As I walk toward the Dean’s office, the reminiscing of the meeting last week resurfaces and to the question isn’t that what I wanted? I answer, no.

  Because now, I’m on everybody’s lips. Their eyes just follow me to each corner of the University’s building and I’ve seen more people falsely crossing the corridor of my non-office in five days than in my very first year of teaching.

  This is bad. Bad in the evident sense. Bad. Terrible. There is only a slight chance this is about to be the meeting I’ve been wishing for. The end of the never-ending prank.

  New possibilities have unraveled themselves in my brain. With the discussion I had, lots of ramblings succeeded. I might not even need closure.

  This is not me hoping joyfully to my superior’s superior’s office. I’m convoked. And, again, isn’t it what I wanted? To be heard by Clark? To demand a meeting with him? To finally have the opportunity to see this over-busy man and ask him my questions?

  That answer was different a few months ago. But right now? Now that I’ve basically come around the idea of seeing what other universities have to offer? Now that I’ve opened my chakras and they murmured I need to accept help and cherish it? I want peace. In my spirit and my soul. Because a symposium isn’t just an easy task. A high school exam you can basically pull off over an afternoon. This is serious. And I do not want to mess up the opportunity. Whatever it brings, I’m ready for it.

  The knocks on the door echo vividly against the walls of the corridor, and I suppose, inside his office too.

  “Come in!” he yells with an irritated grunt. I don’t control the sigh that leaves my mouth before I plunge the door handle downward.

  His bureau is pretty rustic and rather cliché, to be honest. Wood everywhere. Some kind of horrible green carpet on the superior part of the walls and dark paneling on the bottom. He did change the colors of his chairs and they now glow a bright orange in the shady, barely lighted ambiance of his office.

  I’ve come here a few times. But it seems his décor hasn’t created an important memory. “Just… one second, will you?” he adds when I’m still standing and he gestures for me to take a seat. I would rather not make any contact with these hideous chairs but I don’t have much of a choice.

  While he speaks loudly on the phone, he pivots just a little bit on his turning seat, hiding from me. Not that I’m blind, nor deaf. “Yes, of course, Lewis. It’s only fair. We’ll manage the situation that way. I’ll be participating. Spread the word.” His laugh sounds fake. “Right, right…” a few glimpses my way, like he’s just remembering my presence. “I got to go Lewis but… keep what I’ve said in mind! This might come in handy sooner than we expected. Okay. Okay, bye. Yes. Alright.” Please, someone end my suffering. “Bye.”

  He finally hangs up. And offers me a smile I never saw on his face. Tense. Awkward. Hesitating. “You wanted to see me?” I engage, witnessing his lack of words for me.

  “Yes. Thank you for coming,” he links his fingers together. “Well, I needed to speak with you a little bit more about the symposium. You know it—it isn’t quite simple.”

  “I am aware.” Is he… worried?

  “Right,” he grabs a few papers and starts cleaning his desk. “You know that, once the announcement is done, there’s little chance to go back on your words.”

  “Yes.”

  “But, if you ever felt like it was too much or that you didn’t feel quite ready, you can come to me of course. I would have to make a few calls, and organize some meetings, but it can be done.”

  That’s interesting. Is he genuinely concerned about how I feel? “I don’t plan on withdrawing myself, sir.”

  He almost interrupts. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Andrew decided to team up with you.” Suddenly, his posture shifts. He is leaning on the backrest of his chair. Like he’s assessing me. Is this an interrogation? It sure feels like it. When he realizes no words come out of my mouth, he continues. “You see, I had thought you two were not really seeing eye to eye.”

  “And what made you think that?” There’s a necessity for me to confront and search for contradiction. Especially when it comes to this person. When has he ever shown interest in my own career? How could he possibly know about Andrew and me? Of… Whatever happened between the two of us? Did Andrew confide in him? That would be excruciatingly disappointing. I can’t believe, after what I’ve explained and what he had agreed on scheming, that he would just come clean to the dean and reveal everything that has been simmering in my head for the past four years.

  “I don’t need to be around to know things, Alexej.”

  The name scrapes the back of my neck in the worst possible way. The shivers that follow aren’t controllable. “Well, my relationship with Andrew won’t be a problem for the symposium.”

  “You mean you have a particular relationship? Dating, perhaps?”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “I would have to remind you that any intimate rapprochement is not to be considered in this establish—”

  “Sir. We are not together.”

  His eyes glint with a hideous aura and it does demand a lot of self-control not to diverge my gaze. His smile stretches uncomfortably. “Good.”

  I think he lets the silence simmer for a few seconds, just to push on the awkwardness of the situation. I have no idea what he’s trying to do, but he’s unnatural. “Is this all?” I need to be gone already.

  “Well, if you’re sure about doing the symposium, then… yes. That’ll be all.”

  I immediately stand up and reach for the door. He hails, his eyes already glued to another piece of paper from a dossier. “Andrew had to take care of something out of the state. Some replacement problems. He won’t be there for another week. So…”

  He lets his words hang in the air and I have not a clue of his intentions. Shady is an understatement. Weird is a euphemism. I don’t get this guy. I just want to get out. Quick. “Okay.”

  “Close the door on your way out.”

  It’s closed before he finishes the sentence. There’s only time for a deep sigh before my name resonates again.

  “Hey, Alex, is everything alright?”

  Russel traverses the corridor at the same time and his comforting face does alleviate some of the disturbing weight on my shoulders. “Now, yes.”

  He watches the plaque on the Dean’s office and lifts an eyebrow. I just shake my head. That won’t serve any purpose to talk about it. Especially here. Right in front of the door.

  We start walking out of the sector. “It’s good that I see you,” he rests a hand on my arm amicably.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’m organizing a dinner party at my house this week-end and I’d love for you to come. Diane will be there. With the baby.”

  It would be pleasant seeing Diane again. She’s always been very nice to me. Russel is a good fellow. I don’t mind spending time with him, but—

  “Small gathering. Just the ones you already know. Emily, Sarah… Everyone’s wife and husband. I’ll keep the whiskey lock tight.”

  “You do want me to come,” I laugh but he got me better than I thought he would. Although, the others have definitely not seen me at my best last time. Will they really even enjoy my presence now? His expression is truly engaging, comforting, despite everything.

  But what he says next closes the deal.

  “Pizza night.”

  ?

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Why? What harm does it make? It’s just fucking pineapple!”

  Both Sarah and Emily yell at each other after one chose to insert the most controversial ingredient. I quietly watch from my own seat, next to Russel and his wife, as the two friends bant with each other.

  “Please, should we start lowering our tone, for when Diane arrives?” Emily’s partner gently squeezes her lover’s hand, as her face starts to go red. My colleague eventually inhales and exhales, as if started her own meditation, and Sarah’s grin only enlarges. She came alone. From the attitude she exudes, she might like to fuck around, no strings attached. Or she just hates people as much as I do. We are both here, nonetheless.

  “She might be here any minute,” Russel declares and reaches for the door, eye on the peephole. “I heard something.”

  “I’ll come with you,” his wife adds, before gesturing at us to keep quiet. “Everyone chooses his pizza in silence.”

  This woman is terrifying. Helene, is her name. She is one of the most kind and wholeheartedly nice people I’ve encountered in my entire life, but she’s managed to get us all calm in a few words, it’s impressive. Russel and her are a perfect fit.

  I keep my attention to the numerous options that I’m offered, but it’s not long before the door opens with all of them coming inside.

  “Hey!” Diane’s bright smile instantly lights the room and nobody can suppress the beam that stretched their lips. Not even me. “How is everyone doing?”

  She embraces the guests with her baby in arms, cradled in the large and long scarf that she tangled around herself tightly. Eventually, it’s my turn.

  “Hi, Alex!” She’s beaming.

  “Hi, Diane. How are you?”

  “Despite the short nights, I couldn’t be happier,” she purposefully turns so that I’m able to see the child. “This is Gemma.”

  “She’s adorable,” I’m not even lying. The kid is sumptuous. Large blue eyes, thick and long eyelashes. Coming right out of a Disney movie. “Perfect name.”

  “Thank you, dear. How’s work?”

  “Oh please, let’s not talk about this. Come in. Rest.”

  Everyone yaps with Diane and Gemma makes the cutest noises. It reminds me of how little Elena was when my parents deposited her on my lap for the first time. They said I was extra careful. That I would barely touch her. They pulled on my arm so I would cradle her the right way, sheltering her head with my shoulder. Her tiny face was unmoving as she would fall asleep very easily and I was just fixated on her.

  Stefan wanted to take a picture and hailed at me but I was completely immobile. Until mom crouched and said my name. Only then did they realize I was crying.

  Gemma stretches her arm and grazes my sweater with her tiny fingers. She’s surprisingly very energetic for a week old. “She wants to be in your arms, Alex.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I can take her if you want,” I propose and she, without a single second of hesitation, drops the baby into my arms, previously untangled from the protective scarf.

  Her husband comes near and I shake his hand, Gemma resting perfectly onto the crook of my elbow. “What is my baby doing in your arms?” He jokes and I shy away just a little. I’m not comfortable with new people. At least, I’m not comfortable being myself quite yet.

  “Diane had enough. I’m taking over,” my attempt at humor is fortunately well received. He caresses the top of Gemma’s head.

  “You’re on diaper duty, then.” He answers with a flashing smile, and the knot inside my belly slowly disappears.

  Eventually, everyone chose their pizzas and we’re all waiting patiently on the couch and armchairs for them to arrive. The baby is still on my arm and hasn't complained since she’s there. Russel, on my right, leans onto me and whispers on top of all the other conversations. “She’s lounging alright,” he chuckles and grazes his index along her adorable chubby cheek. “Do you plan on having kids?”

  I zone out for a few seconds. Maybe a minute. I know I have to answer something quickly before they call 911 and report that I’m having a stroke. But I truly and honestly haven’t considered the question before. Too much work. And nobody around for long enough to even acknowledge the possibility.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s alright,” he rests a gentle hand on my shoulders, fatherly-like. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Not in the grave, just yet.”

  I snort. “I would make a great uncle.” I state.

  And that’s a fact.

  If Elena ever decides to have children, I would cherish them with all of my heart. If I’m not crawling with work and assignments, she can give them to me for the week-ends. We would make pastries once they would be grown enough. I would teach them some words in Slovak. But what am I saying? She’s only twenty.

  Gemma suddenly moves and her cute feature tears into a loud grimace. Diane is already on her feet, stretching her arms. “I’ll go feed her in the kitchen.” They both leave without a glance back.

  “Have you started on your presentation?” Russel continues. I hum in confusion. “The symposium?”

  “Oh. Not yet.”

  “Really? You know two months is coming fast. It’s been, what, two weeks already?”

  The others keep the discussion going as they eat some of the food displayed on the small table of the living room. I grab on an olive before I answer. “I’m aware. But my partner is out of the area.”

  “If you ever need help with something, you know where to find me,” he smiles and this man could not be any nicer. I could ask him anything. It seems he would be my guy if I ever needed a kidney one day. Why is he treating me like I’m his son?

  “Thanks a lot, Russel,” I return the grin because it’s impossible not to. The conversations mingle together until my ears can’t really make any of the words. I observe them all quietly, relishing on the serenity filling my veins around people I barely know. An acknowledgement almost unbelievable, to be honest, but it is true. No tightness in my throat. No ball of anxiety in my stomach. No deep and inexorable need of fleeing an unwanted situation. I quite enjoy the next few minutes just idly following their discussions.

  “He surely did!” Sarah’s voice broke my muffled thoughts with much fierceness.

  “What? Why?” Emily demands, chewing on a cracker.

  “What’s going on?” Diane interrupts as she returns from the kitchen. Already? How much time did I zone out?

  Gemma sleeps again, soundly replenished. Sarah turns her way, watching her as she seats next to her. “We were cut off. Our budget. Five percent for no apparent reason.”

  “How?”

  “Apparently, we were advantaged compared to the others. There have been some internal arrangements and multiple departments suffered from a cut.”

  “Department heads are going crazy,” Emily adds, and the others wait for her to elaborate. I wait too. “Well, mine isn’t particularly glad of the budget allocated to our sector. It’s good that we have external grants, otherwise we would have real problems.”

  Sarah huffs and continues. “Mine is ready to tear her hair out of her head. Work isn’t the happy place I used to go to with a big smile on my face.”

  My snort stays lodged in my throat. Sarah? Smiling? “Clark is in a shitty position.”

  “You think? He’s the damn dean. Why would he give a fuck?”

  “Because he’s the guy people complain to.”

  “You’re sure about that? He’ll just disappear like he always does.”

  “You know which department isn’t complaining?” Russel interrupts and everyone turns our way, hanging on his lips. “Psychology.”

  The words of the newbie teacher come to mind. There was some kind of complaining but not so much about the funds. Rather some kind of ploy? I watch them all but they seem to all agree, like they had a previous conversation about this already. A silent understanding. I’m not sure if I should share what I’ve learned. Not sure I should ask what they know. This whole thing is becoming my main source of anxiety and I have a presentation to create. I’ve been around Clark too much in the last few days. The farther from him, the better, honestly.

  As long as he isn’t actively sabotaging my work.

  “Of course, they are not. There are rumors, though.” Sarah scratches the top of her head and leans her back on the couch. “Change of roles.”

  “Really?” Emily asks, her eyes big.

  Russel’s laugh sounds bitter. “That has to be a joke.”

  “Oh, no it isn’t.” I try grabbing onto whatever piece of information they are willing to give me. But I have to be missing a crucial one because for now, none of this discussion makes complete sense. “You know who’s upgraded.”

  “Fucking hell. Department head?” Russel almost yells and Diane shushes him gently.

  “Let’s try to avoid cursing so much from now on… That would be a nice habit to hold onto.”

  “Yes, sorry,” He leans on the backrest too and slides his arm behind me. “How come no one sees it?”

  “Clark’s a mastermind. He does think for the long run. His decisions are spread enough they just feel like his hands are tied and he does what he can with what he has.”

  “But that’s big. Too big.” Sarah answers Emily. They both nod. And my curiosity gets the best of me.

  “What is?”

  They look at me as if they were just acknowledging my existence. Also, they frowned, surprised I haven’t yet put two and two together. Eventually, one of them answers.

  “Clark is promoting his nephew department head of Psychology.”

  Psychology as in… Andrew’s department.

  ?

  Another entire week disappeared and I’ve been crawling up at work. With the replacement classes, I barely have time for myself and my article. But the churn in my stomach needed to be channeled somewhere somehow and instead of giving this spare time the liberty to mess around with my head, I figured focusing my mind onto writing was a particularly brilliant idea. Instead of coldly murdering virtual people. And the symposium has to be my priority at the moment.

  Andrew didn’t reach out since he came back. We rarely crossed paths during the days at Tufts and I found myself lingering by the time the clocks pointed 6pm while walking down to the parking lot. Why? No idea. But the cumbersome sensation remained and did not vanish as time passed.

  As I clean up the apartment on the beginning of Sunday, my phone rings beside the window in the living room. I ponder over pretending to be too busy. But when I glimpse the name and see ‘Isabella’, I instantly pick up. “Hello, Isabella.”

  “Hi, Doctor Miller, I’ve heard the news!” she’s smiling so evidently through the phone, it’s painful going against my own muscles stretching.

  I plop onto my sofa, the clean smell of my fresh tidy apartment bringing comfort to my palpitant. “That I’m becoming the next Dalai Lama?”

  “Well yeah! You didn’t tell me you’ve converted yourself to Buddhism. I’m surprised. With your scientific background and all.”

  “I figured this would grant me all the time I need, away from people.” My tone is uncontrollably bitter and Isabella catches it.

  She sighs. “What’s going on? Aren’t you happy? This is a wonderful opportunity.”

  “I know it is.” The emotions and thoughts are still all over the place, and somehow, I can’t quite pinpoint where the problem lies. But since I’m on the phone with Isabella, I might have to clean up the compartment of my brain, also, because one thing Isabella is, is persevering.

  “Come on, Alexej, use your words.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I try to gather some time, but it’s pointless with her.

  “What do you feel?”

  “I have no idea. That’s the issue. I’m overwhelmed, mostly. Surprised. I don’t know if it’s positive.” I’m struggling. These are not familiar words I use on a daily basis.

  “Is it because you’re teaming up with Andrew? Do you still have a problem with the guy?”

  “It’s because he chose me.”

  She gives a few seconds of silence. “I’m not following.”

  “He’s not doing it for me, he just feels like… he’s obligated to help me. Like a savior complex.” Her laugh is almost too loud to keep the phone close to my ear. I scratch my head. “What?”

  “You don’t know Andrew, that’s a fact.”

  “Yeah, I’ve learned that you know him very well.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He calls you Bella, right?”

  “How do you even know that?”

  Because he told me. On his couch. The night I stayed at his place. I realize the last time I spoke to Isabella was to complain about him. To emphasize on the ‘hating’ part that has evolved tremendously since. She continues. “What’s important is that I do know him better than you do. And he’s not doing it because he wants you to feel beholden, or something. Andrew’s practical. He uses his time adequately and deliberately. If he offers his help, he truly feels you deserve it.”

  “But why me?”

  “Oh, gee, I really wonder.” She speaks with obvious sarcasm and it annoys me more than I want to admit. While I remain mute, she adds. “You don’t know?”

  “To brag? To show how important he is and how much of a difference he can make? To ask for a favor later? To prove he’s smarter than me?”

  The silence is deafening. It’s the terrifying truth I kept hidden for so long in my own brain. The guilt that surrounds these are enough to avoid getting them out. But she’s asking. And I need to expel them before the frustration builds and bursts at the worst moment. “Fuck, Alex. You’re paranoid.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes! Yes, you are. I won’t speak on his behalf, but I can assure you, he’s not playing you like this.”

  “Just like you can assure me the position I want?”

  The bitterness is hurling out of my mouth and I can’t control it. I’m exhausted. I’m angry. I would turn my own apartment upside down if it meant taking out a piece of the sorrow inside. But I just cleaned. So, no.

  She sighs again and I can almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose through weariness. “Alright. You won. I didn’t want to tell you because I’m not completely sure, but you deserve this.” She puts her phone on speaker mode as her voice sounds a bit louder. “Clark is working against me and I’ve been trying to figure out why, discreetly. If I were to barge into his office every morning to ask for your situation, you can be certain I would have been expelled in no time. He’s very powerful in the institution. The Board, the President, they don’t question his authority anymore. He’s been here forever.”

  “And you haven’t?”

  “I don’t have the same capacities as he does. You don’t get it. He’s been offered much more responsibilities than his position usually implies. The ones above him, they saw the opportunity to alleviate some of their own missions to bestow more work on him. Except that it also gave him the opportunity to model the University in his favor. At least, the way he wants it. I’m already struggling with my own position, Alex. I’ve been doing my job improperly for the last few years, because he has more access than he should. And more impact on the decisions.”

  My colleagues’ reactions make more sense now. They must have been implying this.

  The conversation with Andrew resurfaces. “What about HR? Associations?”

  “He’s tangled in every level. I don’t know how. I tried asking around about it, but people either praise him or avoid the subject. So, unfortunately, your situation hasn’t been my priority, Alex. I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have understood? Would you have listened to me?”

  Honestly, I don’t know. I was different a few years back. Not so resilient. Not so tired. I could have. I want to believe that I would have. Understood. “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m barely holding my job together. I can’t possibly start some sort of investigation. I don’t have the time, nor the energy. I just want what’s best for the future of Tufts and the Arts and Sciences’ departments. It’s already hard enough.” She gives a few more seconds of careful silence before continuing. “The interdisciplinary symposium… it’s your opportunity to make a name for yourself and maybe gather the attention of other universities, of other departments, that would be willing and in full capacity to give you what you desire.”

  Her tone is low. Desperate. Downhearted. And the tang in my mouth doesn’t get better. I did come up with the same conclusion. The soothing never clicks. “You’re giving up on me?”

  “I’m not… Alex, I want what is best for you, too. I always have. You are an incredible person and a genius when it comes to your specialty. I have no doubt of your imminent success. I’m terribly sorry that I took you so many years and shimmered the impossible at your face. I really thought it would be just like I imagined it. But, it’s not. And I can’t ask of you to wait any longer. That wouldn’t be fair, you know?”

  She’s worried. I can hear it in her voice. She’s deeply afraid of my reaction, and for that, my anger softens. We’ve known each other for long enough to cut on the bullshit when it comes to being honest. She delivered with much appreciation of my ego, still, and she could have been more incisive. I wouldn’t have minded.

  If I can’t overcome the Dean’s influence, I guess trying to find opportunities in other establishments is the only solution. And, indeed, the symposium will help just fine for that. We really should get started. Which means I have to see Andrew again. The fact that he hasn’t tried to seek me out nor call is a bit destabilizing. The word ‘disappointed’ lingers for a few seconds. “I get it. I’m sorry I’ve been pressuring you so much.”

  “You didn’t know. And that’s on me. I didn’t want to burden you with the part that didn’t concern you but I should have been upfront about it. It would have been preferable for everyone. It’s just… I’ve been so caught up with work, and all the projects on stand-by, and the pile of documents I’ve yet to—”

  “Isabella. It’s okay.”

  She relieves a deep and long exhale. I’m sure having this conversation is as relieving as it was fearful. But I’m glad we had it. Because now we can move on. With different but clear objectives about both our future.

  I check on the clock and realize how close to lunch it is. “I have to go.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Sunday’s gathering with the family.”

  “That’s nice! Have a good day, Alexej. And again, congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Bye.”