My Professor(22)

Three months back, there was a gala to celebrate the progress and to continue to raise funds for the remainder of the extensive renovation work estimated to cost hundreds of millions of euros, and photos of the event were everywhere because of all the celebrities in attendance. Professor Barclay and his partner at his firm, Christopher Banks, were there, as well as Emmett and Frédéric, which makes sense. Not only are they loyal Parisians, Frédéric has been the largest private donor for the cause, superseding even the French government. There were photos of the foursome—each one looking extremely handsome and dapper—but those pictures of them together didn’t really surprise me; likely they all run in the same elite circle or at least have met a time or two. It was Professor Barclay’s photos with a pretty blonde that I couldn’t get out of my head.

I was looking into that very thing tonight, trying to determine if their relationship is still ongoing. They haven’t been publicly photographed together since the gala, but that doesn’t really mean anything, right? Professor Barclay doesn’t seem like the type of man to announce his relationship on Instagram or anything.

Anyway, Sonya doesn’t need to know any of this. She knows about my past, but nothing about Professor Barclay. I meant what I told him the last time we spoke; I never told a soul about that night at the bar.

“A letter came for you from Scotland, forwarded from Dunlany. Is it from Mr. Parmer?”

I nod and reach out for it, giving her a small appreciative smile in thanks.

“Just going to hang out in here all night?” she asks, glancing around the room. I’m suddenly self-conscious of the water cups piling up on my bedside table and the laundry stack growing out of control in the corner.

I haven’t really settled in very well. My moving boxes are still taped shut. My clothes aren’t hanging up in the closet. They go from my suitcase to my body to the dirty clothes pile, then I clean them, dry them, and put them back in my suitcase. If I were seeing a therapist, they’d likely tell me my unpacked suitcase is a metaphor for something.

“I was going to venture out eventually…” I tell her. “When I could no longer ignore my stomach’s rumbling.”

She grins. “The fridge is stocked. I went to Whole Foods on my way home from work.”

“Ah, thanks. I’ll Venmo you.”

I feel terrible for yet another reason. I’ve been a shitty house guest ever since I first arrived. I don’t cook, and I never voluntarily grab groceries. I clean up after myself and contribute funds toward anything she buys that we share, but it’s not like I’m really adding value by being here. If anything, my presence is only a drain on Sonya, who’s in the throes of wedding planning and arguably the happiest she’s ever been.

Even now, she has her wedding binder tucked up underneath her arm. She carries the pink frilly thing around everywhere. I’m sure she’s come in here because she wants to crack it open and get my opinion about something: Do you think linen napkins are too formal? Does beige count as a wedding color or is it just a neutral? Would the bridesmaids hate me if I made them wear their hair up?

I try my best to care about all of it, even the trivial stuff. Sonya’s been a good friend to me, and even if life just sort of sucks for me right now, I don’t want to taint this time for her.

“So…I don’t want to upset you or anything…” she starts.

I sit up straighter on my bed.

Please don’t say you’re kicking me out. Please don’t say you’re kicking me out.

She grimaces as she continues, “I just saw that Cooper shared a photo of him and Samantha on Facebook. It looks like it’s officially official. She’ll likely be his plus-one at the wedding.”

She mimes gagging as I sag with relief. “Oh. That’s…huh. That’s…”

I don’t know the right word.

She plops down on my bed and frowns. “Want me to kick him out of the wedding?”

I can’t help but laugh. She’s misread my mood and thinks I’m actually upset about this news. “Not sure how you can do that seeing as how he’s Wesley’s best man.”

She shrugs, unperturbed. “Yes, well, the wedding is still two months away, so Wesley has time to find a new best man before then. What? Like it’s hard?”

I smile. “It’s all good. I promise. Look”—I hold up my hands—“I’m not crumbling into a million pieces or anything.”

I realize I’ve put myself in an awkward position in the last few weeks. By keeping so much of myself hidden from Sonya, she’s been forced to assume my malaise and sadness are caused by my breakup with Cooper. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but if I admit none of it is really bothering me, I’m opening myself up to further questions, questions I really, really want to avoid. So I play dumb. I let her assume what she will and I don’t correct her. I know that’s slightly horrible and still considered lying, but it’s all I can do at the moment. I’m just trying to keep it together.

It feels like I’m fighting a losing battle, but I’m not quite ready to give up.

Not yet.

“Also, not to point out the obvious, but like…have you seen her?”

I frown. “Who?”

“His new girl. The other woman.”