Chapter 3

Ethan picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, baby,” he said, like nothing was wrong.

“Hey,” I said, easy. “How are the shoes? Do they feel comfortable? I picked for a long time.”

There was a pause—not long, just the kind of pause where someone is choosing the safest answer.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” he said. “I haven’t really had time to wear them yet.”

Of course you haven’t, I thought. Because the box had stayed sealed. Because the shoes were sitting on Maya’s kitchen counter, still wrapped in the paper I chose.

I kept my voice the same. “You didn’t even try them on?”

“Claire,” he sighed, already annoyed, “I’m busy. ’ve been busy. Lab stuff, seminars, people. You know.”

I could hear the edge in his tone. Not gratitude. Not excitement.Like the shoes were a task I’d assigned him.

I swallowed. It felt like swallowing glass.

Two days ago, when the order confirmed, I’d been so happy I sent him the screenshot like it was a surprise bouquet.

And I told him: Coming Tuesday.

He’d replied , showed no excitement at all.

“Mm.”

At the time I told myself he was tired. Stressed. Mid-study. Not the type to show emotion over a shoe.

Now I understood.

He wasn’t unimpressed because he didn’t care about gifts.

He lacked pride—all jsut because this gift didn’t make him look important enough.

“Yeah,of course.”I said, “I understand.”

“Great,” he said, sounding as if he’d finally been let off the hook. “I knew my girlfriend was always this understanding.And……”

Then he switched, like he’d been waiting for a chance.

“Honestly,” he said, “they’re kind of… young.”

I didn’t answer.

He took that as permission and kept going.

“They’re cool, I guess,” he went on, “but they’re not really… me. It’s like—how do I say this without you getting sensitive?”

He acts like he cares about me so much.

“Just say it.”

“They’re a little childish,” he said. “Like something a freshman would freak out over. In my program, don’t really wear stuff… like that. You know? There’s a certain image.”

I forced my voice to stay soft. “What image?”

He kept talking, calm and confident, like he was doing me a favor by “teaching” me.

“A mature one,” he said, immediately.

“A serious one. I’m not trying to be mean, Claire, but if you actually understand me, you’d get that.”

My stomach turned.

There it was. Not thank you.Not I love you.

Just: If you understand me, you’ll spend better.

He kept talking, faster now, like he’d been waiting to unload this.

“Like, gifts should have weight,” he said. “Something that matches where I’m headed. Not… sneakers.”

Weight.

let out a small, careful laugh, like I was agreeing with him, not bleeding inside

“So… what would have weight?”

Ethan didn’t even pretend to hesitate

“A watch,” he said. “For example.Or…a luxury tie clip. ”

He shifted the topic slightly, trying to make his intent less obvious.

“Something subtle but obvious to the right people. Or a phone—like the newest iPhone. Everyone in my cohort has one, and mine is embarrassing now.”

Embarrassing.

The word hit hard.

I’d watched him eat my cooking, sleep in my bed when he visited, take my comfort like it was air—

then call my effort embarrassing because it didn’t impress strangers.

He kept going, listing like he was building a shopping cart in his head.

“And not some random brand,” he said. “Like—if you’re going to do it, do it properly. You know? It’s not about being materialistic. It’s about… fitting in.”

I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so cleanly selfish.

“You’re right,” I cut in, gentle.

He paused. “I am?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been thinking the same. ”

I kept my voice warm.

“Those gifts… they’re not really right for you. You’re more mature than that. You need something that actually matches you.”

His voice softened immediately. “Exactly. See? You get it.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been putting together something that actually matches you. Like a set. Something you can wear around people who matter.”

I heard his breathing change. Faster. Excited.

His words tumbling out, talking over me.

“Okay, so—if we’re doing watches, there’s this Patek model I’ve been—”

“I do,” I said.

“What?”

“I put a watch in the shoebox,” I said. “A Patek Philippe. Classic model. You didn’t see it?”

Silence.

I put the phone back to my ear.

“Ethan?” I said softly. “You didn’t see it?”