Chapter 5: Closure, California

5.

Dragging Derek out of the pizza place, I was sweating bullets. The night air felt good on my face. Derek slumped beside me, head in his hands.

While I called a Lyft, he sniffled, “Bro, you ditched your buddy for a girl. Are you still my friend?”

He started bawling, clutching my sleeve, tears soaking my shirt. I patted his back, awkward but grateful. He was my anchor, even drunk and ridiculous. I owed him more than I could say.

A couple college kids snapped a photo as they walked by, giggling. Let them stare. Derek was the only one who hadn’t let me down.

A familiar voice: “Use this.”

Lillian, holding out a fancy handkerchief. I glanced at it—monogrammed in gold, soft as silk. For a second, I wanted to take it, but pride won out. I wiped Derek’s face with my sleeve.

She pulled her hand back, voice soft. “You blocked me?”

I ignored her, helped Derek to the curb, focused on the Lyft app. She caught up, grabbing my sleeve. Her grip was gentle, but I yanked away, patience snapping.

“Lillian, are you crazy? You said it was over, told me not to bother you—so what do you want now?”

She flinched, but just said, “I’m sorry.”

It was too late for sorry. I let out a rough laugh. “Lillian, don’t you think your apology is a little late?”

She frowned. “If you’re upset, just yell at me. Don’t be like this.”

I shook my head. “No, I was upset. But now I really don’t care. Three years—raise a cat or a dog and you’d have feelings. But you? You’re not worth it. So now I’m just glad—the sooner we broke up, the sooner I’m free.”

My phone buzzed—the Lyft was here. I turned away, helped Derek into the car, and didn’t look back.

After I got home, I got a friend request. No avatar, no note. Just three words: I’m sorry. I could guess who it was.

I ignored it. But she was relentless—new accounts, new messages, each more desperate. From “Hey handsome, let’s get to know each other,” to “I’m your boss, changed numbers, add my new one.”

Finally, she just wrote: “I’m sorry, babe, I really know I was wrong, but can you give me a chance to explain?”

I replied: “Explain what? That you’re a liar, or that you two-timed me? Want to break up peacefully, then invite me to your wedding with Caleb James?”

Hit send. Closure, finally.

Arriving in Fresno, someone from the branch picked me up. Tanya Lee, my new boss, stood by her Subaru in the parking lot. Her Subaru smelled faintly of takeout tacos and lavender air freshener—a weirdly comforting combo.

She shook my hand, jeans and a faded concert tee under a blazer—California casual, but all business. “Hey, Adam Brooks. Welcome to Fresno.”

She cracked jokes about the office, gave me the rundown, pointed out the best taco spots, and warned me about street parking. The hotel was small but clean, the kind of place you could pretend was home for a while.

She told me things would get busy soon, but I had a few days to find a place. She texted me a list of realtors and said to call if I needed backup.

Just as I was about to head out, Derek messaged: “Bro, Lillian came to see me—asked if you moved, and where you are now.”

I stared at the screen, annoyed and tired. Why couldn’t she just let it go?

I put the phone down, looked out at the new city, and promised myself: this time, I really was done. But as I watched the sun set over a city that didn’t know my name, I wondered if I actually meant it.