Before I can respond, the swinging door opens again, and Greg and Andrew emerge. As Andrew asks Ari to transfer his latte into a to-go cup, Greg turns to me. “Ari mentioned earlier that there was something you wanted to discuss with me?”

Andrew and his hair are suddenly the furthest thing from my mind. It’s this conversation or eviction. I take a deep breath. “Yes, uh… did you… um, did you have the chance to, uh… Did you make a choice? About the new assistant manager?”

Greg sighs. “I’m not sure what you want me to do here, Ellie. I need an assistant manager I can depend on, and you were six minutes late today.”

“I’m sorry,” I say instinctively. “I’ll never be late again. It’s just—I really need this promotion. I just found out my building is raising my rent January first, and with my student loans, I can’t afford to pay fourteen hundred a month making fifteen dollars an hour—” I don’t tell him where most of my money actually goes. Greg Radzinski doesn’t deserve to know about my fucked-up family dynamics. “And I know you want me to have schedule flexibility, so I can’t get a second job unless—”

“I can’t make you the assistant manager because I feel sorry for you,” Greg interrupts. “This is a business.”

The conversation is going about as well as I could’ve predicted, really. “If maybe I could just get an advance on my next paycheck, then.”

“I don’t think anyone has given pay advances since nineteen eighty-seven.”

“I’m going to get evicted,” I mutter, on the verge of tears now. I imagine drawing myself, standing before my boss, sniveling. Portrait of a Sad Woman Shaded in Blue. One panel in a sequence of a thousand similar panels in the slightly fictionalized webcomic about my life. Title: The Perpetual Suck.

I wish I could conjure a different version of myself—a version of Ellie Oliver who didn’t snivel and beg for people to treat her with even a modicum of respect.

“Don’t cry.” Greg’s face goes momentarily sympathetic, and he reaches over to massage my arm. I honestly can’t remember the last time anyone touched me so intimately.

Except I suddenly can and remembering is so much worse. Because remembering the way she held me opens the hole in my heart wide enough to consume me from the inside out.

Last Christmas, I—

“Ellie,” Greg starts, his voice laced with compassion. For a second, I think maybe my impending tears have softened his hardened heart, that maybe Greg will keep me from completely falling apart. “You’re a resourceful girl,” he tells me, squeezing my flesh through my cardigan. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a side hustle.”