First text in over a month from him. It had all been short notes on his desk since that Sunday night before classes started.
Are you on campus?
I set my laptop down, and took a deep breath before answering yes, and that I was in the library.
Can you come back to the office for a little while?
I didn’t hesitate.Yes. I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Are you there now?
Yes. See you soon.
I threw my stuff in my bag and made my way quickly through the stacks and out of the library.
He hadn’t mentioned why he wanted me to come, nor for how long he thought we’d be there. But, he’d obviously seen my note. So, either he wanted to fire me face-to-face, or he was going to tell me that I was still on the job.
But why not say that with a simple text or email?
It would be the classy thing to do to let me go in person. Realizing that was probably the reason for the summons, my footsteps slowed. Crap. The last thing I’d want to do after being dumped (again!) by Montrose was to go out and party with Jane in our slutty red dresses.
I could just see myself getting drunk and being the girl who spends the night crying into her beer, telling her sad tale of woe to anybody who would listen.
Which of course I could never be. My tale of woe with Montrose could not be made public.
I texted Jane and told her I was sorry, but I had to work tonight, and to go without me. She responded quickly that it was no big deal, and she was cool with staying in.
Again I wondered about the ponytail guy from Betsy Stratton’s wedding, and if he was the reason Jane seemed to be a bit mellower this semester.
And had no plans for Valentine’s Day.
I debated quickly running back to Creyts to change my clothes or at least put on some makeup. Knowing there wouldn’t be a chance of running into Montrose during my “visitation” hours of the office, I’d just thrown on some Lulus, a knit top and sweater this morning. I’d twisted my hair up in a messy bun and left, figuring I’d shower later, before getting ready for the party.
But if there was a slight chance of Montrose getting tired of waiting for me and leaving, then I would risk showing up as I was.
Dusk was falling now, and as I approached Snyder Hall I could see the lights on from Montrose’s window, though the blinds were closed.
I knocked on his office door instead of using my key. To hear his voice tell me to come in sent a chill through me. I had missed that deep, husky voice.
“Hey,” he said as I entered and closed the door behind me. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. Especially since you’ve already been here today. Take off your coat, have a seat.”
I nodded as I moved into the office, noticing several new boxes on the credenza, which had been empty when I’d left a few hours ago. I took my coat and hat off and hung them on the hook next to his long coat. “No problem,” I said. I motioned to the new boxes. “Are these the ones from your apartment?”
He nodded, not rising from his seat. “Some of them. There are still a few left, but…you can get to those last.”
I raised a brow at his use of me in the future tense, at least as it pertained to the job.
“I don’t want you to leave the job, Syd. You’ve done a great job so far.” He looked down at the top of his desk, then back up at me, the dim light from his desk lamp reflected off his grey eyes. “Unless, you’dratherleave?” He tried to keep his voice level and indifferent, but I heard it. That tiny tone of questioning, of…insecurity.
“I’d like to stay on. I’m really enjoying the work.”
He visibly relaxed, sitting back in his chair. I felt a huge sense of relief myself, and sat down in the guest chair in front of his desk. Normally, I wouldn’t like the dynamic of the seating, like I was being interviewed or a student of his or something. But the truth was, that’s all I was, his employee, waiting for further direction.
Yes, this was the seat for me. Not on the couch with him by my side. Not sitting on the edge of his desk in front of him. And certainly not sitting on his lap.
Still, it felt oddly…formal.
I looked across the desk at him. He was wearing a Brown University hoodie and jeans. His hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it, his regular stubble had at least another day on it, and I suspected that I wasn’t the only one who had skipped the shower this morning.
But God, to see him again, when I’d been just basically staring at his picture for the last month. To me, he was perfection.
