He hurriedly, and somewhat nervously, rushed about his apartment cleaning and tidying before Mike would arrive. Jeff had bought an old triplex the year before in the historic district of the city, and had been slowly working to rehab each unit to rent out, while living on the first floor. Perhaps not an ideal living situation forever, but do-able for a couple years in the service of acquiring an investment for the future. He had only recently gotten everything pulled back together in his own unit, following the break up and move-out. It had been a real mess at first. Empty. Hollow feeling. But finally, now, it had come back around to feeling cozy. Like home again, mostly. Jeff had started a box for all the little things he found or uncovered that belonged to Mike along the way. Recently, a couple pieces of mail had arrived in Mike’s name—one was the wedding invitation for Colorado they had planned to attend together in the fall. Jeff knew that one in particular was time-sensitive, and although he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to see Mike again, he phoned him to let him know there were some things he might want to pick up when he was able. Mike said he’d come by that day, right after work.

Jeff fluffed pillows, and misted air freshener all while asking himself “What am I doing??” But Jeff needed things to look and feel okay for this. He needed everything to be okay right now.

The doorbell rang.

Desi, Jeff’s dog, ran excitedly to the unit door. Jeff opened it to the common area foyer and paused slightly as Desi ran past—he could see Mike standing on the porch through the large glass foyer doors. He was shifting uncomfortably, and looking around. Mike had always hated the building. Desi ran in circles to try and get to her favorite walker, treat-giver, and snuggler who had been instrumental in allowing her back on the bed at night. She hadn’t seen him for nearly two months either. Jeff wondered, as he walked toward the main entry, how dogs made sense of these things without all the context. People just disappear, and dogs have to move on without any explanation. Perhaps it’s not always that different from people afterall, he thought.

Opening the door, Desi ran out onto the porch and and jumped as high as she could, again and again. She couldn’t contain herself, and was ready for one of their long meandering walks without any dog-rules.

“Hey,” Jeff said.

“Hi,” Mike replied as he simultaneously tended to Desi’s excitement.

They hugged awkwardly in the doorway, and someone mumbled “good to see you.”

The box sat in the foyer. Void of motive. It was just where it had landed. A convenient place to drop things as they were found going between units. The unit above theirs—above Jeff’s—they had used for storage when they merged their furniture and their lives, and while it was being renovated. And so working between the units after the move, finding this and that, the foyer ended up being just a convenient spot to collect things. A space between, precisely as it was feeling in that moment.

They remained standing in the foyer. Jeff had left the door to his apartment partially open. Intentionally. He wanted Mike to come in. He wanted him to want to come in. But Jeff also couldn’t make any further effort at this point. There wasn’t anything left to save, of course. It was more about peace and closure now.

But Mike never looked toward the apartment. Didn’t ask to come in. And didn’t seem to want to spend any time. “I’m busy, busy,” Mike had said in a brief text exchange a couple weeks before, when he also casually divulged he had bought a new place. Something Jeff had already learned from mutual friends.

The foyer smelled musty from all the recent rain, and it was mixed with strong fumes of fresh, dark paint. A color Mike had insisted on months before. It was a heavy space. Heavier now.

“So what’s in the box?” Mike asked as he leaned over to pick it up. It was uncovered, and he could clearly see what was in it. Plus, Jeff had already told him. “Just some odds and ends I found while cleaning up—a couple of framed photos you’d left, those letters and the wedding invite I mentioned over text. Your bike helmet,” Jeff said. And they both thought back to the bike they’d bought for Mike so they could take their first, and ultimately only, long afternoon bar-hopping bike ride around town together.

“You doing okay?” Mike asked with his arms around the box, the only moment of direct eye contact in the entire exchange.

“I’m really good overall,” said Jeff. “And you? You doing good?”

“I’m good. Busy.” Mike replied.

Jeff nodded and began to gesture to extend an invite in for a minute, perhaps to catch up. Maybe to have a real conversation. But Mike moved suddenly towards the porch as he asked Jeff again, “You’re doing okay though?” “Yes,” Jeff replied, confused having just answered that. A confusion that was conveyed in his facial expression, inflection, and body language as well—Jeff wore it all on his sleeve. “Are you okay, Mike?,” Jeff asked again.

“Good. Good.” Mike said as he neared the front door. Jeff instinctively opened it for him.

“Okay, bye Jeff.” Mike said.

“Have a good one,” Jeff replied.

Neither knowing that these would be the last words they would say to one another.

Desi whined, sitting politely now nearby. And Jeff closed the door. He walked back in to the fresh smelling and tidy apartment. And it was empty all over again. What a waste. All of it.

A week or so after he’d picked up the box, Mike was painting his new living room with a friend. They said, “Oh, I meant to ask you—how was it seeing Jeff the other day?” “It was good,” Mike said affirmingly. And for the first time in nearly ten years, he began to cry.