All this avoidance mostly works.
That’s not to say I don’t wobble on the line I’ve drawn like an American failing a roadside sobriety test. There are times when all I want to do is hurl myself into his solid, peppery embrace and tell him I don’t care about what people say about me. I don’t care that he’s still grieving and not ready for a relationship. I don’t care that being with him would put my PhD in jeopardy and turn me into my mother.
But none of those things are true. I do care. So I walk the line I’ve drawn. All the while aware of him watching me like an MI6 agent in a covert surveillance operation.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ethan
Sadie really meant what she said about nothing but business.
As the semester drags on, I can’t fault her professionalism, but all the warmth and banter has gone out of our interactions.
It appears she’s been able to leave behind whatever connection we had when we first met and move on.
Me? Not so much. I find my ears pricking up whenever her name is mentioned, desperate to find out what she’s up to outside work. I eavesdrop on her conversations in the tearoom and hover around the photocopy room, eager for titbits of information. I soak up the sound of her laugh as she chats with other staff and students.
And I’m giving myself a serious case of RSI thinking about her every night.
It’s getting harder to avoid the fact that being more than friends with Sadie is what I want. Whilst at the same time, it’s obvious even friendship is off the table as far as she’s concerned.
The mid-semester break comes and goes, and I’m flat out setting final assignments and marking while getting plans together for the dig. And avoiding being any place Riley, who continues to drop hints about us having dinner, might be.
Only two of my subjects have exams. I’d prefer not to have any. They’re an artificial construction based on memory, not critical thinking. I much prefer to set major assignments. But I inherited the curriculum, and there wasn’t time to rework all the subjects.
I schedule the exams for right at the beginning of the exam period in early November. The plan is for me to be in Egypt by the first of December. The students will join me right after Christmas, and we’ll dig through till mid-February.
I love lecturing and researching and even writing and delivering papers, but my true love is being on a dig. Sure, it’s hot and dirty and cramped and damn hard work. But being in the deserts of Egypt, the thrill of potentially finding something human eyes have not seen for five thousand years? Nothing beats it.
It will be good to catch up with my established dig team in Egypt, as well as a few of my old students from Cambridge, who’ll meet me there. It will also be good to get away from Sydney for a couple of months.
One of the benefits of scheduling the dig this way is that I can avoid family Christmas and an entire day of sad looks and unsubtle questioning. A fact that causes all sorts of consternation when I mention it at one of my rare family dinner appearances, which I can only avoid so often with Mum reminding me of it every week.
I try and make it once a month, but to be honest, it’s excruciating. I see Jess in every room of the house. Part of mewishes to God they’d sell it, so I’d never have to go back there. While the rest of me is terrified that’s what they’ll do, and that connection will be lost forever.
Then there’s the way all of us avoid talking about the elephant in the room. Which just reminds me of what Sadie said and how right she was that it’s me who is erasing Jess. And of how I completely buggered up any chance of even a friendly working relationship with Sadie. Let alone anything else.
It’s an unusual thing for a table full of Carters to stop eating. I was kind of hoping my announcement would get lost in the feeding frenzy, but no such luck. When I drop the bomb that I’m flying out in early December, the eating stops. As does the chatter.
I wish I wasn’t sitting opposite Mum, where I get the perfect view of her disappointment.
“Oh no, Ethan. You haven’t been home for Christmas in three years. I was so hoping you’d be here this year. What with all the new babies and everything,” she says, with a teary wobble in her voice.
Dad sits at the head of the table, silent and scowling. I hope he doesn’t start on one of hisyou’ve disappointed your motherdiatribes. Disappointing Mum is something I hate doing, and he knows it.
“It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. December to February is dig time in Egypt. It can’t be helped. With all the new babies, you’ll hardly even notice I’m not here.” I shovel another forkful of food into my mouth, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile.
“Hmph. I don’t suppose we can get in the way of his work, Stella,” Dad finally says, in a passive-aggressive way that’s rich coming from a lifelong workaholic. “And it seems like it’s already organised. But next year, perhaps you can find a way to be here.”It’s a statement, not a question. You contradict my father at your peril.
Ben’s eyes are burning a hole in my poker face. He’s aware I have discretion in setting the dates for the dig. So he knows I could’ve arranged for it to start later. Hell, I have an experienced Egyptian team on the ground in Cairo who are quite capable of doing a lot of the prep and planning.
The awkward silence that’s settled around the table is broken by a wail from Andrea.
“Oh-oh. It’s witching time.” Ben gets up and takes his now screaming baby from Rosanna’s arms. “I’ll take him for a walk. Why don’t you join me, Ethan?” It's uncanny how much Ben sounded like Dad then.
And before I know it, the baby is in his fancy-looking Silver Cross pram and we’re wandering along the street towards the park we used to play in as kids.
It takes no more than five minutes before Andrea’s screams become tiny little sobs, and then there’s silence from the pram.
