"And so..." I said, pacing slowly along the edge of the stage, the sound of my heels a gentle reminder that women's shoes were made for form and not function. You'd think I'd have figured this out after fifty years, but clearly this was not the case.

No matter, of course.

"We come to the topic... of gravitational planes."

Most of my students seemed more interested in their laptops than they did in my lecture, but that was fine. The select few in the first couple of rows were my good apples, their faces eagerly shining, rapt with excitement over what the rest considered boring.

"When two objects exist in three-dimensional space, we can consider them to be along a single plane. Everything else, every particle, every planet... no longer matters."

Okay, this isn't strictly true, but that was the topic of the next day's lesson. I continued nonetheless, knowing I would have to explain that today's lecture was mostly incorrect. I mean, the theory is right.

"So we have our two objects" I said, turning and pulling out my laser pointer. If the college knew I still had one of these, they'd lose their minds. Some bullshit about retinal damage, I dunno. "Let's call them... two condensed spheres with known masses. Known, equal masses, sorry. So they exist somewhere in the universe all by themselves."

I paused to take a drink of water from my podium. The students at the front were busy scribbling away at the diagram up on the projector screen, bless them. I let them continue for a second before I went on.

"We know that the force that draws them together, illustrated by Newton's law of universal gravitation as force is equal to the gravitational constant times the two masses, divided by the distance between their centroids, is what is know as gravity. This acts on all objects universally, obviously."

Two dude-bro students up near the back of the room seemed to look at each other then look away. Yes, it acted on them too. They were universally attracted to each other. I smiled, remembering this exact lecture from my own college days.

"The force in this instance, I calculated to be point four-five to the negative eleven newtons of force, given equal masses of one hundred thousand tonnes and a distance of three hundred thousand kilometres. Or approximately the distance to the moon."

I was probably more excited than I should have been. But hey, this was my passion. Teaching kids about physics. Okay, not kids, adults. They were kids to me, though.

"This force acts solely on the linear plane between the two masses, so we can assume that this 'plane' is actually a single line. You've all seen the demonstration with the soft fabric sheet and the two oranges in last year's entry-level Newtonian physics class, of course. I like to think of that as a baseline. It's only right a little bit."

With a click of my prompter, the slide changed with a neat little animation. "And the force between those oranges and our two giant spheres is the same sort of thing. It exists on a plane, in a straight line. Before you raise your hand and ask about supermassive objects, we'll be discussing that in two weeks."

One of my brighter students slowly lowered her hand. I changed slides again.

"Now, we can rotate this plane as many times as we like, and provided that we maintain the linear path between our two objects, the gravity between them will always be the same."

A few heads nodded, much to my own internal glee. I had been trying to enlighten them to this very simple fact for the last two classes, but the scores for that Monday's online quiz had proven that they didn't quite understand the whole 'space is three-dimensional but gravity is one-dimensional' aspect. I mean, I wrote my doctoral thesis on how gravity is actually three-dimensional energy, so maybe I hadn't fully explained the concept.

"Now, I want you to add a third object to the first two, but not in the same plane. Is the force still acting in one dimension?" I asked, turning to face the crowd. The room was mostly empty, as it usually was Wednesday mornings at ten o'clock. I had fought every member of the science faculty to get this time slot for this semester, and thanks to my tenure and position with the dean, I had won. The huge flagship lecture hall was the largest at the college, with a properly ridiculous three hundred and fifty person capacity. Of course, as usual, it was currently only entertaining about seventy people. Not a lot of students wanted to attend my class, and I was well used to not having a full class except for test days.

"Yes, Reese?" I said, pointing to the overly enthusiastic girl in the front row. Her hair was about as vibrant as her attention for my class. And seeing as it was bright green and shaved along the left side of her head, you can extrapolate what I mean from that.

"Well, no..." the girl said, suddenly becoming hesitant. It was probably because of my face. "... Because the forces now work in two directions, so it is now two dimensional."

I nodded "Yes, mostly correct. But not quite."

I turned back to the huge whiteboard below the projector screen, pulling a dry-erase marker from my inside pocket and drawing three circles in a triangle, connecting the lines between them.

"Even if we drew the third circle above the other two, we can consider it on the same plane, because we can change the plane that the first two exist on. Now, even if yes, the forces act in two directions, if you remember from first-year vectors, when you have two forces in two directions, they become one force in one direction." I paused to take another drink, brushing a speck of lint of my blazer. "So even if there are three objects with three masses and three gravitational forces, they all equal out to one force. So each object only moves in a one dimensional plane."

The ones paying attention all seemed to hum and haw at this, nodding and scribbling their notes into their binders.

"Does everybody understand?" I asked, looking around the room. This had been the end of my lecture today, and I had no more teaching for them. Not that I wanted to keep them past one o'clock, of course. Even I wanted lunch at this hour. None of my students had any further questions. Maybe next week's quiz would go better than last time. "Alright. Thank you everybody, I'll see you next week. Quiz will be posted tonight at ten, and you have until Monday midnight."

Most of what I was saying was drowned out by the students in the higher levels sliding their chairs and re-bagging their laptops, slowly shuffling along the carpeted floor. I exhaled, letting the stress of teaching for three straight hours flow out of me as a sigh. Twenty years of teaching were slowly taking a toll on me, but I'm sure it will be fine. I mean, it has been twenty years. I think I have this.

I stepped up to behind my podium, shutting off my microphone and pulling it out of my collar, tucking it neatly into the drawer behind the podium. I grabbed my textbook, and I do mean mine, as my name was proudly displayed along the front cover, tucking it into my satchel bag and shouldering it. Sometimes my students would come and ask me questions after class, but today everyone seemed to be quiet.

I gave my head a quick shake, scratching a spot behind my ear that had been bugging me for about ten minutes or so as I left the classroom, following the last few students out of the room and leaving it with the lights on for Professor Cerulian who'd be there in an hour.

My escape, however, was cut short by the over-eager student.

"Professor, I had some questions about the homework and I was wondering if you could help me."

I smiled, trying not to feel a little short as Reese did stand a full head taller. Gosh, what were they mixing into the water these days. Everyone is so unbelievably taller than me and it stopped being fair decades ago. And I was in heels!

"Miss Chloris, you know you can come and see me during my office hours if you have questions." I said, noticing her face falling. Clearly she had been expecting me to hang around the classroom. "I think my office would be better anyways. I mean, I have a desk, not a podium. And I know that you have a test next."

"Y-yeah, I do."

"Well, you should go study with your friends, then. Want to keep that four-point-oh GPA up, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright, well good luck, dear. And I've told you all a bunch of times, you don't have to use 'professor' or 'ma'am' or anything like that. You can use my name, it's fine." I joked, watching her smile. God, I love when my students do that. Smile. Makes me feel accomplished.

"O-okay. See you tomorrow then?"

"Regular hours. À bientôt."

I love them all so much. I don't know why it took me so long to realize that I might want to be a teacher. I mean, all that time spent studying, teaching my husband all the things I was learning, making unnecessary Powerpoint presentations, I mean I was cut out for this. And my husband is also a teacher, and I always admired what he was doing. This is where I should have started. I mean come on.

The trek up to my office on the fourth floor is always a little absurd. Since I am a member of faculty, we have rules we have to follow. They include, and are not limited to, having to take the stairs, all the time. But, you know. That's fine. Elevators are for wheelchairs and those who are otherwise stairs-deficient. It's just a long way up. But, I always managed. Stupid legs. Stupid aging.

Finally up in my office, I managed to fall down into my chair, my joints creaking so loudly I might have gotten a noise complaint. I sighed. Another morning of teaching done, another group of students who would bell curve themselves to a sixty-five average on the next quiz. My class isn't hard. You just have to pay attention. I've only ever asked things that are on the slides or in the textbook. It's been that way for twenty years. Why people still do poorly is beyond me.

Finally comfortable, I pulled my laptop up and out of my satchel and lay it down on my desk. My lunch buddy would be around in a minute to enjoy homemade food my husband had prepared yesterday. I was excited.

Although halfway through opening my not-quite-allowed minifridge to get a drink, a face appeared in my door. I paused, frozen.

"Uh, doctor, if you have a minute, I have a bit of a problem." The balding man said, stepping only halfway into my office. "It's nothing major, just something procedural."

Oh yay, a problem. I love problems. Like, everyone else in the academic advising department would be more suited to helping, why does Everett always come to me?

"Yeah, sure, what's up?" I said, closing the fridge in lieu of straight-up groaning in his face.

"Oh, just a tiny issue of a courseload. One of my students wants to be registered in my class, but the cap is one-twenty five."

"Let me guess, he's number one-twenty six?" I looked over my shoulder at him, pulling open my filing cabinet and rooting around for my course lists. His nod was answer enough. "Alright, let me see what I can do. I can't put him in if it's waitlisted."

"No, no, of course. But he has all the prereqs, and this section is the only one that doesn't conflict."

I let my shoulders drop. "I got it covered. You have his file, or do you want me to just guess who it is?"

I was handed a file.

"Alright, I'll fix it."

"Thanks, boss."

"I'm not your boss" I called after, but he was already down the hall and out of earshot. I tell you, the things I put up with here. Absolutely ridiculous. I finally managed to get my drink out of the fridge, cracking it open and grabbing a well-chilled can of Coke. This shit is so bad for your teeth. I don't advise you have too many of these things if you can avoid it. I limit myself to once a week. My child, however, drinks this shit like water.

A knock hit the doorframe, grabbing my attention. I looked up, only seeing a fist attached to maybe three inches of wrist. A signature greeting of the aforementioned child. I smiled.

"Come i-in" I said, in a sing-song and childish voice. A face popped around the frame.

"Hey, mom" the face said, a toothy grin coming with it. "Can I come in?"

"Hey, Lil. Please do."

She pulled herself around the frame in a very animated manner and slunk over the back of one of the two chairs at my desk. Much like both her father and I, she was very flexible and made climbing awkwardly onto furniture look graceful. Her choice of tight skinny jeans and fitting leather coat might have been the reason she actually more or less fell into her chair. Graceful. Byoutiful.

"So, how was class today?"

She shrugged, slinging her legs all over my chair. Damn her and her long girly legs. One of the few things she inherited from her father was height. Unlucky for me, the resident short-ass.

"S'okay, I guess" she said, mimicking one of my catchphrases. "We talked about De Morgan's theorem n' stuff."

"Oh?"

She yawned, digging around in her bag for what I assumed was her lunch. After a few seconds, I was proven right. The bag she pulled out of her other bag had her lunch in it. I grabbed my own.

"Yeah, the logic thing. You break the bar, change the sign or whatever. The prof was tryna' make the kids at the front understand but they kept asking the same question over and over and over and over and I was just like 'please shut up I've been done for days. You know?"

I smiled, pulling out two muffins. She was certainly her mother's daughter. Intelligent, beautiful, and very irritable. Absolutely perfect. I had, of course, always thought that, since the moment she was born. But such was the folly of being a parent. Completely impartial attitude towards your children.

"Oh, I know." This was the same way my teachers had taught me. Being smart had its perks. Our favourite of which was rubbing it in the faces of others. I know, we were so polite. And to think we're from the Great White North. "Want a muffin, sweetheart?"

She simply inhaled sharply with a grin on her face like she was trying to hoover it out of my hand from six feet away. I handed it over very cautiously, careful to not put my hands to close to her mouth lest I lose some fingers. Chocolate muffins are a popular commodity in our household. A box of six sometimes wont even last 'till the end of the day.

"Fanks mum" she said, mouth full of muffin.

I hummed in response, eating my own like a lady. My daughter eats like an animal. Always has, and I suspect she always will. Her aunt is probably to blame. She's an animal too.

This was my favourite part of Thursdays. Having lunch with my lovely daughter. Made waking up at five in the morning, teaching a seven a.m. class followed by an immediate ten a.m. class. Six straight hours of teaching had an effect on my lungs.

We enjoyed our lunch for another ten minutes or so in silence, me with my carefully made deli meats wrapped tightly with little toothpicks, and her with a destroyed muffin and ham n' cheese sandwich cut into four little triangles. My husband always made sure his girls were well fed, you see. Somehow, against everything he tried to do, we stayed thin.

This was the day where none of us could be at the table for breakfast, as it seems, as I leave the house at six, my husband's gone at seven, and Lil leaves at around nine for class, so we don't have time to be a family in the mornings. She stood, groaning in her young-adult-life-sucks way and breaking my train of thought.

"Thanks, mom. See you at home. Gotta run to class" she said with a bright smile, grabbing her bag from the floor and crossing around to my end of the desk for a quick hug. Some of her floofy blonde hair fell into my face as she did. I resisted the urge to make a fuss and spit it out like she used to when she was little to my hair.

"Love you, sweetie!"

She let go and skipped off. "Love you too, mom!"

The room went quiet again as I was once again left by myself. I slumped down, and opened up my email, and thumbed through my overflowing mailbox, not quite excited about it. Most were from other members of the science faculty adding me to their email blasts. Yuck.

Thirty-seven dummy emails later, having actually answered only two real ones from students wanting to be registered in my classes and one from my department chair about union dues, I decided enough was enough. No more classes to teach for that day, and no office hours were posted so I was free. I usually stayed in my office and worked on marking or whatever, but even that was done.

Time to boogie out, I thought. I stood slowly, taking my sweet time as I did. The amount of times I had banged my hip on the edge of my desk, I was not taking any chances. Stupid Ikea desk being too tall for me. Yeah, it was the desk's fault, not mine. Not mine!

I collected my coat from the chrome hanger behind the door and folded my laptop back into my satchel, stuffing a few files down with it. I took the student's file Everett had given me as well. I'd have a chance to look that over when I got home, where I could be comfortable and warm in my jammies when I disappointed him and didn't let him into the course. Professor Greene could sort his own students out. A few other binders with coursework in them were stuffed into my black rolling suitcase.

I left my office in a huff, a happy huff mind you, and made my way back over to the stairs with my wheelie bag in tow. Happy to be going home, that is. The trip back down the stairs was much easier, as I elected to slide down the middle railing on my butt like we used to do back in high school. I felt like such a delinquent then, and I still feel that way now. It's just more fun. Of course, you have to make sure no students are around. I'm required by my contract to be a good influence. Fuck that.

I always know the back way to get anywhere. One of my strong suits. There was actually a way into the parking structure from the math and science building, it just meant going down into the tunnels and knowing which unmarked door to take. Within five minutes I had made it back to the parking lot and back to my car. The dirty white paint didn't so much shine back at me as much as I usually liked. A shame, really. Saturdays were usually spent with the three of us out in the driveway washing our cars and enjoying the weather, considering the heat wave we'd had. Just today it was raining and my car got dirty.

The drive home that day wasn't anything to write home about. Although I will say that leaving at one-thirty on a Thursday had its advantages, especially if you drove as nice a car as me. Open roads in a classic M5, their really isn't anything better. Driving-wise, of course. I'd argue that low mortgage payments, clean bill of health, and comfortable shoes are probably higher on the list than a forty year old BMW, but I'm a little sentimental about the car. I've had her since I was seventeen.

I do still like going fast, just like when I was seventeen. Old habits die hard. I might be turning fifty this year, but I'll always be an enthusiast. And when the roads are empty like they were, I'll still get after it a little. Never with my daughter in the car, of course. Although I've seen the way she drives when she's alone. Just like her mother, and that makes me proud.

What also makes me proud is getting to pull into my driveway and into my garage of my house in the suburbs, the very same one my husband and I had bought right out of university, even before we were 'officially' together. The bank had given us some unusual looks, as we were two, bordering on three, unmarried twenty-three year olds who had walked into a bank effectively to rob it and buy a house. Since we did in fact have a roommate who was willing to make one third of a mortgage payment with us, they eventually said yes.

It took me a moment to realize that I had been sitting in my garage lost in my own thoughts, so I shut the car off and got out, careful to not bang the door on the row of bicycles. Twenty minutes of cruising home and I had gotten distracted by myself. The garage door slowly and quietly closed automatically and left me in silence, and I grabbed my bags and went inside.

"Hello-oh!" I called, hanging my coat up in the entryway. "Everybody's favourite person is home!"

Some soft humming and some guitar strumming came as my response. I smiled. He was probably procrastinating from his actual work in the front room. He always does this, too. Luck for my husband, his Thursdays are like mine. Teaching in the morning, afternoon off. The high school was a lot more lax with having teachers go home when they aren't actually teaching than the college was. So he spent his afternoons lying on the couch playing music when he thought I wasn't around.

"M'in here" came the call from the living room. I carefully pulled my heels off, supporting myself with hand against the wall. The tile floor in the hallway was cold under my pantyhose-covered feet as I poked my head around the corner. There he was, laying tiredly on the equally tired red couch, my Fender Mustang in his arms and a bunch of sheet music all spread out on the floor. God, it was a sight to behold. His greying blond hair, his well trimmed face, the clean and clear evidence of his still very fit body. Ugh, he still made me feel like a girl again.

"I didn't know you were coming home early today" he said as I approached "This is a nice surprise. How was work?"

I knelt down next to the couch and leaned in for a kiss. It always makes me giggle like a teenager. Even if we have been married literally half our lives.

"Hey, buddy. It was alright. Once again my students ignored me except for one green-haired hipster. She's gonna end up like me one day, I can feel it."

He smiled and closed his eyes, letting me take my guitar back and gently place it on the floor, strings up. "And how is that?"

"Incredibly happy, teaching what she loves, and married to her best friend" I cooed, crawling onto the couch next to him. I slung my leg over his knees and draped my hand loosely over his chest, wiggling down so I puzzle-pieced myself against his side. His long and spindly limbs were very easy to cuddle with, contrary to popular belief.

"Well, that's certainly a lofty goal, no? We're not exactly the best role models when it comes to relationships."

I blew a raspberry into his neck. We were the best role models.

"No, m'serious" he said, his laugh evident in his voice. "I don't think anyone will ever match the amount of sap we have. We rival most maple syrup companies with all this sap."

He was right, of course.

"Nah, you're just sentimental. You love me."

He chuckled quietly. "Yes, yes I do. Wouldn't have put up with you otherwise."

"Mmm, I love you too" I said, receiving a smooch on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and purred into his chest.

"Ugh, you two are so gaaaay!" came an exasperated voice from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Lily. How was class?" he said, in his best fatherly voice.

"Cancelled. Big sign on the door. M'so pissed." She replied, the sounds of the refrigerator opening and slamming shut evident of her course of action. Same thing I would have done, if I'm honest.

"Don't spoil your dinner honey, we're having lasagna. There's veggies in the fridge if you're hungry." I called, still in full cuddle-mode. I wasn't going anywhere. If Lily wanted to eat snacks, I was powerless to stop her. And given my position on the couch, I was immobile, too.

"Thanks, mom!"

Her bedroom door shut with a click, leaving the two of us alone again. It was a real wonder how we got to this point, all married and shit.

If you think your typical fairy tales are real love stories, you are sorely mistaken, I'm afraid. This is no Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, or Prince Charming and his harem of teenaged princesses. No, ours is a love story like no other, specifically where the guy doesn't get the girl after a stupid arduous process of defeating suitors or finding himself first. No, this is one where the girl has to go after the guy because he's too polite to go after her.

So if you're sitting down, I'll tell you how we got here.

How I married my best friend.

How I, Weiss Schnee, fell in love with Jaune Arc.