that she was going to be young forever. Amy always snapped her back to reality by saying they were middle-aged. It was impossible to believe by looking at either of them. Neither one looked her age, nor felt it, and Ted Weiss, Brigitte’s boyfriend of six years, was three years younger. At thirty-five, he looked, felt, and acted like a kid. He had studied archaeology at Harvard, got his doctorate at BU, and had worked in the department of archaeology at BU for the last six years. His dream was to have his own dig. BU had many around the world, in Egypt, Turkey, Pakistan, China, Greece, Spain, and Guatemala. He had visited each of them at least once during his time at BU. Brigitte had never gone with him to see them. She used the time he was away to continue doing research on her book. She was a lot less interested in traveling than she had been right after college. Now she was happy at home.
Brigitte’s relationship with Ted was a happy one. They lived in their own apartments quite near to each other, and spent the weekends together, usually at his place because it was bigger. He cooked, she didn’t. They often socialized with his graduate students, particularly those in the doctoral program, like her. They also saw a lot of the other professors in their respective departments. They both loved the academic life, although Brigitte’s work in the admissions office wasn’t scholarly, but the life they led and shared suited them to perfection. It was an atmosphere filled with intense dedication to higher learning, and both of them admitted that most of the time they felt no different from their students. They were thirsty for all they could learn, and loved the intellectual world. Like all universities, there were the usual minor scandals, affairs, and petty jealousies, but on the whole, they both enjoyed the life they led, and had much in common.
Brigitte could see herself married to Ted, although she couldn’t figure out when. And she assumed Ted would ask her one day. They had no reason to get married for the moment, since neither of them was anxious for children. Eventually, but not yet. They both felt too young for any life other than the one they were living. Brigitte’s mother often voiced the same concerns as Amy, and reminded her that she wasn’t getting any younger. Brigitte just laughed at them both and said she had no need to nail Ted to the floor, he wasn’t going anywhere, to which Amy always responded cynically, “You never know.” But her own bad experiences with men colored her view of the situation. She was always somewhat convinced that, given half a chance, most men would disappoint you, although even she had to admit that Ted was a really sweet guy, without a mean bone in his body.
Brigitte said openly that she loved him, but it wasn’t something they talked about much, nor did they talk about the future. They lived in the present. Each one was perfectly content living alone during the work week, and their weekends together were always relaxing and fun. They never argued, and disagreed about few things. It was a totally comfortable arrangement. Everything about Brigitte’s life was steady, her job, her relationship with Ted, and her slow but steady pace on her book, which would eventually be published by the academic press.
According to Amy, Brigitte’s life wasn’t exciting, but she liked everything about it, and it worked well for her. She didn’t need or want excitement in her life, and looking far ahead to the future, she could see where it was going. Her life had direction and forward motion, even if not with great speed. Just like her studies for her Ph.D., and her book. That was enough for her. It was a journey. She was in no hurry to reach her destination or make any snap decisions. Despite her mother’s and Amy’s cynicism, concerns, and dire warnings, Brigitte wasn’t worried about it all.
“So whose life are you ruining today?” Amy asked her with an impish grin as she bounced into the doorway of Brigitte’s office.
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” Brigitte said, pretending to look stern. “On the contrary, I’m checking to make sure the applicants sent us all the right stuff.”
“Yeah, so you can turn them down. Poor kids, I still remember getting those awful letters. ‘Although we were very impressed by the work you’ve done during your senior year, we can’t figure out what the hell you were doing all through junior year. Were you drunk or on drugs or just lazy beyond belief? We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, but not at our school…’ Shit, I cried every time I got one of those letters, and so did my mother. She figured I’d wind up working at McDonald’s, not a bad job, but she wanted me to be a doctor. It took her years to forgive me for being ‘just’ a social worker.” Amy’s grades for junior year couldn’t have been that bad, Brigitte knew, since she had gone to Brown, and eventually got a master’s of science degree at Stanford before getting her social worker’s degree at the Columbia School of Social Work in New York.
They were all academic snobs at BU. In the academic world, where you got your degrees really mattered, just as how often you published did later. If Brigitte had been teaching at BU, she couldn’t have lingered over her book for the past seven years without publishing it sooner. There would have been a lot more pressure on her, which was why she was happier working in the admissions office. She didn’t have the competitive spirit you needed to survive as a professor. Amy taught an undergraduate psych class and ran the counseling office, and did both well. She left her kids at the campus day care center while she worked. And she had a profound love for young people generally, and her students. She set up the first suicide hotline at BU after losing too many students in her early years of counseling. It was a common occurrence at all universities, and an epidemic that worried them all. Brigitte didn’t like the implication that by turning down applicants to BU she was ruining their lives. She hated to think of it that way. As usual, Amy’s opinions went right to the heart of the matter, and were bluntly expressed. She didn’t mince words, whereas Brigitte was always more careful and more diplomatic about what she said, and how she said it. Amy used a more frontal and confrontational approach, with colleagues or friends.
“So what are you doing tonight?” Amy asked her pointedly, curling up in the chair on the other side of Brigitte’s desk.
“Tonight? Why? Is it something special?” Brigitte looked blank, and Amy rolled her eyes.
“It should be, if you’ve been dating a guy for six years. You’re hopeless. It’s Valentine’s Day, for chrissake! You know, hearts, flowers, candy, engagement rings, marriage proposals, great sex, soft music, candlelight. Aren’t you going out with Ted?” She looked disappointed for Brigitte. Despite her own failed relationships, Amy still loved the notion of romance, and although they were adorable together, she always felt that Brigitte and Ted had far too little of it. They were still like high school kids dating, not like people in their thirties planning their future. And Amy worried about her friend, fearing that the important things in life were sliding past her. Like commitment, marriage, and having kids.
“I think we both forgot,” Brigitte admitted sheepishly about Valentine’s Day. “Ted’s working on a paper, and I’ve been buried in applications. We only have six weeks left to process them. And I have two papers due for my class. Besides, it’s snowing, and a crappy night to go out.”
“So stay home and celebrate it in bed. Maybe he’ll propose to you tonight,” Amy said hopefully, and Brigitte laughed out loud.
“Yeah, right, with a paper due on Friday. He’ll probably call me later and we’ll figure out something. Chinese takeout or sushi. It’s not a big deal.”
“It should be,” Amy scolded her. “I don’t want you to be an old maid like me.”
“I’m not, and neither are you. We’re unmarried women. That’s a highly respected category these days. It’s considered a choice, not an affliction, and people who are older than we are still get married and have kids.”
“Yeah, Sarah in the Bible maybe. How old was she? Ninety-seven, I think, when she had a kid. Generally, these days, that’s considered a little beyond the usual statistics. I think it was then too. And she was married.” Amy looked meaningfully at her friend, and Brigitte laughed.
“You’re obsessed, for me anyway. You’re not running around crazily trying to get married. Why should I? Besides, Ted and I are perfectly happy the way we are. No one rushes to get married anymore. Why is it such a big deal?” Brigitte looked unconcerned.
“After six years, it would hardly be considered rushing. It would be more like normal. And in about ten minutes you’ll be forty-five or fifty, and it’ll be all over for you. Your eggs will be prehistoric, and he can write an archaeology paper about them.” She was being funny, but she meant it. “Maybe you should propose to him.”
“Don’t be silly. We have lots of time to think about all that. Besides, I want to finish my book first, and my Ph.D. I want to be a doctor when I get married.”
“Then hurry up. You two are the slowest people on the planet. You think you’re going to be young forever. Well, I’ve got bad news for you. Your body knows better. You need to at least think about getting married and having kids.”
“I will, in a few years. What are you doing tonight, by the way?” She knew Amy hadn’t even had a date since she got pregnant with her first child four years before. She was totally involved with them and had had almost no social life since. She was too busy working and having fun with her boys. She wanted Brigitte to experience that kind of fulfillment and happiness too. And Ted would make a great father, they both agreed. His students adored
