by May, Soraya
This can't be made up. It can't be just a passing phase, not for either of us.
Making my way slowly across campus, I walk past a group from my class. For the last week I haven't said a word to any of them, because I've been watching Will too intently.
"Hey, does anyone know where Prof Spencer is?", one says. Sonia, standing next to her, giggles.
"AKA Hot English Guy, you mean? He is soooo sexy. That accent, ohmygod..." She fiddles with her phone as she talks.
"Yeah, I saw him at the New Edinburgh, just off campus." I perk up a minute and slow down, loitering. Really? If he's there, I could go and 'just happen' to run into him accidentally. "But, sorry, Sonia, I think he's taken."
Uh-oh. Head down.
"Awwww, darn," Sonia pouts, looking mock-upset. "How do you know?"
"Well, he was there with his wife just now, or something. I don't know. They were holding hands."
What?
I walk quickly away before they notice me. That doesn't make sense. He doesn't wear a wedding ring, for a start. Everyone who’s married wears a wedding ring. Don’t they?
Crossing the road, I head for the cafe, constructing a thousand explanations in my head, one after another.
Maybe it wasn't him.
Maybe it was him, but it's a colleague.
I get to the cafe, people streaming in and out. Most of them are taller than me, and I have to push the door a few times with a determined expression on my face before they get the hell out of the way to let me in.
I see him in the corner, and I'm about to go over, but I stop.
He's with a woman. She's dark-haired, elegant, about his age, with rings on her fingers. Fine features and high cheekbones. A small traveling case is on the ground next to her, with a little Union Jack on the luggage tag.
She's leaning into him, talking in a low voice, and he's smiling. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can see the expression on his face. He's delighted, and I've never seen him look like this before. As I stand in the corner, trying to shrink into it, he throws his head back and laughs out loud at something she says.
Then—oh, God—he puts his arm around her, and holds her tight, kissing her on the forehead. She responds, holding him back just as tight. He's whispering something in her ear, and she's smiling.
This can't be happening. My heart is tight in my chest as I watch the two of them embrace. They let go of each other, and she holds on to his hand for a moment before letting him go. Pushing their chairs back, they start getting ready to leave, and I back out of the cafe quickly in case they see me.
In a fog of tears, I stumble down the road. I'm supposed to meet him in ten minutes, but how can I? What would I say?
Hey, I was meaning to tell you that I love you, but I just saw you with your English wife or something, so I guess that's not a thing.
I tell myself I don't understand how this could be happening, but deep down, I know exactly how it could be happening.
He was always going to be with someone like him. Someone sophisticated. Someone his own age. Not a silly college girl.
I've got nowhere to go now, and I keep walking, aimlessly, circling the campus. Ten minutes pass, and I pull out my phone.
My finger hovers over Will's name in my address book. I want to call him and scream at him, tell him what a slimy bastard he is for leading me on like this. Tell him how he's the lowest of the low for letting me think that this was more than just a fling.
All those moments of falling asleep together, all those quiet instances of coming down on a warm cloud after making love, all those stolen glances in class. You made them all up, Em. He never felt that way. He just said what you wanted to hear, because you wanted to hear it.
I put my phone away, not bothering to wipe my tears off the surface. I keep walking, around the campus again. Ten minutes later, my phone beeps. I ignore it. Ten minutes after that, it rings. I turn it off without looking at the caller.
Eventually, I find myself standing looking up at my dorm. I'm standing in exactly the same spot I was when he picked me up to go to the ball, and I snort bitterly as I think about how excited I was to be there with him.
The worst part of this is how fucking cliché the whole thing is. It's one thing to have your heart broken at college, but to fall for your sexy, exotic foreign professor and be heartbroken when he turns out to be a cheater? Please. I'd be slightly embarrassed even to know this girl, let alone be her.
The door to the hall pushes open, and I climb the stairs to my room. I don't want to do anything right now, but not doing anything in bed seems like the best option.
Ronnie's not in her room as I walk past, for which I'm grateful; there's no way I could hide this from her, and if she found out she'd want to lynch him, or whatever the Dutch equivalent is.
Throw him into a pond with weights tied to his feet, maybe?
I slam the door shut behind me, and just as I get in, I see the notebook on my desk. A wave of nausea sweeps over me, and I rush into my bathroom. The girl looking back at me in the mirror is an awful sight—tear-streaked, hair covering her face, eyes puffy and blotchy. I stare at myself grimly for a moment, and then shake my head.
Come on, Em. Get it together. You've been hurt before, and you'll be hurt in future. It's his loss, not yours.
Wiping the last of my makeup off, I crawl into bed, and consider my options. A small part of me wants to hurt him, to tell everyone that it's been happening. If it got out, he'd lose his job, and that would be the end of it. As soon as I think it, I feel guilty. You're not that kind of person, Emily Masterson, and no matter how slimy he is, you don't have to stoop to that sort of thing.
I think about documenting the whole thing, so that if it did become public knowledge, I'd have some evidence of my side of the story. I start running through in my head what I'd write, and then give up. Eventually, I realize that what I want to do is to write to him, not about him. Pulling the notebook towards me, I start:
Dear Will,
I don't know how to say everything I want to say to you.
31
Emily hasn't looked at me once this whole class.
She hasn't answered a single question—when usually she answers about half of all the questions I ask to the entire class—and every time I try to catch her eye, she's looking down at her exercise book as if the secret to Creation was printed in it somewhere. She's taking notes, so she's listening to what I'm saying, but there's absolutely no other engagement from her.
At one point, I resort to asking her a specific question. "Ms. Masterson, do you have any thoughts about the representation of gambling in Satire VI? What do you think Juvenal is trying to tell us here?"
She just shakes her head, staring down at her exercise book, when I know she knows the answer; we discussed it at length last week, in bed.
She never showed up at my apartment yesterday afternoon, and she won't reply to any of my messages or phone calls. The last two times I've called her phone, it's gone straight to message, so she's had it switched off for most of the day.
It takes all my concentration to get through this class coherently, while half my mind is on what's going on with her. Several times, I stumble and lose my place, leading to titters from the class. They're not used to suave, urbane Professor Spencer looking like he's forgotten what he's doing.
When the class finishes, I keep my eyes fixed on her. She packs up, shoulders her bag, and walks straight out the door, not looking in my direction once. I could go after her, but I'd be making a colossal idiot of myself.
Maybe this is it? Maybe it's just that she's decided she doesn't want this any more, and this is her way of showing it. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at her age, just like I said.
But this isn't some silly girl. This is Emily. She isn't like that.
I walk to my office, barely aware of where I'm going, nearly bumping into several students. Maybe she's afraid that if I'm going to punish her if she breaks it off? She's afraid to tell me.
<
br /> It seems ridiculous that after everything that's happened, we're in this situation. Will she be like this for the entire rest of the semester? I can't keep trying to contact her, but I won't just leave her be without an explanation, either.
Sitting in my office, I try to get on with grading papers, but my heart's not in it. Being with Emily has made everything else in the world seem wan and colorless - it's not as if grading papers was a laugh riot beforehand, mind you.
Now, though, any moment that I'm not with her, looking at her, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, seems like a photocopy of real life, or something seen through an Instagram filter, washed out, made up to look like something more important than it really is.
When the semester finishes, I really could take her away somewhere. It wouldn’t be selfish. We could go somewhere nobody will know us. A week ago, I would have been certain that she'd want that, but now, I have no idea what she wants.
When the semester finishes, what was I thinking would happen with us? Would she just leave, and go on with her life? I have absolutely no idea. I've been so wrapped up in this—this fantasy that I've been avoiding thinking about what would happen when it ends.
I need to talk to her and tell her what's happened. I never intended to involve my family, but now Katherine is here, I have to tell Emily.
I'm surprised that I don't want this to be a secret any more. I want someone to know.
32
I have to confront Will about this.
I can't let it go on any longer.
I've been a mess for days now, and I just want it to be over. Ronnie knows something is badly wrong, but my face every time she asks makes even her leave me alone. If this has to end with me telling him that I know what's going on, then that's what has to happen.
What is going on? That you're just his fuck toy? Is that it? Just the thought makes me feel like I want to throw up.
My email is terse and to the point:
Professor Spencer,
I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please let me know when we can meet.
Emily Masterson.
It's better to get this done quickly, like amputating a limb in the days before anesthetic. I bury myself in finishing assignments, but before long I get a reply.
Emily,
Where have you been? I've been worried about you. I very much want to talk to you too. Let's meet this afternoon at the Edinburgh. Is that okay? There's someone you need to meet. I've realized that I don't want this to be a secret any longer.
Will
I laugh bitterly to myself. You don't want it to be a secret, huh? Nice one.
The irony of meeting him at the same cafe where I saw them together isn't lost on me, either. I guess I have to go through with it, no matter what.
* * *
That afternoon, I push on the door to the cafe, and try to catch sight of them before they see me. It's taken me a long time to walk over here, because I've been rehearsing what I want to say to him. Every time I get it wrong in my head, I stop and start again. Right now, I'm so totally fucking sick of the whole thing that I can't wait to get it out.
I see him in the corner. With her. They're sitting easily, relaxed, like this isn't a big deal for them. I realize what a mess I look like, compared to her. There's only so much eye makeup can do to cover up days of crying, and my hair is blown into a demented birds' nest by the wind.
A week ago, I would have hidden around the corner, and tried frantically to fix the way I looked before letting him see me, but now maybe Queen Mab is the right look.
I study every inch of her before I walk over and end things for good. How close they look, how comfortable with each other. She even mirrors his gestures, his mannerisms. They must have been together for years.
Will springs to his feet when he sees me, and his eyes brighten. I take a moment just to look at his face, before it all starts. I’ve broken up with people before, but somehow this is different. I feel like it shouldn’t be happening, and I want to tell him in person all the things I wrote in the notebook. He sees my face, and I can tell he’s worried about how I look. Yeah, you should be worried, you douche.
When he takes me in his arms, I stay stiff against him. I don’t hug him back, as much as I want to.
“Emily, I’ve been really worried. Are you okay?” He looks down at me.
“What do you think, Professor?” My tone is as cold as I can make it without my voice cracking. I try not to scream at him out loud in a public place. I’m getting enough odd looks as it is.
“I—I— look, there’s someone I would really like you to meet. I should have told you this before, but—”.
Here it comes.
The woman he’s with gets up and smiles at me, full lips just like Will’s. She looks genuinely happy to see me. Maybe they have some kind of open relationship or something? Maybe it’s some kind of weird English tradition they don’t talk about in guide-books. What the fuck.
“Kath, this is Emily. Emily, this is my sister Katherine.”
Oh.
33
As the afternoon cold draws in around me, I slip out of the cafe, and adjust my collar to try and hide a bit more of my face. Katherine Spencer, Will’s sister, was lovely—kind, and decent, and funny. She didn’t once mention my birds-nest hair, and my obviously-been-crying face, and she was obviously delighted that Will was seeing someone.
When she found out that Will hadn’t even told me he had a sister, she was furious—she berated him using a variety of very colorful words, and he looked every bit the sheepish, hapless Englishman. Eventually, she stopped, smiling at me again.
“Well, now you know, Em—may I call you Em? I’m so glad I got to meet you anyway, even if my little brother is an idiot who doesn’t deserve you.”
She also didn’t mention the fact that I was his student; I assume it was clear to her, but evidently it didn’t matter in the slightest. How could I have missed that they were related? They have the same smile, the same laugh, the same mannerisms.
I was so afraid that I’m not enough for him, I assumed the worst.
I walk down the outside of the college diamond, heading back towards my room. It’s getting colder, and I put my hands in my pockets to keep warm. As I do, I feel something in my left pocket—the notebook. Oh hell, the things I wrote.
I stop on a park bench, pull out the notebook, and look again at what I wrote. Page after page of pouring my heart out to him, calling him ‘Darling Will’ over and over, talking bitterly about how I was a silly girl who was infatuated with him, and how he took advantage of my trust.
I wince when I get to the part about how we first made love, and how it all seemed a sham now.
I can’t show this to him, or he really is going to think I’m a silly little girl. I don’t even want to look at this stuff any more. I pull the pages carefully out of the book, levering up the staples with my nail, then sliding them off and pressing down the staples so it looks like they were never there in the first place. Putting them down on the seat next to me, I flick back over the rest of the pages. There it all is, in his flowing handwriting, the story of how much he cares about me.
I can’t believe I ever thought this wasn’t real for him. What an idiot.
Standing up, I hurry back to my room, telling myself this will all seem like a dream tomorrow.
34
At the train station, Kath’s face was serious as she embraced me. “Will, you need to hold on to that girl. She’s something special.”
I smiled, and shook my head. “Kath, she’s only young, and she’s finishing her degree very soon. She has the whole world waiting for her. She cares for me, but I need to come to terms with the idea that it may not be a serious thing for her. I’m not going to be the thing which holds her back.”
Kath grabbed me by the shoulders as her train pulled up. “Look at me, little brother. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and she’s not a child. You are not holding her back, and if you let her slip away
, you are an idiot, and you will regret it.”
* * *
The coffee machine in my apartment makes a piercing beep and I look up.
"Coffee, Emily?"
She's on the couch, reading, feet tucked under her. "Yeah, thanks."
Things are okay again, I think. Emily gets nervous and changes the subject when I ask why she didn't respond last week. I've brought it up a few times, but I don't want to upset her, so I'm going to let it go for the moment.
"When did Kath leave?" Emily and Kath really hit it off, and I'm glad they met. I feel silly now for not talking more about it to her before—at the time, I just didn't think she'd be interested, but I guess that was exactly the wrong approach.
Bringing the coffee over, I come and sit next to her. Her hair is tied back off her face, and she's intent on her book. Slowly and carefully, I kiss her on the back of the neck, just below her ear. She giggles, and shifts position. I do it again, this time with a little nip of her skin, and I'm rewarded by a surprised gasp.
"Ahhh..you are..very distracting, Professor."
I grin. "Well, I do try, Ms. Masterson. How's the textbook?"
She makes a face. "Wordy. Their argument would be a hell of a lot more convincing if they'd use half as many words."
"Right. Welcome to academia, young lady. It's pretty much like that all the way on in from now."
She turns to face me, half-smiling. "I'm not entirely sure how I feel about being called 'young lady', Professor?" Her finger traces the line of my jaw, and I'm instantly hungry for her. "You see, I..may be younger than you, but there are still..."
She runs her hand down my neck and over my chest. My phone beeps, but I ignore it.
"...things..."
Straddling me, she looks down with a wicked gleam, and starts to unbutton my shirt.
"...I can do for you, that no-one else—"
Her phone beeps. She rolls her eyes. "Go away, outside world. Right now I've got something important to do."