Chapter Eighteen
Franklin
Ava tugged down at the bottom of her black sweater, worn loosely over a pair of black leggings and a matching black skirt. “Are faculty dinners always like this?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, patting her on the back. “Rory will only make us go to one or two a year.”
I grabbed a cheese snack from a passing tray, then handed it to Ava with a conspiratorial nod, making her giggle. We were in the Faculty Hall at the university, an ornate two-story on campus that was used for special occasions. Behind Ava, floor-to-ceiling windows looked over the rest of the green campus.
I adjusted my Batman tie. “What do you think? Do I clean up nice?”
Ava nodded. “All the other Batman professors are going to be jealous.”
I blurted out a loud laugh at her joke, then raised my glass of wine in the air. “Well played.”
She rolled her eyes and folded her hands behind her back, turning away, but I still grinned to myself. The more time we spent together, the more my corny sense of humor was wearing off on her, and I couldn’t be more delighted about it.
“Why do all the professors want to meet each other’s families, anyway?” she asked. “Isn’t that weird?”
“It happens once in the fall,” I said, “and then once at the end of the year. The family doesn’t have to come, and I suppose some people don’t. But most do!” I caught Rory’s eye across the room, and he started to make his way back to us. “I think it’s nice for Rory,” I said quietly. “He likes the other professors to know he has people at home.”
Ava nodded very quickly, and I patted her back.
Rory showed up, and I greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “And there he is. Professor of the year.”
Rory chuckled. “Not exactly. I’m just the most popular professor in my department with the honors students.” He waved the napkin he was holding in the air, shaking his head. “It’s a very nice award to receive, but it’s just a tradition the students have upheld. Nothing too fancy.”
“So modest,” I joked. “But we’ll see what tune you’re singing when I insist on displaying the plaque.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “Ava, you know he’s not joking. Franklin has never been able to contain his pride. Next time you win an award, god help you.”
Ava scrunched up her face. “Hey,” she said. “Didn’t you say the chair lady doesn’t like your work, though?”
Rory’s eyes got wide, and he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Let’s not talk about that now,” he whispered. “Did you overhear Franklin and I talking, Ava?”
“Just because I always have my headphones on,” Ava said, “doesn’t mean I always have my headphones on.”
Rory and I looked at each other, then nodded. “Good to know,” I said.
Ava leaned in a little closer as a waiter passed us with a tray of empty wine glasses. “But why doesn’t your boss like you, Uncle Rory?”
“It’s not so simple as that…” he started.
“She’s a grumpy sourpuss,” I said quietly. “And she doesn’t think gay films matter.”
Rory opened his mouth to object, then nodded. “Basically.”
Ava nodded. “Got it,” she said, then turned back to stare out the window.
I caught Rory’s eye, and we both chuckled.
A part of me had always kind of loved the faculty dinners, even when they were a total drag. There was something about showing up with Rory and being seen together as a family. Having Ava with us felt like another step in making our new family real and writing those memories together.
I smiled to myself, my heart swelling with pride. “I am happy the students respect you,” I said to Rory. “Even if some of the administration missed the memo.”
Rory’s eyes widened; then he squeezed my hand. “Look at that,” he said, nodding to the woman who approached. “Chair Pearson. And how are you this evening?”
Dorothy Pearson appeared to give us her customary and necessary greeting. Her newest husband, a man with a face even tighter than hers, stood by her side.
