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We spend the rest of the day in bed, either watching TV, cuddling, or having sex. He makes me dinner: roast chicken with lemon and herbs, homemade biscuits, and kale salad with fennel and goat cheese.
After, I head home laden with leftovers. I have work in the morning so can’t stay another night, and when we say goodbye my heart squeezes a bit thinking about how I won’t see him for a few days.
That night, I get the best damn sleep of my life.
34
CARTER
I knockon the door in front of me, take a deep breath, and prepare myself for the academic tongue-lashing I’m about to get. Not because I’ve done anything wrong, but because my supervisor Judith Clarke is a hard ass with high expectations for her students. I sent her the latest draft of my dissertation two days ago and she emailed me this morning telling me that we could meet today to discuss it.
“Come in,” my supervisor calls.
Judith’s office is a familiar sight. It’s stuffed full of lab books and journal articles, stacks of folders and undergraduate textbooks. On the wall are framed photographs of birds and marine life, taken by Judith, along with her diplomas.
I take a seat, and watch as she types away at her computer without looking at me, her face screwed up in concentration.
After a moment she shuts her laptop and gives me her full attention. “I’m knee deep in emails right now,” she tells me. “But I did read your latest draft.”
“And?”
“And it’s nearly there. I’ve left a few comments on it, but nothing major.”
“Really?” Relief washes through me.
“Really,” she says smiling. “There are only a few things we need to talk through. I called you in mostly to talk about your career.”
The relief I was feeling a second ago drains out of me, leaving a knot of anxiety in its place. Because Judith is not going to like hearing that I no longer want that postdoc in Iceland.
“I’m excited about this teaching job,” I tell her.
“Are you?” She lifts one perfectly groomed gray brow on me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’m not. But I need to stay in Maine.”
“And why is that?”
I hesitate for a moment, and then say, “Because there is more to life than pursuing a career in academia.”
“That is true,” she says, nodding at the photo of her children on her desk. “But the postdoc you applied for may come through, yet. They emailed me for a reference last week.”
Fuck. That means I’ll hear from them soon, if they’re checking references.
“Carter,” she says, “academia is tough. It’s not going to be easy to find a job you love, that is here in Maine. It won’t be easy to find one at all, frankly. If you get this postdoc, my sincere advice is that you take it.”
I nod. None of this is news to me. Getting a good job in this field has always been a long shot, and frankly if I get either of the jobs I’ve applied to, I’ll be one of the lucky ones.
“Is there anything else you think I should do?” I ask.
“Not right now. Just focus on how good it feels to be done with your degree. I’ll let you know if I hear of anything else.”
We spend the rest of the meeting talking through some of the things I need to fix before submitting, and I’m relieved all over again when I see how little work I have left to do. I could submit this week if I wanted to, and have my thesis defense next month.
After the meeting, I spend some time in the campus cafe, switching between fiddling with my thesis, obsessively checkingmy email, and refreshing multiple job websites hoping that something new will pop up.
I also text Angela, just to check in. It’s been six days since she slept over at mine, and she’s been at work every day. She’s explained to me that she normally works four ten hour days and then has three or four days off, and picks up extra shifts when the hospital needs her to. But her boss has been a total dick this week, and has pressured her into working two extra days, and Angela doesn’t like to say no if it means that the ER will be understaffed. And I get that. I’m a chronic over-worker myself and have spent the last six days while she’s been working chained to my laptop. If I’m lucky, I’ll see her tonight when she’s done at the hospital.
After a few hours of working, I pack up my stuff and start the drive home to Harborview. While I drive, I listen to music and try to come up with date night activities for me and Angela. She may have told me she loved me, but I’m not done proving to her that she’s got me for good. And our next date needs to be something romantic and unexpected.
