Page 76 of Given Our History

“I don’t know.” I sniffled. “You guys argue. Sometimes you don’t seem happy.”

“That’s not true,” he said, sounding a little offended. “Sure, we argue, but I couldn’t ask for a better partner than your mother.”

“But don’t you ever wonder if you were really meant to be together?” I asked. “If it was … fate, or something, or if the person you’re really meant to be with is still out there somewhere, and it would’ve all been so easy with them, but instead you’re with the wrong person, you took the hard road—”

“Clara,” he interrupted, more serious than I’d ever heard him, “love is the hard road. The person you’re meant to be with is whoever you choose to be with. And you’ll have to fight for it and make sacrifices for it every step of the way. You just have to choose someone who’s worth all that trouble, and then you have to keep on choosing them, every day.”

CHAPTER30

PRESENT

I meet Izzy inside the airport. She’s tan despite it being winter, her thick black hair gleaming beneath the harsh overhead lighting. I didn’t know it was possible for hair to look that perfect after a seven-hour flight. She nearly runs over some lady’s foot with her rolling suitcase as she dashes across the airport and yanks me into a hug.

“It’s been too damn long,” she says, her chin balanced on the top of my head. She’s always been statuesque, but it’s easy to forget just how tall she is. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You really have no idea,” I mutter. My cheek is sort of pressed into her cleavage. I think she forgets how tall she is, when it comes down to it. “This week has been—” I blow out a breath. “Let’s just say it’s been a lot.”

She pulls back, alarmed, holding me at arm’s length like she needs to inspect me for bumps or scratches. “Are you okay?”

“No?” I say, not entirely sure myself.

“Is it the holidays?” she asks. “I’m sorry to ask you to pick me up in the middle of everything, I know this is a stressful time of—”

“It’s not the holidays,” I say.

After that, there’s no avoiding it. Everything that’s happened comes pouring out, word vomit right in the middle of the airport. People are giving us weird looks. Izzy ushers me out to the parking garage, where we sit in my Volvo while I explain the confrontation with the advisory committee, the rejection letter, the argument with Reagan, and Teddy. A lot about Teddy.

When I finish, I flip down the sun visor and swipe at my damp cheeks, trying to preserve the concealer I applied this morning to create the illusion that I’d actually gotten sleep. Izzy watches me, sympathetic.

“Do I sound like a total mess?” I wonder aloud. I’m not used to being the messy friend. I’m the neat, methodical one. The only person who’s ever had me beat in that regard is Teddy.

“Honestly,” she says flatly, “you sound like you could use a drink.”

After dropping Izzy at the house so that she can shower and settle in, I swing by campus to talk to Julien. It’s the Saturday after end of term, but when I emailed him asking whether he had a minute to talk, he suggested we meet on campus. Snow blankets the quad, pristine but for a few sets of footprints like baste stitching on an unfinished quilt.

I climb the stairs in the Hall of Letters to the third floor. The rooms are mostly dark, abandoned for the holidays, but I slow when I notice that one of the doors is propped open, warm light spilling out into the hall. It’s not Julien’s office, but I nudge it wider, announcing myself with a verbal, “Knock, knock.”

“Holy balls!” Bel springs off the floor, clutching her chest. “You scared the crap out of me. What are you even doing here?”

Her desk is barren, battered cardboard boxes on the floor are stuffed with books and boxes of staples and sticky notes, and a roll of clear packing tape rests on the chair. “I could ask you the same question,” I say, looking around at the mess. “What’s all this?”

She settles back on the floor. “I’m packing. I’ve been offered a position on the tenure track at Georgia State.”

“Congratulations,” I say. Bel’s been talking about wanting a job back in Atlanta since I first met her three years ago. “Seriously, that’s amazing. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you.” She tapes up one of the boxes, but she glances over with mischief glinting in her eye. “Not sure my committee participation helped.”

I seat myself on the edge of her desk. “Think they would’ve preferred the Krav Maga?”

“I’m not talking about my application.” She smirks. “I wasn’t a very good buffer.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I feign a sigh. “You might’ve buffered a thing or two.”

She laughs. “Not gonna lie, there’s not a lot I’ll miss around here, but I will miss working with you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I hesitate. I’ve lost count of the number of would-be friendships I let go, classmates and campmates that fell by the wayside in the hustle and bustle of my complicated life. “When do you leave?”

“Planning for Monday, though I technically have my apartment through New Year’s. Want to spend the holidays with family, you know.”