Page 69 of Given Our History

An unfortunate side effect of the rumors floating around campus. “Seventeen years.”

“There are … concerns,” a steely-haired woman from the Engineering Department offers up, “about impartiality in your department, or a lack thereof. I understand the pair of you are sharing an office.”

“Julien Zabini makes those decisions,” I say, looking around at all of them. “You’re not implying that Julien is biased.”

“We’re not implying anything,” Andrew says. “We’re simply trying to sort out the facts.”

This, I realize, must be the reason they called me here. Not to talk about my lack of previous work experience or the fact that I was homeschooled, once upon a time. All that was pretense.

“Look at it from an outside perspective,” Henry Nguyen pipes up. “You’re a favorite of Julien’s. An adjunct professor from Carnegie Mellon applies for a visiting scholar position that would typically be granted to someone a little more”—he waffles his head back and forth—“established. And you have—excuse the pun—but you have history. You have to admit, the sharing an office together, working on the same committee, it all looks a little odd.”

“Not to mention your sister being enrolled in one of his classes,” someone says.

“The committee is open to any faculty members who are willing to dedicate their time,” I say. “And my sister signed up for classes like everyone else. I doubt she even checked beforehand to see who the instructor was.” I’m not bothering to hide it now—I’m annoyed. This is a waste of my time. And frankly a little insulting to everyone involved. “I don’t really understand what you’re implying. Do you really think I asked Julien to give him a job? Assign us to the same office?”

The room falls silent. Okay, so maybe that’s exactly what they’re implying. I huff.

“Our goal here is to clear the air,” Andrew says. “It might look one way from the outside, but I’d hope that your inside perspective might clear a few things up.”

“I had no idea that Professor Harrison had applied for the visiting position, and if I had, I wouldn’t have vouched for him.” It sounds harsh, but it’s also the truth—had Julien somehow found out we knew each other and asked my opinion on the matter, I would’ve been more likely at the time to try to dissuade him. “Julien never mentioned him by name until after I found out we were going to be sharing an office.”

I do everything in my power to keep my temper in check for the remainder of the meeting, but by the time they shoo me out of the room to leave them to their deliberations, some of my anger must show on my face, because Teddy takes one look at me and furrows his brow. “How’d it go?”

“Not great.” While we make our way down the hall, I do my best to summarize everything in undertone.

“It’s just faculty gossip,” Teddy says as soon as I’ve finished. We make our way through the quad, the dormant grass dusted with frost like confectioner’s sugar. A bitter cold clings to the air and silver clouds overhead threaten more snow. “They’re bored. Nothing’s going to come of it. And the tenure advisory board doesn’t even have the authority to reprimand Julien, certainly not at any school I’ve worked for.”

I am worried about Julien. He’s one of the few allies I’ve had at this school, and I fully intend to tell him about this meeting. But I am also, selfishly, worried about more than that. “What about you?” I ask.

Teddy stops walking, a confused laugh escaping him. “What about me?”

I hesitate a few paces ahead, my arms folded to fend off the cold. “There’s no way you’re going to get approved for another semester. Not if word gets out—”

“So I find a position somewhere else,” he says, tossing up his hands. His intensity catches me off guard. “I’ll teach at a community college if I have to.”

I wait for him to add or we run away to Edinburgh, to really drive the point home, but he seems to know better. “Don’t you realize what we’re doing?” My voice cracks, but I’m determined to make him see reason. “We’re doing what we always swore we wouldn’t do. We’re letting this dictate our decisions; you’re talking about quitting your job for me, moving away from Pittsburgh and your mom’s restaurant, giving up all these things that you wouldn’t give up if it wasn’t for—” I break off. Frustrated tears are welling in my eyes, stinging in the cold. “I’m terrified of you waking up one day and resenting me because you gave up too much.”

“I’m talking about doing those things because I want to,” he says. “Not because you’re asking. You haven’t asked.”

“You’re right,” I say, stressing the words. “I haven’t.” It sounds a little more heartless than I intended, but I need to say it. I need him to know that I’m not asking any of this of him. I want him to stay. So badly that my chest hurts, a fist squeezing around my heart. But I can’t voice that, because as soon as I do, I’ve tipped the scales. He’ll be making a decision for us, not for him. And I can’t stand the thought of it—an imagined argument, five or ten years from now, that culminates in I wish I never quit that job for you.

I wish we didn’t get so caught up in the moment.

I wish we never met.

The muscles in his face draw tight, masklike, though not with any discernible emotion. “What, so now you don’t want me here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He blinks before ripping his gaze from mine. “You know, you mentioned once that you enjoy history because humans haven’t changed all that much. You said that like it’s a good thing.” He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to recollect, but it’s not like I’d be inclined to forget. I’ve built a whole career out of my love for history. “I agree that people haven’t changed,” he continues. “People don’t change, really. But I think that’s one of the worst things about us. Here we are, with entire histories at our fingertips, answers to all your questions only a Google search away, but the reality is that people never learn a goddamn thing.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but I can’t quite bear to look at him, so I stare across the quad, arms folded. The campus is largely abandoned this late into finals week, save the intermittent straggler, darting from one building to the next to escape the cold.

I feel Teddy’s eyes on me, looking for some reaction. “We fucked this up once before and I’m pretty sure we both regretted it,” he says slowly. “I have no interest in repeating my mistakes.”

“Neither do I,” I whisper.

He nods to himself, staring somewhere just beyond my shoulder. “Right. Okay.” He exhales through his nose. “Take your time to think it over.” Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, the soft sadness in his voice is utterly devastating. “You turned me away once. I’m not going to rush you to do it again.”