Palm Lines and Empty Glasses

Maya pressed her palms against the cold glass of the 42nd floor window. The city sprawled beneath her like a circuit board gone wrong, lights flickering in the rain. She'd been staring at the same sphinx moth-inspired facade design for three weeks, unable to crack the riddle of why it refused to feel authentic.

"You're still here?"

The voice belonged to Elias, the senior partner she'd been sleeping with for six months—awkward, undefined, never discussed outside the dim light of his office or the muffled silence of her apartment. He held a takeout container in one hand, his other hand shoved deep in his pocket.

"It's not finished." She didn't turn around. "The sphinx metaphor feels pretentious."

"Coming from you, that's saying something." He set the container on her desk. "Thai food. I remembered you hate spinach."

She turned finally. His hair was wet from the rain. She thought about the cat waiting at her apartment, how it would howl when she got home at midnight, how Elias had made jokes about neutering it once, not realizing she'd had the cat since her divorce, that the cat was the only consistent thing in her life after Paul left.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"That's new."

"If I quit tomorrow, would you still call me?"

The silence stretched so long she could hear the water cooler bubbling down the hall. Elias rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she'd learned meant discomfort, not affection.

"You're not going to quit."

"No. But if I did."

"I'd call you," he said finally, "eventually."

Eventually. The word hung between them like smoke. Maya thought about the palm reading she'd gotten at her sister's bachelorette party, how the psychic had told her she'd choose wrong three times before finding something real. She'd already chosen wrong twice.

"Eventually," she repeated. "That's good to know."

"Maya—"

"Go home, Elias. I'll finish the design."

He hesitated, then left without touching her. She watched the elevator doors close, then turned back to the window. Outside, the rain intensified, turning the city into a water painting of itself. Her cat would be waiting, sphinx-like and judgmental, and tomorrow she'd submit her resignation, because eventually wasn't an answer she could afford to believe anymore.