Page 118 of Any Port in a Storm

“I know.”

“What about the other job?”

“It’s an adjunct professor position at Briarford University. In Pennsylvania.”

“Well, that could be cool,” she says evenly.

“Yeah. But…I’d have to move.”

“You would.”

“It’s just a lot to process, you know?”

I can hear the amusement in her voice when she says, “I understand. Actually, I overstand. I’ve been exactly here, Laur.”

“How did you figure things out?” I ask. Desperate for someone else to solve this for me.

“To be honest,” Ivy chuckles, “I called my mom. And it was like looking in a mirror—she knew what I wanted just from the way I talked about it. I think I already knew, too, deep down, but…it was hard to admit it to myself.”

The idea of admitting to my very feminist mother that I’m considering straying from the path I’ve been on for over a decade, and that part of my decision has to do with staying in town for a man, makes me a little queasy.

“Well, I appreciate you talking things through. It was really helpful.”

“Hey, anytime. Any chance you’re going to come to the beach when all of this blows over?” She makes it sound like a joke, but I know she’s serious. And in that moment, I realize she’s right—I should go to Ogunquit. But it has nothing to do with the beach. It’s because I miss her.

“As soon as it’s safe to travel, I’m there,” I promise.

“I truly can’t wait.”

THIRTY-FOUR

last april

“Want to get pizza for dinner?” Nick asks, wrapping his arm around my waist as we head into the grad student center.

“Sure. I need to work for a little bit, but I should have time. Maybe we can catch up on Game of Thrones, too?”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his brow. “It’s cloudy today—are you sure we’ll be able to see anything on screen?”

I snicker. “It’s so freaking dark.”

“In more ways than one,” he agrees. We stop so he can check his mailbox.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, face bright. “Happy two-month anniversary.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were the girl in this relationship.”

He feigns displeasure. “That’s not very feminist of you, Laurel.”

“I suppose that’s true. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry—it’s a holiday.”

I laugh. “Our two-month anniversary?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m glad we’ve come to such a special place to celebrate it.”