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“Make sure you take the garbage out tonight, Joey.”
I sigh. My pulse still lingering in my ears. “I will, Pop. I will.”
Chapter Twelve
Lulu
The thing about medieval European history—or at least the kind of medieval European history that Dad studies—is that it’s already been studied for years, forcenturies. And yet he can always find something new to fascinate him for hours upon hours until it’s almost seven in the evening on a Friday night and I’m waiting for him to finish so he can give me a ride home.
I knock at his office door for the second time. “Dad?”
Finally, the whoosh of his chair rolling back comes from the other side of the door, his slow footsteps. “Good evening, Dr. Banks,” he says, solemnly.
“Good evening, Dr. Banks.” I match his tone. “Ready to hit it?”
He hums and turns back to his desk. From the mess in this office, he is absolutely not ready to hit anything. Books everywhere, a stack of papers balancing haphazardly on the corner of his desk. Two half-empty to-go cups of black tea, as well as a mug. His computer monitor, with the boxy, old cathode-ray tubes, glows blue light over the tumultuous landscape of his desk.
“Sit,” he says, pointing at a chair that has a replica of the effigy of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s coffin approximately the size of Betty on it. There’s nowhere to put Eleanor other than the floor and seeing as Dad has had a mega-crush on her since he was eighteen, I can’t do that. She balances in my lap.
“What’s up?”
He pushes his glasses up his nose; the lenses are smudged and tape wraps around the bridge. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget exactly who my dad is: a rock star in his field, even well into his sixties. A man who changed the way medieval historians thought about the past, who could have gone to much bigger schools, taught in more hallowed halls, but stayed here for me and Mom and our family. He just loves history and teaching and us; his personal sacrifice to Athena.
“Did you set up a call with Dr. Lucas yet?”
“Who?”
He sighs, leaning back in his squeaky, old chair. “Dr. Lucas at Lancaster. She’s waiting for you to call so they can set up your position.”
“Wait.” I shake my head to clear out the cobwebs that accompany still being on campus after dinnertime. “Set up my position? I thought it was an interview for a job?”
He waves his hand like this is all semantics. “I think it’s mostly for show.”
“Are you kidding me?” I snap back, and my words echo out the door of this small office. In the ringing silence, my face feels hot, my skin too tight. I’ve never raised my voice to either of my parents before. “Didn’t you think of the optics?” I say, quieter this time, calmer. “Of using your name, your reputation, your clout, to get me a job? Again?”
In this moment, Dad is genuinely baffled. His beard droops as he frowns and he won’t look directly at me. “This is academia,” he mutters. And then, “You’ve just seemed... I only want to...”
“Do you...” My mouth is dry. I left my water bottle back in my office. I start again. “Do you think I should go? To Lancaster? That’s what you want—for me to leave?”
He harrumphs. “I think,” he says slowly. “It would be a good idea to set up a phone call with Dr. Lucas.”
He starts gathering his things, stuffing the cardigan on the back of his chair into the soft-shell briefcase at his feet.
I know what it’s like to be let down easy, and that’s what Dad’s trying to do now. He doesn’t want me here; he’d rather do a little nepotism as a treat, since to someone like him—a historical superstar—it doesn’t really matter. I was running from the UK and my broken relationship with Brian and my broken friendship with Nora, and now I might as well run back.
He’s letting me down easy, but the fall still hurts. I’ve always battled impostor syndrome—it’s basically a prerequisite for getting a PhD—but I’ve never felt like an impostor in my own family, in my ownlife. That’s what this is, though. I don’t belong anywhere.
“I—um, I need to go grab my stuff,” I say. My brain is in a fog as I walk out of his office and almost walk face-first into Audrey.
“Oh.” Audrey squeaks, then huffs, turning on her high heels and striding down the hall and around the corner. “Hey,” I call, trotting after her. “Audrey, wait. Hey.”
I catch up to her just outside my office. “Were you eavesdropping?” I ask, the edge in my tone louder than if I was yelling. Which I want to do, even though none of this is Audrey’s fault. She sighs, her shoulders rising to her ears before she turns, any emotion on her face wiped clean. Audrey smiles, slipping one hand into the pocket of her slate gray, wide-legged, wool slacks. I slip past her into my office, hoping she’ll follow me so we can have this conversation outside of earshot of any of our gossipy colleagues. She pulls a candy from the small green art deco glass bowl I leave out for students during my office hours.
“You have a job at Lancaster University.” She doesn’t ask. She unwraps the candy, popping it into her mouth, the hard candy crunching between her teeth.
“It’s not a good idea to chew those candies,” I say stiffly. “They get stuck in your teeth and cause cavities.”
Shut up, Lulu. Let her get the cavities!
