Page 4 of Teach Me Your Ways

2

CECE

Isat in the passenger seat of my mom’s Prius, the air conditioner valiantly battling the South Carolina heat, while Sophie kicked her light-up sneakers against the back of my chair. Outside, the Zebulon University campus buzzed with tanned, smiling undergrads, all of them looking so damn young and carefree. They were children. My five-year-old daughter looked a couple years younger than them. How in the hell did I get so old?

At twenty-three, a single mom, and starting a PhD program, I already felt like the world’s oldest student. Not like grandma old, but like I should be thinking about wearing capris instead of shorts old. Like I should be thinking about sensible shoes and checking for gray hairs.

Twenty-three, Cece. Twenty-three. Not forty-three. Not fifty-three. Twenty-three.

“I’m nervous,” I blurted out. “Tell me why I shouldn’t be nervous. I need a pep talk. Not a long one. Just talk me off the ledge.”

Maggie Monroe, eternal optimist and my mother, gave me one of her patented You’re-Being-Ridiculous looks. My mom could climb Mt. Everest with only one leg and an arm tied behind her back while carrying a horse.

“You’ve got your spot, your funding, and your TA job. All you have to do is go inside and get the details from your department head. It’s paperwork, not a personality test. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ve got the brains. Just do it.”

Sophie, in her booster seat, piped up. “You can do it, Mommy! And maybe you’ll make some friends like I will at big-kid school.”

I turned to look at her. She had inherited her red curls and blue eyes from my mom and me. Sophie was my reason for breathing. She had come into my life when I least expected it and was definitely not ready for it, but she made me stronger.

Just like now. She gave me purpose. This wasn’t just about me and my professional aspirations. This was about giving my child a future. And if that meant braving the judgmental stares of college students who thought twenty-three was ancient, so be it.

“Thanks, Sophie,” I said. “You’re my hero.”

She beamed. “I know. I can hold your hand if you want me to.”

I smiled. “Thank you, but I’ll be okay.”

And there was that confidence I seemed to be lacking as of late. I was so glad she was strong-willed. Most of the time. When we were in an all-out battle at bedtime, that strong will was not fun. But I did everything I could to foster that high self-esteem because when she turned thirteen, she was going to need it. I was going back to school to get a doctorate so I could get a good teaching position and provide a secure, stable life for my daughter. That meant I could suck it up and do the scary things. All for her.

Mom grinned and gestured toward the building. “Go sign your forms and get your TA stuff or whatever. We’ll be here when you’re done. It’s simple. Everything is already handled. The hard part is over. There won’t be any problems.”

A few minutes later, I sat on the opposite side of a massive desk in the dean’s office.

“It appears there’s a problem with your teaching assistant position,” Dean Carver said.

All the reassurances my family had given me withered at those words, and my heart sank. Nothing ever came easily to me and I should have know this wouldn’t be any different. Despite the panic clawing at my insides, I kept my expression neutral. “What’s the problem?”

“The professor you were supposed to be a teaching assistant for had to take a sudden leave of absence,” she said.

I frowned. “Professor Jones? I hope everything is okay.”

He was the main reason I had wanted to come to Zebulon. His specialty was maritime archeology, which was what I wanted to pursue. Diving for shipwrecks and studying submerged ruins. That was the dream. And then getting to teach students about the projects I’d worked on.

Dean Carver nodded. “Yes, thank you for your concern. He’s alright but we’re not sure when he’ll be returning.”

I blinked. “So, are you saying I don’t have a TA position anymore?”

“Well, it’s definitely complicated things,” she said, clasping her hands on the desk. “That particular TA slot doesn’t exist anymore. But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost.”

I took a breath, not sure if it was to cry or scream. I tried to channel my mom. What would she do? How would she handle this giant clusterfuck?

I stared at the woman. She was really very unattractive. Her chin rivaled Jay Leno. Her cheeks were huge. Maybe a lot of fillers? Her eyes reminded me of a mouse. No, a possum. Beady. Her hair was probably a natural blonde shade but she very clearly dyed it to be blonder. And it just looked cheap. I imagined she might have been pretty thirty years ago, but now she was trying too hard. And it was absolutely backfiring.

“There is one professor in the department who could take on another teaching assistant,” she said, pulling my thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“Yeah?”

“He only has one right now and hasn’t met with them yet, so you wouldn’t be behind. It’s not your exact specialty like with Professor Jones, unfortunately, but he’s well regarded in the field.”