She set the paper bags on the counter, then lowered her head. Her shoulders ached, not from carrying the bags but from the tension of dealing with John. She wondered again what he was doing on Isle of Palms. She reached into the bag and drew out the paper airplane, smirking as she opened the neat, tight folds. It was so like John to create a toy. He was childlike in so many ways. His spontaneity. His quick wit. His love of a good time. It was both his charm, and his flaw. He was Peter Pan who never wanted to grow up.

She unfurled the paper and immediately recognized his bold print.

Linnea-

Can we talk?

John

The memory of their last argument a year ago surged through her, bringing the shame, hurt, and humiliation hurtling back.

THEY’D BEEN LIVING together in John’s San Francisco condo for nearly two years. When Linnea was out of work, she tried desperately to make herself useful to John since she could no longer pay rent. She’d cleaned the condo, did the shopping and the cooking, ran errands, but no matter how hard she tried, John grew increasingly morose and testy. It came to a head one evening in April as the rain streaked against the tall, stark windows of the modern space. It was more a bachelor pad in feel than a home with his furnishings, all leather and wood. Even now, a year since the breakup, John’s words reverberated in her brain as clear as when he’d spoken them.

“I’m just not ready,” John said.

“What does that even mean?” Linnea had asked. “Ready for what?”

“I’m not sure,” John said, raking his hair with frustration. “It’s just, things have changed since your layoff. I work from home. And… no offense, but you’re here all the time.”

“I live here!”

“And I’m the one paying all the bills. It’s—it’s like we’re married.”

She felt slapped. Shame swept over her. “You know I’m not happy that I can’t contribute to the rent. I’m looking for work. I try to be helpful.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, pacing the floor. “That’s what I mean. You’re more like a wife than a girlfriend.”

She felt her blood chill. “Is that so bad?”

John stopped pacing, his face blank. “Is that what you want?”

She swallowed hard. She hadn’t anticipated the conversation going in this direction. Wasn’t prepared. She stumbled through her answer. “I… I don’t not want it. I mean, not right now. But someday, sure. Isn’t that where we’re headed?”

He looked like a deer in the headlights.

“John?” she said.

“Linnea, I’ve never lied to you. I told you, before you left South Carolina, that I wasn’t ready for marriage. I might never be.”

She stiffened. “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“No, I know that. But… it feels like we are married. We’re setting up a life together.”

“That’s called living together.”

He scratched his scalp, a sure sign he was in discomfort. “I don’t know, Linnea.…”