16.
Week Two
All academics lie. Period.
Sometimes, they lied as a matter of course. For instance, at some point in every semester Deja said to her students, “You know more than enough to pass the exam.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie outright. For students who came to class and did the work, she was telling the absolute truth. But for the thirty to sixty per cent of the students in each class who didn’t come to class and didn’t do the reading, she was lying; they didn’t know enough to pass her exams. Of course, she couldn't tell her students that because she didn’t want to freak them out so much that they dropped the class for fear they couldn’t pass. So, it was a kind of lie of omission.
Sometimes, professors lied without even thinking about it, like when they had their annual goal setting meetings with the chairs of the departments. Every year, Deja told her boss that she planned to finish her book and she meant it. The problem was that she had the best intentions but no time.
But the biggest and worst lies were the ones professors told themselves.
Every year, Deja promised herself that she would rest during winter and summer breaks. She promised herself that she’d catch up on all the sleep she’d missed during the semester. She’d vowed to cook real meals, go for walks, and rediscover herself during the holidays. She made herself the most solemn promises — usually in the middle of the night while scrambling to get graduate research papers back on schedule and with copious feedback — that she would actually take a break during the break.
She also, simultaneously, told herself that once the semester was over she’d get all the research and writing done. By the time the semester was over, she usually had a notebook of half-formed ideas she wanted to turn into academic articles, notes on revisions for a book chapter or two, and a stack of books to read in just six short weeks.
How was she supposed to get all that done while resting and course prepping for the next semester? Well, that was the lie: that she’d find a way. Every break that she didn’t magically find a way to do all the things she’d planned to do, made her feel worse. And when she walked into the next semester less rested and more stressed, the worst part was that she’d believed her own fairy tales.
On some level, her students knew she was bullshitting about how easy her exam was. They knew their attendance grade and if they’d barely passed the reading quizzes, assuming they took them at all. They’d also been on ratemyprofessor.com, so they knew how many other students said she was a hard grader, a bitch, a mess, unqualified to be doing to her job. Her students knew she was lying just like the chair of her department knew she wouldn’t finish her book this year even as he nodded solemnly at her and wished her luck. But Deja believed that she would do all the things she’d planned and more, even with all evidence pointed toward the fallacy. But she had to believe because it was about the only way she could trick herself into believing in herself.
So, she wasted the first week of her winter break studiously checking books out from the library, printing out academic articles and organizing her notes. She didn’t read or write anything, but she got herself in order. She deep cleaned her apartment, she washed all the laundry she hadn’t had time to do, and she made many, many lists. And at the end of the week, she Skyped her family on Christmas Day.
“I wish you could have come home, sweetheart,” her dad said, his face too close to the laptop as usual, so all she could see were his eyebrows, forehead and thinning hair line. It made her smile.
“Me too, dad, but I—” Deja stopped speaking to take a few breaths. She didn’t want to cry on the Skype call because then her entire family would start crying. Again. They’d been here before, and after years of staying away to finish her work— to try to stay afloat — her family was used to her missing all the holidays, even if they hated it. “I just have so much work to do, dad. If I can just get my book in good shape, I really think I can submit it to presses next year. I do.”
Deja tried to ignore the pathetic naïveté she heard in her voice. She sounded like a used car salesperson, but she didn’t know who she was trying to convince, herself or her father. Either way, it was so sad.
“I know you will, baby girl. I have faith in you,” her dad said. He’d heard all this before, and Deja didn’t know if he believed her or not, but she did know that he was always in her corner, and that mattered a whole hell of a lot.
“Open your present,” Deja’s mom called. “Franklin, turn the computer toward the tree. Let Deja see what we got the baby.”
Deja’s dad grumbled and started turning the monitor. Deja swiped at her eyes while no one else could see and then she put on her biggest smile to watch her nephew open the zombie Lego set the entire family had pitched in to get him, even though Deja’s sister still wasn’t sure if it was smart to encourage his zombie obsession.
When she closed her computer a few hours later, she saw a text message from Alejandro wishing her Merry Christmas with a picture of him in the corniest Christmas sweater she’d ever seen. She smiled at her phone and texted him back.
She waited a few minutes for a reply, but it didn’t come, and that was okay, she told herself. He was with his family, getting the break she’d denied herself, and she wouldn’t begrudge him that.
She padded into her kitchen and found a frozen meatloaf dinner. She popped it in the microwave, opened a bottle of wine, and sank deeper into a depression because this was her life.
17.
Week Three
Three pages!
Deja had written three new pages on an article she’d dug out of her files, and she felt like a rock star. The article wasn’t anywhere near complete. Actually, chances were high that when she looked at it in a few days, she might decide that she hated those three new pages and delete them and more, but she’d worry about that another day. Right now, she just wanted to be happy that those three pages existed. It was New Year’s Eve, and she wished she was doing something more interesting than saving and backing up the latest version of an article she’d been writing for almost a year, but she wasn’t, and a lesson she really wanted to learn next year was how to be grateful for where she was and what she’d accomplished instead of always only focusing on the things she still needed to do.
It was a sad fact to realize that she didn’t have lots of strategies for celebration. Even worse to realize that she’d arrived at this conclusion before. In fact, that was something her and her old therapist had been interrogating, the fact that Deja didn’t have coping skills for being happy for herself. She didn’t know how to reward herself for a job well done, but she had lots of destructive methods for wallowing in her failures. How pathetic, she often thought to herself. With no idea how to break that cycle.
But right now, unexpectedly, she wanted to celebrate.
She thought about calling Toni and Marie, but they were still out of town. Marie had gone to visit her family in New York, and Toni was at an all-inclusive resort in Barbados for New Year’s. Besides, what she really wanted was to go somewhere, to do something and be with someone. But since that wasn’t a possibility, she decided to do the next best thing; talk to the person she was desperate to be with.
Alejandro picked up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he breathed.
“Hey. You busy?”
“No. Not at all.”
“You sure? Sounds loud.”
“My family’s loud. We’re getting ready for a party, but I have time,” he said quickly. “Let me just…hold on.”
Deja listened to Alejandro breathe — trying to ignore how much she liked even that sound — as the background sounds on his end of the line began to fade. She heard a door snick closed.
“Okay, what’s up?” he breathed.
Deja was sitting in her office chair, looking at the Word file, but she didn’t feel nearly as excited about it. She felt so pathetic actually. Here she was, alone on New Year’s Eve, excited that she’d written three probably crappy pages while everyone
she loved was hundreds and thousands of miles away. And she’d chosen this. She’d wanted to share the of those three pages with Alejandro, but now that she had him on the phone, she was second guessing herself.
“Um…I just called to say hey. I figured I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to you later.”
“Why? Did you think I wasn’t going to call you at midnight?”
Deja’s face warmed, and she bit back a smile. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled.
“Yes, I do,” he said forcefully. And I want to.”
She shivered at the simple declaration in his voice. She loved the way he made everything seem so easy in a way she couldn’t. It made her feel secure, and she knew she’d get used to it if he kept at it; she probably already had.
“I wrote three pages today,” she blurted out. “I mean, it’s not a lot or anything, but—”
“Congratulations, Deja,” he said, cutting her off. His voice was bright with excitement, like real excitement, and it made the happiness she’d snuffed out earlier come back to life. “I’m really proud of you. I just wish I was there so we could celebrate together.”
“It’s just three pages,” she said, dipping her head to hide her smile even though there wasn’t anyone else in her apartment.
“There’s no ‘just’ when it comes to your CV, you know that. I know that. Hey, when I’m back, we’ll celebrate your three pages and whatever else you write, okay?”
Deja felt so pathetic because she was on the verge of tears, not just because Alejandro wanted to celebrate with her or because he knew how important this was, but because he thought she would write more pages. She didn’t know if she believed him but knowing that he believed in her was everything. She stopped biting her lips shut and let the smile that wanted to form spring fully to life.
“I miss you,” she admitted quietly.
“I miss you, too. So, what are you wearing?” he asked in a playful voice.
“Boy, shut up,” she laughed and stood from her chair to walk out of her office.
“I’m just saying, I have a few minutes. Just in case you wanted to Facetime me or send me a picture or something. For good luck.”
Deja giggled as she walked into her bedroom, the warm feeling in her chest spreading as she pushed her pajama pants over her hips.
18.
Week Four
“I’m not hungry, mami,” Alejandro called through his bedroom door.
“Why not?” she yelled up at him. “You need to eat more.”
Alejandro rolled his eyes. He ate enough. He’d learned in graduate school that sometimes the only thing he could control about his life was what he put in his body and how he treated it, so he tried to eat a healthy diet, he worked out a few times a week, he drank lots of water, and ever since he’d gotten tenure, he made sure that he got as much sleep as possible. He did the best he could.
But still, the minute he’d walked through the front door, his mother had hugged and kissed him and then frowned. “You’re so skinny,” she’d exclaimed.
He wasn’t.
In fact, now that he was past thirty and spent more time sitting at a desk than playing sports with his brothers or working out, he’d gained weight and spent a small fortune last spring getting his favorite suits re-tailored. He knew his mother expressed her emotions through food and at any other time he would happily sit at his parents’ old beat up Formica table and let her feed him all the menudo and tamales she wanted.
But not today. Not right now. He had a date.
Alejandro closed and locked his bedroom door behind him. But then he remembered how many times his younger brothers had burst into his room when they were teenagers, even when he was certain he’d locked it, and he started searching for something heavy enough to keep them out. It took a bit more effort than he remembered, but he managed to push the heavy wood dresser he’d had his entire life in front of that and prayed it would be enough.
Once that was handled, he excitedly grabbed his laptop from his old des, settled onto the full bed that had been too small for him since middle school and logged into Skype. He smiled when he saw the small green button next to Deja’s avatar and pressed the call button.
Alejandro had to force himself to breathe evenly while the call rang out and rang out and rang out. He frowned at his computer screen and then snatched his phone from his old desk. He checked the time. Six o’clock. They said they’d talk at six his time, eight for her. He checked his text messages, just in case he’d missed a message saying she couldn’t make it.
He hadn’t and his frown deepened.
He was just about to call Deja, his finger hovering over her name in his cell phone contacts, when she picked up on Skype.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m here,” she said.
His eyes drifted back to his laptop screen where he had a great view of her light pink comforter and white pillows against the light rattan wood of her headboard. Even though he was happy she’d picked up, he was annoyed because he hadn’t called to see her bed, even though he’d never actually been over to her apartment and a few weeks ago he’d have killed to know what it looked like. But it had been weeks since he’d left Centreville and he wanted to see her, desperately.
“Deja?” he said and then a soft, fluttery gray silk something fluttered into the frame of the camera.
Alejandro’s entire body froze when he saw Deja’s leg rest onto her mattress.
“I’m here. I’m here,” she said, “just give me a second.”
He nodded and stared at the soft crease of her bent leg. The past three weeks had gone by in a flash, so fast that it was only in this moment that he processed that it had been three weeks since he’d run his hands and lips up that thigh. Three weeks since he’d sank balls deep inside her. It wasn’t that long, considering how long they’d crushed on each other, and yet, it suddenly felt like an eternity.
He absentmindedly reached for the bottle of beer on his desk and took a swig, his eyes drinking in Deja’s brown skin while he waited for her to come fully on screen.
“Okay,” she huffed as she bounced onto the bed and in line with her laptop’s camera.
Alejandro groaned. That soft, fluttery gray silk was a robe draped over Deja’s obviously naked body. His swallowed the swig of beer in his mouth and licked his lips at the sight of her adorably perky breasts moving freely underneath that slip of fabric. He was especially interested in the way her nipples disturbed the drape of the silk. He took another sip of beer.
Deja was sitting in front of her laptop with crossed legs, and the robe, unfortunately, covered her sex, but much like the sway of her breasts, there was something so erotic about seeing her but not seeing her. If this was his reward for her being a few seconds late. He would have waited an hour for this, not that he wanted to.
But then he started to feel terrible. “I’m underdressed,” he mumbled.
Deja squinted at the screen and then tapped at her keyboard. Alejandro watched an adorable smile form on her face and then her chest swayed softly with laughter. “I’d say you’re overdressed.”
He looked down at the basic black trackpants and white t-shirt, for all intents and purposes his uniform when he was home and didn’t have to dress up to teach or go to a meeting or to impress Deja.
“I didn’t know what to wear to a Skype sex date.”
“Me either,” she said as her hands moved to the belted knot at her waist.
Alejandro’s hand tightened around the bottle of beer as he watched her elegant deftly and slowly undo the scrap of silk and slide up the lapels of her robe to pull it open. Just that flash of her chest made all the blood in Alejandro’s body rush determinedly toward his dick.
“I thought naked made the most sense,” she said, pulling her robe over her shoulders to pool at her waist.
He nodded numbly even though his dick was very aware of her. “Yeah. I should have thought of that.”
Deja licked her lips slowly. “You can always catch up.”
Alejandro’s eyes widened, and he spilled his laptop onto his bed in the rush to stand. He accidentally slammed his beer down on his desk, and it foamed up the spout. “Shit,” he said, looking around for a towel. He didn’t have one, so he ripped his shirt from his body and sopped up the liquid – was coming off anyway – and threw it in the laundry basket.
Deja’s giggle filtered into his bedroom and for a second, Alejandro imagined that she was there with him.
“You’ve got a great ceiling.”
“Shit. Sorry,” he said, righting the camera so she could see him.
“Okay, now we’re talking,” she exclaimed. There was a glass of wine in her hand, and she was rocking side-to-side on her butt with excitement. Even when she was naked and getting ready to have virtual sex, she was still the most adorable person he’d ever met.
Alejandro’s hands moved inside the waistband of his pants and underwear, and he pushed them down his legs. He didn’t want to waste any more time.
“Four out of ten,” Deja said. “Not the best strip show I’ve ever seen but I have faith in your ability to improve if you’re willing to put in the work. ”
Alejandro laughed as he crawled back into bed. “Next time I’ll Magic Mike you, I promise.”
“God, I hate that movie,” Deja mumbled.
“So, the only place to go is up,” he said.
He pulled his laptop in front of him, angling the camera so Deja couldn’t see how hard he already was. When they were both settled in front of their laptops, naked, they stopped for a second just to stare.
Deja had a wistful smile on her face, and she took another sip of wine.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
She licked her lips and nodded before turning briefly to put the glass on her bedside table. When she turned back her hands drifted to her breast and she pinched her nipples softly. She visibly shivered.
“Three weeks is a long time,” he breathed, palming his dick.
Office Hours Page 13