Page 33 of Earthly Ties

“Seriously? She was supposed to cancel my seminar!” I cross my legs where I float midair. Grounding myself sends me sinking down to perch on the edge of the bed, hovering just atop the pink duvet. “Why is she putting you through this again? You barely survived last semester!”

“Sorry, you’re getting feedback? Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.” Esther switches her phone. “Is that better? Can you hear me?”

Esther is a better person than me; I would have just pretended the call dropped and hung up. From the moment we met on my first day, I could tell how genuine and sweet Esther was—she greeted me so enthusiastically that I panicked and shut down. With a grandma-ass name like Esther, Dr. Monae was prepared to meet an older woman, had practiced all the things I was supposed to say. Instead, I was greeted by a cute masc with pretty eyes looking at me like I was a goddess. Looking at Lucy, not Dr. Monae. My first impression has only been reinforced through my experience haunting her—Esther is simply the sweetest person to ever exist. Even to people who don’t deserve it, like Gilda.

Gilda’s voice crackles through the speakerphone. “Yes, but I have to go. We’re at that conference—lots of people to meet. Email the registrar for the course info.”

“Sure will.” Esther puts on a tight smile. “How is it going, anyway?”

“What’s that? Oh, yeah, the conference. It’s very…stimulating.”

Esther’s cringe matches mine at Gilda’s choice of descriptor.

“Stimulating?” I ask with a gag. “Considering she’s there with Allan, I don’t want to know what that means.”

“You’re breaking up again, Dr. Voigt. You should get a new cell phone carrier.” And with that, Gilda hangs up.

Fifteen

After seven months of haunting Esther, I thought I’d seen it all. But no. Today I learned something brand new and completely unexpected about Esther: she owns an all-pink three-piece tweed suit. With elbow patches in a darker pink, coordinating with her bow tie and pocket square.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Esther greets her morning class with a singsong smile. Despite the fifty shades of pink, this is the most visibly masc I’ve seen her dress ever. Between the suit, her brown leather chelsea boots, and her go-to topknot, she’s adorably dapper. Even if pink is not my favorite color, it looks so good on her. Especially from my seat behind her at the front desk—those are some well-tailored trousers.

The students stare at her skeptically, slouched in their chairs. Her first class of the day is her mid-level course: History of Feminist Thought. While most of the students who are registered are Gender Studies majors, discussing suffragist treatises at eight in the morning would make any sensible person grumpy. Nothing could get most students enthusiastic this early in the morning, especially not an annoyingly chipper professor trying to make the history of philosophy interesting.

Esther seriously needs to kiss the registrar’s ass. She keeps getting shafted with the worst classrooms and timetables. The History of Feminist Thought is in the attic of the Castle. It’s pretty—with stained glass windows and massive oak beams—but cold. The rising sun is hidden behind clouds that threaten snow later, so even the classroom is dark and dreary. There’s a fireplace that used to heat the classroom, but it hasn’t been lit in decades. Instead, she’s instructed to turn on the fan in the door to pull in heat from the hallway. Students keep their coats on. Some even bring blankets.

If I were Esther, I’d quit. She puts up with too much bullshit for an adjunct.

“How is everyone this morning?” Esther beams as she looks at the zombies staring back at her. “Would anyone want to share their fun V-day plans? Anyone send any Valentine’s?”

One student with an undercut and a septum piercing snorts. “Valentine’s Day is a fake holiday that reinforces a capitalist patriarchal power structure.”

“I bet you’re fun at parties,” I snort. “But I do agree.”

“Sure is!” Esther grins. “Doesn’t stop me from celebrating, though!”

“What’s to celebrate?” The jaded student levels a deadpan look at her. The way they jut their jaw forward reveals the faded, healed pink marks on their neck from the Pox, recent by the looks of it. My breath catches; the same spot as Cash had. They’re lucky to be alive.

As if they feel me looking, they pull their scarf higher up and lean back in their chair.

“Love, of course!” Esther beams. She’s getting on my nerves now, and I adore her. I can’t imagine how annoying her perkiness is to the under-caffeinated skeptics, who probably regret taking out debt for this. “Love itself isn’t inherently a byproduct of a capitalist patriarchal society, even if the deluge of chocolates and flowers are.”

“Aren’t you single?” Another student asks skeptically, not even bothering to look up from their laptop.

Face falling, Esther stiffens. “Yeah, but how did you know that?”

The student shrugs. “Seems obvious.”

“Damn, that’s harsh.” I’m not laughing anymore. “Dr. Voigt is a fucking catch. Show some respect!”

Esther laughs it off with a shrug of her own, and turns to the whiteboard on the wall. She uncaps a dry-erase marker. “Single or not, Valentine’s Day is still one of my favorite holidays. Quick deviation from the syllabus—bear with me while I defend myself here. Who could tell me the different types of love?”

The students sit wordlessly, replying only with skeptical and bored expressions.

Esther starts writing on the board in her incomprehensible chicken scratch, as if the silence isn’t deafening. “Eros is sexual, romantic passion, the kind of love typically celebrated on Valentine’s Day. But it’s not the only kind of love!” She grins over her shoulder. “We also have philia, or friendship; ludus, which is playful love; agape—love for everyone; pragma—everlasting love; philautia—self-love; storge—family love; and…” she trails off. “There’s eight. What’s the eighth? Could anyone help me out?”

I clear my throat. “Mania. Obsessive love.”