Veronica sat, picking through what Piz had left behind in his side of the closet. A relatively new pair of slacks that had always been a bit too small went into the Goodwill pile. A tee shirt for some obscure band that had since disbanded would become rags. A jacket he'd worn as Michael Jackson for Halloween stayed; you never knew when red studded leather would come back into vogue. Once she was done sorting, the closet sounded hollow when she shut the door.
He'd found the burner phone. Between that and her moonlighting with PI work she picked up from the backpages of
amNewYork and Craigslist, he'd had enough. She didn't blame him, but she did miss him. No one cooked in their apartment anymore. No one fell asleep to cartoons late into the night. No one said hello when she came in. It was like the color was gone from the home they'd made, leaving her with a black and white place to sleep and shower.
Instead of reexamining her life and what made her such an inadequate romantic partner, she threw herself into work. During the day, she filed briefs, investigated cases for the partners, and dragged her burgeoning fraud division into the firm's spotlight. At night, she perched on rooftops and fire escapes, photographing adulterers by the dozen.
It took six weeks to the day after Piz left for her to cry. It was ugly, driving her into the shower where she left the water wash over her as pathetic, mewling sobs wracked her. Eventually, she sank to the floor and stayed there until the hot water gave out and she realized she was shivering. Once she warmed up with a glass of fifteen year old Macallan, she went through the apartment, purging his presence.
Everything was boxed up, she was a third of the way through the bottle, and she felt at loose ends. Part of her wanted to douse her place with gasoline and walk away, coolly tossing a lit cigarette over her shoulder to ignite it. However, she knew her kind neighbors, the Jimenezes, wouldn't appreciate it, and anyway, she didn't smoke.
So she did what all lonely, half-drunk girls did after packing up their exes' things: she texted the only real friends she had made in the city, Mozzie and Neal.
Late dinner tonight?
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