My Professor(28)

Whatever joy and humor Mr. Banks seems to carry with him, Professor Barclay has none. Even now, his eyebrows are furrowed in a deep frown as he shoots Mr. Banks a sharp look of rebuke.

It’s been four years, almost to the day, since I last saw him.

He’s wearing a marine blue suit and a white button-down sans tie. His medium-length hair is slightly shorter than it was in the photos from the Notre-Dame fundraiser, but everything else is exactly like I remember, down to the arrogant energy radiating off him.

He is my biggest hang-up when it comes to taking this position. He and I have unfinished business, you could say…but I’ve convinced myself that I can’t miss this opportunity because of it. I’ve worked through all the possible scenarios, the most probable one being that Professor Barclay doesn’t even remember me. While what happened between us was monumental for me, it could have been a run-of-the-mill Saturday night for him. He has that blonde hanging on his arm now; he’s not busy thinking about me. Of course, there’s also the possibility that he’s seen my application, remembers who I am, and has decided to let bygones be bygones. Or, equally likely, he’s so busy that he doesn’t even know I’m here, hasn’t reviewed any of the applications himself, and instead is leaving it up to this nice lady in the glasses who’s trying to get my attention.

I give her a short laugh. “I’m sorry, gosh. I got distracted for a moment.”

She looks over her shoulder, following my previous line of sight, and seems to understand immediately. Professor Barclay and Mr. Banks have a commanding presence; there’s no getting around it. But in a more innocent sense, any new hire would be interested in getting a look at the owners of the company.

“Will Professor Barclay be joining us?”

“Unfortunately, no. His time is rather precious these days. Likewise with Mr. Banks, though you’ll probably get to meet them soon enough. Or, were you able to meet Mr. Barclay while you were at Dartmouth? I assume you know him from his professor role.”

“No.”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation before I deliver the lie.

She gives me an empathetic frown. “Sorry to hear that. I’ve heard wonderful things about his courses.”

The two men pass directly in front of me, and I hold my breath, waiting for Professor Barclay to look over and see me through the glass. He doesn’t, and relief douses my anxiety before I turn my full attention back to my interviewer, delivering my first genuine smile of the day.

As she promised, I have an email waiting in my inbox later in the afternoon that includes a generous compensation package and a contract ready to be signed.

So that’s it, an official offer to work with Professor Barclay. No, excuse me—for Professor Barclay. There’s a difference.

Maybe I should sit on it longer, contemplate all the possible reasons why it’s a horrible idea, but I feel a false confidence after my day spent in the Banks and Barclay offices. I was right under his nose, and Professor Barclay didn’t see me. The odds of me crossing paths with him again aren’t all that high. There are close to fifty people spread over the two top floors of the building, and I’ll probably be reporting to a manager who will then report to him, so short of a company Christmas party, it’s unlikely we’d ever even be in the same room.

Side note: It’s amazing what you can convince yourself of if you want something badly enough.

I sign the contract and email it back within an hour.

That night over takeout, I break the news to Sonya.

“I’m moving to Boston.”

Her fork stops halfway to her mouth, lo mein dangling.

“When?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday as in the day after tomorrow?”

“Correct.”

She puts down the takeout container she was eating out of and wipes her mouth, slowly trying to process the news.

“I got a job working for Banks and Barclay,” I say lightly, trying to make it sound less shocking than it really is. “To help with the Belle Haven Estate.”

She whips around to face me. “What? You didn’t tell me you were applying.”

“Well…I didn’t think I’d actually get it.”

“What the hell!?” She’s pissed. “You always do this, Emelia. Everything with you is so secretive.”

“Are you upset I got the job?”

“No. Of course not. Don’t spin this around. You know I’m excited for you, it’s just…god, we’ve been friends for so many years, and sometimes I feel like I still barely know you.”

She stands from the couch.

I want to respond with something cliché, like Sometimes I feel like I barely know myself, but I keep my mouth shut and let her vent.

“I just feel like friends are supposed to be open and honest with each other, and you have a hard time doing that. I know we’re different. I can’t force you to change, but still…” She shakes her head. “I just…it feels weird to be left out of your life so much of the time.”

“I’m sorry. And I mean that, truly, Sonya. I know it’s hard being friends with me. I know I’m not exactly an open book…it’s just hard. Growing up, I was so used to it just being my mom and me, and now, it’s just me.”

The fight is already starting to seep out of her.