Spring Break ends on a Sunday.

Unfortunately capitalism does not.

Which is why I'm standing behind a register in Rochester wearing a lanyard and pretending not to resent every living person who enters my line.

"Can I use two expired coupons?"

"No."

"What if I only use one?"

Retail genuinely makes prison seem peaceful.

My phone buzzes in my pocket for the sixth time in forty minutes.

Jesse:
landed

Then:

Jesse:
this airport smells like feet and regret

Then:

Jesse:
mark got flagged by tsa

Then immediately:

Jesse:
don't worry about it

I stare at the messages while scanning a decorative spring pillow that says LIVE LAUGH GARDEN.

Human civilization was a mistake.

"You okay?" my coworker Becca asks beside me.

"Emotionally? No."

Becca looks confused, like she's never heard of sarcasm before.

I text back during a lull in customers.

Mia:
why did tsa stop mark

Jesse:
they said he cant bring a road sign on a plane

Mia:
reasonable concern

Jesse:
losers

Despite myself, I smile.

That's the problem.

No matter how determined I am to become psychologically independent with boundaries and emotional maturity, Jesse still somehow slides into my day like he belongs there.

Which: annoying.

A few minutes later my phone buzzes again.

Jesse:
campus feels weird

My chest tightens unexpectedly.

Mia:
probably because everyone's still gone

Jesse:
maybe

Then nothing.

Which somehow feels louder than the constant texting did.

The rest of my shift crawls by painfully.

Children scream.
A woman argues with me over clearance candles.
Becca disappears for twenty minutes and comes back smelling suspiciously like illegal but flower drugs.

Meanwhile Jesse keeps appearing in small pieces across my phone screen.

Photo:
Corey asleep face-down on the fraternity couch holding an uncooked hot dog.

Photo:
campus quad still covered in gray slush.

Photo:
Jesse's desk.

My desk.

No.
His desk.

Except sitting beside the lamp is one of my hair clips.

My stomach flips immediately.

Jesse:
u left this

Mia:
burn it

Jesse:
i think it legally lives here now. Squatters rights.

Dangerous sentence.
Move on quickly.

I survive another hour before my phone starts ringing instead.

Incoming call:
Jesse.

I answer immediately before I can overthink what that means.

"Hello?"

"Mia."

The sound of his voice hits me strangely after a week of mostly texts.

Warmer somehow.
Closer.

"You sound alive," I say.

"Debatable."

There's background noise behind him.
Not party noise this time.

Just the frat house.
TV somewhere downstairs.
Somebody yelling about pizza.

Familiar.

My chest aches unexpectedly.

"You back at Phi already?" I ask.

"Yeah."

Pause.

"It's quiet."

I laugh softly.

"You live with nine men."

"Exactly. It's unsettling."

I can hear him moving around upstairs.

Drawer opening.
Closet maybe.

Then:
"You still in retail prison?"

"Until close."

"Tragic."

A customer approaches holding two nearly identical sweaters.

I mute the phone long enough to explain that one is cream and one is ivory.

She leaves dissatisfied anyway.

I unmute.

"Sorry. Society interrupted."

"You miss me?"

The question comes lightly.

Teasing.

But something underneath it feels...
real.

"That depends," I say carefully. "Are you still emotionally attached to traffic cones?"

"Don't avoid the question."

Dangerous.

I lean against the counter watching snow melt slowly against the parking lot outside.

"I miss campus," I answer instead.

Coward.

Jesse goes quiet for half a second too long.

Then:
"Yeah."

And somehow that one word tells me he heard what I didn't say anyway.

I hear him sit down heavily somewhere.

"You know what's stupid?" he says suddenly.

"Probably several things."

"I keep forgetting you're not here."

My heartbeat stumbles hard once.

"What?"

"I keep looking up to tell you stuff."

His voice sounds almost annoyed about it.

Like the realization genuinely inconveniences him.

"I saw Corey microwaving Pop-Tarts earlier and my first thought was literally 'Mia would call this a hate crime.'"

"I WOULD call it a hate crime."

"I know."

There it is again.

That soft certainty he has about me now.

Like I've become a fixed point in his brain.

The customer service phone rings behind me.

I ignore it briefly out of spite.

"You survived a whole week without me," I say lightly.

"Barely."

"You're dramatic."

"I came back early with Mark, who had a family thing in Jersey."

I blink.

"What?"

"Chad and the guys stayed the additional three days. They're coming back after classes start. "

Oh.

That... feels important somehow.

"Why?"

Long pause.

Too long.

Then finally:

"I don't know."

Lie.

Not malicious.
Not even intentional.

Just a lie Jesse clearly hasn't unpacked himself yet.

The overhead speakers crackle:
"Manager assistance to register three."

Becca immediately points at me from across the store like a narc.

"I have to go save capitalism," I sigh.

"Rude."

"I know."

But neither of us hangs up immediately.

The silence stretches softly between us.

Comfortable.

Heavy.

Then Jesse says quietly:

"My room feels weird without you in it."

Every organ in my body immediately stops functioning.

Dangerous.
Dangerous boy.

I grip the edge of the counter harder.

"You're being emotional again."

"Probably."

But he doesn't take it back.

That's the terrifying part.

Down the aisle a toddler knocks over an entire display of flip-flops.

Real life continues ruthlessly uninterrupted.

"I'll be back in a few days," I say softly before I can stop myself.

And the second the words leave my mouth, Jesse exhales.

Relieved.

Actually relieved.

The sound hits me directly in the chest.

"Yeah," he says quietly.

Then softer:

"Good."