Professor Trouble

by May, Soraya

  Except for her. Emily wasn't a dream. She was real, more real than anything.

  My in-tray is finally almost clear, and it only has one more item in it, a brown envelope which arrived this morning in the internal mail. Opening it, I pull out the notebook, the one in which I first wrote about her, and in which we exchanged the whole story of our relationship.

  There is nothing else - no note, or letter. I guess that she just returned it because she wants to be done with the whole episode, and I understand that. I don't want the damn thing now, anyway. I look at the cover briefly, then drop it in the waste-paper basket, and get back to the serious business of figuring out what to do with my future. If I can't go back to Bailey, and I can't stay here, what the hell am I doing?

  Maybe I should just take a sabbatical and travel. It would give me a chance to rethink my life a bit, and work out why this happened in the first place.

  I won’t feel like this about anyone, ever again, not the way I feel about Emily. She didn't deserve to be caught up in this, and she didn't deserve to have me use her to run away from my own problems. I can't undo the past, but I can make sure that I never do this to anyone again.

  I was right; the time with Emily was more real than anything else that's happened since I've been here. Her hair, her eyes, her voice—the way she'd look so intently at me in class. The feeling of her body writhing underneath me, night after night, the hungry look in her eyes before she engulfs me. More than anything, the feeling she gave me of belonging, her to me, and I to her.

  Where am I ever going to find that again?

  I guess it won't hurt to relive it one last time before I go.

  Hunting around in the waste-paper basket, I fish out the notebook. Its cover is scuffed and grimy, but I brush it off and open it. Starting from the beginning - the letter 'E' - I read each line, savoring them like a condemned man savors every bite of his last meal. The vibrant, explicit, sensual descriptions of what she wants me to do with her, the parts where she wrote about waking up next to me and how marvelous it is—all of it. For a few moments, I close my eyes and remember the warm wonderfulness of her, being a part of me.

  Then I open my eyes again, and come back to reality. That's the end of the notebook, and the end of my time here.

  * * *

  Except it isn't the end. I turn the page, and there's another entry, in Emily's neat handwriting.

  Dear Will,

  I'm writing this not knowing if you will ever read it, and certain that we will never see each other again.

  I need to tell you that this crisis was my fault; the pages I wrote in anger and sadness when I thought you didn't care for me, I tore out. I was afraid that you would see them and discover that I am a silly infatuated girl, and in my fear, I have ruined everything, for you, and for us.

  You have become so much a part of me that a future without you is hard to imagine. I'll never forget being with you, and if I could say anything to you, it would be to beg you not to forget me, not to forget us.

  Cruel Love, to what do you not drive the human heart:

  to burst into tears once more, to see once more if he can

  be compelled by prayers, to humbly submit to love,

  Always yours,

  E

  40

  The train station isn't as crowded as I'd expected at this time of the morning, but I guess it's not really the end of the semester yet. I've only got one bag for the trip south to Boston—I sold my textbooks online, and gave all my crappy pairs of shoes to the Goodwill. When I get home, move back into my parents' place, and find a job, I'll go and buy myself some decent shoes, for the first time in my life.

  Ronnie left me outside the college bus stop, with tears and embracing, and promises to Facebook her on the trip. I'll miss her, crazy girl—her swearing about computer hardware, and mandatory afternoon tequila.

  Okay, maybe I won't miss the tequila.

  My memory of the last week is still raw in my chest, but I know it will fade, and as the train takes me home, away from here, it'll take me away from the memory.

  Away from all the anger and the heartache. Away from Will. Somehow.

  The train will be here in two minutes.

  After a long night of thinking, I've decided I'm glad that this happened. I'm glad that I fell in love with my professor, even if I lost him, because as much as I want to forget this, I know I won't.

  Cradling my bag in my chest, I look along the platform as the train rumbles down the valley towards us. As it pulls up, I start walking down to the end to find an unoccupied carriage, wanting to be alone with my thoughts.

  The doors open, and I step forward, ready to leave Lowell for the last time.

  Aaaaand just when I could do with it least, the toe of my shoe sticks in the little rut between the tiles on the edge of the platform.

  Fuck.

  My leg goes out from under me, and all I can think of is no one to catch you this time, Em.

  Except, well, there is.

  An arm grabs hold of me, and puts me back on my feet.

  A familiar voice says "Are you okay, Ms. Masterson?"

  I turn, and it's him. My Will, wearing a cable-neck sweater and jeans, and a two-day growth of beard, not looking at all English. He looks like he's run here from the college, judging by the way his chest is heaving.

  "I—I'm okay, Professor. Will." The train doors are still open, but he holds me as if he doesn't want to let me go ever again. Will takes my hand and squeezes it, tight.

  "Emily, I had to see you. I read the notebook, I read what you wrote."

  My throat tightens. "Uh-huh."

  "I ran to your room, but you were already gone. Ronnie told me that you'd be here, and what train you'd be on. She also threatened to set fire to my head if I did anything to hurt you."

  I smile despite myself. "Well, you're not ablaze just yet."

  He stands back, not letting go of my hand.

  "Emily Masterson, you are the best thing that has happened to me in this whole semester. You are, in fact, the best thing in the entire United States of America. I do not want to be apart from you one moment longer."

  He swallows, and I see just how afraid he is.

  “Emily, I don’t know where I’ll go, or what I’ll do, now the semester has ended, but I do know one thing. Wherever I go, I want it to be with you. Now and always.”

  Suddenly, it seems like the sun has come out, just here, in this little spot on the platform.

  Not for the first time in his presence, I am lost for words. My phone beeps, and without taking my eyes off Will—my Will, my gorgeous, darling, perfect Will—I look at it.

  It's from Ronnie, and it consists of one character, and one only:

  ?

  I reply to her with one character, and one only:

  !

  Epilogue

  The coffee machine in our apartment makes a piercing beep and I look up.

  "Coffee, Will?"

  We’ve been together in an apartment near the college for three months now, and I’m finally starting to believe that this is the rest of my life, happening right here.

  Will elected to take a sabbatical for another semester, and the college hastily agreed; the stigma of a resignation would have been a PR disaster for them, and they were happy for him to quietly fade away and resign when everyone’s forgotten about what happened. He’s been researching and writing, and he’s planning a book, an extended commentary on the Aeneid.

  I’ve got a temporary job in a bookstore, and every night I get to come home to him. I don’t think either of us knows what we’ll be doing next year, but for the first time, we know we’ll be doing it together.

  Will comes out of the study holding a sheaf of papers. “Mmmph. Yes, please. How was the bookstore?”

  “It wasn’t exactly action-packed. I swear independent bookstores must have some secret funding source which allows them all to keep going. I’m not an accountant, but I don’t understand how we can sell so few books a
nd keep the place open.” The coffee cups clink onto the table, and I settle next to him on the couch. “How has this semester been overall, Professor?”

  He puts an arm around me, and I feel his lips brush my cheek. “Good, but not quite as..eventful..as the last one.”

  “Well, that’s true. I’m glad you’ve escaped from all the other girls who were smitten by your sexy English accent, and your sexy talk about Juvenal and Virgil.”

  “Well, thank you, but they weren’t exactly—” I ignore him and carry on.

  “Mind you, those other girls don’t know about the beetroot thing. That is kind of a deal-breaker for a lot of people, you know. You’re just lucky you found one as tolerant as me.”

  Will’s eyes narrow. “A more venal and mean-spirited man than I would suspect you of making that up, Emily Masterson. However, I will merely conclude that I have a lot to learn about the United States, about women, and about you, and leave it at that.”

  I suppress a smirk. “Thank you, Professor.”

  “Now,” he says, sipping his coffee, and shuffling papers, “can you get a couple of weeks off from the bookstore next month?”

  “Sure, it’s only casual employment. I don’t want to leave them out in the cold, but it’s not like they’re very busy. How come?” Will smiles broadly and holds up a sheet of printed paper.

  “I need to go back to Bailey to conduct an oral exam. And, in accordance with the Spencer-Masterson wherever-we-go-we-go-together principle, I would like you to come with me. Would you like to take that trip to the UK you’ve talked about?”

  Being a grown woman, I try not to squeak with elation. “Yes! Going there with you will be…” I tail off, and settle for just kissing him as hard as I can.

  After a pause, we extricate ourselves, and I sit back, thoughtful. “It won’t be much fun for you fitting into a tiny economy class seat for a nine-hour flight, though.”

  His smile gets broader. “Well, it should be a little easier this time.” He holds up another sheet of paper. “First Class, Ms. Masterson.”

  “You are full of surprises, William Spencer.”

  He leans forward again, kisses me very gently, and whispers.

  “You haven’t seen the half of it, my love.”

  * * *

  I sink into the big soft cushion on the airplane seat, and settle back. It’s not quite as comfortable as my glorious pillow, but it’s pretty damn nice.

  Except there’s something sticking into my back. You’d think you’d get better in first class. There’s something under the pillow, something small with corners.

  Grumbling, I turn to Will, but he’s staring straight ahead, unexpectedly immersed in the safety briefing card and not looking at me. I unfasten my seatbelt, and squirm around, reaching behind me, trying to push it out of the way.

  My hand closes around a square object, small enough to fit in my hand. It’s a little box in a dark, heavy wood, with a single brass hinge on the lid. Huh, maybe the last passenger left it here and the cleaning crew missed it, although you’d think in a fancy establishment like this they’d—

  The box has a letter on it.

  'E'

  The air has suddenly turned to molasses again, and I wish I were still wearing my seatbelt. Holding the box with one hand, I lift the lid, slowly.

  Inside, on a little piece of black satin, is a diamond ring.

  About the Author

  Soraya May likes happy endings, expensive whisky, and typography. She has a well-tempered husband, and an ill-tempered cat. She really hopes you enjoyed her book, and she’s more grateful than she can say for your support to keep doing the job she loves.

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