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“Do we need the dean’s approval?” Nate asks.
Dillon Norway shakes his head. “No. I’m able to approve it on behalf of the university. I’ll be honest, this is the first time in my ten years as director of this program that I’ve ever had a situation like this come up.”
“First time for everything, I guess,” Nate says.
He slowly nods his head up and down. “Thank you for meeting with me. Both of you. This isn’t how I thought this conversation was going to go. I have to admit, I’m pleasantly surprised. I was preparing to let you go, Nate.”
“I’m sorry to have put you through that,” Nate says.
“Me too,” I add.
“It’s okay. I understand. These matters of the heart often don’t cooperate with our schedules.” Dillon Norway smiles at us. “Cecily, I’m very glad to hear that you’ve found your happily-ever-after.”
Something about that comment assaults me in my gut, and—as if my eyes were just blasted by a puff of cold air—tears spring to fill them. I nod and smile through my now blurry lenses, unable to form words due to the lump in my throat. Nate removes his hand from mine and places it on the back of my head, smoothing my hair just once.
Just once is all it takes.
A tear spills onto my cheek.
Thankfully, Dillon Norway doesn’t notice. Nate does though, and he places that same gentle hand on my knee and gives a light squeeze.
“Well, thanks for taking the time to meet with us,” Nate says.
“Same to both of you. And congratulations. I’ll be in touch.” Dillon Norway waves, clicks a button on his mouse, and he’s gone.
Just like that.
Nate exhales heavily and swings his whole body to face me. “What happened? Are you okay?” His voice is animated. “We did it,” he says. “You did it! You saved my job, CJ. I can’t thank you enough.”
I nod, and more stupid tears fall. I take off my glasses and wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“What is it? Are you totally regretting all of this?” he asks.
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what’s up? Why are you crying?”
I pull my mouth into a smile. “Just overwhelmed. But I’m good. No worries.”
It’s a half truth. The whole truth is that I’m not really sure what this feeling is.
But my rational brain is right. Now is not the time.
“I’m starving,” Nate admits. “Can I take you out to lunch now?”
I nod. Yes—now is the time for lunch, not for this emotional breakdown. I take a rich, cleansing breath. “Can I just wash my face first?”
“Of course. You don’t need all that makeup anyway.”
Fuck. He’s going to need to stop it with the compliments when I’m vulnerable.
I splash cool water on my face, then scrub off the makeup and feel my heart rate come down slowly. You’re fine, Cecily. It’s not real. You did a good thing to counteract a mistake. Now your friend can stay in your master’s program. You got what you wanted.
You’re just following the rules.
Everything is fine.
I check my face in the mirror after drying it with a hand towel.
