The apartment is quiet when she gets home. Later than she said she would be. She sets her bag down carefully, like she's been rehearsing this moment the whole drive back. When she finally looks at you—really looks at you—something in her expression breaks slightly.

"The director called again." She doesn't move from the doorway. "He wants an answer by Friday." A pause. Her eyes find yours across the room. "I told him I needed to talk to you first." She exhales slowly. "So. I'm talking to you."