in her own bowl. She picked it up with her chopsticks and set it in Peter's.

The gesture was effortless, so natural she didn't even realize she'd done it.

Peter didn't notice either. He just picked it up and ate.

Watching them, I suddenly remembered the way she used to serve me food in our past life.

Every time, she would ask me first what I wanted, then place it in my bowl. There was always a careful, polite deliberateness to it.

Nothing like this. No words.

Just reaching over and placing it there.

"Marlin, when you get there," Kirsten said suddenly, "will someone be picking you up at the airport?"

"Yeah. Housing's already arranged too."

She nodded and didn't ask anything else.

The pot came to a rolling boil, steam rising and blurring her face.

Through that veil of white, I seemed to see so many things from the life before.

Her getting up in the middle of the night to feed the baby. Her bustling around the kitchen preparing the whole family's New Year's dinner. Her dozing in a patch of sunlight on the balcony, her hair turning white strand by strand.

She would never go through any of that in this life.

Peter had always been better at loving someone than I was.

That meal lasted close to three hours.

When it was over, Peter went to pay the bill. Kirsten stood waiting by the entrance.

I walked out behind her. She heard my footsteps and turned around.

The two of us stood under the light outside the restaurant, neither saying a word.

Traffic noise filled the street. Someone waited at the curb for a cab. A vendor pushed a cart of roasted sweet potatoes past us.

"Marlin."

"Are you..." She hesitated, as if weighing every word. "Are you really just leaving for work?"

I smiled and turned it back on her. "What else would it be?"

She looked at me. Her lips moved a few times, but in the end, nothing came out.

The day I left the country, the sky was clear.

Peter came to see me off. Kirsten didn't.

He said she wasn't feeling well and told me not to take it personally.

I said it was fine.

When the plane took off, I leaned against the window and looked down.

The city shrank in my field of vision, smaller and smaller, until it was nothing but a dot on a map.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket. A message from Kirsten.

Just two words.

"Safe travels."

I didn't reply. I tapped her profile picture.

And blocked her.

In this life, I would never be anyone's stand-in again.

I was going to live for myself.