After the wedding, Ralph and I spent a week in Paris together, stayed at an all-white hotel in Montparnasse, the better to appreciate the ornamental bevels and curves of everything, which made me wish I’d taken an architecture class, a gaping hole in my humanistic education. I did redeem myself in my own mind when we saw Raymonda at the Paris Opera Ballet, which Rudolf Nureyev had choreographed and whose ballet career I’d read about, from his brilliance in Nijinsky’s L’après-midi d’un faune to his defection from the Soviet Union, to his eventual death from AIDS. That Nureyev was a gay man gave me a sense of belonging amid the grandness of that sumptuous world. I was too intimidated to speak French though, but Ralph did, and being associated with him made me feel learned and cosmopolitan too.

After Paris, we traveled south by train to join Alex and his bride, Lucy, at the tail end of their honeymoon in Agde, a village near the Spanish border in the Montpellier region, where Alex’s parents owned a charming vacation home made of stone, painted white, with cathedral-style windows and wooden shutters. Joining the newlyweds were their good friends Ned and Sandra, who had the sweetest toddler named Arthur. Over that week, we whiled away the time with day-trips to the countryside, procured wine from the local vineyards that was cheaper than bottled water, and made dinner together accompanied by lively conversation.

Our last afternoon in Agde, I set up my tripod and the seven of us took a group picture by the pool beside the house. I felt like shooting in black and white that day, and I made prints in my studio when I got back. There we all were, our feet dipped in the water, looking happy and relaxed, Ralph’s arm around my shoulder and my hand reaching up to touch his. I felt so close to him then, and we were such a handsome couple, Ralph dignified and gentlemanly while I was slim and bright-eyed, no sign of trouble, except maybe that I’d let my hair grow so it was at the bottom of my nape, as if those dead cells were aware of the crisis to come.

My return to the States coincided with the start of the fall semester, and my friendships picked up pretty much where they’d left off, except I added a couple of new classes at the Museum of Fine Arts to my schedule. Lenora and I saw less of each other, especially after she picked up her own lighting equipment so she didn’t need my studio anymore. I didn’t see too much of Richard either; his research led him to work at a different lab in another building. Though I didn’t mind that my friendships became less intense; it gave me more time to work and prepare to apply to art schools the following year.