It’s been a long week. After Jen and I talked, I wanted to call Will and get everything out in the open, but I couldn’t—I still can’t. I’m reeling with regret and confusion. How do I feel about Will? How does he feel about me?
So, I’ve been keeping to myself. I work out at the gym on my own in the mornings, and beg off after-work activities. Will and Jen both offered to help me with my interview preparations, but I put them off. For some reason, I just want to be alone.
Of course, it doesn’t help that Paul keeps calling and texting. Maybe he does want me back, now that Langley is out of the picture. Amazingly, when I think of Paul now, all I picture is his snarly face, the day he found his DVDs in the bathroom cabinet…and how he yelled at me…and how Will came and kicked him out. Then I think about how Will sat on the couch and ate Red Hots and watched Regis and Kelly with me until I fell asleep. I pick a Red Hot out of my bag of sweeties. As I suck on it, I wonder if this is how he would have tasted if he’d kissed me that day…
Jesus, Lucy, get a grip.
When I finally turn out the lights and go to bed, I sleep fitfully, and dream about market protectionism in the European Union.
***
“Have a seat, Lucy. I’m just going to get the rest of the committee, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Would you like something to drink?” Dr. Richards, the department chair, is really very nice. He’s given me a campus tour, and introduced me to some of the faculty. I’ve done a teaching presentation, and now I’m meeting with the hiring committee to present my job talk. This is when I talk about my research agenda, and explain what talents I will “bring to the department”. I can cross my toes, and name every single episode of Dawson’s Creek, but somehow, I don’t think those are the talents they’re looking for.
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” When he leaves, I take out my notes and try some deep-breathing exercises. This won’t be so bad. I can talk forever about my research—
“Hello!” A middle-aged woman with a seriously unfortunate case of horse-teeth comes in and introduces herself as Susan Scranton. She’s on the committee, and is the comparative politics scholar in the department. I vaguely recognize her name from some class I took first-year, so she must be well-published.
“Are you enjoying your visit?” she asks, taking a seat beside me. I want to say ‘No, day-long interviews are hellish, and these stupid silver heels are pinching my pinkie toes something fierce,” but instead I smile pleasantly and we engage in some meaningless chit-chat until the rest of the committee arrives.
“We all want to thank you for coming in to meet us, Lucy. Why don’t you come on up and tell us a little about yourself, and then we’ve got a few questions for you, okay?” Dr. Richards kind of reminds me of my Dad. I mean, if my Dad was older, and bald, and had an American accent.
I stand up and try to sound confident as I launch into my prepared talk. I get about five minutes into my discussion of state budget outcomes under divided partisan government, when Mrs. Ed interrupts me. “Do you have any funding options lined up?”
What? My eyes flick nervously to Dr. Richards, but he’s looking at his iPhone, so I can’t get any non-verbal assistance from him. Funding for what?
“Funding…for my research?” Scranton looks at me like I’ve got the I.Q. of a rather slow mosquito.
“Yes, of course. Federal grants, private foundations. Did you do a post-doc?” She glances down at my vita quickly.
“No, no, I didn’t.” Why didn’t I do a fucking post-doc?
“That’s a shame—post-docs are great opportunities to make connections and line up future funding options. Do you have anything in the works?”
Umm, no. “Well, I’ll definitely be submitting a proposal to the National Science Foundation—“
“You and every other political scientist in the country. NSF grants are few and far between, Lucy. What other options are you considering?”
Shit. Shit. No one warned me about funding questions. Junior faculty aren’t expected to get their own funding at SETSU—hell, Will’s just applied for his first federal grant, and he’s years ahead of me. “I’ve been doing some digging. I’m not to the point where I’m ready to apply, but I’m definitely exploring my options.” Scranton looks like she doesn’t believe me. Richards is still flipping through his iPhone, and the other two guys couldn’t possibly look less interested.
“Lucy, every professor here is expected to carry his or her own weight. We’re a Tier One research institution—exploring options won’t cut it, I’m afraid.”
“Well, if you were to hire me, I’m sure I could line something up rather quickly. There’s a lot of interest in the European Union right now.”
“We’d need you to line something up before we hired you,” she says, and her voice is so mean, I want to tell her to go fuck herself. Or cry. I straighten the paperwork on my podium instead.
“Yes, well, I can certainly get on that immediately.” My voice sounds hollow. Dr. Richards finally finishes his game of Angry Birds, or whatever the hell he’s doing on his phone.
“That sounds promising, Lucy. Please continue,” he says hastily. I finish my talk, to the utter disinterest of the room, and manage to wind up the interview without totally losing it. By the time I get out to my rental car, I’m shaking with fatigue and mortification.
Crap. They hated me. I want to call Jen, but I’m too embarrassed to even recount the events of the last two hours. Tears of frustration are dangerously close, but I swipe my eyes quickly and make my way back to my hotel. I arranged to stay until tomorrow, in case today’s interview went so well that it ran late. Yeah, I should have planned on going home this evening.
By the time I get to the hotel, I’ve decided that I want to drive home right now. I’ll see if I can check out early, and head back to Houston. It’s a four-hour drive, but I can make it home before midnight if I leave soon.
Dragging myself into the lobby of the La Quinta Inn, I’m hoping they haven’t charged my credit card for the second night yet. I’m so despondent that it takes me a moment to realize that the man sitting on the couch in front of the coffee service area is familiar. In fact, I would have walked right past him if he hadn’t shifted his feet and stood as I trudged with heavy steps towards the front desk. But I do stop, and turn slowly.
“Dad?”
“Lucy, darling,” he moves towards me quickly, and I am completely flummoxed.
“What on earth are you doing here?” This is like, beyond surreal. How did he even know where I was staying?
He comes in for a big bear hug, then pushes me back by the shoulders. “Well, I’ve never been to Louisiana, and I’ve been missing you. I didn’t like the idea of you here all by yourself, so I just got in the car and drove. Jenny told me where you were staying.”
“But…I mean…” I stop, speechless.
“Come on, let’s drop your things in your room, and I’ll take you out to dinner. I mean, unless you’ve got some interview activities to attend to.”
“Umm, no, as a matter of fact I don’t.” We make our way up to my room, and I drop my briefcase and purse on the huge king-sized bed.
“Really, Dad, why are you here?” I don’t know why his presence is freaking me out, but it is. Has something happened? Did someone die? “Is Evan okay?”
“Sure, sure, he’s fine. I think he’s even found himself a job, bartending at some Mexican restaurant.” Dad raises his eyebrows ruefully. We both know better than to get our hopes up about Evan and his prospects for long-term employment. I plop down on the edge of the bed.
“So there’s really no emergency? You really just came because you’ve never been to Louisiana before? And you missed me?”
“Cross my heart.” And he does. Cross his heart, I mean.
We end up at the steakhouse across the street, and since neither of is driving, we share a bottle of wine. Before we even eat. Then we crack open another bottle after dessert. We’re feeling no pain, and I realize how much I�
�ve missed spending time with him. Grad school, and Paul, and life in general, have kept me away for too long.
“We should go gambling, Dad,” I cry suddenly, after we’re halfway through the second bottle of cabernet.
“I don’t think so, poppet,” he laughs. “Too much wine and not enough money, I’m afraid. And you still haven’t told me about your interview. If I was a suspicious man, I’d think you were avoiding the question.” He gives me a little wink.
“Dad, what do you want me to say? It was horrible. Heinous. They hated me.”
“I’m sure you’re overreacting.”
“When I left, the department chair thanked me for coming, and said I can learn something from all interviews, even the unsuccessful ones.”
“Ouch.”
“Right? I mean, I’m not sure I’d want to teach there, even if they had liked me. They’re way too focused on money, and their reputation. I imagine the students really get the short end of the stick.” This is what I’ve been telling myself all night. Maybe if I say it for a few more days, I’ll start to believe it.
“Honey, there are lots of jobs out there. You’re going to find the right one—this is just the beginning.”
“Quite an auspicious beginning, huh?” It’s hard to keep the self-pity out of my voice, so I don’t.
“Darling, if it was too easy, it wouldn’t be worth much in the end now, would it?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Have another glass of wine—I’m afraid you’ll run out of ‘dad platitudes’ soon if you’re not well lubricated.” He shoots me a fake-wounded look that makes me laugh.
“Fine, let’s change the subject. How’s your training going? The running, and cycling, and canoeing?”
“Kayaking, Dad.”
“Right, I knew that.” No, he didn’t.
“It’s going great. I mean, this week I’ve been working out by myself, but we’re all doing great. Jen’s lost five pounds!”
“So, do you think you’ll win?”
“Win what?”
“You know, the big race. Have you scoped out the competition?” Is he serious? I begin to laugh when I realize he is.
“Dad, of course we won’t win. There are hard-core crazies that do those extreme races. We’ll just be lucky to finish.”
“So is your Paul a hard-core crazy?” Dad’s nose is kind of scrunched up in distaste. Wow, what a poker face.
“He’s not ‘my Paul’ anymore. And yes, he’s one of those crazies.” I take a large gulp of wine, and try not to remember that Paul has texted me three times today.
“Well, you need to beat him, then.” Dad says definitively.
My snort is louder than I intended “Right. Not in this lifetime.”
“Will, then. Will needs to beat him.”
“Dad, Will’s the most noncompetitive person I know. He’ll probably stop in the middle of the race to help someone change a flat bicycle tire.” Dad remains silent, although he raises his eyebrows meaningfully.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Nothing.” Oh, it is so something.
“Please, Dad. Clearly you have some fatherly advice to pass on, and I’m open to any and all suggestions. I mean, considering that I’ve just completely jacked-up my job interview, I’ve been cheated on and dumped by my boyfriend, and my best friend has been secretly…I mean, he’s been—“ I stop myself. Shut up, Lucy.
“Lucy, my love--did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”
“You met at the café.” My mom’s family owned a bakery/café across the street from my dad’s office. She worked the counter in the mornings, and family legend has it that Dad fell in love at first sight, then gained ten pounds on apple crumb breakfast loaf before working up the nerve to ask her out.
“Yes, we met at the café. But did you know that Mum had a boyfriend when I met her?”
“Really?” I never knew that. Funny how that part of the story never made it into the family legend.
“Yes, some chap she met through Aunt Katy. He was an accountant.” I pull a face, and Dad grins.
“They were actually pretty serious. Mum and I were just friends. I mean, we joked around, but in her mind we were buddies.” I lean over and pour Dad a refill on his wine. I want him to keep talking. “I was smitten, of course, but I took my time. I was waiting for just the right moment to declare my intentions.” His eyes drift downward, and he stares into his wine glass. I can tell he’s thinking about Mom…missing her. Suddenly I miss her, too.
After a moment, I pull him back from his thoughts. “So? What was your big move, Casanova?”
“Well, I never got to make it, actually. One morning over coffee and breakfast cake, your mum plants her elbows on the counter, locks her gaze with mine, and says, ‘Jeff, do you have any plans to ask me out on a date? Because if you were to ask, I’d say yes.’”
“No way! Really?” You go, Mom!
“Yes, really. She told me that she’d watched me help some harried mother with two little ones and a gaggle of bags and buggies get off the bus outside the cafe one day, and poof, just like that, I’d changed in her mind from a friend to…something more. And within a week, the accountant was history.”
I smile at him, and he smiles back. “Daddy, why are you telling me this story?” I know why, but I want him to say it anyway.
“Well, darling…I suspect that poor Will may be repeating my mistakes. Waiting for just the perfect moment to declare his intentions, while you’ve already had your moment.”
“What moment?”
“The moment when you realize that he’s something more.”
Have I had that moment? Is Will more than just a friend? I think back to the time he took my car to get the brake pads replaced, so I didn’t have to wait in line…and the time he almost clocked poor Jeff at Uncle Charlie’s…and the time he kissed me under the bus shelter.
My cheeks flush hotly when I realize I’ve had that moment dozens of times…too many times to count, actually. And then I feel hot tears prick the corners of my eyes when I remember our last talk, in his office, when I told him our kiss was a mistake.
But it wasn’t. It was perfect.
Dad’s quietly studying me, as a rollercoaster of emotions play over my face. When he sees my tears, he covers my hand with his. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Dad, I want to go home tonight. Right now.” Suddenly all I want is to see Will. To apologize to Will.
“Sweetheart. It’s late, and we’ve both had too much wine to drive. We’ll go home first thing tomorrow, okay?” I know he’s right, but as we pay the bill and walk back to the hotel, I’m itching with nerves. My stupid interview has been forgotten, and now all I can think of is getting home and fixing my life.
Chapter Ten
Dad and I leave at the crack of dawn the next morning, and I go straight to work…straight to Will. But he’s not there. Disappointment washes over me, and I dump my briefcase and wander to the division office to get coffee and shake Phyllis down for information. Popping my head in her door, I don’t bother with small talk.
“Hey Phyllis—any idea where Fisher is?” For some reason, when we are at work, everyone in our department is addressed by their last name. Except Phyllis.
“He and Stone went to lunch with Gibson.” Phyllis knows everything about everyone—she’s like the department pimp.
“With Gibson, huh?” Gibson’s the Dean of Social Sciences. Wow, Will’s moving up the food chain. “What about Morales?”
“She took Lance’s class today—he’s got that eye thing again.”
Eww.
I wander back to my office and begin to prepare for tomorrow’s classes. A few students stop by to discuss their research papers, and before long it’s going on five o’clock. Still no Will. I’m packing up my things when Jen walks in.
“Hey, how’d it go?” She’s in a tube top and skinny jeans. Somehow she makes this look cool, instead of trashy.
“Let’s just say we won’t be partying in Lo
uisiana on the weekends after all.”
“Was it bad?”
“The worst. They hated me. At one point some guy with horrible body odor called my research ‘unoriginal’. And he was one of the nice ones.”
“Was it like, ‘stayed out in the heat too long’ body odor, or like, ‘European earthy guy’ body odor?” Sometimes Jenny misses the point.
“I don’t know—is there a difference?”
“God, yes. European body odor kind of turns me on. It’s like…stink with a sexy accent.”
“You are so weird.”
Jenny picks up a random book from my desk and starts leafing through it. “So, have you talked to Will?” She’s trying to sound casual.
“Nope.”
“I think you should.”
We’re both silent for a moment. Jen’s still flapping pages, causing tiny dust mites to dance in the sunbeams seeping through the window.
“I will.”
Jenny nods. This is enough for her. It’s one of the things I love about Jen—she doesn’t need to know everything.
“Okay, I’m going to meet Dax at Skeeters. Wanna come?” She stands abruptly and tosses the book back on my desk.
“No, thanks, I’m going home. Some inspector guy is coming by to look at the condo, and I need to clean up a bit.” Okay, more than just a bit. A lot.
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