The package stayed on the dining table overnight, untouched. I passed it twice before bed, resisting the urge to undo the twine. In the morning, the first thing I saw when I came into the kitchen was the brown paper catching a thin strip of sunlight through the blinds. The light made the paper look softer, almost worn, and the twine cast a neat, straight shadow across it.

Julian had already left. His coffee cup sat rinsed and upside down by the sink. On the counter was a note in his ...