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“Um…” She blushed. “Good morning, Professor Hamilton. My name is—”
“I don’t care what your name is. What is your question?”
“Um, it’s been about two weeks since the semester started and you have yet to give us a syllabus…”
I ignored her and pointed to a jock in the back row. “Yes?”
“You also haven’t told us what books we need to buy…”
“Does anyone in this classroom know the definition of the word, question?” I picked the last student, a redhead sitting by the window. “Yes?”
“Is it true that we’re required to take turns bringing you coffee every day?”
I looked at the coffee mug on my desk, at the sign-in sheet that listed which student had brought it today.
“It’s not a requirement,” I said, picking up the cup. “But if you miss your day to bring me my coffee, I’ll make sure everyone in this class regrets it.”
They groaned collectively and shook their heads. A few of them still had their hands raised, but I was officially done for the day.
“Read pages 153 - 260 from the printout by next class. I expect you to know the ins and outs of each case. Class dismissed.” I walked out, saying nothing further.
Slipping into my car, I noticed a new email on my phone.
Subject: Bathroom.
Thank you for sending me that very inappropriate note with my flowers today. Everyone in my cohort now knows that you and I have yet to f**k in our brand new bathroom.
Why are you so ridiculous?
—Aubrey.
Subject: Re: Bathroom.
You’re very welcome for the flowers. I’m hoping that you liked them.
And that wasn’t a “note” that I sent you. It’s a demand that’s about to be addressed within the next few hours.
Why do you deny that you love it?
—Andrew.
I could picture her rolling her eyes at my last message, so I revved up my car and sped back toward our home.
Even though I’d spent the last six years here, I was still building my tolerance for the things I once hated, things that now bothered me less and less, but I still had a long way to go.
Some memories can never be replaced…
Aubrey was completely captivated and entranced by this city, though. Whenever she wasn’t incessantly touring with the ballet company, she was insisting that we try every restaurant, theater, and tourist attraction possible—trying to make me fall in love with everything again.
I parked in front of our brownstone—a newly purchased brick building in Brooklyn, and walked up the steps.
“Aubrey?” I said as I opened the door. “Are you in here?”
“Yes.” She called from a distance. “And I’m not in the bathroom.”
“You will be eventually.” I walked down the hallway, stopping when I saw her hanging another frame in her office.
The walls were covered in pictures of her standing at center stage, a different picture for every night she’d opened a show.
