Two-thirds of the shelf space in my office is empty, waiting for the future books and trinkets to find their place there over the years. The alphabetical order by title was the system Tall insisted on, a replica of the one he employed and one I find most confusing. What do you do with a series? According to Tall, that's how you know which books to keep. If you love the book enough to keep it on your shelf and if you got a series of them, you have you know which book is next. It's how you pay your dues, remembering the next title, finding it because it mattered enough. Tall insisted I remove any book or series you couldn't do it with and either re-read or put away into a box, relegate it to the same level of importance as it occupies in your head. I struggled to agree with him, and blamed my memory and brought up how I read thousands of books, how I should get a leeway, how his system punished well-read people, but he overruled my attempts at keeping my long-established practice of alphabetizing by author. Time will tell if I can measure up to Tall's high standards as a reader.

Fingers rap on the open door of my office, and I turn to see Nicholas walk in.

"Skipping lunch today as well?" His long strides carry him to my desk in seconds. "Or can I still tempt you with the clam chowder they're serving today? It's the least bad lunch they have at the cafeteria. Would be a shame to miss it this week as well." His light tone is meant to cheer me up. My hunger disappeared with Tall and food is never on my mind. When I do remember, because my stomach cries out at me, I find the easiest thing I can throw into it, and move on with my day.

There's been no need for it today. "Not that hungry," I say.

"How about you keep me company? You next lecture is in an hour, and we haven't really talked since Tall died. I'll eat, you'll talk and maybe I'll persuade you to give something other than the cafeteria coffee a chance." He points at the paper cup with a bit of lukewarm coffee left in it and an empty one in my trash. "It's what friends are for. And I'm full of wisdom." He points at his gray temples and makes a face he first used on me when he asked me out several times in a row after seeing me around the University in Nante. My 'no' and excuses lasted for months until one day he pulled this look: big puppy eyes with an exaggerated eyebrow lift and a fake quivering lip. It clashed with his elegant aristocratic features, more at home on the face of my young half-brothers when they were begging me for something they knew they were not allowed to have. That face got me to say "yes" to having lunch with him then. It got him a lot more over the months we dated, it's what makes me say "yes" and go down to the cafeteria with him today.

"Mmm, it's warm, and the oyster crackers are wonderful." Nicholas swallows another spoonful of clam chowder and the smell of it makes me regret not getting a bowl for myself. "You want a taste?"

I know what it tastes like. I've had it before. It's nothing more than an excuse to get me to eat, and it's not like I'm against food. Food reminds me of the meatball subs Tall and I were supposed to eat, and throwing them out the day after Tall's death, cold and foul smelling. My stomach lurches again. "No, thanks, I'll stick with my tea." A fourth cup of coffee is too much, and the black tea I'm sipping has enough caffeine to get me through my last lecture of the day.

"What's your therapist saying about it all?" Nicholas blows on the next spoon of the soup, his lips familiar but not enticing. They are just lips. A body part.

"She wants me to come at least twice a week for a while. She's afraid I'm not taking care of myself." I roll my eyes.

"Is she right?" It's so Nicholas to talk in questions instead of agreeing or disagreeing with me.

"I'm the only one with a therapist out of everyone affected by Tall's death. That's me taking care of myself."

"How are the rest of your friends doing? How's Ben?" When Nicholas says Ben's name, it's with an extra puff of air after "b".

"I wish I knew. He's been avoiding me."

"Just you or everyone else too?"

"His spent some time with his parents and several days in New York with Linda. They're sorting through Tall's books today. Together." Maybe she is a better fit for him. Maybe I need to let go of the notion we can bring back what we had all those years ago. The words sour the next gulp of my tea, and I'm afraid they might be true. 'Promise you'll take care of Ben—he loves you, even if he hasn't said it yet. Keep loving him too.' Tall's words have been on replay in my head every day and I am failing. How can I take care of Ben if he doesn't let me near? How can he love me if he spends his time with everyone but me? My loving him isn't going anywhere, but it's not much use to anyone at this point.

"Should we not be having lunch, together?" He looks at me like I'm a little child who's saying nonsense. I hate it when he patronizes me.

"It's not the same. I've never..." I stop before I say words I'll regret.

"Loved me?" He finishes the sentence for me. "Believe me, I know. I wished it were not so. I wished I were the one you loved, and not Ben, who was on another continent, and still kept your heart. I wished I were the one you said 'I love you' too. But I'm not and I won't be."

Ben has been the only boyfriend I wanted to say those words to, but it was never the right time, first too soon, then too late and now both. Who professes love after three measly weeks together, one filled with grief and loss? Brining attention to it in the current circumstances means taking away from Tall's death, from its significance and its impact. Shoving my love as a bandage at Ben to cure for the loss of Tall's feels wrong. But keeping it unsaid isn't right either. Honesty is one thing Ben, and I have come to rely on and the honest thing is to tell him how I feel. My shoulders are lighter with a decision made. "Thank you," I tell Nicholas.

"Anytime, that's what friends are for."

I steal the packet of oyster crackers he has by his bowl, open it and eat them all.

"You want some chowder with that?" He chuckles.

"Maybe a bowl isn't a bad idea."

***

"My suggestions and notes on your proposals are just that—suggestions." I take three steps to the top row of the chairs. "You're in control of what your research will cover, but not every topic will be approved, and I urge you to make use of my office hours, if you are uncertain or have outstanding questions." I drop the last two graded proposals in front of the squirming couple, who spent more time glancing at each other throughout the lecture than looking at me.

The door to the room opens up with a bang. All my students are accounted for, for once, so I glare at the door, the noise aggravates the headache I've been nursing, and I'm ready to unleash my irritation at the unsuspecting victim who happened to stumble into the wrong auditorium.

The figure the appears is much too familiar. Did I want to see him so much that my tired mind conjured him for me?

"Amelie," says Ben. All heads turn his way, because in this room and within the walls of this building I'm professor D'Amico. Ben takes in the room and catches my eyes, then moves his glance to the door. "Can we talk?" I know his voice and this is urgent. His face gives nothing away and there's twenty-eight pairs of eyes, in addition to mine, dying to figure out what this is about.

"Sure." I run down the stairs to the podium, turn to my students, combing my tired brain cells for a task that can keep them occupied. "Look through my notes and come up with two or three questions about them. Turn to the person next to you and ask each other those and when I'm back we'll go over one of them." I head to the door where Ben is pacing in the hallway, and the room erupts into a murmur of voices, hopefully talking about their research project and not speculating about my love life.

I close the door behind me and scan the hallway, that is not empty enough for a conversation. My office is too far away to go there and back without disrupting my class even more.

"Is this an emergency?" My voice trembles. I'm not sure I can take any more bad news.

"No"—Ben comes up to me and takes my hand—"but I don't want to wait any longer." He takes my other hand, as if we're about to start a dancing, and the warmth of his fingers tracing my palms spreads along my arms. Is he going to break up with me again?

"Ben," I start, before he can put a period in our relationship. I might not have known him as long as Linda or Tall did, but I'm not going to let him use Tall's death as a reason for us to take a break, or whatever he's been going through without me this week. We can be together and he can still take the space he needs, if that's what he requires. I can love him from a distance. I've done it for five years, what "I understand if you need space—"

"No space." Ben tugs me to him. Our cheeks touch and our hands point down. There is as little space as appropriate for the middle of a University hallway. I close my eyes and banish the scared me who's spinning a tapestry of whatifs.

"I love you." The three words are out in the open. They came out of my mouth but also landed with hot breath into my ear. I resolved to say them first even though the fear inside me craved to hear them first. My eyes fly open and I lean back to see Ben's lips as if they'll be stamped with those words as proof he said them. I see they're parted, but that is no evidence at all. "Did you just—"

"I love you, Amelie D'Amico." I whiteness the movements as the shape of his mouth changes, his jaw moves, his tongue juts between his teeth, his lips touch at the two 'm's of my name. My name has never sounded better than after those three words. A cheer explodes from behind the door of the auditorium we left and it clicks shuts.

"We might've had an audience," I say.

"I need to get used to that anyway." Ben lands a kiss on the corner of my mouth, my nose, and brings our cheeks flush again. "I love you." This one is for my ears only, and I echo it. I. Love. You. Too. Love. You. Too. You. Too... Too. How can one heart feel so my joy and sadness at the same time? A passing cloud of Tall's memory covers the brightness of happiness only to reveal it again. I wait for the guilt to make its appearance, but it stays at bay. Tall was ready for the next chapter of his story, and he knew we were ready for the next one of ours.

4.14.21

I wanted to get this chapter out before I go to bed. It happened. They said it. It's out in the open.

Time to celebrate!!

I rushed reading/editig this chapter. Please point out any mistakes or inconsistencies you see.

What do you think about Nicholas?

Did you expect Ben to show up at Amelie's place of work?

What are her students thinking about it all?

Any guesses on what the last chapter holds? What do you think the ending will be?

If I haven't said it in a while: thank you for your support!!!