It was quiet when I opened the door. I had left the light on in the living room as I always do; I hate walking into a dark house, especially late at night. And this was way past my usual bedtime. I had just come from another bridal shower, another attempt to perpetuate the myth of happily ever after. I’d fallen once under that spell, stayed there longer than I should have, and gotten out just in time.

I kicked off my shoes and lined them up neatly near the front door, then locked the top and bottom locks. I was tired but past the point of sleep. What I needed was a hot bath and some TV to help me relax. It was a little chilly, so I went to turn up the thermostat and then decided to make myself a cup of hot milk and honey. I went to the kitchen and flicked on the light, and there was Harvey, seated at the kitchen table, looking serious and somewhat drunk.

“How did you get in?”

“I still have a few tricks up my sleeves.”

He wiggled his fingers to demonstrate his expertise at breaking and entering. Changing the locks would have been pointless: there had never been a door that Harvey couldn’t get through without leaving a trace. I forgot about my hot milk and leaned against the counter, far enough away to maintain some semblance of control but close enough to smell his familiar scent, an intoxicating combination of Chanel and whiskey. I wanted to reach out and rub the stubble on his cheeks, bury my face in his neck, lose myself in memory. But that was the way of insanity. Instead, I took out two mugs and started the coffee maker.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do this any more.”

I tried to look angry, but he saw right through me with his ice-blue eyes.

“I have news,” he said.

The machine had finished spewing out the first cup of coffee; I added a pod for the second cup and placed the first in front of Harvey, with just the right amount of half and half. A whisper of a smile crossed his face as I put down the mug, and I felt an almost unbearable sense of loss, remembering how it once was between us and could never be again.

I went back to wait for my coffee to finish. Harvey sat patiently as he always had, not taking a sip until I brought my own mug to the table.

“Salud!” he said. We both drank. It was one of those silly rituals married couples develop over time. We hadn’t had much time together, but the rituals remained.

“So what’s your news?”

He hesitated for a second and then blurted it out.

“I’m moving up to Vancouver.”

The announcement was so ridiculous, I thought he was having a laugh at my expense. I started to say something, but then saw the truth in his eyes.

“Why? You hate the cold.”

It was true. He had been born in the Midwest, moved to L.A. when he was 18, and never looked back. When we met, it was a warm New Year’s Eve, on the beach in Santa Monica. He kissed me and told me life was too short to never wear a winter coat.

“Work,” he said.

It was pointless to ask him about a work permit, or green card, or whatever else is required for legitimate employment in Canada. Chances are, there was nothing legitimate about whatever he was about to engage in.

“So why are you telling me this?”

He reached out and took both my hands in his. His hands were warm from the mug, and gentle.

“I was hoping you’d come with me.”

“You must be drunker than I thought.”

“I’m perfectly sober.”

“Why would I do that? I have a life here.”

“You’re not happy.”

“That’s not true.”

“You miss me. I miss you. We never should have gone our separate ways.”

“We never should have been together in the first place.”

He looked hurt. I wanted to take back the words; they weren’t true, and he should have known that.

“I know I was a handful, I admit it.”

“A handful. Is that what you call it?”

I could feel my resolve crumbling by the second. I hated myself for the effect he had on me.

“Are you in trouble? Is that why you’re leaving?”

He shook his head.

“Not at all. I’ve been living the straight life for a while now.

“Does that include breaking in to my apartment?”

“That was just to keep my skills up.”

I laughed, and we were back to those early days, the fairy tale. We finished our coffee, and I held my breath, wondering what would happen next. It had been almost a year since we had seen each other, and only sporadic texts like droplets hitting me when I least expected them. Was my life better without him? Easier, sure. Less complicated, 100 percent. There was no doubt in my mind I was right to cut him loose. He was trouble and not the obvious kind of trouble that’s easy to spot and avoid. I had finally come to terms with the empty space, and now he was filling it again. These thoughts sped through my brain as we sat there at the table we had once shared. Impossible to think of him as just a guest. After a few minutes of exquisite tension, he stood up. Again, I smelled his cologne. I wondered how long the scent would last in the kitchen after he had left.

“I have to go.”

I stayed where I was. He put a hand on the back of my chair but didn’t touch me.

“I’ll be leaving on the weekend, driving up. I’ll save a seat in the truck for you, just in case.”

I didn’t answer.

“Walk me to the door?”

I stood up and hoped my legs would carry me. I made it to the door, Harvey right behind me, and undid the top and then the bottom lock and waited. He kissed me gently on the lips and then stepped out into the hallway. I waited till he was at the elevator before locking up again. Insanely, I hoped he would change his mind and come back; he didn’t.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I went back into the kitchen and washed out the coffee mugs, then poured myself a shot of whiskey and took it into the living room. I turned off the light and sat in the dark on the sofa, sipping my whiskey, going over and over the evening in my head until I was exhausted enough to at least attempt to get some sleep. I washed out the glass, threw some water on my face, and rinsed my mouth out with Listerine. I was too tired to bother with a bath or even to brush my teeth. I undressed and got into bed. I heard a crunching sound and reached under my pillow to find a piece of paper folded in half. I turned on the lamp on the table next to me to see what it was. My name was written in block letters on the fold in Harvey’s familiar writing. I unfolded it to see what was written inside.

It was an address in Vancouver, with a note: I’ll buy you a winter coat.