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“Dare I ask what comes after the PhD?” Jamie says. “I know that when I was finishing law school, I felt like I was about to be pushed off of a cliff.”
“I applied for a teaching job at the university, and I had an interview for a postdoc a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great man,” Hunter says.
“But it’s in Iceland,” I say. “For three years.”
“Oh fuck,” he says, immediately realizing the issue.
“Yeah.”
“What will you do if you get it?” Jamie asks.
“I don’t know. Turn it down, I think.” I don’t mention that it’s my dream job. That research projects like this don’t come along very often, and that if I don’t take it, I could be stuck teaching introductory courses to undergrads for the rest of my career.
“Really?” Jamie says. “That wouldn’t be like you.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice a bit harsh.
“Just that you’re ambitious. Driven. You’ve put a lot of time and hard work into school.”
I sit with that for a moment, swirling my beer around in my glass and thinking. He’s right. I am ambitious. But right now my ambitions are firmly turned towards Angela, and Angela only.
“There’s more to life than being a successful academic. I didn’t know that before, and it cost me. I’m not making the same mistake again. Not with Angela.” I know I sound stubborn, like I can make things work with Angela out of sheer force of will and conviction and nothing else. “Look, there are plenty of ways that I could fuck this relationship up,” I tell them. “But if I do, it’s not going to be because I abandon her for a job and do the exact same thing I did last time. I’m smarter than that.”
“Then let’s cheers to things working out between you and Angela,” Jamie says.
We clink our glasses and drain our drinks, and I smile at the thought of being here in Harborview with Angela for the rest of our lives.
And if my stomach twists in anxiety because this is the only postdoc that’s been posted in my field this entire year? Well, then so be it. I guess I’ll just have to find something else.
32
ANGELA
The dayafter I pick up the extra shift, Carter texts me bright and early asking if I want to hang out tonight. Since I have the day off, I tell him yes.
Great. Meet me at Point Beach at 6:30 p.m. Eat beforehand.
What? You’re not feeding me again?
I’ve got something much better than mere dinner planned for you, Angel.
Give me a hint?
Nope. You’ll have to wait and see.
As I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I try to avoid obsessing over what Carter has planned. A walk on the beach seems too simple. And it won’t be dark enough yet to stargaze. Maybe he wants to go skinny dipping, like we did the first night we hooked up, all those years ago.
After the other night, I’m aching for more of him. For all of him. And for once, I’m not worried about what will happen after we have sex. Normally at this point in a relationship, all my defenses would be up, and I’d be preparing myself for the breakup. But Carter has made every time we’ve hooked up about my pleasure, first and foremost, and he’s clearly still interested.
I shake off the tiny, lingering doubts in the back of my mind that say I thought that last time, seven long years ago. Because if I’m going to keep dating Carter, then I need to at leasttryto trust him.
With that conviction in mind, I make the rest of the day productive. I clean my whole house, do laundry, and then go to the art supply store in town. I pick up a new set of paints, a sketch book, canvases, and brushes. I also grab a small pack of oil pastels just to try them out. I haven’t done any art in years, and I feel like trying something new.
After, I spend a ridiculously long time getting ready for my date. I wash and style my hair, luxuriating in the feel of being able to put hair products in it and define my curls. I still don’t feel recovered from going multiple days without shampoo, conditioner, and hair gel while on Isle North. I shave my legs, paint my fingers and toes, and meticulously apply makeup.
I agonize over an outfit for nearly an hour. If we’re going to be on the beach, then I can’t be dressed too skimpily because it gets chilly by the water. I settle on a lightweight sweater in cream, jeans, and a pair of sneakers that are cute while still being comfy. Point Beach is rocky rather than sandy. A beach for a scenic walk, rather than a dip in the water. With that in mind, I decide to bring a jacket as well.
