The irony is that had I been looking for it, I never would’ve found it.I happened upon the discovery in my off-hours—a cosmic joke considering that I’ve committed myself to doing scientific grunt work that should lead to incredible discoveries, but rarely does.
My fingernails cut into my palms as I practice the breathing technique Dr.Broderick taught me.“What about the Nat Geo project?”
She’s pushed our team for years, hoping for that assignment, and I’ve worked diligently to help her get it, counting on the unspoken promise that she’d take me with her.
“Venus, our partnership is ending,” she says, her voice stern and slow, “but I’ve arranged a temporary position for you.”
“What temporary position?”
“Teaching summer school, a special topics course on…” She shuffles the papers on her desk.“The Rare Plants of North Carolina, at UNCW?—”
“That’s my father’s school, my father’s class.Is he unwell?”I sit up, nearly falling off the chair.
“He’s fine.He’s taking a much-deserved sabbatical, albeit on very short notice.You’d know this if you kept in touch regularly.When he informed me of his intention, I reached out to them and recommended you.”
“I should’ve been consulted.I’m not a teacher, and I hate classrooms.”
“You have a doctorate—you’re qualified.Besides, he’ll provide all relevant materials.What could be easier than subbing for him on a topic in which you are just as knowledgeable?It’s only for the summer, Venus.”
“Let’s pretend it’s always summer for us.”Henry’s voice wafts into my memory, but it’s faded, like I can’t quite remember how he sounds.
“I don’t want to do this.”I fidget with my bracelets and rings as my anxiety builds.“There must be something else.Anything else.”
“You have no permanent residence or current offers.You have nowhere else to go.It’ll be good for you to be on solid ground for a while, see your family,” she points out.“Don’t you miss them?”
“Do you missyourfamily?”
Her scowl tells me that I’ve overstepped.“Venus, Italkto my family.You’ve all butabandonedyours.”
The word stings.My brain misfires as I attempt to launch a counterargument and overloads with things I miss—Ivy’s often-annoying cheerfulness, my father’s slowhmmmwhenever he considers something, the earthy warmth of the greenhouse, and the memories it holds.
I recall our quiet evenings—Dad in his favorite leather chair, Ivy and I on the couch, usually under a shared blanket, all of us reading while classic rock played on the record player.Dad would put the kettle on, and the air would fill with fragrances from his homegrown teas.I once loved those lazy evenings, those times when I didn’t feel trapped.
Or perhaps I’m idealizing those memories in their long absence.The immense pressure to escape began in that house.That’s where I discovered how little I belonged and what a burden I could be.I haven’t been home since the Christmas before last.The longer I’m away, the harder it is to go back.
“Missing them is irrelevant,” I say, pushing those feelings aside.“I shouldn’t be fired because of a few minor instances.My impulsivity problem is under control and managed with professional care.”I’m flooded with memories of school and the numerous times I made the same argument, only to fail to persuade my teachers or the administration.
“Idiosyncrasies are one thing.Swan-diving off the ship is a risk to you and anyone who might jump in to save you?—”
“I didn’t need saving.I just needed… to reset.The boat was anchored.”
“You’re a liability, Venus.A distraction.And this isn’t a debate.”
My father’s voice whispers through my internal monologue.“Best accept what you cannot change, Venus,”and still I wonder how that can be true.
“Go home, Venus,” Dr.Miner says sternly, forcing my attention back on her.“Take some time.Do a good job with your father’s class, and I’ll provide a positive reference for your next project.”
A reference from Dr.Miner would secure me any research position I want.Without it, I’d lose my credibility, given that I’ve spent a decade under her tutelage.
“Does my father know?”I ask, my voice as weak as my limited options.
Her wry smile spreads.“It was his idea.”
Outside on the starboard deck, I adjust my head scarf to keep my long blonde hair out of my eyes.I say blonde, but on closer inspection, my hair is at least a dozen different shades of gold, pale yellow, and light brown.I read a book once that likened one’s natural hair to the uniqueness of a fingerprint.
DNA, fingerprints, hair color,difficulties.How can we be so unique and so utterly inconsequential?
Inconsequential… that’s what I am to Henry now.I imagine he doesn’t think of me at all anymore.
