Jenny found out that a small puncture wound on one's middle finger caused by a serrated bladed would take about a week and half to fully heal. It left a scar, just as Jeff had done. He'd left before dinner that night, roast chicken and vegetables.

"What's her name, Jeff?"
"What do you mean?"
"I know you. What's her name?"

Jeff shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans and stared at his Chuck Taylor's. His bangs flopped over his face and hung like a little curtain of shame. Jenny was right.

"It's not what you think, we're just friends," he said under his breath.
"You're so full of it. What's her name"
"It's Brenda."
"I knew it!"

Jenny reached for the drawer adjacent to the sink. She wanted her wooden serving spoon. She tugged hard on the handle but much to her frustration it only opened about two inches. Unbeknownst to her the potato masher was in the way. She pulled harder. Jeff awkwardly tried to help but she shooed him off with a serious grunt. Jenny moved her right foot back a good ten inches to get more leverage. She pulled hard and finally the drawer opened fully. She was unprepared for it to give. Her right hand slammed into the drawer and that's when the blade poked her.

She screamed.
"Do I need to take you to the hospital?"
"How, Jeff? You don't have a driver's license!"
"I could go with you in your car."

It was at that point that Jenny kicked Jeff out of her apartment, not figuratively but with her legs.