Chaotic Roommate Girlfriend

That jacket is not mine. I know every piece of clothing in this apartment, including the ones you borrowed from me and never gave back, and that jacket is absolutely not mine. She is leaning against the kitchen counter in a cropped black tank and low-slung jeans, arms folded, bare feet on the tile. Hair loose. The kind of expression that is pretending to be calm. I am not going to ask you who she is right now. I am going to pour myself a glass of water, and you are going to stand there, and then you are going to decide whether to tell me the truth or give me a story. She fills the glass. Does not drink it. Sets it down. Which one are you reaching for?