“What about her?”
A pause, a stutter in the air between us. Safie tilted her glass, considering something. “The tenure stuff.”
Fuck. “Of course.” What was wrong with me? I’d completely forgotten—since we’d talked about it at the lecture, I hadn’t thought of it once. “I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to ask. What did she tell you?”
She shrugged. “More of the same.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Promotion and Tenure says I showstrong promise. Which, frankly, is just insulting. I’m supposed to let them know by end of term if I want to withdraw my intent to file and take another year.”
“Jesus. But you’ve done everything right.”
“Believe me, I know. There’s no leeway for me in a place like this. I’ve been killing myself for years, and for what? And you know who else they asked to withdraw?”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Just one other case. Federico Garza, from Psychology. That’s it. The only Mexican guy on faculty, and a Black woman.”
“Sawyer is fucking awful.”
“I don’t know,” Safie said. “It’s just part of the world.”
“What are you doing to do?”
“I’m not sure. But we are going to get drunk and talk about something else.”
Hours later, we stood on the empty street, everything shuttered for the night. The air was frigid; there was no more denying winter’s arrival. Safie hugged her coat against herself as we waited for the car she’d called. I closed my eyes and the ground beneath me wavered, dipping down then up. I tried counting my drinks butlost track. The alcohol had unraveled our night—it was all dangling threads I couldn’t trace back; trying to only pulled them loose.
“Are you okay?”
I opened my eyes. The scene snapped into place: red brick, cracked asphalt, Safie’s hands warming in her breath.
“I may regret that last one. But I’ll survive.” I shook my head to clear it. “Did you tell me what you’re doing this weekend?”
“I’ll eat with Loren and Eugene tomorrow,” Safie said. “And I guess I have a date on Saturday.”
“A date? And this is the first I’m hearing of it?”
“We’re just hanging out.”
“We who?”
“Maria from History,” she said, and looked down and smiled. “I know, so obvious. But she’s very sexy.”
“Well done,” I said. I had met Maria at some event last year. “She really is.”
“Speaking of dates”—she paused—“Stephen says he hasn’t seen you since Fall Fest.”
I was aware all night that we were sidestepping the topic of him; she’d been letting me off easy. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t really talked.”
“What’s going on there?”
“I don’t know,” I said, which felt in the moment both sad and honest. “Nothing?” And that seemed sadder. Blood pulsed behind my eyeballs. Tomorrow was going to be rough.
“Hmm,” Safie hummed, and then—“You know I really like him.”
“Well, I like him, too. You think I don’t?”
