The Mug at the Back
her mug's still at the back of the cabinet. i put it there. i don't remember deciding to.
everyone's gone. it's just me and the cleaner's cart two floors down, i can hear the wheels turning on the tile.
i went to the kitchen to rinse my cup and her mug is still at the back of the cabinet where i put it. i put it there. i don't remember deciding to. someone new sits at her desk now, a nice guy, keeps his headphones on the whole shift. he doesn't know whose chair that is. why would he.
we weren't even that close. that's the part i keep landing on. we ate lunch in the stairwell maybe twice a week because the break room was always loud, and she'd read her own emails out to me in this flat voice until i laughed. four months since her last day. i still open our old chat to type something dumb and then remember she won't see it at work, she's not at any work i can see.
i moved her mug behind the tall glasses so nobody grabs it by accident. i've done that before. tonight i caught myself reaching to do it again before i'd even used it.
the cart's on my floor now. i should go home. i left the mug where it was.
Did this one stay with you?
Keep reading
More like this
Stories in the same key
Picked for the feeling they share with the one you just read.
Twenty Dollars More, Quietly
I organized her whole send-off and paid extra into the gift fund. Now that she's gone, what I feel isn't grief.
Five Months Under My Name
I've been first in and last out for five months. Tonight the only other person still here almost got the real reason out of me.
The Voice I Couldn't Turn Off
Mid call, a text says the ceiling's leaking at home. I finish in my customer service voice and can't find my real one after.