In the Uber home, Connor scrolled through his phone.

“That went great,” he said. “They loved you.”

“They laughed at me, Connor.”

He looked up. “They were just teasing. That's how they are. You were kind of stiff, to be honest.”

“You laughed too.”

“It was funny!” He put his phone down. “Come on, Grace. Don't make this a thing. Preston called his old teacher a loser. Big deal. He didn't mean you.”

“He said teachers are going to be obsolete. He said those who can't do, teach. You put your arm around me and told them I grade papers on our dates, like it was a funny little hobby.”

Connor sighed.

“It's a job, Grace. It's a nice job. But it's not exactly…”

He stopped.

“Not exactly what?”

He didn't answer.

I looked out of the window at the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Connor,” I said quietly. “If I'd told them I was a lawyer, would you have laughed?”

The Uber drove on. He looked at his phone.

He didn't answer that one either.