«Grace,» he said slowly, «why don’t you ever dress up anymore?»
I looked down at myself, confused. «I just got off an eight-hour shift. I have to be at the office building in an hour to clean.»
«I know, but don’t you want to look nice sometimes? For yourself?»
I felt something cold settle in my stomach. «Brandon, I barely have time to sleep. When would I dress up? And for what? To scrub toilets?»
He didn’t say anything else that night, but the comments stuck with me. I started noticing other little things. The way he’d turn away slightly when I tried to kiss him goodbye in the morning, like my Save Mart vest embarrassed him.
The way he stopped inviting me to medical school events. The way he’d suggest I maybe take better care of myself. During his fourth year, the comments got worse.
He started comparing me to other people without even realising it.
«Jeremy’s girlfriend just started her own business consulting company, she’s really impressive,» he would say. Or, «Did you see what Dr. Sanders’ wife was wearing at the graduation preview? That’s the kind of elegance that really stands out.»