“It was a joke. These heels are a self-inflicted accident waiting to happen. I probably need another PhD to walk in them.”
Don’t ramble.
I adjust the grip on my briefcase and follow Kieran down a long hall. My father swears every professional needs one. Thisoverpriced display of Italian leather and brass hardware holds my résumé, my old dentist’s pen, and an emergency stash of Twizzlers.
“Funny” is all he says, with the slightest trace of humor. “This way.”
He motions for me to enter an office with a desk and an executive chair in front of a long strip of cabinets. There are floor plants near a side chair in the corner, reaching for strips of the gray daylight coming in through the window.
“May I?” Kieran nods to my peacoat.
“Yes, thank you.” I shrug it off and frown at the pit marks soaking my blouse. This is why you don’t wear dark colors in the daytime!
“Have a seat,” he calls from the coat rack near the door. I use the opportunity to stuff tissues from a box on his desk under my arms and plop into the chair. Sweat is trickling down my back, but one problem at a time.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Defending my dissertation involved more people and less sweating. Then again, no one on the panel looked like Ghost fromPower.
The crispy fade is there. So are the big brown eyes that played in Tasha’s face. The muscles aren’t the same—not that they need to be. Just an observation.
“Mr. Fils apologizes for his absence.” Kieran takes his seat behind his desk and pulls out what I assume is a folder on my academic career.
If it’s a folder on my life, he’s in for a disappointment.
“Your father spoke very highly of you and your accomplishments.”
Unforgiving leather assaults my butt, pushing an uncomfortable thong farther into my crack. I wince and shift in my seat. “My father called?”
Kieran smiles. “Just to tell me that we’d be fools not to hire you. I must say, you are impressive.” He peels his eyes away from the folder and scans the blouse that has so many ruffles I look like I sat at the signing of the Constitution. Assuming I wasn’t Black, or a woman. He clears his throat. “Our primary focus at Maple King is civil engineering projects. However, your research and designs are intriguing. What was your dissertation topic?”
I sit straighter and adjust my glasses. “The hierarchical organization of multiscale material systems. It was a follow-up to my thesis on an optimum maintenance model based on a Markov chain.”
Silence.
“Need me to explain?”
“Wow.” His eyes widen before taking another casual stroll over my face. Is my makeup running again?
“Do you have an interest in research and design, or are you looking for a research-only position?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to develop new products. Troubleshoot too, but if there’s an opportunity for prototyping, I’ll take it. Some engineers excel at application. Others thrive creating designs. I’m the rare unicorn who does both,” I say with a giggle. “What software do you use here? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one I used in school for structural stress analyses. The student version had limitations, but I assume a place like this can afford it, no?”
My long exhale is met with silence. Too much?
“I mean”—I fix my glasses—“I appreciate data, evaluation, and conceiving design plans. A good portion of my time in the lab was spent analyzing failures to make recommendations on how to fix them. Concept and creation are fine. Design, I mean. Do you design?” I try again, glancing at the lone degree onan otherwise blank beige wall. A bachelor’s of science in civil engineering from Buffalo College.
“Oh no, I don’t,” Kieran chuckles. “I am good at deals and negotiations.” His gaze shifts. He mirrors my frown and shakes his head. “We’d be a team. You would oversee the data and analysis, testing equipment for implementation and evaluating its performance. You’d also have access to the lab for any useful designs. I handle the boring stuff—the goals, budget, permits, and navigating regulations. Client satisfaction. We’re wrapping up a lead line replacement program and working on a design-build project to expand Toronto’s subway system.”
“Toronto, as in Canada?”
“The one and only. Travel is part of the job, but only to touch base with our clients and partners.” He tilts his head. “Does any of this interest you?”
Does it?
I never asked myself what I wanted to do after my PhD. I love analyzing how materials operate under different stressors. The professor life doesn’t interest me. I also don’t want to exclusively confine myself to the four walls of a lab until my eternal slumber. I want to be around people—not enough to overwhelm me—and be part of projects that make a difference. Not just a bottom line.
I want my work to mean something.
“I might have an interest based on the information I have thus far,” I say.
