Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“You can’t fight it? There’s no appeals process?” Daphne asks.
“Technically, there is. But it’s notorious for being a bit of a joke. They never change their minds. And if I were rejected a second time?”—I gesture with a cracker at the board—“I’d need a lot more cheese.”
“So are you… were you, like…” Lillian and Daphne exchange a concerned look, neither wanting to say it.
“Fired?” I say. “No. It’s more like… getting denied for a promotion. You simply go back to the job you had. Only, the difference in my world is that the decision is final. Once you’re off tenure track, you’re off for good. I can still be a lecturer at Nova University. They still want me to be a lecturer at Nova. Just without the job security or prestige.”
“Well, that’s a hot pile of bullshit,” Lillian declares.
“Agreed. Can’t you get tenure at a different school?”
“Technically, yes,” I say hesitantly. “But in reality? No school I’d want to work at will consider me for tenure once word of my rejection gets out.”
“Maybe your parents could—”
“No, no,” Lillian says, holding up a hand when she sees me suck in a breath. “No calling in favors with the stuffy, erudite side of the family.”
I can’t bear to tell my aunt that even if I wanted to ask a favor, I haven’t had the opportunity. My parents and brothers have been painfully silent since I texted them the news four days ago. I wasn’t expecting them to rush to the city to make me cookies or anything; we’re not that kind of family. We don’t do warm and fuzzy; we do facts and move on.
Case in point: for my birthday last year, they got me a collective gift of a Waterpik because I made the mistake of confessing I’d gotten my first cavity.
We’re that kind of family.
Still, I’d have thought I’d have gotten a little something. A token “that sucks” would have sufficed.
But in their defense, this is totally uncharted water for us Reeds, especially for me. Since third grade, when my teacher suggested skipping me forward a year, I haven’t been just a part of the high-achieving Reed family: I’ve been the star of it. The only girl, the youngest, the smartest…
Daphne reaches over and takes my hand. “You okay?”
No. I force a smile. “Yeah. And there’s a little good news to come out of all this. My mentor managed to get me approved for a sabbatical for a year, if I want it.”
“Do you want it?” Daphne asks. “A year off would be pretty great, right?”
A nod is all I can manage, because I’m pretty sure the sabbatical had been less for my own good, and more because the department wants to get me out of the limelight for a while.
“I say you do it. Take the year,” Lillian says, tapping her cigarillo. “And do it big, honey. Travel. Take dancing lessons. Get highlights. You need money? I have lots.”
“No, I’m good financially,” I reassure her.
Not wealthy. But good. Comfortable. I’ve had very affordable on-campus housing for the past several years, which keeps costs down, plus the extra money I’ve made here and there from TV and lecture appearances.
“So what’s the hesitation?”
“I don’t…” I pause. “Honestly, I don’t know what’d I’d do with a year off, even if it’s just a nine-month academic year. I’d have no one to teach. Nothing to study. No access to labs.”
“Eat, Pray, Love,” Daphne says, tapping the table excitedly. “That’s what you’d do.”
“Well. Yeah. I could do those things…”
“No, no. I’m not talking about the verbs, I’m talking about the vibe. You know. Eat, Pray, Love.”
I tilt my head in confusion at the reference. “The book about the woman who goes to Italy and wherever else to find herself?”
“Oh, yes,” Aunt Lillian says enthusiastically around a bite of Gouda, holding up her glass for more sherry, which Daphne refills. “I loved the movie.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” I say, “but the idea of traveling for a year doesn’t really call to me.”
“It’s not about the travel, it’s about the emotional journey,” Daphne declares. “It’s about fighting back when your life goes to shit and inventing a new life, with new rules.”
“My life hasn’t gone to shit.” I frown, scooping up a very serious chunk of the triple crème.
Lillian points at my hand. “Note that you picked up the denial cheese when you said that.”
“Well, which one is acceptance cheese?” I ask patiently. “Let’s move on to that one.”
“You can’t force acceptance, you have to sort of… float into it,” Daphne says.
I snort. “I’ve never floated in my life.”
“Maybe that’s the problem, dear,” Aunt Lillian says, swiping at some fig jam on her chin. “You’ve only ever done things a certain way, thought about things a certain way, experienced things a certain way.”
“Okay, you’re not wrong,” I admit slowly, since it mirrors my own thoughts lately of feeling like I’m missing a vital piece of myself, a crucial part of the human experience. “But I don’t think chowing down on spaghetti is going to fix that.”