Page 195 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“It took forever,” I explain, stabbing noodles with more force than they deserve. “And it still expects me to receive updates about florals. I don’t want to be in the group chat of consequences. I want consequences to arrive, do their job, and leave me out of the administrative follow-through.”

Forrest’s mouth moves.

“Don’t laugh,” I warn.

“I didn’t.”

“You thought about it.”

“Briefly.”

I eat a bite of noodles and realize I am starving, which is embarrassing. My body has been doing this all week. Waiting until Forrest looks at me and says eat before remembering that food is a concept we support.

“I thought I’d feel more,” I admit.

Forrest’s gaze stays on me.

I shrug. “Vindicated. Triumphant. Maybe glamorous in a revenge dress, except I’m wearing sweatpants and one of your shirts, so really, the branding is confusing. Less femme fatale, more woman who knows exactly where you keep the extra forks.”

“You don’t have to enjoy it.”

“I know.” I take another bite. “That’s the weird thing. I don’t need to. I don’t need anything from it. Everyone finally caught up, and I’m just sitting here wondering if I should rewrite my resignation email to sound less like a woman sprinting toward dental coverage.”

His eyes drop to my laptop.

“You wrote it?”

“Drafted. Minimized. Judged silently.”

“You want to quit.”

“I plan to quit the nonprofit if you offer a good salary, Wolfie.”

His gaze comes back to mine.

“I offered a good salary,” he says.

“You offered a concept of salary.”

“I gave you a number.”

“You gave me a number while standing near votive candles, which makes it legally unstable.”

“It was six figures.”

“It was a deeply attractive number,” I agree.

“With benefits.”

“Stop.”

“And dental.”

I press my hand to my chest. “You can’t say dental like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a man trying to get me out of my pants.”