This is how it ended: Let's keep in touch.
Before that, I sat next to her. I watched her brown bangs, the light freckles, and the red raw cuticles of her nervous fingers. She never turned toward me, and I knew.
Before that, she came into the large meeting room and sat down next to me. She asked a question before I asked a question. I don't remember the sound of her voice.
Before that, I was prone on the marina, poking at the moon jelly while she crouched next to me. I nudged her leg, and felt the firmness of her skin.
Before that, on a coincidental walk together to a meeting, I told her I wished I'd made a big jump, a clean break, a fresh start. She laughed.
The first time was this: walking by a door, I saw her, she saw me, and I began to remember her.