“Did you ever marry again because of me?”
The question stunned me.
“No.”
“You dated.”
“Yes.”
“But every time it got serious…”
I laughed.
“You think you're reason?”
“A little.”
I pulled out chair.
“Nia.”
“I didn't remarry because I didn't meet someone I wanted to marry.”
“That’s all.”
“You did not ruin love for me.”
“You did make me more careful about who enters your life.”
“That was appropriate.”
She studied me.
“Would you now?”
“Now?”
“You're fifty-one.”
“Thank you for reminding.”
“Would you marry?”
“If right person appears.”
She grinned.
“So yes.”
“Yes.”
Two years later, she introduced me to Dr. Elaine Porter.
Not for me.
Elaine was her sociology professor.
At a parent weekend reception.
Elaine was forty-eight.
Divorced.
One adult son.
Smart.
Funny.
She corrected me about building accessibility during first conversation.
I liked her immediately.
Nia noticed.
“Absolutely not.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“My professor?”
“You brought me here.”
“To meet teachers.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“You are embarrassing.”
Elaine overheard.
“Good.”
She smiled at Nia.
“Parents should occasionally.”
We dated six months later after semester ended.
Very carefully.
Nia was twenty.
Not ten.
Still, I asked.
She rolled her eyes.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You don't need permission.”
“I want input.”
“She’s cool.”
“That’s all?”
“She gives too much reading.”
“Not relevant.”
“It is to me.”