“Yeah!” he nearly yells. “I want that. I think that’s how I’d thrive. But you’re not going to let me thrive, Naomi. I can already tell. You’re content right here in your cement prison—”

“Oh god.” I roll my eyes so hard, I see the spirit realm. “Take up hiking.”

“—begging to get seasonal depression by locking yourself in a dark room and never going outside. Going to work doesn’t count because you’re still sitting in a car during transit. And I see you, Naomi. I see you never looking at the sky or taking the time to stop and smell the—” He sees how excited I am for him to finish that sentence and he kills it abruptly. “You’re barely living, you know.”

“I had no idea you were so thirsty to be one with nature.” I use air quotes around one with nature. He hates it when people use air quotes. “What the hell kind of YouTube videos have you been watching in there on your computer wife? Seriously, where is this coming from?”

“MY HEART,” he roars, and he’s so sincere and agitated that I double over in a fit of laughter. “Shut up! Stop laughing.” He’s pacing now. He’s been putting some deep thought into this. Who is this man in my living room with Armageddon eyes and a yearning desire to skip rocks across a lake?

“I want a helmet with a flashlight on it,” he’s raving. “I want a fireplace. A shotgun in case of coyotes. I want shovels and a shed to put them in. I want a canoe.”

“Don’t let me stop you from getting a canoe,” I say, dead serious. “Nicholas, I’m here to support all your dreams. Please, go get a canoe. I’d love nothing more than to watch you paddle out into the middle of a lake.”

“I need to feel alive!”

“I think what you need is a granola bar and maybe a trial run with the Eagle Scouts.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. That’s why I haven’t said anything. But I’m not keeping it bottled up anymore, Naomi, I swear to god. I’m going to start living the way I want. I’m going to have the life I want, everything I want, no matter what it takes. I don’t have forever; I’m already in my thirties.”

“You’re right, you’re practically an old man. Your time is now! Start living your best life.”

“I’m serious.” He pinches a nickel that’s sitting on the TV stand. “Heads, we start doing things my way. Tails, we stay the same.”

“You want to plan our lives based on a coin toss? That sounds about right.” I wish he’d flip a coin to decide the fate of our relationship while he’s at it. Heads, we break up. Tails, we flip the coin again. We could quit each other right now and blame it all on the coin.

He flips the nickel. It lands on the back of his hand. Nicholas stares at the glimmer of silver.

“Well?”

“I guess you’ll find out.”

“Fabulous, be sure to keep me in the loop.” I sprawl out on our three-seater, arrowing a lazy smile up at him. “Good night.”

“Good night? If you want me to go to bed, then you’re going to have to move. I’m taking the couch tonight.”

“No, you can have your bed full of Skittles. I’m staying right here.”

He storms back to the bedroom and closes the door with a barely audible snick that’s somehow even worse than if he’d shut it violently. I hear the lock turn, and then it’s just me alone in the silence.

We’ve never yelled at each other before. We’re usually so wary of rocking the boat that we’re maybe only eighty percent honest with each other. We’ve both dialed it up to one hundred for once, and logically I know I shouldn’t feel better now but I kind of do. As the minutes tick by and I listen to his dresser drawers close, our mattress springs compressing as he rolls over them as furiously as he can manage, I have an intriguing revelation.

We’ve been together for almost two years, and this is our first real fight.

It takes eight strategically placed pins to make it look like I do not have bangs. The disguise requires twenty-six minutes to perfect, and I skulk into the Junk Yard on Monday breathing a sigh of relief that you can’t tell I’ve butchered my hair.

Brandy notices immediately. “You gave yourself bangs.”

“Things going that bad at home, huh?” Zach adds.

“I used to have bangs.” I touch my forehead self-consciously. My forehead is the first thing I criticize when I look in the mirror. Is it normal-sized? Oilier than most? Foreheads are all I see now. Over the weekend I’ve come across nothing but pictures of beautiful women online and none of them have bangs. I only see pictures of beautiful women with bangs when I do not have bangs.

I Googled how to grow them out faster and ordered an emergency shipment of Mane ’n Tail shampoo and conditioner. I’m taking prenatal vitamins because a forum recommended it for rapid hair growth.

“I like my bangs,” I announce. “This is the new me.”

“Look out, world,” says Brandy, my co-pilot on this adventure into delusion.

Melissa looks at me and bites her lip to suppress a smile. Zach nudges her shoulder and they share twin snickers. For the thousandth time, I wish that Melissa and I were still friends. I love working here, but I loved it even better before introducing Melissa to the man who broke her heart. She’ll never stop punishing me for it.

In spite of her, I still feel lucky that I landed this job. I’d plastered the county with applications but didn’t hear back from anyone except for Mr. and Mrs. Howard. Nicholas kept saying I didn’t need to work, but after being laid off from my old job at the hardware store (which closed down), I got bored piddling around the house all day and needed purpose. A conduit through which I could channel all my free-floating energy before it started shooting randomly off the walls and ricocheted back to blast me.

Mr. and Mrs. Howard were both here for my first day, to oversee my training. It led me to believe they’d be here every day, and when they barely ever showed up again it left me confused as to who I was supposed to be reporting to. So I asked Zach, who seemed friendly, and he had me convinced he was my boss for three months straight. That asshole had me scrubbing toilets for his own sordid entertainment.

Without the owners here to keep us in line, the atmosphere is lax and easygoing. Even though Melissa can be frosty sometimes, our odd group has fun together, goofing off and doing nothing. And I mean nothing, because business is flatlining. Whenever a customer comes in, we end up eagle-eyeing them so intensely that they get weirded out and leave. One week, we were freakishly busy and high-fived each other when the shift ended with a fat cash register, thinking the ship was getting turned around. But nope, everywhere I look there are icebergs. There are holes in the ship. We’re sinking.