Emily had begun staying out later. Sometimes she was with colleagues, sometimes with her sister Lisa, and sometimes with the college friends who still included Jake in nearly every outing. I didn't object to her having a social life without me; I enjoyed my own evenings with friends and needed time alone after difficult workdays. What unsettled me was how often an answer about her plans seemed to be revised after the fact.
She might tell me she was grabbing a quick drink with coworkers, then mention casually the next day that Jake had joined them. If I asked whether he'd been expected from the beginning, she'd accuse me of interrogating her. Once I arrived to meet her for dinner and waited outside a restaurant for twenty minutes, only to learn she'd gone elsewhere because a different group had invited her. She apologized for forgetting to tell me but became angry when I said I'd like to know before rearranging my own evening.
I began trying to make fewer requests. It seemed easier to handle a disappointment quietly than to spend an hour defending my right to have been disappointed. I stopped suggesting elaborate dates because there was always another invitation that might conflict with them. After work I went to the gym, read, cooked for myself when she was out, and learned how to enjoy time alone without deliberately treating it as punishment.
That independence frightened me a little. I had always assumed that the serious conversations, the shared bills, and the routines of living together were evidence of permanence. Now I could go through a weekend mostly on my own and feel both lonely and relieved. I worried that perhaps I was becoming cold, when in truth I was becoming tired of reaching for someone who only seemed to notice my hand when I stopped extending it.
On a Thursday afternoon, Martin called me into his office. His expression was almost apologetic, and I expected him to tell me that a project had been canceled or that our department had missed a budget target. Instead he explained that a planned internal transfer in Amsterdam had fallen through and that the senior position I'd wanted was available again, though the team couldn't keep waiting indefinitely. He had told the hiring manager about my circumstances, and they were willing to consider me if I could make a firm commitment.
"I know what happened the last three times," Martin said. "So before we discuss salaries or deadlines, I want to ask whether you actually want this job." I answered yes before I'd thought about how that answer sounded. He nodded, as if he'd expected it, and told me they would send updated terms that evening. "You don't need to explain your personal life to me, Alex. Just make sure whatever you decide is something you can live with."
I walked back to my desk feeling a rush of excitement I hadn't experienced in months. The new package was better than the first, but it wasn't the money that made my pulse quicken. It was the chance to step into work that challenged me, to meet people I'd only spoken to over video calls, and to stop treating my own desires as embarrassing inconveniences. I opened a map of Amsterdam during lunch and found myself studying canals and tram lines like a kid planning his first independent trip.