Page 8 of The Tartan Thesis

Isla and I continue our conversation as Maeve moves to greet the newcomers. I focus on asking questions so I don’t have to talk much.

I’m still chatting with her ten minutes later, digging into her thesis topic on Vikings in Scotland, when I hear Maeve say from somewhere behind me, “Oh, you don’t say! Torin is also a first-year focused on Scottish history! Come meet him!”

I turn and then freeze for the second time that day when I see who Maeve has in tow, someone I was hoping I wouldn’t see again. Beau’s eyes lock with mine, his expression faltering only briefly as he makes his way toward us. Maybe I did want to see him. Maybe I manifested this moment with my thoughts about his muscular body. Maeve must not notice the dazed look on my face because she jumps into introductions.

“Torin, this is Beau. He’s studying Scottish history too! Beau, this is Torin.”

His eyes never leaving mine, his grin less mischievous than before, he extends one of those beautiful hands and says, “Good to see you again.”

We shake, and I manage to mumble, “You too.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two already knew each other!” Maeve says excitedly. Her eyes flick between us, observing our faces more closely now. I struggle to plaster on a neutral expression, my eyes shifting to look anywhere but at Beau.

“Yeah,” Beau says warmly, “Torin and I got acquainted this morning. He was very… welcoming.” That amused smile is back, and I want to wipe it from his face with a biting comment, but then my mind clears and I recall why Maeve thought to introduce us.

“Wait, you’re studying Scottish history?” I say.

“I am. That’s why I chose Edinburgh University. If I’m going to do good research on Scotland, I need to be in the country.”

“Why don’t you study American history?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. It comes out far more aggressive than intended, and both Maeve and Isla wince next to me.

Beau doesn’t seem to notice. “Because I grew up learning American history, Texas history, Southern history… I wanted to branch out. I focused on medieval Europe in my master’s and fell in love with Scotland, so here I am.”

“That’s it? You liked reading about us, so you just showed up?” I know I sound combative, but there’s already a ton of competition for graduate assistantships, research funding, and tenured positions in this field. Beau’s presence here feels like an imposition, and after everything I lost to James, I’m ready to defend what’s mine.

Maeve glances between us, then says, “We’ll be right back,” as she hauls Isla away.

I’m annoyed Beau’s smile hasn’t faltered. If anything, he seems more delighted than ever that he’s gotten under my skin again. “No, that’s not ‘it,’ as you put it. I have my reasons.”

“Let me guess.” I fold my arms. “You did genetic testing and found out that you’re a descendant of Robert the Bruce.” I know I need to rein it in. My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

He laughs, unaffected. “I did do genetic testing, but no, I don’t have any famous ancestors that I know of. My father’s family were French settlers in what is now Nova Scotia, who were forcibly pushed out by the British once they took control of the region from France. After deportation, they ended up in Louisiana. My mother’s ancestors were Scottish settlers in Georgia, but information about them has been harder to come by, so I started consuming more and more Scottish history. I fell in love with it and admire what Scotland and its diaspora have contributed to the world. When it came time to pick an area of expertise, I couldn’t imagine any other answer.”

“Oh,” I say. His reasons for getting a PhD aren’t as passionate as mine, but something about his answer makes it seem like he’s not telling me the whole story. I’d assumed he was here on a whim, given how attractive and apparently wealthy he is, but maybe he’s more than just a smug prick.

Before I can say more, Maeve returns with another woman and introduces us. “Professor, I would like for you to meet Torin Ramsay and Beau Fontenot, both first-years focused on Scottish history. Beau and Torin, this is Dr. Claire Moreau. She leads our European history track, so she’ll be your research advisor.”

Professor Moreau is a tall, chic woman in a well-fitted black pantsuit, crisp white blouse, and low black heels. Strands of silver grace her pulled-back black hair. Her red lips and the small iris brooch on her lapel are her only pops of color.

I rush to shake her hand first. “It’s lovely to meet you, Professor. I read your most recent essay ‘From Stirling to Paris: Scottish Envoys and Diplomatic Networks in the French Court’ in The Journal of European Historical Studies. I appreciated how you traced lesser-known envoys and their personal networks. It added a fascinating human dimension to the political narrative.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ramsay,” she says with a soft French accent. “That’s very kind of you. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Get in! Excitement bubbles in my chest. I’m already scoring points with our advisor while Beau stands there watching us talk.

The bubbles pop when Beau joins the conversation, speaking in rapid French.

Given what he’d just told me about his heritage, and since a second language is required for admission to the program, I should’ve guessed.

Thankfully Professor Moreau responds in English. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fontenot. I’m sure I will learn as much from you as you will from me. Your French is impeccable, by the way.”

“Merci, Professeur,” Beau says, his accent perfect. “I started learning when I was a child and spent a semester in Paris so I could become more fluent.”

Just a moment ago I thought maybe I could end up liking him, but his bragging has me back to thinking he’s an insufferable clod.

The professor turns to me. “And what languages do you speak, Mr. Ramsay?”

“I speak Scots and Scottish Gaelic, and I can read Latin,” I say, proud of my mastery of these languages, especially the ones of my country, though I doubt it’s doing much to endear me to my French advisor.