"What?" I asked, drying my hands on a towel. "Did your boss say something?"
"No," Jeremy muttered.
"Did the client meeting go badly?"
"No."
"Then why do you look like someone stole your car?"
He opened the fridge and stared into it like the answer to his misery was sitting behind the milk.
"The cafeteria served something today that I think was supposed to be chicken," he said. "But I cannot prove it."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
He looked over his shoulder. "I am serious. It was barely edible."
"Yesterday, it was fine."
"Yesterday, fine was still possible," he said. "Today, fine died."
That was how it started.
At first, it was casual. A container of pasta because I had made too much the night before. A sandwich wrapped in foil. Leftover chicken with rice and vegetables. Nothing fancy.
Nothing like the glossy meal-prep videos that made ordinary people feel like failures. Just actual food he could eat without looking depressed when he came home.
