The Moon He Could Never Reach

Once I mentioned offhand that a pair of shoes rubbed my heels raw. The next day, someone had lined the heels with blister pads.

After we got together, I never had to order for myself. Every time we went to a restaurant, he'd read through the whole menu first, then rattle off the dishes I'd casually mentioned wanting over the past few days, pushing them across the table with a blank face. "See if it's these."

I thought that was liking someone. Caring.

I also thought I owned a little patch of ground in his heart. But now I wasn't sure.

Maybe it was just the gentleman's manner carved into Jordan's bones. He'd have done the exact same thing for any girl.

To put it bluntly, the two of us were more like roommates who had no business being together. Different habits, different values. The only thing in sync was that bit of business in bed.

A wave of nausea surged up my stomach. I clapped a hand over my mouth and dry-heaved a few times, and then the cold spread through me.

It was past midnight when Jordan came home.

He changed his shoes. His face carried a rare irritation. "Why aren't you asleep yet? Waiting for me?"

"Tonight's script was terrible. So flat it put me to sleep. I could tell what would jump out next with my eyes closed."

He went on to himself, as if the earlier fight and awkwardness had quietly passed.

"And Penelope was strange today. The second she came out she got right up in my face to scare me. I tried to say hello and she acted like she didn't know me and just kept doing it!"

He kept griping about how cold Penelope had been, and the disappointment in his eyes was plain to see.

It was the first time in six years he'd poured this much emotion out to me. Yet I sat there and felt like my ears were wrapped in a layer of something.

Hollow inside.

That familiar feeling came back, a thousand words jamming up in my throat.

Then Jordan glanced down at his phone, and I caught the contact name at the top of the message thread.

Penelope again.

"Penny says she doesn't dislike me. She just had no choice, because she was working, so she had to do the job strictly by the book."

Jordan lifted his head, his tone full of urgency. "I think I need to go clear things up with her. When I left just now, I treated her really badly."

When he said "Penny," the ends of those two syllables shot up wildly. It wasn't simple excitement.

I raised my eyes and, without thinking, looked at the back of his neck.

Below the collar, that faint blue-green glowing stamp was still there.

Seven days ago, when the haunted house game ended, the staff pressed a stamp onto the back of every player's neck. And Jordan's had been stamped by Penelope's own hand.

"What's that? Why is it still there? Jordan, aren't you a germaphobe?"

Jordan paused, as if he hadn't expected me to notice such a small detail. Then he slipped back into that usual look that gave away neither joy nor sorrow.

"Forgot to wash it off. It's just a stamp. Are you really going to make an issue of this too?"

Before, when we kissed, even if my lipstick smudged onto his face, he'd wipe it again and again with a disinfectant wipe.

And that stamp had been pressed onto who knew how many people.

I nodded. I was smiling, and then the tears came down.

He couldn't even be bothered to humor me.

I threw the cup off the table. Glass sprayed everywhere. The emotion overwhelmed me, and my stomach churned again.

The next second, I bent over and dry-heaved.

Jordan quickly caught my arm and pulled out a tissue and handed it to me, fast, the motions of someone who was nervous.

But his brow didn't so much as furrow. He looked utterly unruffled.

It made me sick to watch.

"Where's your ring box?"

His pants pocket had been bulging these past few days. I'd guessed long ago what was inside, which was why I'd known he meant to propose.