The door to Pastor Evan’s apartment was propped open with a woman’s shoe. A dainty sneaker, bleached white. Inside there was laughing. Whitney’s laugh was most prominent, as usual. Whitney laughed a lot, and until that moment standing at the door with Claudia, Trevor had thought her boisterousness attractive. Not anymore. Her laugh was an affront now. Like a waving flag of ignorance. This was going to end badly. Trevor grabbed Claudia’s hand and turned to leave, but Whitney was too quick, bounding from inside the apartment to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Trevor!”

He endured her hug, and then Whitney stiffened when she saw Claudia behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not even trying to hide her displeasure.

“I asked her to come,” said Trevor.

Before Whitney could continue her questions, someone hollered from the kitchen: “Trev! Where’s the pizza? I’m starving!”

Shit. He’d been on the schedule to bring pizza this week and he’d forgotten. If Claudia hadn’t been with him, if he hadn’t felt the need to protect her from Whitney, he would have made a joke about being a bonehead, but he just stood there. Pastor Evan’s wife, Andrea, rescued him.

“I’ll call,” she said, pulling out her phone. “We can get started.”

Around her, the dozen or so people gathered for the Sunday evening session started choosing seats: on the sofa, the IKEA coffee table that doubled as a bench, the kitchen chairs, pillows on the floor.

“I’m Andrea,” she said, extending her hand to Claudia. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” said Claudia. She sat down next to Trevor on the rug. Pastor Evan asked everyone to hold hands and Claudia went along with it, even bowing her head when they started to pray. Trevor felt deeply embarrassed by the earnest rituals. What good would all this do her? Claudia didn’t need forgiveness. He didn’t know what she needed, but he knew she wasn’t going to find it here.

CLAUDIA

If she’d been able to form a coherent thought at all, she would have said no thanks when Trevor invited her to church. Church! In an apartment! And her fucking roommate from Texas giving her the side-eye the whole time. She made herself stay put through the pastor’s little sermon and then bolted down the stairs and walked toward Washington Square Park. It was the warmest evening yet this spring, the sky still blue but the streets and buildings darkening. A month ago she would have thought the temperature hopeful: Summer! The Vineyard. The beach and the boys and riding her bike along the flat paths. Legs pumping against the wind. But hopeful was not a description she could imagine giving to anything now. Hopeful had been fried.