The Last Thing He Told Me

He smiles, offers a shrug. “It wasn’t all his fault. The crappy midterm. He was just too focused on one of the women in the class. He wasn’t the only one. In a class of mostly men, she stood out.”

This is when my heart stops. Bailey turns back in Cookman’s direction too. I can almost feel her, forgetting to breathe.

One of the few things Owen has told us about Olivia, repeatedly, one of the few things Bailey had to hold on to about her mother is that her father had fallen in love with her in college. He said they had been seniors—that she had lived in the apartment next door. Had that been a lie too? The smallest detail changed to avoid any trace of the actual past?

“Was she like… his girlfriend?” Bailey says.

“Can’t speak to that. I only even remember her, at all, because he made the case that she was why his work was suffering. That he was in love. He made the case in a long letter and I told him I was going to put it up, right next to his terrible exam, unless his work improved.”

“That’s humiliating,” Bailey says.

“Apparently it was also effective,” he says.

I look down at the list, scanning the names of the women. Thirteen in total. I search the list for an Olivia, but don’t see one. Though of course, it may not be an Olivia I need to find.

“I know this is asking a lot, but you don’t remember her name, do you? The name of the woman?” I say.

“I remember she was a better student than your husband,” he said.

“Wasn’t everyone?” I say.

Professor Cookman nods. “Yes. There’s that too,” he says.

Fourteen Months Ago

“So how does it feel? Being a married woman?” Owen asks.

“How does it feel being a married man?” I say.

We were sitting at Frances, an intimate restaurant in the Castro, at the farm table where our small wedding dinner had taken place. The day had started with the two of us getting married at city hall. I wore a short white dress, Owen put on a tie and new Converse sneakers. And it was ending with the two of us, time rolling toward midnight—as we finished the champagne, shoes off, now that our handful of guests had left.

Jules had been there, and a few friends of Owen’s—Carl, Patty. And Bailey. Of course, Bailey. In a rare display of generosity toward me, she arrived at city hall on time and stayed at the restaurant until after we cut the cake. She even gave me a smile before leaving to spend the night at her friend Rory’s. I hoped that meant she was at least a little happy about the day. I knew it probably meant she was a little happy that Owen let her have champagne.

Either way, I was taking the win.

“It feels pretty great being a married man,” Owen said. “Though I have no idea how we’re getting home tonight.”

I laughed. “It’s not a bad problem.”

“No,” he said. “Not as far as problems go.”

He reached for the champagne bottle, filled his glass, and refilled mine. Then he moved his chair away, sat down on the back of mine. I leaned back against him, breathing in.

“We’ve come a long way from our second date when you wouldn’t even let me drive you to dinner,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I was pretty crazy about you, even then.”

“You had a funny way of showing it. I wasn’t even sure I was going to get to see you again after that night.”

“Well, you did ask an awful lot of questions.”

“I had a lot to learn about you.”

“All in one night?”

He shrugged. “I felt like I needed to learn about the could-have-been boys…” he said. “Thought it was my best shot at not becoming one.”

I reached back and touched his cheek—first with the outside of my palm, then with the inside.