David was there.

It was weeks since we’d spent more than a few waking moments in each other’s company. Sometimes he was simply passed out; most times he wasn’t home at all. Christmas Day had come and gone with no sign of him, and the same was true of New Year’s.

But he was here now, legs spread wide in the beanbag chair, hands folded over his abs. Or what used to be his abs before he became so gaunt.

“When’s payday?” he said the moment I stepped through the door.

I closed the door and hung up my coat. “Salaried employees are paid monthly.”

“You work all month, and you don’t see a fucking paycheck until February first?”

“February tenth, actually.” I banged on the radiator and waited for the hiss of steam before removing my suit jacket.

“Fuck.” With an effort, he hauled himself to his feet. “Six weeks’ work without pay? What the fuck are we supposed to live on until February tenth?”

I’d known about this lag time since my hire date, and I’d planned for it as best I could. I’d worked double shifts at Cubby’s every day from December 20 through New Year’s. Customers’ wallets were looser during the holidays, and I’d been able to set aside a decent amount in tips. I couldn’t tell David that, of course. The money was well hidden from him.

What did it say about my life, I wondered, that a hidey-hole in a dive bar seemed safer to me than my own home?

“I thought I’d sell my laptop and printer to tide us over.” I unzipped my skirt and hung it up with the jacket on a hook over the radiator. “I won’t need them anymore now that I have office equipment.”

“And what I am supposed to use? Huh?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him use a computer.

He grabbed his suit coat and stuck his arms in. He’d kept all of his beautiful suits and still wore them every day. At first I’d found that dashing, the way he’d put together an expensive suit with an open-necked shirt or tee, like he was some kind of dissolute rake, a young noble slumming his way through his gap year. But five years was too big a gap. Now the seams were frayed on his jackets, and he no longer filled out the shoulders. The pants were bunched up at his waist and cinched with a belt that had too many extra holes punched in it. Now he looked like a homeless man. He seldom bothered to shave anymore, and his beach-boy hair had turned to straw.

“Why even take the stupid job?” he ranted. “The bank’s gonna be in there with the garnishment by end of month. You’ll get fired before you collect your first paycheck.”

“I already talked to the payroll people about that. They said it’s no big deal. They’ve got a whole procedure set up. Apparently they have lots of student-loan defaulters.” They were the Creatives, the man in Accounting had confided to me, and they always seemed to be caught by surprise that anyone would expect them to repay their loans.