What Friends Are For

The cable guy was three hours late, and Elena was running on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee. When the doorbell finally rang, she nearly tripped over a stack of boxes in her haste to answer it. "You're moving out," David said from the doorway, not asking. He was wearing that gray cable company uniform, his name tag slightly crooked. He hadn't aged a day in the seven years since she'd last seen him. Elena stepped aside to let him in. "Divorce is final next week.""Sorry." He didn't sound sorry. He sounded like someone observing a mildly interesting weather pattern. He moved to the TV stand, cable coil in hand. "Heard you got that promotion at the firm.""Word travels fast.""Small town." His back was to her now, crouched near the outlet. "How's your mother?""Dead. Two years ago."David froze for a fraction of a second before continuing his work. "I'm sorry, El. I didn't know."You didn't want to, she thought. She watched his hands — the hands that had once held hers, that had promised forever while they sat on her fire escape eating stale pizza and talking about running away together. He'd chosen law school. She'd chosen to stay and care for her sick mother. Choices that had seemed so right then, so impossibly wrong now."I'm making spinach lasagna tonight," she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Like we used to make."David stood slowly, turned to face her. For the first time, she saw it — the exhaustion under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. The realization hit her like cold water: he wasn't judging her messy apartment or her failed marriage. He was trapped in his own. "I'm not happy, El," he whispered. "I haven't been happy in years."The cable lay forgotten between them, a lifeline they hadn't known they needed. "Run away with me," she said, and meant it. For the first time in seven years, she saw something real in his eyes: hope. "Okay," he said. "Okay."