The knife was sharp. The meat was tender.

A butcher by trade, I’m more comfortable cutting the meat than cooking it. But I think I can manage grilling a couple sirloins.

My girlfriend would be back in half an hour. With the time crunch, it would make more sense to grab some takeout and do this another day, but the chill in the air let me know this may be the last chance to grill this year.

I lit the charcoal.

The past few months have been rough for her. She was a local reporter trying to make it onto the national stage. Her most recent interview resulted in her crying herself to sleep on the couch, wrapped around a pint of ice cream.

That night, I felt conflicted. The woman I loved was in pain, which broke my heart, but I also dreaded the changes her career advancement might bring.

I already moved across town to be closer to her. Would I now have to move to a major city? How much more time would she have to spend at work? Why’d she have to change everything?

Sighing, I laid the steaks on the grill. I was going to make them Pittsburgh rare, charred on the outside but blue on the inside, in honor of the city her next interview was in.

Like it or not, I knew I would support whatever decision she made. Honestly, she made me a better person. Thanks to the diet we started—her for the camera and me for solidarity—I was in the best shape of my life, with no more bachelor rolls. I’ll admit it’s kind of funny that when we inevitably cheat on the diet, the drive-through worker sometimes recognizes her. I love how her cheeks flush with embarrassment against her bronze skin.

While flipping the steaks over, I was startled by the movement I saw out of the corner of my eye. Out of reflex, I palmed a paring knife and turned to see Maria. I didn’t realize how quiet she could be. It made sense since she was so small.

“You’re home early.” I said smiling.

“What are you doing back here?”

“I was trying to have dinner done before you made it. Please sit down.” I explained while gesturing to the picnic table.

“I don’t want to sit down. I really think you should leave.”

“Look, I know you’re upset about the interview not going how you hoped, but there’s no reason to take that out—” I started, my voice trembling with concern.

“How do you know about that? Who are you?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Don’t act like you don’t know me,”, frustration creeping into my tone. “You did a segment at the grocery store I worked at. We had a connection. I moved across town to be closer to you. We’ve been going to the store, the park, everywhere together ever since.”

She held her hands up defensively.

“Okay. Okay. Did you want to talk about something?”

“You can’t leave!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in desperation. “What I mean is, if you don’t take another job, we could have a happy life together. I’ve already given up so much for you.”

“I promise I won’t leave,” her voice trembled as she tried to relieve my fears.

“What’s my name?”

I searched her eyes for sincerity, but they told me she didn’t know. I had been wrong about her. She never really saw me, just like the rest.

She inhaled to scream.

The knife was sharp. The meat was tender.