I picked it up out of habit, then realized it wasn’t mine.
It was Arianne’s.
A text popped up on the screen:
[Man, those crabs my boss treated me to were unreal. I’m stuffed. To return the favor, I’ll cook you a whole feast next time.]
My eyes drifted toward the trash can, where the single crab she’d brought home for me sat tossed aside like it didn’t matter.
I let out a slow, humorless breath.
...
The next morning, I woke up early, took a shower, and blow-dried my hair. Just as I was about to head out, Arianne finally stirred.
“Where are you going? It’s the weekend,” she mumbled.
“Company team-building,” I said.
“Oh, right.” She pushed her hair off her face. “If Hudson ends up staying over, make sure you buy condoms. I tossed all the expired ones.”
I didn’t bother responding.
I just turned around, hit the elevator button, and walked out.
Arianne had always been anxious about the number of female coworkers at my job. For six years, she had tried to persuade me to quit more times than I could count. To help her feel more secure, I cut off all social activities outside of work.