“Most of the time you rely so heavily on certain…qualities of your personality. You know the things I’m talking about. The…stern side. Protective, analytical. But every time I saw you with Franny, or heard you talk about her, all the hidden sides of you I like even more kept showing up.”

“And what sides are those?” I asked, leaning forward.

“You’re unfailingly kind and generous. Spontaneous, when the mood strikes. And, dare I even say, funny.”

“You didn’t think I was funny when you were yelling at me about screwing up this pitch meeting last night,” I said, managing to give her a snarky smile.

“God, and moody as all hell too.”

At first, I didn’t respond. I wanted to do what I always did before Franny entered the picture. Focus. Block everything out. Get sucked into the blue light of my computer.

Instead, I leaned back in the chair and pressed my palms into my forehead.

“I really liked her.” My voice was quiet. “But it’s done.”

“Nothing’s ever really done, Hayes.” She looked at me with sympathy. “You just have to figure out how to bring it back to life.”

*  *  *

As the week went on, and turned into two, three, and then four, I only felt more certain things were over. The seasons were shifting, September was blooming as only it could, the leaves still clinging to trees in all their bright-green glory, wringing out the last vestiges of brightness before the darkness of winter set in soon. Perrine called. Eleanor and Henry had me over for dinner. I bought something called a DockATot off their baby registry in preparation for their baby shower next month. We settled into our new office, began planning for our next round of fundraising. Investors on board, I hired three people for our new Seattle space, and we’d asked Tyler to go out and open the new office there early next year. I ran five miles almost every day, then six. Seven. Nine.

Time moved forward. But Franny did not respond to my texts, or my voicemails. Maybe it was for the best; I wasn’t even sure I’d know what words to say if she ever did pick up or write back. And yet I still kept thinking about her: what she was doing, whether she was happy, whether I’d ever get to see her smile again. But it was at home, in my apartment, that I missed her the most. And one day, her voice popped into my head. I could hear her, clear and sharp, accurately guessing all the things I had in my apartment and how sparsely decorated it was. So I went for it.