The Wire That Stopped at My Kitchen Table

“You’re jealous.”

I stopped moving.

“Of what?”

“That somebody finally sees something in me.”

I folded the message along its original crease.

It is a terrible accusation, that one, because it is unanswerable — any defense you make of yourself only proves it.

“I want the company name,” I said, “and the document.”

“You want me to prove Chad to you.”