thought we were going together.” “We are,” I say. “Just . . . maybe I’ll get an apartment, once I have a job. And then we can . . . see.” “We can see,” he repeats flatly. “Does this just apply to living together, or the whole thing?” “Just living together.” I shake my head. “You can’t actually think I’m considering—” “I don’t know,” he interrupts. “Because I thought things were fine, and now we’re having a conversation where I had to use the phrase ‘break up’ twice, which feels pretty fucking awful, by the way.” “I don’t want to break up.” “You sure about that, princess?” “I don’t want to
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