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What is it?” I hear Florence and The
Machine, Shake It Out playing in the
background. It’s not so easy, Flo.
    “I…um…I’m scared.” It’s the truth. It’s just not
all of it.
    “I would be, too! It’s a scary thing. I hear ya.
You know me; I haven’t been in a relationship for three years so I’d be fucking
terrified. I’d be running around screaming ‘this isn’t happening! Make it
stop!’”
    Her delivery makes me laugh, like she meant it to.
I suck up my shame. I got myself into this; I can put my big-girl-pants on, and
get myself out. “Thanks Nico.”
    “Anytime, baby. I’m here for you.”
    I quietly wipe my nose with my jacket sleeve and
take a deep breath. “Love you.” She doesn’t know I was crying. They never do.
I’m the strong one. I have to be.
    “And you know I love you.” I can hear her smiling
through the phone, can see compassion on her face as if she was right in front
of me.
    “Okay I can do this.”
    “Yes you can.”
    “Night.”
    “’Night. Call me later, if you need to. I’ll be up
late.”
    “Okay.”
    We hang up and I look up at the sky, the bit of it
I can see through the tops of the skyscrapers. There is only blackness. The
stars are obscured by the man-made lights of our growing metropolis. I send a
little prayer up to them anyway, asking for strength, and for a way out of this
for me and Josh. I look down as a cab pulls up and lets someone out to go to
the restaurant. I jog over to it, wait for them to pay, and get in. No subway
tonight. I just want to go home.

 

 
    Co-Habitation Day. Yay?

 
 
    “Honey, do you really think that should go there?”
I’m pointing to a poster of Taxi Driver he’s
rested by the wall with plans that we’ll hang it. Right here. There is no way
that disturbing movie poster is going to be the first thing our guests see when
they come over. David would probably love it, but I don’t decorate for David. I
liked the movie, don’t get me wrong – it’s a classic and I get it –
but it doesn’t exactly spell comfy home .
    “What do you mean?” He is covered in sweat and
frustration; his jeans still managing to look hot as fuck. I have a thing for
men’s legs, and the way they make jeans now, the way they hang and you can see
their leg’s outline through the slightly loose fabric, makes me very excited.
    I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead to
scratch an itch without getting it dirty. “Well, it’s the first thing people
will see when they walk in.”
    He wipes his brow, “Yeah?” mirroring me as we
stand toe to toe.
    My baggy open-necked t-shirt falls of one of my
shoulders Flashdance-style as I put my hands on my hips, my head cocking to the
side so that my blonde ponytail hangs slightly. “Wouldn’t it be better in the
bedroom closet?” I smile, knowing that’s probably not going to fly.
    “IN THE CLOSET?” He asks, aghast, shoving his
hands in his pockets and shaking his head.
      “Yeah.
In the closet.”
    “Wow. Okay. Fine, Amber.”
    “You can appreciate it every time you start your
day.”
    “Nice. Whatever – honey.” That last word he
emphasized in a way I do not like. He picks up the poster, staring at me for a
second to tell me he is not happy, and then storms past.
    “You know Josh, whenever people say whatever , it sounds like they’re saying
fuck you, just so you know,” I call out as he walks to the bedroom with his
stupid piece-of-shit poster.
    “Yeah?” he says from the bedroom.
    I cross my arms and say loudly so he can hear me,
“And THAT tone just implied you’re fine with it sounding that way… and that I’m
right!”
    “Why wouldn’t you be right? Why would this day be
different from any other?” he mumbles under his breath.
    “I heard that!”
    Josh stalks out of the room and passes me to grab
a box and disappear into the bathroom with it.
    “That box is marked ‘kitchen,’” I tell him,
confused.
    He pops his head out and demands, “I picked it up
and