“I sent the link three weeks ago,” I said, keeping my voice level. “It only takes two minutes to put in the card number.”
“Busy,” David said.
“It is one weekend,” I said. “I have worked four years for this day.”
“We have to prioritize the investments that actually show immediate returns, Clara,” he said.
“My degree is an investment,” I said.
He picked up the box, walked past me into the garage, and did not turn back when the door began to slide down.
The exhaust from his car was still warm in the evening air, smelling of oil and old rubber.
I stood on the asphalt until the automatic light in the garage timed out, leaving the driveway in dark gray shadow.
The hospital break room smelled of damp concrete and warm polyester. On the counter, a plate of stale donuts from the lobby cart sat under plastic wrap, marked with a hand-written sign that read four dollars.
