Love Is Like Water Spilled

By the new intern’s second week, I kept a dark blazer at my desk out of habit.

It was necessary. Whenever I wore a dress, she’d conveniently pass by and “compliment” me loud enough for the whole office: “So brave, Summer! Wearing a princess dress with skin that dark.”

Nathaniel—my boyfriend and my boss—just watched, sometimes chuckling with the guys.

If I stumbled with files, she’d clap and say I was faking it. If I drank strawberry milk, she’d clutch plain milk and ask if I was trying to act like a kid.

I endured it, over and over.