Chapter 3

At lunchtime, the break room started getting lively.

I sat alone at a small table in the corner with my lunch box.

I used to eat with Savannah. She said she didn't like eating alone, so I waited for her every day.

Now that I think about it, in three years, when did she ever wait for me?

Voices drifted over from the microwave area, intermittent but clear enough for me to hear every word.

"What are you guys doing this weekend?" It was Maya, the youngest in our team, who'd just graduated and joined last year. "I want to go to the West Coast for vacation. It's right during the carnival, but plane tickets are so expensive---over three thousand dollars round trip."

"Didn't you say Adrian was driving there? Just ride with him," Marcus chimed in.

Maya lowered her voice, though not by much: "He said he's not going anymore. He even withdrew his leave."

"Huh? Why'd he suddenly cancel?"

"No idea. Savannah asked him but he didn't say why."

"Then what do we do? Plane tickets are too expensive, and the train takes forever."

"Driving would be the most economical, but he's the only one in our team with a car."

"And it's a brand new car too. If we split the gas money, we could save a lot over two thousand miles."

At this point, several people glanced in my direction simultaneously.

I pretended not to notice and kept eating.

The lunch box contained fried chicken pieces and baked mac and cheese my mom made last night. The chicken was crispy, but I couldn't taste anything as I chewed.

In my previous life at this time, I was excitedly sending everyone the trip itinerary, wishing I could plan every day's route and every meal's restaurant. I'd even bought sunscreen and waterproof bags for everyone in advance. Eight sets. Cost me nearly a thousand dollars.

Savannah had said: "Adrian, you're so thoughtful. Whoever marries you will be so lucky." Followed by a string of laughing and heart emojis.

Thoughtful. Thoughtful enough to nearly burn to death in a fire.

After finishing lunch, I washed my lunch box and put it back in my bag. As I passed Savannah's cubicle, she was talking to Maya.

When they saw me coming, both fell silent at the same time.

The air went quiet for about two seconds.

Savannah spoke first: "Adrian, finished eating? What was in your lunch today?"

"Fried chicken."

"Smells so good. Next time have your mom make me some too."

In my previous life, she'd said the same thing. My mom really did make it for her. For three years.

Every time Savannah came to my house, my mom treated her like half a daughter, making a whole table of food, and insisting she take home two containers when she left.

Savannah said she'd had no mother growing up. My mom felt sorry for her.

Later, when I was lying in the ICU, Savannah posted in the employee group chat saying I'd insisted on driving my new car to take her to the carnival and nearly got her killed. When my mom saw that message, she was at the ICU entrance signing a critical condition notice.

"Maybe some other time," I replied flatly and walked back to my cubicle.

Behind me, Maya said something quietly. I didn't turn around.