Case in point, I couldn’t seem to pack my belongings back in Boston without breaking something. A beautiful tiger’s eye vase from Thailand ended up in enough pieces to create a mosaic. Four CDs—yep, I still had some—turned into scratched-up coasters when Lana accidentally stepped on them. I packed away all my cookbooks. They were coming with me, but all my Japanese language–learning materials were shipped as a donation to a library in NYC. Holding on to them when I didn’t study anymore seemed wasteful. My empty room seemed like a reminder of what I was letting go. In the spot where my bed had sat, Xavier had made love to me. In another corner, right next to my desk, he’d placed a beautiful red box in my hand. What I wouldn’t have given right now for him to be standing there. But the room was empty and I had nothing but regrets to fill it. Getting excited about spending time with Carlie wasn’t the same as it used to be. What about the good days? Like the days we used what little money we had to enjoy ice cream cones at Eddies Sweet Shop?
