He looked down, a quiet smile flashing across his face, eyes twinkling. “I’m good. Bought a couple new colts, tending them back at my parents’. Hopefully I’ll have enough for my own place here soon.”
I knew that when I’d left, abandoning my PhD and our research on Object Theory, he was forced to do the same. He wasn’t able to continue our research without me and wasn’t able to finish his own PhD without Magic. But at least he had his horses to fall back on.
“Good,” I said, clearing my throat. This was fine. I could do this. Talk to him like everything was fine. Like he hadn’t smashed my heart into a billion pieces.
I still remembered the last time we’d really spoken, besides when he’d found me outside the café in Portland. I was out celebrating a friend’s birthday when my phone lit up with a text that just said:
heyyy.
Who is this? New phone.
Come on now, don’t be like that.
Fine. What do you want, Max?
What are you doing?
Out with friends.
Can I call u?
Under other circumstances, I probably would have said no, but after three shots and two vodka tonics, my decision-making skills regarding ex-boyfriends were severely degraded. He was on his porch nursing a beer, while I sat on the curb outside the bar. That low, rumbling voice of his took me right back. I could hear the distant bray of a horse in the background, a little more peaceful than the whoops and screams of the bach-elorette party taking place behind me.
“Hey, you remember that time …”
And that’s always how it starts, isn’t it?
We talked for hours about our old breakthroughs and about nights spent at that little bar outside of town with the whiskey that burned all the way down your throat. We stayed on the phone through my cab ride home, in between me washing off my makeup and climbing into bed, nearly passing out on the phone with him before saying goodbye.
I felt like such an idiot when I kept checking my phone in the days after, thinking he would call again. Wondering if he thought I was too drunk to remember the conversation. Then when a month passed without word from him, I checked his social media, found out he was dating someone new, cried for a week, and then blocked his number all over again.
“You heading to the meeting?” he asked now, trying his best to fill the static between us. No doubt he sensed how out of my element I felt back here, like a rabbit caught out of its den. His gaze followed me gently, carefully, as if afraid of spooking me further.
I nodded. “Same conference room?”
He grinned. “The one and only.”
I turned back down the hallway, which had now sprouted a string of doors to the left that hadn’t been there before. Best to stick to the main corridors. The ones the house added at random were never permanent and always dependent on the house’s moods. Ludlow House was old, and sensitive to its inhabitant’s emotions.* And me, all full of nerves—I had the walls rattling.
Max scratched the back of his neck as one of the wall sconces surged with light and burst. “Best we get off this wing.”
I nodded. “Good idea.” We turned off the corridor, and I looked ahead, eyes darting from wall to wall. Max, though, never took his eyes off me.
There were far fewer people around than should’ve been roaming the halls this time of year. Even outside, no one played soccer or Frisbee on the west fields; no one dozed on blankets overlooking the Agricultural and Earth Science Lab’s apple orchards. The orchards enabled students in the Agriculture and Earth Sciences major to put their lessons in Magical methods of water conservation and soil enrichment to good use. All I’d seen were a few people huddled outside dormitories, smoking and talking in hushed voices.
“Where is everyone?” I asked Max.
“After what happened with the girls, Dr. R canceled classes for the week and told everyone to stay in their rooms.”
The closer we got to the conference room, the tighter my lungs got in my chest. I pressed my palms against my eyelids. Just a short trip. In and out. I could do this. I could.
Max stopped outside the door, watching me carefully. “Why don’t we sit here for a sec?” he suggested quietly. “They’re always late anyway.”
I nodded and slid down the wall, struggling to calm my breathing. Max subtly shifted himself in front of me, using his body to shield me from any curious passersby. Great. All I needed was for one of my old professors to catch me having a panic attack.
He offered me a hand as I stood up, and I paused at the touch. His hand was warm, dry, a little rough at the calluses. “Ready?”
I held my breath as he opened the door.
