I try calling Emma, she doesn’t pick up.
I throw myself onto the bed and scream into one of the huge white pillows. It’s like landing on a cloud, the entire bed swallows me and it makes me feel better. Placing my hands on my chest, my heart thumping starts to slow down and my eyes feel heavy. The freak out seems to be contained for the moment, thanks to Hilton New York.
What is happening?
Benny sends me a goodnight photo of him and Frankie, and I fall asleep looking at it.
Finding my way around campus is like deja vu. The campus hasn’t changed at all. The buildings are twice as tall as Glendale, with the classic columns and dome roofs on top. The green patches of lawn are pristine and crisp as they lay in the center of the multicolored brick walkways. Nostalgia comes rushing back as I walk past my old class buildings and dorms. It feels good to be here, but different too.
“Welcome back, Ms. Bailey!” Duncan meets me outside the Psychology Department building, stainless steel water bottle in hand. He always teased me about drinking more water.
“Hi!” I hug him. “How are you?”
“Good, good.” He hands me a manila envelope. “Take these, that is your tentative schedule and all the information you’ll need for the classes. Donotlose that!”
“Wait, what? I haven’t accepted the job yet.” I stare at the envelope.Did I tell him I would take it? I’m only taking the interview. Panic sheers through me as we turn to walk into the building.
“Oh it’s just a set schedule they already have, so you know what to expect when you take the job.” He waves his hand at me.
“IfI accept the job,” I correct.
“Right! Sure.” He gives me a sarcastic wink as he leads me down the hallway.
The inside of the building has been renovated since I was here last. The floors are a fresh cream tile, walls painted to match, and the doors to each office are a deep blue. A more modern look compared to the outside. As we walk, I count floor tiles, working on my breathing, white knuckling the envelope.
We approach a conference room and I can see inside a pane window by the door that there are three people seated at a table—two middle-aged women and an older man. Sweat builds on my lower back and under my arms. Duncan notices me fanning myself.
“Calm down, silly! You’re going to do great.” He smiles at me.
We stand on the other side of the door for a moment. I smooth out my skirt that I had to dig out of the trash because I didn’t bring a spare, toss my hair behind my shoulder, and give myself a mental pep talk—just get through this. My nerves are a mix of anticipation and dread. I have no idea if they are going to offer me the job, and worse than that, I have no idea if I’m going to accept.
I take a deep breath and enter the room. Duncan joins the three at the opposite end of a long boardroom table, I take the single seat facing them. They are welcoming in their greetings, giving relaxed smiles that calm me a tiny bit. Each of them are previous PhD students and current faculty, one being the Director of the on-campus clinic. We spend a good portion of the interview discussing their roles in the department, their plans for the upcoming term, and even discussing their current research projects:Human Behavior, Justice Data Science, and Human Brain Imaging.
Their experience and education combined brings back the feelings of college orientation day, when you know absolutelynothingbut want to learneverything. I soak it in as they chat, joining in when I feel appropriate. It feels very relaxed and easy to talk to them.
“Enough about us, let’s focus on you,” one of the women says. I already forgot their names and will have to ask Duncan to remind me later.
“Yes, tell us about yourself,” the man requests.
“Well”—I clear my throat and lean down to remove my portfolio from my purse—“I graduated from Columbia four—”
“We know that, sweetie,” woman two interjects. “Tell us aboutyou.”
“Oh . . .” I pause as they look at me eagerly.
What did they want to hear? That I fled New York after getting left at the altar? That I couldn’t handle working at a clinic with my ex so I took a job as a high school guidance counselor? That I’m working in a job that sounds demeaning and absurd to someone with my education, but that I actually love the job? That I love it so much and the idea of me leaving it has pushed me to the verge of an irrational meltdown?
They sense me stumble and guide the conversation. “Tell us about Glendale.”
I clench the edge of my portfolio binder, tapping it with my thumbs, as I try to connect my brain with my mouth. Talking about Glendale will definitely send me into a fit and I’m not wearing waterproof mascara.
The silence in the room is thick and awkward as they watch me patiently.
“Well, I have a few things.” I set my portfolio on the table and clutch the zipper. Luckily I brought a recommendation letter from Malcolm, and a few student evaluations on my contributions to the school recently. I might as well present those so I can conjure up some type of verbal response.
Duncan walks towards my seat as I unzip the binder, pulling out a folder. I open the folder and instead of finding just the letters neatly packed inside, I find an envelope with a smile doodled on the front. Handing the letters to Duncan, he retreats back to his seat and hands them to the three. As they read over the critiques and accolades from a few teenagers, they giggle and show each other different points.
With the small envelope still in my hands, I discreetly tear the seal and pull out a stack of crumpled old sticky notes.
