“You could have signed a six-month lease. That would have given me more time to figure out what I’m doing after graduation.”

“I could have. That was one option we’ve discussed in the past. The other was me moving home to save money before I leave for med school. It’s been up in the air for more than a year. I’m just leaving a little sooner, but so you know, I’ll still pay my share through the end of this lease.”

With her arms crossed so tightly to her chest and her expression pinched, she appears to be an impenetrable fortress refusing to even listen. If I can’t get through to her, explain my side, or come to an agreement, this is a waste of time. “Are you going to say anything?”

“I’m not sure what to say anymore. I miss the girl you used to be. You have no loyalty now.” Her words slap me across the face, leaving me stunned. She pushes off the couch and walks down the hall, slamming her door behind her.

I sit there for a few seconds, not moving and unable to figure out what went wrong. I knew this wouldn’t make her happy, but she was getting a paid apartment to herself. Our nights to hang out were still going to continue, but I guess I didn’t even get the chance to tell her that.

I take my phone and text Harbor: Can you pick me up?

I won’t stay here tonight. I’ll walk if I must. I don’t care how cold it is outside. I get up and go into my bedroom to take a mental picture of my stuff. That way, I can move forward and start planning what to do with all of it.

Harbor’s text pops up: Be right over.

Some of my stuff will return to my dad’s, and some I’ll take with me to Harbor’s . . . to our apartment. I’ve come to terms with the opportunity of saving money. He’s convinced me that I don’t owe him anything other than being his girlfriend, and even then, there aren’t expectations attached to the living situation. I can get a job and pay half or take the money and put it into savings for next year.

“Hey, guys,” Dane calls from the front door. I hear it close behind him and his footsteps coming down the short hall.

I’m folding clothes on the bed, a bunch of freshly washed but wrinkled T-shirts I forgot to get to the last time I was here when I say, “Hey, I’m in here.”

He looks in, his eyes scanning the room. “Hear there’s trouble over here.”

“No trouble in here, but you might want to check on Amanda.”

Holding up his phone, he replies, “She’s been texting me.” He leans against the wall just outside my door as if he’s going to be there for a while. “Want to tell me your side?”

“I’m moving out.” Keeping my eyes on the pile in front of me feels like I’m avoiding this conversation, but at this point, we’re down to the facts.