I can’t stay here, she thinks to herself. She has thought this to herself every night for the past four months, from the first night she slipped into bed in a rented hotel room to the first night she slept in her new apartment—why did she sign a year-long lease? At least leases, among other things, can be broken—to the first night Jim decided he was going to go ahead and sleep in his own bed that night, alone, no big deal. And last night, after they talked about applying for that job in corporate, she lay next to him in his bed—even though it’s smaller and the sheets aren’t as soft—and thought, I can’t stay here.

            They can leave. They can go to New York, get a great little loft that will cost more than both of their apartments here in Scranton, hang out at clubs that he’s not quite cool enough to get into—but she knows some people, a couple of hostesses, some bouncers; they’ll get in—and have real jobs that have real potential. She has explained all of this to him, and she knows that he knows that she’s right.