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From: [email protected]
Subject: Thermo 201
Hiya! I haven’t come to class this semester because I can’t find the room. Where do we meet, again? Could you draw me a map? Thx.
“Egregious.”
Dr. L. says the word with softg’s and mysterious vowels, like English is a French language that the Americans are just borrowing. I’d find it amusing, but it’s our first meeting since relaying my job news and I can’t feel anything but anxiety. He asked me to come over, and I really didn’t want to, what with the snow and the crock of shit that’s my schedule. And yet here I am.
“Egregious, that they’d choose another candidate,” he repeats. “Perhaps an appeal is in order.”
“Knowing who the winning candidate is, I doubt there are grounds.”
“Georgina Sepulveda, you said?”
I nod.
“And who would that be?”
I’m taken aback that any living physicist wouldn’t know of her work. But Dr. L. can be narrow minded when it comes to experimentalists. Maybe rightfully so?
“She’s behind the Sepulveda model. A brilliant particle physicist. And she was a Burke fellow years ago.” I look down at my knees. Then back up to Dr. L.’s deep scowl. “I’m sorry, Dr. Laurendeau. I know this is disappointing, but—”
“I wonder if Smith-Turner influenced the search, after all.”
My hand grips the armrest of the green chair. “He... I doubt it.”
“We cannot put it past him, can we?”
I clear my throat. “I’m convinced that he did not—”
“Elise, you want Smith-Turner to get his comeuppance just as much as I do, don’t you?”
My stomach sinks and I lower my eyes, mortified. Dr. L. spent the last six years counseling me, and here I am. A screwup. Cavorting with the asshole who nearly ruined his career.
Not being the Elsie he wants.
I need to go back to it. To Elise—hardworking, undeterred, laser focused. “This is a huge setback, but I’m... regrouping,” I say, trying to sound optimistic. “In terms of finding a job for next year, I—”
“But you have a job. Several, in fact.”
“Yes. Absolutely.” I take a deep breath. “But these adjunct gigs are time consuming and leave me little time for research. And I really want to finish developing my—”
“There is always time for research. One must want to find it.”
I close my eyes, because this one hurts like hell. The Elsie he wants almost slips away, but I hold strong. “You’re right.”
“Could you not simply teach fewer classes?”
I breathe slowly. In and out. “Financially, that’s not a possibility.”
“I see. Well, sometimes money must take second place.”
I grip the armrest, feeling a gust of frustration that he’d think megreedyfor wanting to buy insulin and live in a place without mutant moths. It’s immediately swallowed by guilt. This is Dr. L. I wouldn’t even know the Nielsen-Ninomiya theorem if it weren’t for him.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to mention the idea that’s been swelling in my head since my morning at Jack’s. While there is no dimension in which me working for him would be feasible or appropriate, maybe there issomepromise in what he said. “Someone recommended that I consider a postdoctoral fellowship or another research-only position.”
Dr. L. looks at me, alarmed for a split second, and then sighs. “We have been over this, Elise.”
