He knows Ramona’s address because Alice commented on the building every time they drove by. She had made a point not to look at apartments near it, claiming she’d rather pay higher rent than see Ramona every time she went for a jog.

Elliot does not know exactly how or why Alice and Ramona’s relationship ended. From what he’s gathered, they were deeply in love until one day, while they were walking downtown, Alice saw Ramona kick an empty soda can toward a homeless man who was sitting on the corner. Perhaps it had been an accident—Alice never did ask Ramona about it—but Alice couldn’t shake the feeling that Ramona had kicked the can on purpose. Was it possible she’d spent years of her life loving a woman who was capable of such a simple cruelty? Eventually, Alice asked for a break. She needed space, some time to think and unremember the sound of the can skipping across concrete. It was during this break that she met Elliot.

“Let me talk to her,” he says to Ramona, who is trying to block Elliot’s view into the apartment.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. If she did, she would have called you. Or answered one of your thousands of calls.”

“Alice,” Elliot calls from the doorway. “Alice, just give me five minutes. I think you at least owe me five minutes.”

Ramona begins to close the door, but Alice finally appears behind her. “What do you want?” she asks.

Ramona gives up and retreats into the apartment. Now it is just him and Alice in the doorway. He wants to grab her, to kiss her and reclaim her as his own. But deep down, he knows that it is too late for this. He knows without knowing that his time with Alice is over.

“I want you to come to Thanksgiving,” he says. “My parents are still expecting you.”

She looks down to her bare feet. “I’m not coming anymore,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Will you at least come home so we can talk about it? I understand if you don’t want to sleep with me for a while, but we can go slow, step by step. I want you to come home. You don’t have to come to Thanksgiving, but I want you to come home. Please. All of our stuff— they’ve delivered the couch. It’s a good couch. You should at least come back to see it. I only got it because of you, you know. I wanted the other one. The leather. But I did it for you. Because I love you.”

Alice looks back into the apartment, where Ramona has taken her place on the couch, which is shabby and a horrendous shade of green. Her bare feet are up on the coffee table and she’s drinking a cup of coffee, watching the two of them at her door. In the corner is an armchair. Tan leather.

“I’m sorry,” Alice says.

“But your stuff.”

“I don’t even want to think about it. Not yet.”