“That tends to happen when one acts like a smartass.” She just shakes her head, still laughing, clearly sensing my teasing tone. Adopting my professorial demeanor, I say, “Alright, Miss Gilmore, we have work to discuss.”
“Je suis prête.” She crosses her legs and opens her notebook, pen poised and ready.
Thirty minutes later, Alis stands to pack her things. Our meeting has finished, but I’m not ready for her to leave. She bids me adieu and heads out, gently closing the office door behind her.
While going over upcoming assignments and grading deadlines we fell into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth like old friends. I get along with others pretty easily, but with her it feels so much deeper than cordiality. Her smile is warm, her eyes alluring, and that tongue of hers — sharp as a tack. I haven’t had the opportunity to banter back and forth in my mother tongue for the past three years. Sure, I have students who speak French incredibly well, but Alis’s fluency in French colloquialisms is incredible. I wonderhow she learned those? Maybe she spent some time in France or Quebec?
When we spoke last week she alluded to a life circumstance that took her away from graduate work. I can only guess at what happened. Maybe she had to care for a sick parent? Financial responsibilities? Has she spent the past few years traveling? That would explain her pristine French. Perhaps she endured a painful breakup? No. Alis doesn’t seem like the type of woman to walk away from academic aspirations due to a broken heart.
I continue to ponder what could have changed the course of her life so drastically until a knock sounds at my office door and I’m startled out of my wandering thoughts.
Just as I stand to walk toward the door and open it, my visitor lets himself in, plops into an armchair, and greets me with, “Bro, you are not going to believe the day I’ve had.”
I take the seat next to him, wave my hand in his direction and say sarcastically, “Please, come in. I’m not in the middle of working or anything.”
He scoffs. “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ve had the day from hell and it’s not even 2 p.m.” His hair is disheveled, a sure sign he’s been pulling at it.
“Pizza?” I tilt my head toward the box in offering.
“Fuck yes. I’m starved.” Leo grabs a slice from the box along with a napkin and begins shoveling it into his mouth.
I check my watch and see that it’s 1:17. I teach a class at 2 so I guess I can give him a few minutes of undivided attention.
“I’m walking out of this office at 1:45, which gives you twenty-eight minutes to vent. Proceed.”
Confirming my earlier suspicion, Leo runs his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated at whatever he’s experienced the last few hours. Then, with his face in his hands, he mumbles, “She called.”
“She?”
Leo looks up. And for the first time since he arrived I see, pain? His eyes begin to water before he sinks his face back into his hands and lets out an agonizing sob.Whoa.
Just as I reach to squeeze his shoulder he says, “Stephanie.” My hand freezes.
I retract my hand and lean forward, elbows on my thighs. Stephanie hasn’t come up in more than a year. “The fuck?! Why the hell is your ex-wife calling you? What did she want?” I stand to retrieve the tissue box off my desk and hand it to Leo.
As I sit back down, Leo pulls a tissue out of the box and blows his nose before grabbing another and wiping his eyes.
“She and her high school has-been are having problems, and she wanted me to help her sort it out. She was upset and crying and I didn’t know what to say. I was in shock that she called in the first place, and when she asked for my advice I didn’t know what to do. It’s not that I want her back — hell will freeze over before that happens — but part of me will always love her, and I hate that she’s hurting.” Hurting? Her? What about Leo? Doesn’t she realize that calling him will only hurt him? That bitch tore him apart and left him in pieces, and now she’s running to him to help save her new marriage? The marriage that began as an affair and demolished her marriage to Leo?
I lean forward and clasp my hands, elbows back on my thighs. I need to choose my next words wisely, because I don’t want to add insult to injury. However, the fact that he feels one iota of responsibility to help her sort through her shit makes me want to slap him upside the head.
“Leo, it is not your responsibility, nor your place, to offer marriage advice to your ex-wife. I know you care for her, but she doesn’t deserve a second of your time or concern.” I may give him a hard time for acting like a callous frat boy, working through his anger one Tinder hookup at a time, but I’ll take that man-child over a sobbing, broken friend any day of the week.
Leo nods his head while staring down at the wet tissues in his hands. “I know. At first I was sympathetic but I think my response was triggered by shock. I haven’t spoken to her since the divorce was finalized, and to hear from her a year and a half later caught me off guard. I’ve been stewing on this all morning, growing more pissed bythe second. She has the nerve to call me? Does she think I’m a fucking idiot? That I don’t see through her bullshit? This is exactly how she lit the fuse that blew up our marriage. She confided in her punk ass ex about our private issues. Who the fuck does that?”
He pauses and looks at me, rage added to the pain in his eyes. His chest rises and falls, he squeezes his eyes shut and begins spearing his fingers through his hair again. When he doesn’t say anything after nearly thirty seconds, I assume he wants an answer to his rhetorical question. “Stephanie. Stephanie does that. And you’re no fool, so you won’t fall for her manipulation.”
“Fuck no I won’t!” Leo yells. I gesture for him to keep the volume down and he continues. “God, Dex, you should have heard her. She said they have the same fights we used to have; like it’s déjà vu or something. I told her I’m sorry she’s having a hard time but I’m not the person she should be talking to about it. It was like she didn’t hear a word I said. She started yelling about Justin being selfish and lamenting about how she’s underappreciated — you know how she is.”
And I do. I know exactly how she is because being Leo’s confidant meant I had a front row seat when all their shit hit the fan.
“Well, what did you say to her when she finished her rant?” I ask.
“Nothing. I hung up on her mid-sentence. I have no fucking clue what else she said.”
Atta boy. “I think you made the right call. Has she reached out any more since this morning?”
Leo nods, looking exhausted. “Yeah. Like three more times. I sent her to voicemail each time.”
