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“Next time, we’ll go to a conference on a subject you choose.”
“That’s a lot of pressure!”
John laughs. “Tell me about it. You’ll do great, though. I’ll get you a list to look through.”
“Okay. That would be fun.”
“It can be anywhere in the world, too.”
“Even better!”
I’m thinking about potential conference locations as we finish our food quietly. Once we’re done, we stand up and clean off the table.
“So, Mark, where are we headed?”
“Well, there’s a session on the female body that I want to attend. It’s about how authors describe women in literature. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re going to spend a lot of time talking about how men love to describe a woman’s boobs.”
I laugh. “I’ve seen memes about that online. Like how books show women standing in the mirror talking about their bodies. We don’t actually do that, you know.”
“Exactly! See, you might find this one interesting.”
“Yeah, this sounds like something I can get behind. When does it start?”
“We have about ten minutes, but we can start heading in that direction.”
“Ditching me already?” John jokes. “And here I thought we had something special.”
“We do,” I say. “Something especially boring. No offense, but I think Mark’s choices are going to be a lot more interesting.”
“Whatever. You could’ve gone with him to begin with, but you chose me. I’m going to consider that a win.”
I laugh. I’d picked John because he has been to more conferences than Mark, so I figured he’d be a good person to learn from. Now that I understand the format better, I’m willing to follow around another amateur.
“You can take the win. What sessions are you attending?”
John starts to tell us about the next session when we’re interrupted by an older woman on a mission.
“Hello, John!” she exclaims, pulling him in for a hug and kissing his cheek. I eye the woman warily. I’m not the most jealous person in the world, but I don’t want other women kissing on my men! Especially a woman I don’t know. She could be anyone! I hope she’s not an ex-girlfriend. I don’t want to deal with any drama on this trip.
I take in the woman as she pulls away. She has a rat’s nest of gray hair on top of her head and librarian-style glasses perched on her beak-like nose. Her eyes are so dark, they look black and beady. Overall, the woman looks like a bird.
I don’t like her. There’s something off about her. She’s giving me a weird vibe.
John smiles at the woman, and I don’t like that, either.
“Oh! I’m being so rude. You have companions!”
Please. As if she didn’t notice us standing there before. She’d deliberately ignored us.
“I’m Jane Fordham,” she introduces herself. “A professor of literature at the University of Alaska. John and I go way back.”
“I wouldn’t say that. We’ve bumped into each other a few times at various conferences.”
John’s discomfort is clear to me, but he does well hiding it from Jane.
“We could get to know each other better if you would write that paper with me!”
“We talked about this last time. I just don’t have the time.”
Jane scoffs. “You should make time for something so dynamic.”
“I think you need to find someone else to write your paper with,” John says gently.
She waves him off. “No matter. I’ll convince you eventually. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Her beady eyes land on me. I try to ignore the suspicion in her eyes, but it’s difficult. Why is she scrutinizing me? Is there something on my face?
I play with my hands as they dangle front of me. Her harsh gaze is making me nervous. I just want to go to a lecture with Mark. I didn’t sign up to be judged by some fifty-year-old lecturer from Alaska.
“This is Mark Kingham. He’s a PhD candidate at New York University. He also TA’s a couple of my classes.”
Mark holds out his hand to shake with the woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Fordham.”
“Please, call me Jane. Any friend of John is a friend of me.”
I swallow down a laugh. From the sound of it, Jane isn’t a friend of John; she’s more like a random acquaintance.
“And this is Mari. She’s a student at NYU.”
Jane’s palm is cold and damp against mine. Couldn’t she have wiped it off before shaking my hand? I’m pretty sure that’s professionalism 101 if you have sweaty hands.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jane,” I greet as politely as possible.
“You as well, Mari. Though I must say I’m surprised. It’s not often we see women as young as you at conferences like this. What are you, eighteen?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“You’re barely an undergrad! What are you doing here? Surely, you’re not getting anything from the conference. You haven’t learned the proper skills yet.”
“I think you’d be pleasantly surprised at how smart Mari is,” John defends me. “She could out-wit most students much older than her.”
