You Are Not Alone by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen
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numbers never lie. Statistics, charts percentages. They don't contain hidden agendas or shades of gray. They're pure and true. It isn't until people start meddling with them, spinning and shaping them that they become dishonest. Data book Page one two Wine glasses are on the coffee table evidence of a romantic night. I clear them away, rinsing the ruby colored stains, pooling at the bottom of the goblets. The coffee is brewing, filling the galley kitchen with the aroma of the dark roast beans Sean introduced me to when I moved into his Murray Hill apartment 18 months ago. I turned my head of the sound of a key in the lock, and a moment later, he comes in stepping out of his flip flubs. He's humming like he does when he's happy. He's been humming a lot lately. Hi there, I say, is He sets down a shopping bag from Whole Foods with a bouquet of purple tulips peeking out the top. You're up early. His thick, gingery hair is sticking up a bit in the back, and I suppressed the urge to reach out and run my fingers through it. Thought I'd pick up breakfast. He unpacks eggs and Chris aunts and strawberries. As I reached for the corral off of coffee, Shawn's bedroom door opens. He quickly gathers the tulips. Is his girlfriend. Jodi walks into the kitchen. Good morning, she says. Stretching. She's wearing a pair of Shawn's boxers, which are almost covered by one of his big hoodies. Her curly hair is up in a high ponytail, and her toenails are painted bright pink. Sean gives her the tulips and a kiss. I quickly turn away, busying myself, opening the fridge in pouring almond milk into my travel mug. Enjoy breakfast, I say. I'm heading out to get some work done. On a Sunday, Jodi crinkles her pert little nose. I want to revise my resume. I have an interview tomorrow. I grabbed my tote bag containing my laptop off the bench by the front door beneath the bench. Jodi sandals are nestled next to the flip flops. Sean just removed. I use my toe to nudge apart their shoes. Then I descend a flight of stairs and step outside into an already muggy August morning. Not until I'm at the corner. Do I realize I left my travel mug on the kitchen counter? I decided to treat myself to a nice lot instead of going back to the apartment. These days, I spend as little time there as possible because numbers never lie and two plus one equals to money.