‘This job aligns perfectly with what I’ve envisioned for my career,’ she said, reciting the words that Jeremy had put in his email to her. ‘The Royal Botanical Society will give me the resources to put more time and energy into my research. I’ll be at the cutting edge of the field, not just citing others but being cited.’
It wasn’t as gratifying a thought as she had expected it to be. The citations would mean something to her parents and her peers, but the job itself would mean even more hours poring over books, working with men who would never fully respect her, presenting at conferences to bored academics. It would mean less time outside. It would be a life like the one she’d left behind in London, a life she now realized she hardly missed at all.
‘You missed a few points on that one,’ Briar said, oblivious to Alice’s racing thoughts. ‘You’ll want to make it more personal and grounded in your day-to-day, so your passion comes across. Obviously, it’s not all about the prestige for you.’
Alice nodded. ‘That makes sense.’
She was overwhelmed by the thought of more prep. She hadn’t left herself the time, hadn’t even thought of the interview when she’d had the idea to fix up Susan’s house. Camp had taken away some of her edge, softening her in ways she hadn’t known she’d had to look out for. To go back to academia, she would need to sharpen up again.
Briar flipped to the next card. ‘What accomplishment are you most proud of?’
Again, Alice couldn’t remember the words she’d written. Looking into Briar’s hazel eyes, she felt proud that she’d stuck around when she’d wanted to leave midway through the summer. She felt proud that she was going to be able to take some of the burden of fixing up the house off her. She felt proud of Robin for making friends. She felt proud of herself, for introducing him to what she hoped would be a lifelong love of decomposers.
She searched desperately through her academic accomplishments, her research, trying to think of an anecdote to answer the question.
She recited a story about winning departmental honors for a project she’d worked on with Jeremy.
The interview didn’t leave Alice’s head for the rest of the day and into the night. As she listened to Briar’s steady breathing, she hated her brain for not being able to shut off. She needed to do something, to talk to someone. But it would be too early for Tess.
She found herself at the phone, dialing her dad’s number, before she realized what she was doing. She’d done it in high school sometimes when her insomnia had made her lonely, picking up the phone and talking to him about school, about her assignments. It had been years since she’d called him this late, but she doubted his routine had changed much.
‘Hello?’
Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard his voice; it had been at least a year. ‘Hi, Dad. It’s Alice.’
‘Oh,’ he said, and she could tell she had startled him. ‘Is everything alright? What number are you calling from?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said, though it felt like a lie. ‘I’m at Camp Lakeside. Where I used to go?’ It came out as a question; she couldn’t be sure her father remembered anything about her life.
‘Oh?’ His tone was distracted.
‘I’ve been helping out this summer. Because Susan died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Alice hated how she couldn’t tell if he knew who Susan was or if he was just humoring her. ‘You’re not in London?’
‘I’m going back in a couple of weeks.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I’m interviewing for a job when I go back. It’s a prestigious one, at the largest research organization for mycology in the UK.’
‘So, you’ll be staying in London, then,’ he said, not a question but a statement.
Alice blinked. He almost sounded sad. ‘I suppose so, if I get it.’
‘What does that mean for the wedding?’
And then his concern made sense. ‘Oh, nothing.’
Her dad sighed. ‘Your grandparents have been asking about you. And I think it would be good for people to see you there.’
‘Good for people to see me…’ Alice repeated slowly. He meant he wanted the opportunity to play at being a good father, to explain her existence as the distant but doting daughter, rather than the truth: that she hadn’t seen him in half a decade. ‘Is it not enough for them to see yourotherchildren?’
There was silence on the other end of the line. Alice had never spoken like that to him before, and she didn’t know if it had made her feel better or worse.
‘I’ll give you some time…’
‘I don’t need time,’ Alice said. ‘I’m not coming. And you can give people whatever excuse you want.’
‘I guess there’s nothing I can say to that, is there?’
‘You could apologize,’ Alice said, feeling bold.
