“Her department got a plaque made for outside of her old office, so they’re unveiling it and then having a little drink after. I’d promised to bring some photos she had in her flat, but then I went over there without them, so I’m just popping back for a minute.”
“Do you ...” I don’t want to overstep, but seeing him frazzled like this inexplicably unmoors me. “Do you have anyone with you?”
His eyes finally lift up to catch mine. “No.”
The silence hangs between us. “Do you want a friend?” I can see the shades of relief with just the question, so I nudge a little more. “I can come with you. Just give me five minutes to walk George around the block, and then I’d be happy to come so you have someone you know there.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He bites at the inside of his cheek, ruminating on something. “Do you have something else you’re supposed to be doing tonight?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Promise?”
I breathe out an exasperated sigh. “Why would I lie about that?”
“Because I get the sense other people always come first for you. I don’t want you deprioritizing yourself for me too.”
My eyes widen in surprise. His offhand assessment makes me feel practically naked. How does he always seem toseeeverything? But I clear my throat and shake the sentiment off.
“That’s nice to ask, but I really was just going to hang out at home tonight. If you’d rather not face a horde of mathematics professors alone, it’s no trouble for me.”
He chuckles at the image, and I can see him let go of his concerns. “Okay. Let’s meet back outside in five then.”
I’m glad from the moment I arrive that I came with Eli. This event is acrushof people. This isn’t a small little plaque hanging—this is over a hundred people milling around a room, drinking cheap wine out of plastic cups and vying to tell Eli every story about his grandmother that they can remember. We linked arms to walk over, and when we arrived, I tried to slip my arm out from his, but he held it like a security blanket.
It’s fascinating to hear about this woman that Eli’s described, but through so many other people’s lenses, paint added in innumerable colors onto a pencil sketch. Mostly I’m watching his face. There’s surprise in each anecdote he hears. Her former students all describeEsther as tough, but every one of them then shares a story of some kindness behind the austerity. They all thought it was just them breaking through, but soon everyone is laughing at how much empathy lay behind that rigid, brilliant presence.
Three separate men introduce themselves over the course of the event and say they dated Esther at various times. Each interaction seemingly blows Eli’s mind. I try not to laugh, but it’s amusing seeing him turn over the fact of his grandmother as a woman with a potential sex life across her many decades.
And it seems as though every member of the mathematics faculty (and a smattering of others from different departments) has a story of Esther’s competitive spirit, work ethic, and powerhouse mind. They all loved her, feared her, and admired her simultaneously.
Eli listens with fervor to every person who comes to talk to him. He seems to pocket each story, as though every additional insight is a gift. “I never knew she had a phase of going to the opera a lot,” he whispers to me. And later, “It’s hard for me to imagine her on a beach vacation” or “I wouldn’t have thought she’d have had the time to take over someone’s teaching load in the middle of a semester. That must’ve been exhausting, even if it was the right thing to do under the circumstances.”
When someone tries to lead him away to go see the plaque, I start to untangle my arm from his, wanting to give him a moment alone with it. But he shakes his head ever so slightly and just pulls me closer, tracing a finger along my elbow, as though he needs the reassurance that I’m still there.
I try to not let my mind drink in the feel of his touch as much as it wants to.
But he loosens his grip as we come closer to the plaque, and I listen to the head of the department tell him all about it. He finally lets go when they insist on him giving a small speech, and all eyes turn to him with the clinking of glasses.
“I’m so grateful to be here as you honor my nan,” he says, slipping back into the wiry confidence he’s so good at, shielding the emotionthat’s been building in him all night from coming too far out. “She was a brilliant, accomplished woman. My family and I watched as she was feted with accolades her entire career, and I know that her work will be the thing she’s remembered most for. She always considered it her greatest achievement. But it’s all the small things I didn’t know about her that you’ve shared today—your kind words and stories—that for me build on top of the mosaic of who she was and what she actually accomplished. Thank you for these new shades and sides to a woman I loved so much.”
He stops talking, and the room is silent for only a moment before applause breaks out. And then the department head is leading a toast, and a few more speeches come after.
Once everything has wrapped up and as we walk home, the sky now inky against the light of the streetlamps, Eli doesn’t say much. He’s lost in his own thoughts, in all the new information he’s added as scaffolding onto this woman, who he’d previously thought was done being built in his mind. I don’t press him, and I relish the silence after so much talk.
When we reach our building, he takes out his keys and opens the door. “Thanks for coming with me.”
We step onto the elevator. “Happy to. It was fun to get to hear all those stories about Esther.”
“She was one of a kind, that’s for sure.” Her absence is written across his voice. “There’s so much I never knew about her.”
“No one knows everything about anyone,” I remark, trying to banish some of that sadness from his expression as much as I can. “We’re all the sum of all the many, many people who’ve loved and loathed us, and everything in between. That can’t possibly be quantified.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Thank you.”
I nod, not needing him to say anything else. He puts his hand on my elbow again and traces where his hand lay earlier in the night, the movement making my body suddenly spark in a way it wasn’t when he was holding me earlier for stability.
The door opens, breaking the moment, and I realize he forgot to push his button, so we’ve ended up on my floor. I step out, the loss of his hand leaving an invisible mark. I hold the door open for a beat, not quite sure what to say now. He’s watching me again, drinking me in, in that way he does that always makes me feel somehow excited and nervous at the same time, like a liquid slowly seeping into me that I can’t brush away.
