Rain or no rain, I have to give him a night’s respite and I need a change of clothes, anyway. At five thirty, a vibrating wrist tells me it’s time to get out of bed. Richard’s building has a gym in the basement, meaning I can run despite the weather. But also that, even stuffing my duffel bag to the brim, between training gear, PJs, bathroom stuff, and day clothes, three days is the max autonomy I have without going back home.

Once training is over, I take Chevron out to relieve herself. When I get back into the apartment, I’m soaked, muddy, and miserable. I hate the rain. Before it started, the city was covered in a coat of fluffy white snow; it was a winter wonderland. But now it has all melted into a gloomy puddle.

After a very long shower, I change into my last spare outfit and kiss Richard awake, kick-starting our morning ritual. Richard prepares the oatmeal while I set a pot of water to warm for the French press. Considering the world outside is the saddest gray, Richard surprises me by staring at the storm with a contented smile.

I measure the coffee beans and put them in the grinder. When the noise is over I say, “You seem awfully happy about the bad weather.”

Richard shrugs, adding a delicious mix of nuts and fresh fruit to our oatmeal. The boyfriend still eats meat, but he’s being surprisingly open-minded about my dietary habits.

“At least one of us is excited about the rain.” I pour the heated water and ground coffee into the press, stir, and set the microwave timer to five minutes. “Can you drive us to Manhattan tonight?”

“Tired of Brooklyn?”

“No, but it’s been raining for three days… I’ve run out of clean clothes.” I sit at the kitchen bar opposite Richard. “I need to go home and pick up some fresh outfits.”

Richard smiles a goofy smile. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There’s a mystical object with the magical power of turning dirty clothes into clean ones. It’s called a washing machine.”

I chuckle. “Most of my things are dry-clean.”

“There are dry cleaners in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. I’d still prefer to go home and get a fresh change. Come on, I can’t show up at work with the same outfit two times in a week.”

“Why don’t you bring some of your stuff here?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t want my wardrobe spread around two places. I’d get confused about where everything is.”

Richard seems disappointed by my answer, but the timer interrupts him before he can express his mind. I plunge the press, pour the coffee, and we eat in silence. The mood has shifted from cozy-homey to awkward, and I don’t know what I did wrong.

Surely, Richard isn’t touchy over my choice of dry cleaners, and I was positive he’d be eager for an evening on his own.

Two spoonfuls of oatmeal, and Richard stops midway through the third to not-so-casually say, “So move everything here.”