Jillian was a 35-year-old woman. Megan was 24. They were both sitting in a gastroenterology office in an upper-middle class neighborhood in Chicago.

“Gee, I don’t know,” said Megan. “I guess this.” She widened her eyes at her keyboard. “I guess I would like to have a job that’s easy like this, but maybe with better pay and fewer hours.”

“Awww,” said Jillian.

“What?” said Megan.

“We do hard work.”

MEGAN THREW HER SKIRT on the floor and said, “Jillian.”

Her boyfriend, Randy, was making dinner. He was cutting a zucchini into slices and laying the slices on top of a frozen cheese pizza.

“Today she burped in the middle of a sentence,” said Megan. “Like it was a word in her sentence.”

“Haha,” said Randy. Megan leaned against the kitchen sink.

“jillian!” said Megan, raising her arms.

“Yeesh,” said Randy.

“She thinks she’s going to become a personal organizer.”

“I don’t know what that is,” said Randy.

“Yes you do.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” said Randy.

“When she told me about it, it occurred to me to say, ‘Well, never in all my life!’”

Megan thought about this and tried to sit on the edge of the sink. “I don’t really know why I wanted to say that. I just want to do my work without having to listen to her dreams.” Megan gestured again. “I don’t want to stress out about her dreams.”

“It’s a really small office, right?” Randy asked. “So, you’re really trapped in there.”

“Completely trapped.”

Megan kept thinking about Jillian and tried to sit on the edge of the sink, but fell backwards into it. She hit her head on the aluminum cabinets. Randy heard this, along with the noise of some dishes.

“You all right?” asked Randy.

Randy walked to the sink, which was attached to the wall shared with the living room. Megan started shaking and said she thought she might throw up. He put his arms around her and lifted her out of the sink. When he looked down into the sink, he cringed.

“I fell on that knife,” said Megan.

“You sure did,” said Randy.

He walked her through the living room while assuring her that she would be fine. Megan’s knees jiggled.

“Here, lie down,” he said. Megan got on her stomach on the bed and Randy pulled her tights down. He looked over at the pile of clothing in the corner of their small, unlit bedroom, hoping to see a pair of sweatpants in the wad.

“I’m going to get something for this,” he said.

“Did I cut myself?” asked Megan.

“You did,” he said.

“I thought so,” she said, and then nearly fainted.