We hadn’t yet discussed how our relationship would survive my move to the Midwest. When my acceptance letter arrived, Anna had panicked and offered to transfer out of Columbia Law to come along. I couldn’t let her uproot her entire life, I’d told her, and give up such a great opportunity. But more than that, I knew: grad school offered a natural and guided transition out, less traumatic than a breakup, smoothly delivering me into a new life.

“Yes, I’m aware that flying costs money,” she said. My once-endearing naiveté had become annoying. “I’m surprised you’ve only now realized this.”

“I’m just worried,” I said. “I’m thinking of not going. I’m not sure we can afford a long-distance relationship.”

“Is this a nutritionist situation?” she asked.

“What? I haven’t thought about her since—”

“Not her specifically,” Anna clarified. “I mean, are you obsessed with someone new?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Really, I’m asking. You sound completely irrational right now, so it would make sense.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not.”

“Because if you are, I hope you’ve learned by now that those people aren’t real? And that they’ll never love you back?”

I closed my eyes and waited for the surge of anger to subside. She had no idea what the professor and I shared, how intense our connection was, that she could never compete. I took a deep breath before responding. “I obviously know that,” I said. “I’m not delusional. I wouldn’t jeopardize what we have for someone I hardly know.”

And yet there I was, less than a month later, ready to do just that for a married woman approaching her third trimester.

“Well, then I’m sure we would find a way to work around the distance,” she said, sounding at once sad and hopeful. “I could borrow mileage from my parents or something. Maybe I’ll find a job out there.” She smiled, touching her fingers to mine. “We could live in a little farmhouse.”

Where do you live? I was typing out directions when it dawned on me. The professor was just being practical. Considerate, at best. Where do you live? as in, “How can we choose a coffee shop that’s convenient for both of us?” I nearly laughed out loud; she had no idea the distance I would’ve traveled for her. That I would risk an actual relationship for just the idea of her.

“Next to the Pavilion Theater,” I responded, adding, “the corner of Thirteenth and Eighth,” just in case. Even though I was ambivalent—my conscience was finally kicking in this time—I was still hopeful.

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