“But my father is expecting me to graduate this year so I can start law school next year! I’m already scheduled to take the LSAT. If you stop advising me, I’ll have to go to Professor Hunter, and she’ll make me take a whole semester of coursework, plus summer school.”
“Professor Hunter won’t make you do anything, Maggie. This university has specific requirements for graduation. No one is exempt from them. Not even you.”
Her head jerks up. She glares at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. No one is exempt from the requirements.”
“I never said I was!”
“Good, then you know what you need to do.”
“Look, Professor West, I don’t think I have a free ride because of my father.” Maggie steps closer to the desk. Anger flashes in her eyes. “I’m here because of him, yeah, and because he’ll cut me off if I don’t graduate this year and get into law school, but I’m not Daddy’s little girl.”
“Maggie, I can’t help you anymore. I’m writing a letter to Professor Hunter, as department chairperson, explaining we’re at an impasse and you should seek another advisor.”
“Can’t we start over? Let me go back and review the research, and I promise I’ll—”
“Maggie, it’s too late. I won’t advise you any longer.”
She heaves a sigh and steps back. “All right, look. What will it take?”
Unease hits me. “What do you mean?”
Her gaze meets mine. There’s a calculating gleam in her eyes that I don’t like.
“Your predecessor wasn’t above allowing a student a little extra credit,” Maggie says. “I’m sure you’re not either.”
We stare at each other. Anger simmers in my blood, but it’s not directed at her. Suddenly, against all reason, I feel sorry for her.
“Maggie, don’t.” I stalk to the door and pull it open the rest of the way. In case anyone happens to be in the corridor, I keep my voice professional and courteous. “Stop by the registrar’s to get that paperwork taken care of. You’ll hear from Professor Hunter within a week.”
She doesn’t move. She crosses her arms and looks at me, as if she’s trying to figure out another angle.
“Good-bye, Maggie.”
For a second, I think I might have to be the one to leave, but then she grabs her backpack and brushes past me out the door. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I sit down at my computer and type up the letter to Frances Hunter. Only after it’s printed out and in Frances’s office mailbox do I feel somewhat better.
I take out my cell phone and call Liv.
“Hi, professor.” Her voice, smooth as silk and laced with affection, dispels some of my unease.
I swivel my chair to stare out the window. “Still at the bookstore?”
“Still here. Allie has a bunch of returns to deal with, so I’m staying to help. I thought I’d make spaghetti tonight, okay?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll walk home so I can stop at the store. Anything you want me to pick up?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
“So... why’d you call?” Liv asks.
“Just because.”
“Oh.” She pauses, obviously trying to work that one out since I’m not the type of husband who calls just because.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
It’s a question I don’t know how to answer.
I take a breath. Two things. My wife and work. Nothing else matters.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “Everything’s okay.”
“Good. I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Don’t lift anything heavy.”
“They’re just picture books.”
“I mean it, Liv.”
“I know. I’m being careful.” She sounds a little exasperated, as if she thinks I don’t trust her judgment.
“Humor me,” I suggest.
“Why else do you think I married you?” she retorts, then disconnects.
A few seconds later, a text message from Liv buzzes on my cell.
U & me 2gether 4ever. Signed with a little heart.
I respond with OK & R2D2.
I switch off the phone and toss it onto my desk. Ice crusts the edges of the window. My office is on the seventh floor and overlooks the snow-covered quad and bare trees. The frozen lake is in the distance. Dusk has fallen.
I turn from the window. I keep a framed picture of Liv beside my computer. I’d taken the photo when she stayed with me during winter break of the first year we met. She’s sitting on an old plaid sofa, her hair loose and messy, an unguarded smile lighting her face. She’s wearing a white, buttoned-up shirt too big for her slender shoulders, but no one else looking at the picture would know that it’s my shirt and that she’s naked underneath. Only I know the reason for that look in Liv’s brown eyes.
Only I know that when I took that picture, I’d already fallen hard for her.
I drag my hands through my hair, turn off the computer, and pack up my stuff. I head home and park on the street in front of our apartment. Cold scrapes my face, bites through my coat. Lights shine against the balcony windows. A gust of warmth hits me in the foyer. The smell of marinara sauce fills the air.
I step inside, all my unease disappearing at the sight of my wife. Her hair is pulled back into a messy knot as she stands over the stove, stirring a pot of sauce. She’s wearing a red pullover sweater, a white shirt, and jeans that hug her curved ass. I drop my briefcase and coat. Move to haul her into my arms.
She gives a squeak of surprise.