“Do you know how many microaggressions I’ve smiled through? How many subtle sexist comments I ignored as a woman pursuing a PhD in the eighties? I fumed and swore and screamed to my family and friends, but I kept my head down until I got tenure. Then, and only then, was I able to make real changes. You need to do the same.”
I grumble, “I’ll think about it.”
She watches me for a beat of silence, then nods. “Now, besides derailing your career, tell me how Quinn’s been.”
A smile spreads across my face and Dr. Cassia—Gianna—chuckles. “She’s great. I’m supervising the first class she’s teaching, and she’s doing an amazing job.”
“I’m glad she changed her mind about her career path. I always thought she should have stuck with our field. Granted, I could have voiced my opposition in a kinder way. I’ve always regretted that.”
“She’s not teaching history. We have an internship program and she’s teaching a class for those students.”
Gianna hums as she chewed a bit of her dessert. “So, she stuck with it.”
I nod. “It’s part of what Richard and I fought about. He thinks she had a mental breakdown after losing the Harrow Fellowship, and that’s why she didn’t pursue her PhD.”
She laughs. “Seems like that plan of hers backfired.”
My eyebrows draw together. “What plan?”
“She thought when she gave up the fellowship, her father would let go of his plans for her.”
I feel like someone’s punched me in the gut.
Gave up the fellowship.
“But she didn’t give up the fellowship. She didn’t get it.”Please tell me she didn’t get it.
“She asked me to keep it quiet. Richard would have been furious if she publicly pulled out of the running, so she asked to keep her name up, but pulled out of consideration.”
My throat goes tight. When did swallowing become so difficult? “Did she get it, then? Or she pulled out before the choice was made?”
“She got it. I called her into my office to celebrate before it was formally announced, but she went off about how she didn’t deserve it and didn’t want it. You two never talked about this? I thought you told each other everything.”
Apparently not.
Every interaction about the fellowship comes slamming back into me.
You have nothing to be sorry for.
You deserve this.
I was happy for you then, and I’m happy for you now.
They’d have been idiots not to pick you.
She was never upset about losing the fellowship because she never lost it. And I didn’t win it. My best friend handed it to me.
Dr. Cassia keeps talking, unaware that she’s taken my world apart in one sentence. A single thread pulled from a tapestry, and the whole thing unraveled. I’ve been so confident in my career, and it’s all been built on that one day in April when they called my name instead of Quinn’s.
It isn’t about beating Quinn specifically. But I read her work. It was good. And I know how much pull her father has. He’s one of the past recipients, for Christ’s sake. The community witnessed her grow up and watched the progression of her career. They were rooting for her.
And in my mind, beating her meant I had to be better than good. Better than great.
Now I’m questioning everything. The impostor syndrome Quinn talked me out of years ago slams back into me in full force. Am I really good? Or am I the best mediocre option after the real winner said no?
And, more terrifying, is my success mine, or is it actually the result of Richard and Dr. Cassia pushing me forward? Do I have a completely false sense of my worth?
And, most terrifying of all, if my success is based on the support of people in the field, have I screwed my chances of tenure by pissing off Richard Riley?
