My Professor(71)

He tips his head in acknowledgment. “Emelia. You look well.”

“Thanks.”

Alexander grins. “Look at this! Progress!”

I roll my eyes and so does Emmett, which only further delights Alexander.

“Come on,” he tells me. “You’ll love this place. Best burger in the city.”

Emmett holds the door for me, and I make sure to thank him as I walk inside. Alexander wasn’t kidding about it being a “little” burger joint. It’s a real hole in the wall: torn red vinyl booths, bad lighting, wood-paneled walls covered in signed dollar bills, photographs, bottle caps.

We go join the line near the counter to order, and I’m reading over the faded chalkboard menu hanging on the wall above the cash register when Emmett leans over.

“Get the classic burger. It’s the best they have.”

“Right. Okay, thanks.”

It’s our turn to order, and the cashier asks if it’ll all be on one tab. I open my mouth to explain I’ll be paying separately, and both Alexander and Emmett eye me like I’ve gone insane.

“Oh-kay,” I tease, stowing my wallet back in my purse. “In that case, I’ll take a chocolate milkshake too.”

Alexander smiles. “Make it three.”

I’m given the privilege of picking the table. I find a booth in the corner that’s not yet been cleaned off from the previous diners, but the restaurant is so busy we don’t worry about alerting someone. Emmett grabs some napkins and we wipe it down ourselves before taking our seats: me and Alexander on one side, Emmett on the other.

“I’m surprised you picked this place,” I tell Alexander.

He nods toward his brother. “Emmett introduced me to it.”

My eyebrows have to be in my hair. Emmett shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“I like a good burger.”

Sure, but I would have assumed he’d like a good burger made by a Michelin-starred chef deconstructed and topped with microgreens, and I’m not shy about telling him so.

He actually almost smiles.

“I’m not as snobbish as you’d think.”

Our milkshakes get delivered before our burgers, which no one complains about. I scoop up a bite of whipped cream as Alexander asks, “Where’d you go off to on Friday? I said hi to you when you first got to my place then I got distracted by someone, and when I went to go look for you again, you were gone.”

“Oh…I was pretty tired. I left early.”

“So did Jonathan,” Emmett adds, innocently dropping his maraschino cherry into his mouth. “I called him today and he didn’t answer. You haven’t seen him around, have you, Emelia?”

I think back on when he caught Professor Barclay and me in the compromising position in the hallway and try not to blush.

I focus intently on my milkshake. “I think he’s in Cincinnati for work.”

“Oh, you know what?” Alexander says, scooting out of the booth. “I need to go wash my hands really quick. I’ll be back.”

And there you have it, the most awkward moment ever recorded: Emmett and me alone in that booth, facing each other but not making eye contact.

I reach for my water and sip, sip, sip.

Emmett checks his phone.

I peer over at the busy kitchen, trying to see if they’re working on our burgers yet or if we’ll be sitting here in purgatory for a good long while.

“I suppose I should start with an apology.”

I look back at him in surprise. “You suppose?”

He exhales as if annoyed and then sits back, studying me.

“I’m sorry for what I said the other night.”

“That’s…decent of you.”

“Yeah, well, rest assured decent is not a word used to describe me very often.”

“No offense, but I can see why. You really put up a wall, don’t you?”

“It’s not a wall. It’s who I am.” His voice is hard as stone.

If I were smarter, I’d proceed with caution, but this conversation is so honest and rare I don’t want to retreat now. Besides, before tonight, I already came to terms with never speaking to him again. It feels like there’s nothing to lose in continuing down this road, even at the risk of offending him.

“That’s…unfortunate.”

His short laugh is curtailed by a shake of his head. He sobers again.

“Whatever issues I have with your mother are not issues I have with you. I won’t conflate the two again.”

His words are laced with anger even all these years later, and I can’t help but ask, “So you really believe my mother was the reason behind your parents’ divorce?”

He sighs and scans the room as if this subject is too heavy to discuss, especially in this setting, but I’ve broached the question and now he’s forced to answer or ignore me. He thinks on it for so long I shrug and am about to move on to fill the silence with talk about the burgers, fries, something, then he surprises me.

“Frédéric Mercier is a complicated man. Most people wouldn’t want to sit across from him in a boardroom, let alone a dinner table. My childhood was interesting, to say the least, and what comfort I had was found in the arms of my mother. She was a shield against my father, though I should be clear, he was not abusive, at least not physically. Still, as a child I equated happiness and peace with my mother, so when I was five and Frédéric announced that they were getting a divorce, I was furious. That divorce broke her.”