“It was a scam,” I say. Which I should’ve known. It was nothing I was particularly excited about, not a job in fashion or industry-adjacent, just an entry-level position at an office downtown. But the pay was decent, there were flexible hours for when classes start up again, an inordinate amount of PTO and health insurance. It came out of nowhere. It was too good to be true. I should have known.

“What?” Nate asks.

“The address wasn’t even right. It was their old office.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. Everything looked legit.”

I don’t look at him. “Yeah, well. It definitely wasn’t.”

A moment passes. “You okay?” Nate asks.

“I’m fine.” I pick up the knife again and start slicing the bok choy.

“Okay.” Nate glances down at the cutting board, then heads toward the bathroom. “Smells good.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, a tinge of hope building inside. “It’s almost done. Go take your shower and it’ll be ready by the time you’re finished.”

“Okay,” he says, but he lingers in the doorway.

I don’t say anything. I’m hoping he will, but then I hear the water come on in the shower. When I look back, the door is halfway shut.

When Nate’s clean and dry, he sits down at the table and starts eating immediately. He doesn’t say a word to me, though I feel his eyes watching me, on and off. The air between us feels tense and uncertain. We eat in almost dead silence. Occasionally, I glance up, and when I do, Nate doesn’t look away, but there’s still something distant in his eyes. Contemplative. This lasts for approximately ten minutes until at some point I ask the obligatory how is it, and he mumbles, it’s good, and then I don’t know what to say from there, so I shut up and continue stuffing my face. Even when we’re done and I’m washing the dishes, he doesn’t say much. Only a few words here and there, which is more like politeness than conversation and it stings.

I put the dishes away, sweep the floor and wipe the counters clean. Nate stays in the living room and turns on ESPN. It’s the same routine he’s been doing for the past couple of days. The perfect way to ignore me. I roll my eyes and grab my phone. Any hope I felt withers up and dies.

Five minutes later the sound from the TV stops. I glance over and see that Nate’s still sitting on the couch, staring at the blank screen, his expression unreadable.

I look away and open the fridge for a bottle of water. Just as I close the door, I feel heat easing around my waist, a grip tightening. “Hey.”

I jump and whip around. “God. You scared me.” I’m nearly breathless. My eyes flutter. “Yeah?”