Now he’s certain his blood is the temperature of his coffee. “I’m sorry, I have a class to teach,” he says, turning to leave. “Jenni Grant, you said? I’ll make sure campus security has your name.”
He’s not sure where the sudden protectiveness came from. Maybe Ramona ignited it in him—not just for himself, but for her. For his family.
Maybe he needs to be taking more precautions. He’ll install a heightened security system for his sister tonight after work. Even if Ramona can only be his student, it can’t hurt to be overly careful.
He’s still shaky with adrenaline when he gets to his office, fighting the urge to tell her about it. Before he can make a decision, his phone buzzes.
Ramona:see you in class.
—
But he doesn’t see herin class. When she’s not there on Wednesday either, a tiny part of his ego wonders if maybe their friendship breakup—he can’t think of another term—is the reason, but he dismisses that when she sends an email with all her professors in the recipient line, a curt message about being out sick.
When she’s not there on Friday, he starts to worry.
“Did you go to a basketball game with Ramona Wilder?” Lola Adebayo asks at pub trivia.
He bristles, wondering how far this has spread across campus. “She, uh—had an extra ticket.”
“Huh. You’d think someone like her could afford better seats.”
After they lose to the Know-It-Ales by an agonizing two points, he falls in step with Jozef Brodzinski on the way to their cars.
“You doing all right?” Jozef asks, and for a moment Nick’s terrified he’s going to try to needle information out of him like the others. “You were a bit quiet tonight. I thought you were going to get that question on neurons, but Sam beat you to it.”
Nick pauses on the sidewalk, lets out a deep exhale, and Jozef waits there with him. The linguistics professor is a late-thirties, proudly bald man with a slight reddish beard and a conviction that none of their American beers hold a candle to Poland’s. “I suppose things…are a little complicated right now.”
“I’ve noticed everyone else talks about their personal lives quite a bit. But you…” Jozef trails off, as though uncertain about bringing it up. “I think I know more about Fumiko’s kids than I know about you.”
“Why does this feel like you’re the one psychoanalyzing me,”Nick jokes, but Jozef has a point there. In the aftermath of the divorce, he’s retreated into himself more than he would have liked. He knows he’s been withholding at trivia, as though slotting his teammates into a column markedWorkjust because they all happen to teach at the same place. Maybe that’s why he clung to Ramona so easily, so quickly.
“You know I got divorced last year,” he continues, and Jozef nods. His team really only knows the basics, and for the first time Nick wonders why he’s kept the details locked so tight. “It was a rough way to realize most of our friends were other couples. I’ve been…sort of out of practice.”
“Ah, that’s difficult. When I left Warsaw, I left the woman I thought I was going to marry. She wasn’t ready to make that kind of move yet, and I didn’t want to push her. But we couldn’t make the long-distance relationship work.” He sighs, lost in thought. “I didn’t engage as much with everything around me at first, because such a huge piece of my life was back in Poland. So when I had to start over…I didn’t really know where to begin.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nick says, but Jozef shrugs this off.
“It was a few years ago. I’m happy here, but it took some time. The pub trivia has certainly helped.” He gives Nick a pat on the shoulder. “All I wanted to say is that if you ever want to grab coffee or an inferior American beer sometime, let me know, all right?”
Nick laughs, but he’s inordinately touched by this. “I will,” he says, meaning it. “Thank you.”
The warmth of that conversation is enough to keep his mind off Ramona for most of the drive home. By Saturday morning when he heads into the main house for breakfast, he’s startled to see her on the TV screen in the living room, as though thetechnology was somehow reading his thoughts—or maybe he’s been too influenced by Dean Eckhart. Audrey’s on the couch with her homework and a plate of homemade pastries.
“Hey, Aud,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. “What are you watching?”
“My emotional-support concert.” Audrey brushes crumbs onto a plate. “Croissant?”
He takes one, sits down next to her. “This wasn’t the one we went to, was it?”
His niece lets out a groan. “That was the Anywhere but Here Tour. This is the Silhouettes Tour.”
“Right, right.” Onscreen, a slightly younger, far more made-up version of Ramona is stomping around the stage with a guitar slung over a glittery minidress. She’s halfway into a song that’s vaguely familiar, maybe from Audrey’s breakup playlist.
A quick google informs him this was Ramona’s second-to-last tour, for her third album, which was apparently both a commercial and critical disappointment. He grits his teeth at the harshness of that, all sympathy for the pixelated girl pouring her heart out to thousands of people.
“How are things going with Chloe?” he asks his niece.
“Fine.” She doesn’t take her eyes from the screen, and Nick gets the sense that she’s trying to deflect. “Wait, I love this song.”
