I continue my chore of taking out the hangers from her clothes. On a delicate metal wire hanger hangs a dainty scarf. Wait, I got it for her last Christmas. It's a chiffon scarf in her favorite color, a pale baby blue. When I saw it at the shop window, I knew that it was something she'd love, and I would have to get it for her no matter how much it costs. I hold it close to my nose and I breathe in the light scent of her rose perfume, mixed with floral fabric softener. She's been wearing it lately, even though it's the middle of summer right now. I set it down on the bed gently, fearing that I'd damage the soft fabric. 

  I breeze through the rest of the clothes, folding them up and placing them in boxes. I store the hangers in another box and start attacking the drawers. The shirts in her drawer were already folded, so I transfer them into the boxes. There's one drawer left, and since I'm getting in a bit of a rhythm, my autopilot is on and I reach into it without looking. I pull out a silky piece of fabric that's adorned with lace, and no matter how I hold it, I can't seem to tell what it is. Too many holes everywhere. Maybe if I look through the drawer, I can get some context. 

  I peep into it carefully, and I see a bunch of similar silk-lace pieces, along with some cotton and foam. Wait a minute. 

  This is her underwear drawer. 

  I panic because it looks like I've been rummaging through it when I pulled the first piece out. I turn back to look at her, and she's still staring at the box, probably reading some love letter from Wallace. How sickening.

  "Hey Colette, what's going on? You've been staring at the box for about 5 minutes now. I need another pair of hands to help me pack," I say nervously, "I mean, all that's left are your delicates, and I... I'm not too sure if you'd be comfortable with me touching them."

  "Coming," she says.

  She coughs, and it sounded quite bad. It's like one of those coughs that sound like you're coughing your left lung out. It's really that bad. I turn to see if she's alright, and she's all scrunched up, holding a bunch of flower petals in her hand. They fall onto the floor as soon as we make eye contact.

  "Hey Col, are you okay? What's that?" I ask with concern.

  "N...nothing," she replies, but I can tell that she's lying.

  I kneel down on the floor and pick one up. It looks remarkably familiar to something I've seen before, but I just can't tell what it is. It's goes from light blue to purple, and it smells like mint and roses.

  "Wha... what's this?" I ask.

  "It's flower petals, I think my potpourri must have spilled over just now," she answers.

  I didn't know she had potpourri, but then again, I didn't know she's the kind to wear lace undergarments, so who's to ask. I shrug as I continue taping the boxes. After about 10 minutes, it's starting to get a little awkward, and she starts playing some song from some musical that she likes.

"I still don't get why you're so in love with musicals, I mean, for classical musicians, it should be counted as an act of sacrilege," I joke.

"Do you know what's the real deal of sacrilege? People claiming to be the world's fastest musician. I mean, how can you even tell?" She exclaims.

"You do have a point Collie, I'd deem them the most sacrilegious in the land," I say with a fake British accent, and she lets out the most beautiful laugh. I can just listen to her all day. 

  We managed to get all the boxes taped up within 10 minutes and we load them onto the rental truck, and I get in the driver's seat. I wish the packing didn't have to end so early. I really want to savor the last few moments in that place with her. It's where I'd come over to watch TV shows and movies with her every week, maybe stay over sometimes, and I'm pretty sure the neighbors think we're dating. I mean, they even call me her boyfriend (which I'm not too sure if she's aware of that). But that's all ending. I sigh.

  "Let me drive you Col," I say as I turn up Vivaldi's winter on the radio. Oh gosh. Too loud.

  "I can't let you, how are you going to get home?" she shouts over the music.

  I try turning down the music. "I took an Uber here, I can help you return the van later." I accidentally made it even louder.

"You don't have to, you know," she yells as she gestures for me to try the other button. I press it a couple of times, and the music finally turns down.

  "I do, because firstly, you're sick and secondly, it's part of the list of requirements for being best friends with Colette The Great," I kid around, "I'm still driving the van to your mom's, so it's up to you if you wanna get on." 

  I start the van as she gets on and buckles up her safety belt. I let the engine warm up a little as 'Winter' plays softly through the system. Wait, how do we get to her mom's again?

  "Well, you don't happen to have the directions, right?" I ask.

  She gives me a smug little grin as she pulls out the map on her phone. I back out of the parking spot as I lean my arm against her seat. She looks so stoic, but I can tell that she's tired because this is exactly how she looks like at the end of movie nights. It's all so silent, so I decide to address the elephant in the room since it's been there for a good two months.

  "You haven't told me why you're moving in with your mother, you know," I state.

  I look over at her, and I can see some worry in the depths of her eyes, like a deer caught in headlights under layers of calm and collection. Now that I think about it, every time I ask her this, she tries to change the subject. Something must be up.

  "Well, if you must know, I've been a little short of money lately, and I don't have to pay my mom any rent." she says, but I've known her for a decade and she's showing her tell, tucking her hair behind her ear while looking away. I know that's not entirely it. But since this is all she wants to reveal, I can only just go with it.

  "Why didn't you tell me? I could have loaned you some money," I say. It must be true in some way, since she's been looking very stressed out lately.

  "I can't possibly do that. You have needs too, and I'm pretty sure your girlfriend would be mad if she found out," she says, and I can hear some bitterness in her voice. She's not the biggest fan of Diana, but who could blame her? I'm dating her and even I don't like her sometimes.

  "Diana will understand, I mean, if she didn't, I wouldn't be with her. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but it's been kind of tense lately, and I do like her, but I'm thinking about ending it with her..." I pause. 

  I don't want to talk about her anymore.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say?" She asks.

  I don't want to bother her with my problems. She already seems unhappy as it is. And she shouldn't have to be the one trying to fix my issues, especially my only issue is her and Wallace's relationship.

  "Nothing," I sigh.

_

  "I don't like that you're hanging out with her so much. I'm your girlfriend. Not her," Diana says coldly.

  "But we've been friends for over 10 years. I am not letting her go because of your insecurity," I reply, matching her tone.

  "Brett Yang. You go to her house every week. You stay over sometimes. You see her at work, and you two always have lunch together. Do you know how back that makes me look in front of the others? What do you take me for? A toy you play with only when you're bored?" She yells.

  "Come on. She has a boyfriend. She loves him, and she only thinks of me as a brother,"  I yell back. I know it's true, but it still hurts.

  "Slut," she whispers. How dare she?

  "I can't deal with you right now," I say as I grab my jacket and hastily put it on.

  "Sure, go run back to your hussy. What do you even see in her? She's just a cheap whore who can't play for her life, and all she does is huddle around you and Eddy, and pretend to get recognition," she spits out.

  "How dare you. She's much more of a woman than you'll ever be, and she's sweet and kind and talented and caring. She doesn't huddle around me and Eddy, we go to her, because she's just that talented. She's a much better player than anyone in the orchestra, even me, and if it wasn't because of the prejudice, she would have made concertmaster before me. She's been winning violin competitions since she was 11, and she even beat me in most of them. My only regret is not snatching her up before some other guy got to her," I confess angrily.

  "Oh, so you finally admit it?" She shouts.

  "Yes, and I'm not taking it back!" I yell as I slam the door.

_

  That was our first fight among many others, most of them being about Colette. She sent me a long apology that night through text, and since we're still going to be colleagues, I don't want to have her ruining my career if we break up. Most of all, I don't want her going around and calling Colette names. I've been warned by the director that I cannot be the cause of Diana leaving the orchestra, since she's some hotshot pianist and it took the director months and lots of money to win over. She doesn't know that though, about how desperate the director is for her to stay on. Colette was warning me that she might be dating me because I'm the concertmaster and she would stand to benefit from it, and I'm starting to believe her. Why did I ever doubt her? Why was I so jealous and bitter and angry about her relationship that I didn't listen to her?

  I pull into her mother's driveway. The house isn't as far away from mine as I thought it would be. It's equidistant from her old place, my house, as well as Eddy's. I always thought that she had the coolest Mom because being best friends with a person of the opposite gender would always alarm parents, including my own at the beginning, but she was fine with it and she even invited me over for tea sometimes. 

  We start unloading things into her bedroom, and since there are 3 pairs of hands this time, we finish moving and unsealing all of the boxes in about 30 minutes.

  We settle down in the living room and I start pouring milk and iced tea into my glass. I take in the familiar setting. I haven't been here since I was 18 and it was a week before we had to move into the conservatorium. It seems as if everything has been preserved in a vacuum as the house is still spotless, and the white curtains have yet to yellow. Even her mother seems to have stopped aging. It's as if we were 18 all over again. I look over at her, and our eyes meet.

  Colette's been staring.

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