“I’m not taking any questions.”
“Come on. It’s nice to see you excited.”
“I’m too old and jaded for that.”
“But if you were younger, and less jaded?”
“Who knows? I might be excited.”
A cluster of faculty clogged the doorway, flush with booze and the building’s warmth. I didn’t really know anybody but Safie knew them all, making introductions as we wedged through. The room was packed, way more crowded than English. Someone had brought a stereo, volume turned up, the conversations loud to match it. They’d cut the overhead fluorescents and set up lamps with low watts and blinking red Christmas lights.
“This almost feels like an actual party,” I said.
Colin and Priya were already getting drinks. A table loaded with top-shelf liquor, wine in actual bottles. Next to a charcuterie board, a tray with a rainbow spread of macaroons.
“How does History have so much money?” Priya asked.
“This new budget model,” Colin said. “Everything comes down to enrollment and tuition dollars.”
Safie picked up a bottle of Scotch and whistled. “Their classes must be really popular. This stuff is not cheap.”
I took the bottle and poured. “Drink up, little lambs.”
“It tastes like,” Priya grimaced and stuck out her tongue, “mulch?”
“It’s the peaty resilience of being a viable major,” I said.
“Let’s make some rounds.” Safie’s gaze landed on Maria, who smiled and lifted her chin in hello.
We were about to move in Maria’s direction when across the room, in stepped Tyler and Addison. They snaked through the crowd, heads low. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.
“I’ll catch up,” I said. “I skipped dinner—I’m going to graze off the fat of the land.” Before anyone could protest, I grabbed a slice of something and shoved it in my mouth.
Tyler and Addison settled in a darkened corner near a bookcase, leaning in close and conspiratorial. Addison was acting something out, an impression or a scene, hands raised like claws beside his face. They exploded in deep laughs that bent them over. Tyler straightened and pulled something from his jacket—a bottle. With a quick glance to either side, he poured its contents into two cups and stashed it on a shelf.
“Mark! So wonderful to see you.”
I turned. Elaine Friedman. “Elaine. Hi.”
“And where’s your better half?”
“Oh—” Apparently the rumor mill hadn’t kicked in yet. “Stephen couldn’t make it.”
“Well, please say hello.” A youngish guy I didn’t recognize stood nearby and Elaine’s hand fluttered, beckoning. “Paul, join us.” He took a small step forward, sheepish look on his face. “Come, come. Paul is a doctoral candidate. At Michigan. Doing fascinating research in Mato Grosso. He’s here on fellowship for the year.”
“I was at your talk, at Fall Fest,” Paul said. “I really enjoyed it.”
“That’s kind, thanks.” I peeked across the room: Tyler lost in conversation with Addison. Had he not seen me? “I was glad to get it over with.”
“It’s always good to get it over with,” said Elaine.
“No, it was brilliant,” said Paul. It intersected with his own work, he explained, an ethnography of a farming village. They had suffered a series of brutal, unsolved murders a decade ago. It had deeply impacted the village and he was trying to track the stories they told to make sense of it, especially in terms of gender. The victims had all been young boys. “Americans think of Brazil as this violent, dangerous place, but this is a small community. Very isolated, very intimate. Things like that don’t happen. It’s not like here.”
As Paul talked, I stole glances at Tyler and Addison, making quick work of the bottle. They were in constant physical contact: Addison’s hand on Tyler’s arm, Tyler pressing his forehead to Addison’s shoulder, overcome. Something electric passing between them, sizzling and white.
And then Addison moved from the corner, handing his cup to Tyler. He headed for the door.
“Pardon me,” I said, cutting off Paul. “I see someone I should say hello to.”
