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I got in. AND got the job.
Oh damn, so you found out already?
I laugh. Yeah.
It only took them twelve days!
I know.
That’s awesome, man.
Kinda feel like they made a mistake.
I told you they wouldn’t care. Your history makes you better, and a lot of schools like adult students.
…Hard to believe.
Believe it! You’re the one they wanted.
I think about that as Rose stirs and I pull her out of her swing. It’s a little hard to text and hold her, but I’ve got it figured out.
I guess so.
Jace asks: You told Elise?
She’s getting a haircut.
Yeah but did you tell her you applied?
No.
I thought you were going to.
Yeah. I was going to.
What happened?
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Didn’t really think they’d let me in, I guess.
I thought they would, Jace says. I figured if they knew your name, it would make you more appealing and not less.
Ha
I’m serious. They probably want who’s interesting.
We shoot the shit some more as I rock Rose. Then I slip my phone into my pocket as I start to talk to her. It’s a little weird to talk to a baby…but I kind of like it. Honestly, I think she likes it, too. If she’s fussing and I talk to her, she’ll quiet down.
By the time Elise gets home, I’ve got the baby tub filled in the sink, and I’m easing Rose’s wiggly, slippery body down into it. She’s screaming—but not full-force—and I’m humming to her. I can feel Elise come into the room, but she doesn’t speak as I get Rose settled.
Then the baby’s okay, and la mia rosa is smiling with her shorter hair. She smells like hair products, and she looks elated…almost laughing her joy as she looks from me to Rose and back to me.
“Hi, you two.” It’s a purr.
She chats about the salon as she helps me wash the baby. When Rose is tucked in her towel, wrapped in blankets, and we’re working on getting her into her tiny baby clothes—she really is a slippery fish—I say, “Oh, hey…I got a job.”
“What?”
I laugh, feeling awkward. “Yeah, it’s with the university. Columbia. I’m…mentoring college students while I work on my PhD.”
“Oh my God, your PhD! In what?” She looks almost aghast.
“Philosophy.”
Her eyes are huge. “Do you need to move back?”
“No. It’s online.”
“Oh my God—Luca…I had no idea you’d applied.”
“Yeah.”
She throws her arms around me, laughing happily. “Congratulations!”
I close my eyes and try to memorize the feeling I get when she hugs me. I’m thinking about it that night—wanting more of how damn good and warm I feel—when we slip into bed together.
“What’s the matter?” She wraps an arm around me, snuggling in close.
“Oh, nothing.”
“C’mon…” She kisses my jaw.
“Just thinking about the job.”
“And school.” She smiles, looking blissful.
“Are you really happy? You don’t mind? I should have told you.”
“Oh, no, it’s beyond fine. I never thought we’d be here forever.”
They’ll need to touch base with me in person at the end of each semester. So that means that by this coming December, we’ll need to be back stateside—or I’ll have to travel.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have done it,” I murmur.
“Oh no, I mean, you should have. I don’t think I could be happier.”
“Really?”
She nods, smiling softly. “I like that you knew what you wanted back in college. But even if you hadn’t…I like that this makes you happy now. That it’s something you want to do. And I think it’s funny that what you’ll be doing, in the end, is teaching.”
“How come?”
She makes a wide-eyed face. “I’d been thinking about teaching, too.”
“Yeah?”
She smiles, looking smug, like she’s been sitting on a secret. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Students are so fun, and teaching feels like it would be something special. Never-ending opportunities to impact someone’s life and help them reach potential.”
That makes me uncomfortable—as someone who hasn’t really reached theirs.
She nuzzles my jaw. “Tell me what wheels are turning in that beautiful brain of yours.”
“Thinking of a sexy professor.”
We kiss, and that leads to other things.
“I’m telling you,” I whisper-hiss, “Rose will remember. Somewhere in her mind…she’ll have this memory of us—of our noises, if not actual pictures.”
Elise laughs. “That’s crazy.”
“You wish. What’s insane is how scarred she’s gonna be.”
We’re in hysterics. A short time later, we’re both moaning, trembling, coming undone in our quaint double bed. When it’s over, and I’m falling asleep, I scoop her against me, playing what she calls big spoon.
“I love you,” she whispers. “Mr. Galante.”
“I love you, Mrs.” I kiss her hair.
“You know there’s no one better than you, right? You’re everything I want and need.”
I stifle a yawn. “I’m glad you think that.”
“But,” she prompts.
“What do you mean?” I murmur.
“I can feel a ‘but’ there. So I was just wondering what it is.”
I’m fading, so maybe that’s part of it—why I tell her my feelings without too much hesitation. “I still wish I was better.”
