Page 16 of Given Our History

“I’m busy,” Goodman says.

“We haven’t even settled on a meeting time,” I remind him, but he just shrugs.

Trina gives me an apologetic look. “I’m already spread a bit thin between this and assistant coaching my daughter’s soccer team.”

This time, I don’t bother withholding the sigh. “Okay, so nix the gala idea, then.”

“Put me on the subcommittee,” Teddy says.

I look up from the agenda, frowning. “But you’re only visiting.”

“And you only need the subcommittee for one semester. Right? You plan the gala for this fall and then you apply for tenure. After that, you won’t need me, anyway.”

Need—that’s a funny word. There was a time when I thought that I needed him like I needed oxygen, that everything would come crumbling down if I wasn’t able to call him every night before bed, every time I had a fight with my mom or bombed an exam. It was a naïve, childlike understanding of what it meant to love someone, because the truth, as it turns out, is that you don’t need anyone. You can love them with all your heart, but you don’t need them. When they walk away, you don’t stop breathing. The world keeps spinning, and life goes on.

“As chair of the scholarship committee, I would need to be present for all subcommittee meetings,” I point out, as diplomatically as I can. I want to make sure he knows what he’s signing on for.

He nods. “Makes sense to me.”

I hold his gaze for a couple of seconds before turning to Trina for approval.

“There aren’t any rules against a visiting professor serving on a committee as far as I’m aware,” she says slowly.

I mull over my options. It’s a solid idea. And we’ve managed to be civil so far. Plus, I was already anticipating seeing Teddy around campus—a few subcommittee meetings shouldn’t make much of a difference.

“Someone needs to make the motion,” I say. As chair of the committee, I’m not allowed to initiate the approval process.

Trina raises her hand. “I move to form a gala subcommittee.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and for a split second, I wonder if the other two committee members are going to outright refuse to participate. But then Goodman heaves a sigh and tosses up a hand. “I second the motion.”

“All in favor, by show of hands?” I ask. Everyone but Gary holds their hand up, including Teddy, though he’s not officially on this committee yet, so his vote doesn’t count. “All opposed?”

Everyone looks at Gary. Picking up on the sudden silence, he tears his eyes from his phone, forehead wrinkled, and glances around the table. “I’m sorry, were we voting on something?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Goodman says, adding something to his notes—or maybe doodling a stick-figure of Gary. Hard to say for sure. “It passes anyway.”

It’s a little after six and I’m locking up my office for the evening when my phone buzzes from somewhere inside my messenger bag. I fish it out of the side pouch. Two missed calls—one spam and one from Izzy. It must have gone straight to voice mail. Service is always a little spotty in these old buildings.

Izzy: Omg missed you again!! I feel like we need to schedule something at this point

I smile and shake my head, pocketing my keys and tapping out a message as I make my way down the hall to the stairwell. Izzy’s always been better at communicating face-to-face. For a while, after her move to Lisbon, we managed to organize monthly Skype calls—coffee and catch-up, we called them—where we’d each head to a local café, connect to the Wi-Fi, and pretend we were out to brunch together. But after a while, even that fell by the wayside, lost in the hustle and bustle of our two very different schedules.

Clara: Just leaving work. Let’s talk this weekend?

Izzy: Can’t. Headed to Porto Santo with the new girl I’m seeing:/

Clara: Poor you!

Izzy: lol shush!!

Izzy: We’ll talk soon. Promise!! xoxo

I pause at the top of the stairs, my thumbs hovering over the screen. Izzy would drop everything to hop on the phone if I gave any indication that it was important, but then again, it’s not really all that important, is it? There’s nothing urgent about the situation with Teddy, or tenure, or this gala I’m supposed to be planning. I can’t justify creating something out of nothing.

Clara: Sounds good. Have fun in Porto Santo. Love you lots!

“You really shouldn’t text on the stairs.”