Page 7 of The Marriage Deal
"It's nothing. It will fade away, and everyone will jump to another victim."
"Did you see this new video that's making the rounds?"
Before I could stop him from serving me further humiliation, he shoved his phone in my face. It was a clip of the earlier lecture. Or should I say a clip of my exchange with the student who had challenged me. It would have been fine if that were all, but there was more. The video had an added caption saying, "When your professor is the idiot who doesn't believe in facts, and gets triggered when you mention it in class." The caption made it seem like I was acting irrationally for not accepting her irrational theory.
"The comments are sickening." Francis shook his head. "Do you want to see?"
"No. But there's one thing I'd like to do."
"Oh."
"Buy that fucking collection."
3
Elvira
Jess: How was dinner?
Jess: Did he pop the question?
Jess: Damn. Your professor is getting skewered online for that thing with the student. [video attached]
Jess: Serves him right!
Me: He asked me to tell you to send him a letter of recommendation.
MY PHONE RANG. IT was Jess. Shit. I shouldn't have responded. I was in the pub for hours, drowning my sorrows in watered-down cocktails that were barely giving me the alcohol hit I needed. After emptying a full bladder in a toilet filled with college students having fun on a Friday night, I whipped my phone out of my pocket. I had nine missed calls from Wyatt. Twelve from Billie and one from Jess. On top of that, Wyatt had sent endless versions of I'm sorry, and Billie had sent a single I'm sorry. Fuck off. They can both fuck off all the way to Jupiter.
I had run out of his place with nothing but the phone in my pocket and the keys in my hands. Then I drove aroundthe campus for hours in bouts of anger, sadness, and finally emptiness. When I stopped, it was evening, and I had nowhere to go.
Like a foolish, lovesick woman, I had moved in with Wyatt, thinking we had more than just fleeting emotions between us. That was not true clearly. I could go to the pawnshop, but that meant a two-hour drive into the city, and I was sick of driving. And besides, my sister was out of town for the weekend. Jess would only ask questions, and I was not sure I wanted to talk to anyone. The other place I used to slum at was my former roommate's, Billie. That was unequivocally out. So I went to the Dutch Raven pub and ordered cocktails on the tab, and went to the table at the back of the pub. Ronnie, the bartender, must have realized how miserable I was, and by the third cocktail, he was lowering the alcohol content by a lot. But I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone and numb.
Jess called again. On the fourth ring, I answered.
"Am I disturbing?" Jess's voice is so low, I almost don't hear her amidst the loud noise of the crowded bar.
"He was fucking Billie."
"What!"
"I saw him with Billie. When I got home. He was in bed with Billie." Saying it out loud felt like a weight off my chest. But a lump remained in my throat.
“Oh, Elle. How are you?”
"Not fine." I wanted to cry, to let out the pain, but no tears came.
"Oh god. How could he? That bastard! And Billie!" She muttered a few more expletives that were surprising to hear coming from a person as cultured as Jess. It was oddly comforting. "Where are you?"
"The Dutch Raven."
"I'll come get you."
"It's fine. I booked a hotel room." It was a lie, but I didn't want to inconvenience her. Jess might be fine with me staying over, but her husband, however, might not appreciate an impromptu guest on a Friday evening.
"Still. Can you even get out of there safely? You sound drunk."
"There are these things called ride-sharing services. It's a new technology, I don't know if you've heard of it."
