This time, we don't make it to the bedroom. Our clothes come off only halfway and he presses me against the kitchen counter, bending me in half.
Still wearing the stilettos I wore to dinner I am the perfect height for him to come at me from behind. His hands search hungrily for my breasts and his lips kiss mine in that sloppy way that only two people completely overwhelmed by their senses can.
This time I don't need the blindfold or the tie around my wrists.
This time I just let myself go and I take off immediately.
I want him so much that I can't even stop if I had wanted to.
He moans my name soon after I scream his. Afterward we lie in each other’s arms on the hard tile for a few minutes, catching our breath. When he reaches over, he kisses me and we go again.
24
Aurora
I had hoped that night would have changed things, but two days later he is sent on a story to Kentucky and the distance engulfs me like a tsunami.
We text and FaceTime, but only occasionally, when he has a few minutes here and there. I know that couples in previous decades have endured longer separations with less technological connections, but this relationship is too new and I need more reassurance.
In addition to writing articles, Henry is now hosting a True Crime podcast that he researches and records himself, having only nominal producing help. This is a great opportunity for him. His following is growing and he is really making a name for himself in the space, but that doesn't change the fact that we continue to drift further and further apart.
Finishing my thesis is an uphill battle. I waste time on Instagram and real brick and mortar bookstores reading books for pleasure rather than for analysis. Eventually, during the last two months of the semester, I really force myself to focus and finish it.
My presentation is scheduled for May fifth at two in the afternoon. I have to summarize all the research and the findings that I have done and take questions from the public. Technically, anyone can attend a PhD defense, including students, teaching assistants, professors, and even deans at the university.
I am not big on public speaking, meaning that I actually despise it, so I hope that my time slot does not prove to be particularly enticing for the university community.
When I show up to the empty lecture hall, I let out a brief sigh of relief, only to be unpleasantly surprised to discover that I’m in the wrong room. When it's almost time for me to present, and there’s still no one here, I double check the room number, and realize that mine is across the hall.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Peering through the little window in the door, I see that the room is packed.
I take a deep breath and try to block out every negative thought that creeps into my subconscious.
They are not going to laugh at me.
They are not going to make fun of me.
Everything is going to be fine.
I'm not going to embarrass myself.
When I open my mouth and start to talk, slowly but surely, my anxiety begins to dissipate.
I have practiced my presentation about a hundred times, and after a shaky start, the words flow out of me. When I lose myself and what I'm saying, all of those other people stop mattering as much. I don't care what they say because I know that the work that I have done is important and meaningful.
A professor who focuses on pop-culture asks about what impact I think that a book like Fifty Shades of Grey had on the modern female experience and a crotchety old English literature professor wonders why the focus should be so much on sexuality versus other things.
My responses are thoughtful prompting more discussion, this time from students and other faculty in the auditorium. After a little while, I lose control of the room as the focus shifts away from me, and I couldn't be happier.
That Friday, I wear a cap and gown and walk across the stage to get my diploma. Henry is supposed to be there, but he's not. He didn’t make it to my defense either. There are major developments in the case that he's working on and he's even doing interviews with NBC News and Dateline. Plus, Franklin had scheduled him for an impromptu live recording of his podcast at the Louisville Theater that sold out within twenty-four hours.
It's not that I am not happy for Henry and all of his success, it's just that I feel like we’re not on the same page. Even though we still have the occasional moments when we are in-sync, there are more and more where it feels like there is an ocean separating us.
I don't know exactly how to deal with it or what I can do to change it. I'm here for him and I wait for him, but there's only so much I can take. Of course, now that I'm done with my PhD, I can theoretically join him on his travels, but I'm not sure if there's a place for me there.
He works twelve hours a day and what would I do in Kentucky? Just sit in the hotel room and wait for him? I can do the same thing here in New York.
These are the thoughts that spin around in my head as I walk out with the rest of my class. My parents wait for me out on the lawn, along with hundreds of other graduates’ parents and grandparents and children.
This is a happy day in my life. I have worked really hard to get to this point and I'm not going to let thinking about Henry ruin it for me.
My parents give me a warm hug, practically at the same time. They have brought a few of their friends and after a few customary congratulations, they go back to the work on their phones.
Thomas is here as well, probably on my mother’s insistence. He is twelve years old and not particularly interested in attending family functions, but when I give him a brief hug, he hugs me back.
Later that night, after dinner and after Thomas goes back home, my parents tell me that they have something to discuss with me. I've had a few drinks, and I'm still feeling a little bit in a celebratory mood, so I ask if it can wait until tomorrow.
“No,” Mom says. “This is very important. We have to talk about this now.”
They are guests in my apartment and I can't quite make them leave so I figure the best thing to do is to just hear them out.
“I know that this is your big night, honey,” my dad says. “And I want you to know that we are very proud of you.”
“Thank you very much,” I say, nodding my head.
“The thing is that…The justice department is investigating Tate Media.”
I hear what he has just said but the words don’t make any sense.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I can't go into it here,” he says, looking around the room.
I furrow my brow.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him again.
“Without saying too much,” Mom interjects. “We are fighting against a case that the people in the justice department are building against your father.”
I still don’t understand. My mother motions for me to follow them outside.
25
Aurora
The cold fresh air feels nice against my warm skin. I tighten the collar of my coat and walk in between them. My parents are not the type to take walks at nine o'clock at night, but tonight is an exception.
“Your father doesn't want to tell you this,” my mother says. “But he is in a lot of trouble. It's very serious.”