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I try to keep my face neutral, but I feel an overwhelming sense of pleasure at the way Ashley looks affronted when Bryson politely excuses himself.He stands next to me, holding a glass of red wine in one hand, and sets his other on my lower back.Ashley makes a face, walks away, and I'm on cloud nine.
“What’s up?”he asks.
“Nothing,” Evana says dismissively, knocking back the rest of her bourbon.“Just saving you.Ashley’s a snake in the grass.”
Bryson looks curiously at me, who shrugs and then nods.“Oh,” he says.“Okay.”
An announcement is made that the lecture and dinner portion is about to begin, so we grab our drinks and begin to file into the adjacent room, where round tables with cloth napkins and real silverware have been set up.Mercifully, Bryson and I are seated with Han and Evana, as well as a girl I recognize as being from the history department and her date, a guy who looks like he’s already bored.
I’m just setting my wine down when Bryson reaches over from where he’s seated beside me and taps my knee.“Here, switch seats with me.I’m going to be blocking your view.”
“Trust me, Bryson, a better view isn’t going to make or break this,” I reply, but he looks at me insistently, so I agree, rising from the seat and then taking his.Once he’s settled, I lean over and quietly ask, “How’s your ankle?”
Bryson lifts up the edge of his pant leg to show me the tensor bandage that’s wrapped securely around his injured ankle.He’s been off work for a few weeks ever since he got hurt, but it seems to be doing very well, and at his last appointment the doctor gave him the go-ahead to take the boot off, so long as he isn’t straining or overworking his ankle.“Doing just fine, babe, don’t worry.”
Waiters appear seemingly all at the same time, and begin placing starter salads at each place setting.This one appears to have slices of fresh peaches and crumbled feta across what looks like arugula; it looks pretty good.
“Great balsamic,” Bryson comments, after taking a bite.“Really nice.”
I smile.“You never met an acid you didn’t like, huh?”
“What’s not to like, Carleigh?”he says cheerfully.
The main course is a beautiful arrangement of roast beef and new potatoes, which I scarf down quickly; I skipped lunch in an effort to finish a set of revisions before this event tonight, and I’m starving, especially after the long training run this morning.After that, a small dish of lemon gelato is served over shortbread for dessert.It’s a little dry, but before I can comment on it to Bryson - not that he cares, but I’ll tell him anyway - the lecture begins.
It’s actually fairly interesting; the speaker is a visiting professor from Montreal, who talks about fictional depictions of wartime restrictions on domestic life, and the effect of that representation on secondary-level history texts.It’s forty minutes long, a merciful length considering all the non-lit people who are in attendance, and the speaker is both dynamic and clear enough to be accessible for the whole audience.I sneak a peek at Bryson throughout the lecture, hoping he’s at least not falling asleep in his chair, but every time I see him he’s rapt with attention, back straight, brow slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to take it all in.The only evidence of his usual manic personality is his knee bouncing quietly.
When the professor finishes, everybody claps politely.Evana, who’d had to turn her chair completely to look at the lecturer, turns to the table and remarks, “Good length.I wonder if he’s done any work as far as questioning the absence of regulatory schemes for some of these publishers.”
“Is that even a thing?”Bryson asks.He looks at me.“Probably a stupid question, but isn’t that kind of in opposition to freedom of speech?”
“Good point, Bryson,” I say.He smiles.“I wonder that, too, Evana - but Bryson’s right.You can publish whatever you want.It’s everybody else that assigns it some kind of trustworthiness.”
Evana nods slowly.“So maybe the better question then is around professional historical associations, and why they aren’t doing more to speak out against inaccuracies.Wartime rationing maybe isn’t the hill to die on, but...”
“People don’t usually go into fields of study to police them, though,” Han offers.“You have to have people who are willing to make a big deal out of it.”
“Maybe no one’s doing it for history and whatever, but I see people on TV all the time talking about science,” Bryson says.“Scientists.Real smarty pants like you guys.Talking ‘about climate change and vaccines and stuff.”
I nod and tap my low-heeled sandal against Bryson’s shoe under the table and smile at him when he looks over.
“So, that probably goes back to Evana’s point… about this topic not being a hill to die on,” Ham says.“But people are willing to do it when it matters?”
“At least with politicized and higher-profile things like climate change, there’s certainly more of an incentive to.”The room is starting to clear out; I fold my napkin and place it on the table.We’ve already spent enough time schmoozing with my professors and their colleagues.Really, I should probably do a little more networking, but I’m tired and despite his obvious engagement with the lecture, I don’t want to drag this out any more for Bryson.
“You around here next week, Carleigh?”Evana asks, as she stands and picks up her bag from the back of the chair.
“Should be.”
Evana flashes a thumbs up.“Cool, see you then.Bye Bryson, it was nice to meet you.”
“Same to you,” Bryson says to both her and her date, then they turn and make their way to the exit.
I push my chair in and step to Bryson’s side.“Let’s get out of here before I have to talk to anyone else about school,” I mutter, eliciting a laugh from him.
“One ninja sneak-out, coming right up.”He offers a hand, ostensibly to help me wind through the circular tables as we leave, but once we’re back in the reception hall and headed toward the exit, he doesn’t make a move to drop it, and I don’t either.
