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“Shit, I’m sorry. Thatsucks.”
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, everythingsucks.
It’s been five days since I got back from Seattle, and in that time, I’ve been going to class, but I’m arobot.
Even Beck knows something’s up. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’m leaving after thesemester.
Not leaving. Beingreplaced.
Because Terry Crawford’s made it abundantly clear my time at Baden isover.
“I heard you interviewed at UW.” I snap back to the present. “Figured I’d call to see if you were planning to moveout.”
“I didn’t get it.” I cross to the bedroom window and glance toward the ground. I can barely see it, but on a Sunday, with the sudden cold spell that’s come over the city, I know the streets will be quiet. “Let’s not talk about me. I can live vicariously through you. You’re on sabbatical, living itup.”
“If it makes you feel better, getting the job is only the start. Once you get in, you’ve got five more years of busting your ass fortenure.”
“You madeit.”
“Yeah, and I ended up getting divorced over it.” He chuckles, and I wonder if I imagine the bitterness in hisvoice.
“But now you’re on a beach in Sydney.” Every seven years, my friend gets a year off to do something abroad. It seems like the perfectlifestyle.
“Alone.” He sighs. “What are you going todo?”
“Find another academic job.” I’ve sorted out the issue with the journal—I think—and am trying to get my article published in a later edition. “I know I’m off the hiring cycle, but there’s always nextyear.”
“I’ll put out some feelers. Askaround.”
“Thanks.” It doesn’t make me feel anybetter.
Once, I wouldn’t have let the setback deter me. I’d have kept going until I got what I wanted, no matterwhat.
But now I’m questioning whether I even still want what I told myself I wanted all thoseyears.
“Know what I miss?” my friend muses. “Being a grad student. Screwing around in the lab, doing experiments, learning it all for the firsttime.”
I turn it over in my mind. “You miss having no money and nopower.”
He laughs. “Sounds twisted, right? Here’s the thing—the faces change, but there’s always someone giving you heat. Telling you you’re not good enough. There should be a PSA before youstart.”
“Sayingwhat?”
“Academia’s for overachieving self-flagellatorsonly.”
* * *
“What the hell is that?”Ibark.
I’m not the onlyone.
The golden retriever greeting me at the door bellows in my direction as if he grew up in this house and I did not. My mom pulls on the creature’s neck, and I squeeze into thefoyer.
“It’s a dog from work. I’m fostering him.” My mom shuts the door, then pulls back to look atme.
I unlace my boots, and she takes my coat. Then I follow her into the livingroom.
“I already ordered the sushi,” she says, dropping into her chair. “Hope you don’tmind.”
