I stayed up late preparing for the teaching demonstration the next morning. I debated with myself for a long time before settling on a topic. I would be taking over a section of a class for fifty minutes, and the professor I was standing in for had given me free rein. It was a survey class of contemporary art history, framed in the time period after World War II. From the syllabus, I could see that he’d focused primarily on American art, which gave me some options. I could continue to concentrate on Americans, or I could do something different. My specialty is European and French contemporary art, but I was schooled in American, too. After going back and forth with myself, I settled on French contemporary, guessing correctly that they had discussed very little about it in the class so far. I was up quite late getting my slides together, and when I finally went to bed, I tossed and turned most of the night.
I rose early and dressed carefully, and as I drove to campus I was quaking with nerves. I met the hiring committee in the parking lot, and all of us walked to the classroom together. They kept the talk light, clearly sensing my nervousness. When we finally stood outside the classroom, I had to suppress the desire to run away. I was that scared.
The moment I walked through the door to the classroom, however, things changed. My confidence returned almost instantly. I was still shaking a little when I handed my slides to the TA, but by the time the class officially started—the hiring committee sitting at the back of the room—I hit my stride. I managed to make a quick joke that broke the ice and jumped into my lecture immediately. I had left blank periods in my talk for discussion, and the students immediately raised their hands, clearly wanting to help me out. The entire class period passed quickly, and I was amazed to find myself running out of time as we got close to wrapping up. After the students left, I could see the committee chatting with each other quietly at the back of the room, and when they got up to come greet me, they were all smiles. The professor for whom I’d taught today walked me back to my car, asking insightful questions about the art I’d shown to his class. When I drove off campus, I was certain they would offer me the job.
Janet had texted me the information for lunch today with Amelia, and I arrived just as she was parking. She waved as she got out of the car, and I walked over to meet her. We kissed briefly, and then she held my shoulders, looking me in the eyes.
“I’m trying to tell if this is the face of a professor,” she said.
I laughed. “I think so. That is, I hope so.”
“Let’s get inside, and you can tell me all about it.”
Despite the fact that it was a weekday in a neighborhood far from the business district, Café Degas was bustling and busy when we walked through the door. Designed like a French bistro, the space is tight and cozy, with large windows and intimate tables. The food is French with a New Orleans kick, made fresh with local ingredients and by local bakers. I hadn’t been there in a few years, but I was pleased to find it exactly as I remembered it. With so many changes in the city lately, it was comforting to find that some things stayed the same.
The menu was a little different from the last time I was there, however, and it took me a long time to choose between the appetizing options. Amelia, who always picks the first thing that looks appealing, watched me debate with myself with a grin. When the waitress came back for the third time, looking distinctly annoyed with me, Amelia finally chose for me and gave her our menus.
“Thanks,” I said. “We would have been here all day.”
“I figured.” She paused and lifted her eyebrows. “So? Are you going to tell me about it or what?”
I launched into the story of the demonstration, sharing every little detail. I described my nerves and my shaking hands and how all of that had disappeared once I stood in front of the class. I described the bright students and how helpful they’d been, as well as the clear approval I’d sensed from the hiring committee after I was done.
She was smiling widely at this point, and when I finished, she took both of my hands in hers, squeezing them. “I knew you’d do well. I bet you anything they call you tomorrow with a job offer.”
I sighed. “There’s actually one more step before that happens. If they call me back, anyway.”
“What? Are you kidding me? Academia is ridiculous. What else do you have to do?”
“I have to meet with the provost and the dean. Officially. I met both of them briefly last week, but we have to have a sit-down discussion about salary and tenure and things like that.”
She snorted. “The dean that set you up with the interview?”
I nodded.
She grinned. “So no problem, right? It’s in the bag, honey. I know it is.”
Her happiness for me was genuine, and I couldn’t suppress a nearly overwhelming sense of relief. Some of this must have shown in my face, as I saw her expression change a little and guilt flash through her eyes.
She squeezed my hands again. “Listen, Chloé. I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been behaving this week.”
“You don’t have to—”
“But I do. I’ve been a complete ass. I should have been excited and happy for you, but instead I acted like you were taking something away from me. From now on, you have my full support—whatever happens. I promise.”
Our food was delivered then, or I might have broken down right there in the restaurant. I knew it was hard for her to admit that she was wrong, and I’d given her time to get used to the idea, but I hadn’t realized quite how much her reluctance had bothered me until it had been put to rest.
When our plates were taken away, we continued to sit there in comfortable silence. The weather had finally turned today, and although it was still a little chilly out, the staff had opened some of the windows, letting in a cool, nearly spring-like breeze. Amelia had her eyes closed, soaking in the sunshine streaming in, and I grinned like a fool as I stared at her. We’d weathered our biggest misunderstanding in months, and I was giddy. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me watching her.
Amelia paid the bill, and we walked out into the afternoon sunshine. It actually felt distinctly warm now for the first time in weeks. We both stood there on the sidewalk in front of her car, soaking in the sun.
Amelia sighed. “Makes me want to take the rest of the afternoon off.”
“Can we?”
She shook her head. “No, not right now. But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Almost everything major should be wrapped up by the middle or end of March if we keep pushing like this. Maybe we can take another little trip after—somewhere close this time. Maybe the beach again. I’ve heard nice things about Ocean Springs in Mississippi.”
I walked up to her and put my arms around her, snuggling into her neck. “Do you promise?”
She shivered. “Yes. Now we better head in before you tempt me too much. Where’s your car?”
I turned to point, but Amelia’s phone rang. She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed, and dug around in her purse to find it. She looked at the screen and frowned before she answered.
“Yes, hello?”
I’d taken a couple of steps away to give her privacy, thinking it was a business call, but as I watched her face while she listened, I could see something was wrong. Her expression changed from vague annoyance to clear anger and then settled into an icy rage. She was staring at me as she listened. She said very little as the other party talked, simply agreeing once or twice with one-word answers. Finally, without saying anything to the other person, she hung up, dropping her phone back into her purse as if disgusted with it. She was still looking at me with hard, angry eyes.
My heart was pounding. I’d never seen her this enraged. “Amelia? What is it?” I took a step toward her, and she backed away from me. I stopped completely, startled by her reaction.
“That was Daphne Waters,” she said quietly.
The sidewalk seemed to shift under my feet. Suddenly the world seemed completely unfamiliar, unrecognizable. Amelia’s expression was so cold, so angry, I could hardly believe she was looking at me. Panic flooded through my body in flashing waves of heat.
“You have to let me explain,” I told her.
“I don’t have to listen to a goddamn thing you say,” she spat. She had her fists clenched at her sides and seemed about to spring at me.
I flinched and actually took a step away from her, sure she was about to hit me. My reaction did nothing to soften her stance or her expression. If anything, her eyes became colder.
“How could you?”
I was so scared of her and how she was acting, I started to blubber. “Amelia, please! You have every right to be angry, but I don’t understand why you’re so upset. I know I should have told you that I saw her—”
She laughed, once, cutting me off. “Of course you should have told me! Goddamn it, Chloé! All you ever do is lie and hide things from me. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Amelia, that’s not true and you know it.”
“Hmm, let’s see. What happened just a few days ago? You lied and covered up the fact that you had a job interview. A fucking job interview! Like it was no big deal! Like I was the last person who should know!”
I flushed with shame, but a tiny flame of anger began building inside me now. “You know why I was afraid to tell you about it, Amelia. You’re not being fair.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “I might forgive you doing that, just that, but now I find out you did it again two days later! You’ve been hiding a fucking criminal! Sara should be in prison, Chloé, not in some fancy nuthouse. Why didn’t you tell me? What else are you hiding?”
I opened my mouth to begin to explain, and then she held her hands up, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and fixing me with a dead, cold stare. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve done everything I can to get you to trust me, and you clearly don’t. You trust Sara and Daphne Waters more than you trust me.”
I took a step toward her again, my arms open. “Amelia, Jesus! Just listen to me for a minute. We can fix this!”
“No. No, we can’t,” she said, shaking her head. For a moment, I saw the depth of the pain in her eyes, but anger quickly replaced it. She turned and started walking toward her car.
I couldn’t help but run after her. I grabbed her arm and spun her toward me. “For God’s sake, Amelia! Just listen!”
She wrenched her arm out of my grip, and again that murderous hatred flashed through her eyes. I stepped warily away from her, once again certain she might hit me.
“You’re a liar, Chloé. Maybe that’s all you’ve ever been. Maybe this was all some big ruse.” Her eyes narrowed, and her face, already pale, whitened perceptibly. “Was it the money? Is that what it was all this time?”
She might as well have slapped me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Deep rage instantly replaced my terror and fear. “Fuck you. You know that’s not true.”
She shook her head, her eyes dark and sunken. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
We stood there, staring at each other, for a long moment, our world collapsing around us. The look in her eyes was cold enough to freeze the sun, and its fury was so harsh the words dried up in my mouth. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do that would make things right again.
“You’ve broken my heart, Chloé. You betrayed me deeper and more fully than I knew was possible.” She paused. “Don’t come back to work. I’ll send your things to your apartment.”
My heart lurched again in my chest, and I managed a single word. “Amelia!”
She shook her head, and the words died in my mouth again. There was no point—she wouldn’t listen to me. She turned away and stalked over to her car. Even from where I stood, I could see that her hands were shaking, and it took her a while to get out her keys. She paused for a moment, still staring into her purse, and then she looked up at me.
“I have one more present for you. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks. Take it and pawn it, for all I care.” She pulled out a little black box and threw it at me. I let it fall into the grass at my feet, not attempting to catch it and not looking at it. She shrugged and got into her car, started it, and drove away without another glance at me.
I was frozen to the spot. My insides were ice, and I was quivering with what felt like a physical cold. My mind, so overcome by what had just happened, couldn’t accept it. Ten minutes ago we’d been happy, making plans. We’d cleared a major hurdle. We were moving on.
Now it was over.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. No way could it end like this. Again, my mind revolted. I’d lied to her, yes, but both instances had been lies of omission. She had to know this. She had to accept that I hadn’t meant to hurt her.
“No,” I whispered again. Tears were falling down my cheeks, but I was still petrified with dread and horror over what had just happened.
Finally, I started to come out of my deep freeze, but I was in a daze. I looked around, as if to see if Amelia was nearby, but of course she wasn’t. Instead, I was left with her empty parking space and the little black box near my feet. I stared down at it, knowing precisely what was inside. I’d seen boxes like that in the movies. Only one thing came in such boxes. I was tempted to leave it there. If I picked it up and opened it, I would fall into a million pieces. I was breathing, heavily, my heart pounding. I was faint and ill, and my ears were ringing. I simply couldn’t accept that it was over, that my carelessness had cut off Amelia’s love as if it had never existed.
Finally, I bent down, but rather than opening the box, I crammed it into my purse without looking at it. I couldn’t leave it there, but I couldn’t look at it, either. Maybe I would never look at it. At that thought, I finally broke. I’m sure I made a scene for anyone to see, but I didn’t notice. I sank to the ground, sobbing, I might have even screamed a few times—I don’t know.
A woman from the café came out after a while and helped me to a nearby bench, but I barely registered her presence for a long time. She sat there with me until I finally calmed down enough to leave. I don’t know what she must have thought. Somehow I stumbled back to my car, my mind still in a whirl of pain and confusion. Stupidly, I drove myself back to my apartment. I was hardly aware of what I was doing until my front door was closed behind me.
Then I fell apart.