28

She wore the same lipstick every day for so many years that her lips were stained its color, wore the same perfume for so long that, even after washing, all her clothes retained the scent. Every time he smelled it, oranges and sharp like fall, he assumed it was her, and would turn around, expectant.

And this time it was.

Fifteen years since they'd seen each other, fifteen years since, "Goodbye, good luck, see you soon," only soon hadn't happened, unless you only counted soon in terms of eternity. In all the times that he'd thought he'd seen her, there were a thousand scenes imagined; mostly all he could see were tears as he'd known them. And when he said, "Lizzy?" she turned with the same look of patient expectation he'd known, and then smiled.



A smile. A smile containing nothing like bitterness. "Ben." She sounded surprised, but pleased. Pleasure. "Hey, how have you been?"

She looked just the same, hardly aged, and most of her age was in her deportment instead of her face. She would be thirty-one now, then, and she carried herself well, buying her Ramen noodles and shrimp with authority. Enough for one. In an attempt to look more collegiate and older than the antsy seniors he force-fed calculus, he had grown a beard; that was the chief difference in his appearance. That and the work clothes.

He felt like an utter ass, meeting her in the grocery store with his shirt and tie and shiny black shoes, glasses hanging from his pocket like a nerd in the seventh grade. Unfinished business had never looked so much like prep school.

Too many seconds had passed before answering her question. He hadn't expected to be so uncomfortable. Contrite, maybe. "Good, good. Teaching over at the high school. Calculus. Still a math dork, deep down." His laugh was a little too forced, too eager. And he was using too many, too short sentences. A deep breath and, "How about you?"

She shrugged one shoulder, the side that didn't hold her basket. "I did the student thing for a long time, then did some research stuff. I just moved back here for a job at an art gallery in the city." She looked happy just thinking about it, then raised her basket, indicating. "This is my self-congratulating, celebratory dinner." She laughed.

Done the student thing? She always had been smart. "Student thing?" he asked. "How long?"

Blushing, she hung her head. "A long time." It came like a confession.

"Dr. McNally?" He paused, thought, winced, but said it anyway. "Is it still McNally?"

Bit her lip before smile. "Yeah. Still is."