What I was wearing...when I decided to get married.

Chapter 6

… was a sheet, nothing else.

It was a hot, humid morning in August. Guy and I were in bed. We were lying side by side, not touching; it was too sticky for contact. I was rippling the sheet up and down in

an attempt to create a breeze and the only sound in the room was the slight flapping noise that made. Out of this relative quiet, Guy said, announced, really: “They’re not treating me well.”

I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at him. He was staring up at the ceiling, his face mild and impassive. I said, “Who’s not treating you well?”

“The institute.”

My heart sank a little. “The whole institute?”

“The department.”

“Everyone in the department?”

“Not the secretaries.”

I saw the slight smile of reminiscence. Before me, before the girl in Boston, he had dated one of the department secretaries.

“Oh.” I lay back down and started rippling the sheet again.

“There’s something in Chicago,” he said.

“The University of?”

“No, the state university, at the Chicago campus. Right downtown. I think it’s in what they call the Loop.”

“Is this real?” I said. “I mean, actual?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been talking to them.”

I sat up again, all the way up this time, tucking the sheet under my arms. “You’ve been, what, in talks with them? Like for a while?”

“I was going to tell you. They’ve actually made me an offer.”

“In Chicago.”

“It’s just a verbal offer at this point, but I think it’ll be official within a week. More research time than teaching.”

“You’re going to Chicago,” I said. I looked at him, lying comfortably, his eyes closed as if he were about to drift back into sleep.

I poked him in the arm.

“What happens with us?” I said. “ Have you thought about that?”

He laughed. “Well, I have, yes, of course. And to be honest, what I thought was, Ellen adores me so much she’ll follow me anywhere.”

“I’m not crossing state lines without a wedding ring,” I said.

The words had just popped out. I didn’t know where they’d come from – I hadn’t been thinking about marriage, about marrying him, at least not consciously. I was so surprised by what I’d said that I flopped back down on the mattress and pulled the sheet up over my head.

“All right, “ he said.

“’All right’?” My voice came out muffled under the sheet. “All right? That’s your response?”

“Well, yes. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want it to be what you want,” I said. “Oh, this is terrible.”

“It is what I want.”

“You’re supposed to ask me. You’re supposed to propose.”

“All right.”

“’All right’ again?”

He lifted the sheet and looked down at me.

I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

Now he poked me in the arm.

“Will you marry me?” he said.

“All right,” I said, but I kept my eyes closed.