A few minutes and twenty-three ceiling cracks later, Riley ambled—waddled, when out of earshot—into the office. She patted her stomach, saying something quietly to the growing baby inside before easing herself into the oversized armchair she’d forced her husband to drag up four flights of stairs during her first pregnancy. Hannah had been an intern then, just out of graduate school, and one of only three staffers at the yet-to-publish-an-issue Deafening Silence New York, the offspring of the small but well-loved Los Angeles–based Deafening Silence.

That had been five years ago—five years of New York’s finest indie music scene. Since then, the staff had bumped up to ten. Hannah had gone from intern to staff writer to columnist, finally settling in as the Long Island section editor last year. It wasn’t the most glamorous gig, but she had gotten to interview bands like Taking Back Sunday, Brand New, and Nine Days—not that anyone remembered who they were until she sang the chorus of their single. It was a lot of growth for five years, and editor by thirty was nothing to frown at. Still, Hannah felt the itch for bigger things, better bands, and a salary that did more than keep the electricity on.

“What is it this time? Did Henry pitch the Halloween feature on the Amityville House again? Did Anita spell ‘Hauppauge’ wrong for the thousandth time?” Riley rolled her eyes, but her tone was endearing. “Do you need another intern?”

On any other day, these topics would’ve sent Hannah straight to Riley’s office. “No, the team is fine. I’m actually... well, I’m checking in on what we talked about a few months ago.”

She didn’t have to look up to know that Riley was wringing her hands. Her boss had done it the entire conversation last time while making promises they both knew she couldn’t keep, both of them agreeing to believe the lie. Until today.

“Nothing’s changed. The management team in LA is focused on starting editions in other regions, but we don’t have the investors. Without investors, we can’t expand to Boston, Chicago, Austin. And without expansion, we have no money.”

“Without money, you can’t fund health insurance.” Hannah sighed. They’d been talking in circles for a year. “I know all this, but it’s been two years already. Do you know how much I pay for the barest of minimum plans right now? If anything happened, I would be in serious trouble.”

“I know, Hannah. And I know I promised you I would do everything I could when we made you editor to get you insurance, but the higher-ups are just not... it’s not in the plan for at least the next year. Boston is their priority right now.”

A year. That meant another year of downing vitamin C at the first sign of sniffles, fearing that every ache would turn into something requiring medication, and forcing her knee into compliance with RICE.

When she’d quit Starbucks two years ago to take on the more demanding columnist position, she’d not only lost the extra income but the health insurance to go with it. As a staff writer, she hadn’t needed to keep a second job, but Starbucks had kept her insured and supplied her with free coffee. It had also given her a built-in space to conduct interviews. But as a columnist, she couldn’t manage both. She’d been on the cusp of leaving Deafening Silence—even going as far as to polish and preen her resume and collect writing samples—when the editor position had come along last year. The pay increase had also helped convince her to stay despite the lack of benefits. She hadn’t planned for a car accident and a bum knee.  

“How do they expect to hire a team in Boston without a competitive benefits package?” If things weren’t so dire, Hannah would have rolled her eyes at herself. Competitive benefits package?

“They’ll bring in people from the other editions, take on interns and freelancers,” Riley said, still wringing her hands, “just like we did when we came to New York.”

“You can’t build a magazine on interns.”

Riley smirked. “But we did, didn’t we?”

The compliment warmed Hannah, even though she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, she’d done way more than any normal intern would have been expected to. Riley had thrown her into the Warped Tour press tent in her first week with a simple “Have fun. Don’t act starstruck.” It had only gotten crazier from there.

“Deafening Silence wasn’t built on me.”

“No, not entirely. But without you, well... I probably would’ve left a long time ago.” Riley sighed, and Hannah finally looked up. The tears she’d heard in Riley’s voice were real. Riley moved her hands to the right of her belly where she could feel the baby best. “Which is why I should’ve said this to you two years ago—we can’t give you what you need. If you have to leave, I can make some calls.” 

She meant it. Hannah knew Riley, and though Riley didn’t want to see her leave, she would help Hannah go. Deafening Silence New York was Riley’s baby—she’d literally moved across the country to start it five years ago when the editorial board decided they wanted an East Coast addition. And while her husband had continued to write for big-name music magazines, Riley had stayed the course. That didn’t mean she expected anyone else to stay with her. But this was New York City—half the jobs were being covered by interns or freelancers, and the other half had thousands of applicants. It didn’t help that Hannah was either vastly overqualified for many of the positions or lacking several years’ experience despite her editor title.

Just as Riley had avoided saying that line for two years, Hannah had circumvented the reality of her situation. She couldn’t stay. Open enrollment season was only a few months away. Thanks to her thirtieth birthday, the dirt-cheap plan she had would disappear, leaving more substantial plans with higher premiums. She could afford one if she sold her car.

“I should go check and make sure Henry didn’t try and slip that feature into the layout again,” Hannah said, turning on her heels. The weight of Riley’s stare followed her out of the small office.

Hannah returned to her desk, flipping open her email out of habit. There were three new messages but nothing that required any mental space. Damn. A ridiculous intern email was exactly what she needed right now. Hell, she’d even take Dave’s brutal edits on her article. Hannah swiped at her face, found it thankfully dry, and turned her gaze to the fading daylight.

HANNAH STARED DOWN at the bustling streets of Greenwich Village. She still sat at her desk, feet up and a piece of leftover cake in her hands, despite the workday closing. The streets, crowded at nearly any time of day, were filling with streams of nine-to-fivers ending their days and NYU students heading to local bars or the Public Theater. Life in New York City never stopped; it barely even paused. Days like today, she relished the chatter and the reminder that she’d chosen New York City and it had chosen her back. She blinked back a few lingering tears, watching a group of twenty-somethings clamor down the street, laughing and roughhousing. They wore no campus gear, but she saw them three times a week at this time. Sometimes she imagined they were law students fresh out of their torts class, their faith not yet marred by competition. Other times, they were writers just out of a workshop at the Lillian Vernon Writers House. She envied their made-up lives. NYU had been the dream, but a full-ride scholarship far outside New York trumped any hopes she had of her parents footing the larger bill.

Hannah stared at the white carnations from Will—Will, who wanted to marry her. Seriously, he was insane. They hadn’t spoken in years. Not to mention, what did they know about getting married? Hannah hadn’t been in a functional relationship since her post-grad days. She pushed herself back into a seated position, adjusting until her knee didn’t feel like death. Brian was right—she needed to do something about her knee, though she didn’t see how that was possible.

She picked a carnation out of the vase, running her fingers over the petals. She was certain Will had health insurance. He was a lawyer, according to his LinkedIn account—and a good one based on the size of the ring. And he would get something out of being married, too, right? Nothing about his online profiles gave her any clues. It didn’t matter. They weren’t actually getting married. She placed the flower back in its vase, smiling. He had remembered her favorite flower after all those years.

HANNAH ROLLED OVER for the fifth time, pulling the comforter tighter around her. She hated Brian’s bed, with all its lumps and caverns and no Binx to keep her feet warm.

“Seriously, babe,” Brian said, pushing himself up on his elbow, “I love you, but I’m about to kick you out of bed. What’s going on?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in her pillow. Too little sleep had Hannah on edge, her brain unable to decompress and let go of all the possibilities. It didn’t help that, aside from a curt “Yes, no thanks to you” when Hannah asked if she was alive, Kate refused to answer her phone. Hannah had been desperate to tell her about the pact. She’d even shown up at Peace Love Yoga with a latte and the latest edition of Talented as penance, but Kate hadn’t been at her normal Friday-evening class. Running to clear her head was completely out of the question. Even on her best days, it was hard. And with the never-ending rain, her knee hurt like hell. And what an idiotic idea spending the night with Brian had been, as if seeing him would have made everything make sense. Instead, she felt like she’d been lying to him all night.

“Kate is ignoring me,” Hannah said. At least it was the truth—or part of the truth.

Brian made a face but didn’t say anything.

“Why the face?”

“No, it’s nothing. Sorry. I didn’t know you and Kate fought... ever.”

Why did that comment not surprise her? “Of course we fight. Have you met Kate?”

“Yeah, but enough to make you toss and turn?”

“It’ll blow over,” Hannah said with a shrug. “She called me to save her from a date, and I didn’t come through.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Hannah asked, curling her knees up as much as her right one would allow.

“Yes, I hate that you and Kate do that. It’s unfair to the guy. You think they don’t know it’s staged? How hard is it to spend a few hours with someone you don’t like?” His expression lightened. “I’m doing it right now.”

“Hardy har har,” she said, slapping at him half-heartedly. She stretched her knee back out with a sigh. After two rainy days in a row and at least one more predicted, her knee was going be locked up for a week.

“Have you thought about more physical therapy?” Brian asked, falling back against his pillow.

“You know I can’t afford—” She stopped, an idea suddenly taking shape. She didn’t need to marry Will for health insurance if she could marry Brian. How hard is it to spend a few hours with someone you don’t like? Hannah had been doing that for months. Brian had been sliding further down the boyfriend-quality chart for a while, but he had his moments. Maybe marriage was exactly what he needed to finally get his shit together.

“What if we got married?” she asked tentatively.

“Did you just propose to me?” he asked, his voice deep with what Hannah could only call fear.

She sat up, keeping the blanket wrapped around herself even though his apartment was always distastefully warm. “Hear me out, Bri.” He didn’t say anything, which, knowing Brian, wasn’t a good thing. She plowed on. “I know we’re not ready to be publicly married, but we can go down to city hall and make it official. No one has to know. Then I can go on your health insurance.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

Hannah shook her head. “It would only be illegal if we pretended to be married.”

“Okay.”

Hannah’s heart raced at the word. Had he just agreed to marry her after everything?

“What do I get out of this arrangement?”