The Tooth Hurts

Summary

My tooth had been staging a week-long protest, and I’d finally decided to negotiate.

Of all the dental chairs in all the city, I had to end up in my ex-boyfriend’s.

He wore a poker face, his voice flat. "Open up."

A moment later, the verdict. "It can't be saved. You need a root canal, then a crown. Thirty-five hundred."

My whole body went rigid.

Holy shit. That’s half a month’s salary.

How could the same mouth I had once kissed so passionately utter something so clinically cold?

My voice trembled. "Is there… any way to make it cheaper?"