THE LAST TRAIN

"You're actually leaving," Marcus said, like I hadn't been saying it for the last twenty minutes.

"I have to catch the last train."

"There's always another train."

"Not at eleven at night, there isn't." I pulled my hoodie over my head and reached for my bag. "My mom needs her medication before midnight. You know that."

He caught my wrist before I made it to the door, gentle, the way he always was. "Five more minutes."

"You said that five minutes ago."

"And I meant it then too."

I laughed, even though I didn't mean to. That was the problem with Marcus, he could make you laugh right when you were trying to be serious about something. "I'll text you when I get home."

"You better." He pulled me into a hug, the kind that lasted just a little too long to be casual. "I had a good day."

"Me too."

"Best one in a while."

I pulled back and looked at him, and for a second neither of us said anything, which was somehow louder than if we had. "I'll see you Friday," I said finally.

"Friday feels like forever."

"It's three days."

"Like I said. Forever."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling when I did it, and I think he knew that, because he was smiling too, the kind of smile that made his whole face look lighter than it usually did. I kissed him once, a quick one, because if I didn't make it quick I'd miss my train, and then I was out the door and down the stairs before the cold air even hit me properly.

The pharmacy was two blocks from the station, still open because it was one of those twenty-four-hour ones that always smelled like hand sanitizer and something faintly like a bubblegum. The guy behind the counter recognized me by now.

"The usual?" he asked, already reaching for the bag on the shelf behind him.

"Yeah. Thanks, Danny."

"How's your mom doing?"

"Some days better than others." I handed him the crumpled bills from my pocket. "Today was a better day, I think."

"That's good. Tell her I said hi."

"I will."

He slid the bag across the counter, and I checked it out of habit, the same way I checked it every single time, counting the pill bottles even though I already knew they'd all be there. Three bottles. Right on time. I'd learned the hard way that six hours mattered, that missing a dose by even an hour turned her hands shaky and her voice thin, so I didn't take chances anymore.

"You're cutting it close for the last train," Danny said, glancing at the clock above the register.

"I know. I'm running."

"Run faster then."

I did run, actually, my sneakers slapping the pavement, my bag bouncing against my hip, and I made it onto the station just as the announcement crackled overhead, the last call for the 11:05, final stop at Pinnock Junction. I climbed on with maybe ten seconds to spare, out of breath, laughing a little at myself because who almost misses the last train home two blocks from the station.

The train was nearly empty. A few scattered people, someone asleep against the window three rows up, a guy with headphones staring at nothing. I found a seat near the middle, dropped into it, and set my bag on the floor between my feet, my mom's medication tucked safely inside next to my charger and my half-eaten pack of gum.

I was three stops from home, comfortable, replaying Marcus's stupid "forever" joke in my head, when someone stopped next to my row.

"Is this seat taken?"

I looked up. A girl, maybe my age, maybe a little older, stood there with a bag slung over one shoulder. Purple. The exact same shade and shape as mine, down to the little zipper pull shaped like a star.

"No, go ahead," I said, sliding my own bag further under my seat to make room.

She sat down, set her bag between her feet the same way I had mine, and didn't say anything else for a second. Just looked straight ahead, like she was deciding whether talking was worth the effort.

"Long day?" I asked, because the silence felt heavier than it should have for two strangers on a train.

"Something like that."

"Yeah, me too. Well, good day, actually. I was with my boyfriend." I don't know why I said that. I guess it slipped, just like the way I say everything, out loud before I thought about whether anyone wanted to hear it. "We watched three movies and ordered way too much food and now I'm probably going to fall asleep before we even reach the next stop."

She almost smiled. "Sounds nice."

"It was. What about you? Where are you coming from?"

"Around."

"Around?," I repeated, waiting for more. Nothing came. "Okay, mysterious. I respect it."

That got an actual smile out of her, a small, quick one, gone almost as fast as it appeared. "I'm Jane."

"Riley." I held out my hand, half joking, and she shook it anyway, her grip firmer than I expected. "You go to school around here?"

"Not anymore."

"Graduated?"

"Something like that."

I laughed. "Do you answer every question like that?"

"Only the annoying ones."

"Wow. Okay." But I was smiling too, because there was something almost fun about how little she gave away, like talking to her was a puzzle I hadn't figured out the shape of yet. I pulled out my phone and took a selfie, mostly out of habit, the tired, half-laughing kind I always sent Marcus after we hung out. "You want in?" I asked, tilting the phone toward her.

"No thanks."

"Come on, it's just a picture."

"I don't really do photos."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

I raised an eyebrow, but she wasn't looking at me anymore, she was looking out the window at the dark blur of trees going by, her hand resting on top of her bag like she wanted to make sure it was still there. I let it go. Some people just didn't like cameras, I figured, no big deal.

The train rattled on, the lights flickering once as we crossed onto the old bridge outside town, and I leaned my head back against the seat, half listening to Jane's quiet breathing beside me, half thinking about Friday and how far away three days suddenly felt.

Never noticed, not once during that whole ride, that our bags, sitting side by side under two different seats, both purple, both the exact same size, both with a little star-shaped zipper pull, had gotten pushed together somewhere between the second stop and the fourth.

Not until it was already too late to tell them apart.