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“Your dad got youanotherjob.”
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I know what it looks like, but I promise you that I have no intention of taking it.” My pulse pounds in my throat. She can probably see it. I am a bloody doctor for crap’s sake but I’ve never had such an antagonistic relationship with a colleague, especially one I assumed I’d work closely with when I learned that, for all intents and purposes, we study the same things.
“Oh, you promise?” She rolls her eyes so hard, she’ll give herself a headache. “Like that means anything.”
“You,” I say slowly. “Are being purposefully unkind.”
The thing I find most frustrating about Audrey is how much I wish I could be more like her. Where I get flustered and react emotionally, Audrey remains cool and calm. She’s a chameleon in our old-school history department, populated by so many old white men. I want to ask her how she does it, how she avoids the label of ahystericalwoman whenever she has an emotion.
“Why don’t you like me?” I ask. I mean to sound nonplussed, to be able to take whatever magical confidence I had a moment ago and inject it into this long-awaited, much-needed confrontation. Instead, I sound exactly how I feel: a little too desperate for her approval. “I mean, it feels like you didn’t like me before I even arrived,” I say, trying again.
“That’s because I didn’t.”
I wish I could say I’m not surprised, not hurt, but I can’t hide it.
“I’m the first person in my family to go to university. Let alone get a PhD. I was so hopeful when I got this job two years ago. Then, everyone started whispering about thebrilliantEloise Banks.” She spits the word at me. “The preeminent early modernist, the influential gender theorist,” she sneers.
“I’m none of those things,” I say. At least, I don’t see myself that way. At all. “I’m... I’m just... Lulu.”
“You’re just the daughter of Dr. Peter Banks.”
That I can’t deny. I am, very much, the daughter of one of the most celebrated historians in the field. My immediate, gut reaction is to be defensive. I can’t control who my father is. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve done, especially since my father is who he is. But none of that makes it fair.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “It’s not fair. I should have... I don’t know. I never should have taken this job. I should have recognized the optics sooner. It was obtuse of me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Don’t worry,” she says with flippancy. “You can just take another one.”
Before I can say another word, Audrey is gone again. Dad is probably waiting for me in the lobby. Hopefully, he hasn’t forgotten and left without me. He’s a bit of a nutty professor sometimes, but at this point I’m not sure I want to share a car ride with him.
She walks, swift and stiff-legged, down the hall, the gentle swishing of her fashionable trousers at odds with the rigid way she holds herself. “Audrey, please,” I call, louder when she doesn’t stop.
She stops with her hand on the door to her office and finally she looks at me. After a moment, she huffs and opens the door. “What else is there to say?” she asks.
I’m tempted to throw it out there, Jesse’s idea that we combine our work, but it feels like asking to partner with the popular kid for group work in high school. An idea that’s more likely to receive disbelieving scorn than a positive response. “Can I put your name forward?” I ask. “For them to consider. At Lancaster.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity. It’s leveling the playing field.”
She rolls her eyes, but finally she nods. “Sure. Whatever.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lulu
Group Chat:
Me: Do y’all think that if we organize something separate from the study we can get Jesse to come out?
Trey: lmao yeah i haven’t seen that kid since the animal shelter
Nabil: Wait. Who’s Jesse?
Trey:
Me: I found a good group ticket price for a baseball game. Anyone interested?
