Chapter 9

She even gave Mitchell one, which he’d stuck in a vase on the bar and vowed not to take home. He’d let it wilt there, just dry up and crumble away, then toss it out. He didn’t need it sitting on his coffee table at home to remind him he didn’t have anyone to give it to later. There was nothing special about the holiday for him, not anymore.

Dancing the broom along the underside of the barstools, Mitchell swept out gum wrappers and pretzels, and tried not to think back to the last time Christmas had meant something to him. How long had it been now? Three years, maybe, since he’d last seen Jamal.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the pain in his ex-lover’s dark eyes, soft and compassionate and sad, and he could hear the words fall from his lips as if Jamal were here in the bar, speaking them all over again. It’s not you….

Didn’t they all say that? It wasn’t him, it was neverhim. A sigh, a gentle kiss, maybe a clap on the back, and then goodbye. It’s not you….