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I have my favorites to study and my favorites to read for fun. I have books I’d sell my soul to read again for the first time, and books that feel new each time I reread them. I have my favorite book I love to hate, and my favorite book I hate to love.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe we can talk about something other than men we can’t have tonight. Our conversations lately would one hundred percent not pass the Bechdel test,” I tease. “Feminist killjoy,” she grumbles, but she says it with love. “What’s more feminist than discussing sexual desire that has been repressed by the patriarchy for centuries?”
“You and Evans reading the same sexy book might as well be some kind of nerdy foreplay.”
“A Bennet sister would never.” I feign shock. She laughs as she pulls open the front door. “I’ve contemporized it. Modern Lydia absolutely would flip the bird and you know it. Good night.” She sings the last word again and pulls the door shut behind her.
“That poem just kind of set me off, I guess. And you did a trigger warning and everything, too, but I thought I could handle it.”
It is, in short, a love letter to teaching and learning.
I think it might be a love letter to me.
Speak loud and clear. You belong here.
