Class ended. She packed up without really remembering what had been said. Walked to the library because she had papers to finish, but mostly because she needed to sit somewhere and continue researching in peace.
In the library elevator, a guy she recognized from class peered at her. “You look like you’re being haunted by a wraith,” he said.
Bea smiled absently. “Just the future.”
“Worse.”
She found a desk on the third floor, near the windows, and set up her laptop again. Didn’t open her paper. Instead, opened her Notes.
A second list formed:
QUESTIONS FOR GAGE
Where would we live? Would we live together?
Will you be working all the time? Like…all the time-all the time?
Will I be allowed to be confused for a while? Or does your world require instant poise?
What happens if I get lonely?
Are we doing this?
She stared at that last line. Deleted it.
Then rewrote it. With a period.
Bea picked at her grilled sea bass. It was fresh, delicious, surrounded by vegetables she couldn’t name. Apparently in your twenties, life decisions came with a side of microgreens.
“Can I ask you more about London?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He held her gaze. “I did.”
She tilted her head in question.
