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Allison startled. Say nothing? That seemed more in Colin’s interest than hers. “But what if it was your best idea? What if you’d thought about it for a really long time?”
Mei slid open her top drawer and retrieved a small dish of wrapped caramels. She offered it to Allison. “This is my anxiety stash. Let it melt on your tongue. No chewing. It will help you calm down.”
Allison did as she was told, though it went against everything she believed in. She was one of those people who cracked her teeth into a lozenge or a lollipop as soon as it hit her mouth. Candy was for chewing, not taking a bath in your saliva.
The caramel was sweet and buttery with a hint of salt. With all her focus on keeping her teeth in line, her heartbeat slowed.
Mei nodded as if she could see it. “We’re made of more than one idea. If you had one great one, you’ll have another. But hold this next one a little closer to your vest.” She pushed another caramel toward Allison. “And get yourself an anxiety stash. Your dissertation will thank you.”
If Allison ever got there.
Keeping what Colin had done a secret felt weak and wrong. As if, like Jed, he was stomping all over her. But Mei was right. If Allison spent all her energy fighting to hold on to her argument, she might never have the space to form another.
She was a library, full of stories and words and definitions. And her brain was a seamstress, with fingers as agile as Sophie’s, stitching them all together into new designs and formations.
Allison didn’t need to take Colin down to win. Her best revenge would be to earn that mentorship all on her own.
Most of Allison’s meetings with Wendy Frances had taken place over meals, so this was the first time she’d spent more than a minute in her office.
Somehow, her professor had managed to achieve a cottage-core aesthetic in the tiny space. Her desk spanned one entire wall, the reclaimed-wood slats aged to shades of gray and blueish brown. A square platter lined with sea glass sat off to one side and held tiny succulent pots that served as file holders, and the two small lanterns beside Allison cradled a handful of pens and pencils. All the lamps were draped with scarves to dim the harsh fluorescent lights.
Wendy settled into a paisley armchair, while Allison took what looked to be a straight-backed chair from an old dining set. Her eyes strayed to the nearby windowsill, which displayed a photo of Wendy embracing a dark-haired woman in front of a garden so vibrant and fertile it could have burst out of a storybook. Beside it was a picture of two cats curled on a chair, one lithe with a coat of gray and white, the other a hearty tuxedo.
“My girls,” Wendy said, nodding to the image. “Gwen and Dave.” She pointed to the tuxedo cat.
Allison laughed. “Dave?”
Wendy’s bangles (rose gold today) jingled against her own amused reaction. “It was the name the shelter gave her, and I love the message it sends. Names are a construct just like gender is.”
“It’s perfect.”
Wendy drew a file folder from between two of her succulent pots and pulled a legal pad from it. Flipping to the first clean page, she crossed her legs and sat forward, giving Allison her full attention. She smelled like a bakery, vanilla and sugar and comfort.
Allison’s slamming heart eased a little in response. Being aroundher professor closed some of the cracks Colin had splintered into her bones.
“So, tell me what I can help you with.” Wendy’s blond waves were swept off her face, and she had the lightest dusting of mauve eyeshadow over her gray-blue eyes. Her long-sleeved floral shirt resembled the kind of fancy, intricate wallpaper you’d see in mansions that got photographed for magazines. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll teach us next week.”
Her words were genuine, and, like a spell working against a curse, they broke Allison’s indecision. Her professor didn’t want to hear about the ideas Allison couldn’t use (because Colin had stolen them); she wanted to see Allison’s mind at work. And nothing she confessed about Colin and his betrayal would show that. At least not the good parts.
She cleared her throat. “I was originally going to work with Chaucer, but as I was rereading Malory for class this weekend, I was struck by the parallels between Igraine and Elaine of Corbin.” According to legend, Igraine conceived King Arthur when Uther Pendragon, a rival king, used magic to appear to her as her own husband. Elaine tricked Sir Lancelot into bed with similar means, disguising herself as Queen Guinevere. Yet Uther has been depicted as a hero, while Elaine has been construed as corruptive and dangerous. Women always took the fall for men’s egos. Colin had taught Allison that lesson twice now.
Wendy’s pen began scratching against her paper, as if Allison had said something worth writing down.
Maybe she had. She was more than one idea. She was an infinite cascade of them, and she let her words rain down, let them form shapes and angles that made meaning, that took stories and cracked them open to show what was inside.
“I think I’d like to discuss how Malory’sLe Morte d’Arthur—as exemplary of a lot of other medieval romances and legends—vilifies female desire.”
Narrowing her eyes at her notes, Wendy smiled. “This piggybacks onto Colin’s presentation in effective ways. Did you two plan that?”
Anger jabbed like thorns in Allison’s stomach. “In a manner of speaking,” she muttered. If planning it meant that both presentations were Allison’s.
But Wendy’s comments also sparked an idea. Behind Allison’s eyes, it exploded like an incandescent firework. Maybe she could take this new idea and intersect it with her old one. Then she could demonstrate to Wendy not only that, as a teacher, she would scaffold ideas well and build upon concepts, but that she could conceptualize analytical readings that extended beyond one or two texts to consider the field more broadly—exactly what she’d need to do for her dissertation.
Her body fizzed. She could do this. She’d create a new presentation by Tuesday. Abetterone. Fuck Colin. She’d win againstherself—a far more worthy opponent any day.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she asked, “Do you mind if I make some notes quickly?”
“Of course.” Wendy turned to her computer.
