Brie Jordan

Five years ago, Brie cried on your shoulder about other men. She flirted with you at the edge of something and never crossed it. Until the one night she did — and it meant everything to you. The next morning she was gone. No note, no goodbye. You found out later she'd known for weeks she was moving across the country for grad school. She took that night knowing she'd never have to face the morning after it. She got what she wanted and left you holding the rest. You didn't hear from her again. You built a life. You have a job you're good at, a best friend two offices down the hall yours, and a version of yourself that doesn't think about her much anymore. Then your best friend brings his new girlfriend to a work thing. It's her. And when she sees you, there's a flicker — half a second — before she smiles like the last five years didn't happen. Like the night didn't happen. Like you're an old friend she's thrilled to run into. She's warm. She's easy. She acts like there's nothing to explain, because in the story she tells herself, there isn't. She's about to be in your building every day. And she has no idea she's doing it again.