I was tempted to parrot exactly what Jonah said back into his dad’s face –I have an outstanding research track record and exemplary teaching performance– but in the interest of being an adult, I opted for a slightly more conciliatory approach. ‘Lyons was looking for a popular fiction specialist.’
That muscle in Professor Fisher’s jaw twitched again.
‘They don’t see popular fiction studies as specious and pointless,’ I couldn’t resist adding, ‘unlike some other, more short-sighted institutions.’
‘I thought they were looking for an early modernist,’ Professor Fisher said to Jonah, turning his head to make it very clear I was no longer being addressed.
‘It was one of the other desired specialisations.’ Jonah passed me the beans. ‘Rory Worland made it to interview too.’
That must be the Shakespeare bro who’d leapt and punched the air when he walked out of his job talk, in the single most transparent attempt at psyching out the competition I’d ever seen.
‘Perhaps that split the vote in the hiring committee,’ Professor Fisher mused. ‘That happens sometimes, when they interview two people with the same specialisation.’
‘Or perhaps,’ Jonah said, ‘they hired Sadie because she was the best choice.’
His dad ignored him. ‘I know the Head of Humanities at Lyons. Sofia Vargas. Awful woman. Terrible scholar.’
Professor Vargas had been the head of our hiring committee. I’d liked her immediately – and, reading between the lines of this particular tirade, she’d probably been the one who made sure ‘popular fiction’ appeared on the list of desirable specialities.
‘An old chum of mine started there last semester, though,’ Professor Fisher continued. ‘Lachlan Petrovski. You should mention my name to him, Jonah. He’ll look out for you – when he’s not too busy sorting out Sofia’s messes, anyway.’
‘I don’t need looking out for, Dad,’ Jonah said. ‘I’m an adult. I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘Is that so? Because maybe if someone had been babysitting you a bit more, you wouldn’t have gotdistracted.’ The last word was a snarl, accompanied with a dismissive gesture directed at me. ‘The same thing happened to your brother. He got distracted by a girl and now he’s unemployed.’
Oh, fuck this.
‘Elias is not unemployed,’ Jonah said. ‘He’s on his fifth—’
‘Oh wow, Christian,’ I cut in, laughing. ‘I didn’t know you had such great respect for my intelligence.’
Professor Fisher’s glare refocused on me.
‘A scheme like that,’ I went on brightly, ‘convincing Jonah to fall in love with me at just the right moment so I could swoop in and steal this job from him – that would take meticulous planning and an incredible level of skill to execute.’
I reached over and took Jonah’s hand where it was resting on the table, lacing my fingers through his. ‘Of course, in your universe, where I’m a Machiavellian genius, I’m not sure why I’d actually marry Jonah after stealing the job that was rightfully his, but thank you for giving me so much credit.’
Could I, I wondered, actually make Professor Fisher’s head explode, if I pushed hard enough? The vein pulsing in his forehead was very much suggesting that I could.
‘You should be grateful, Dad. Happy, even.’ Jonah’s fingers tightened around mine, so tight it hurt a little, pressing my engagement ring uncomfortably into my knuckle. ‘However it happened, I’ve got a permanent job now – and I’ll be able to help out Fiona and the kids.’
‘Fiona—’
‘Don’t.’
It was the same way he’d said it that night in the kitchen, when I’d blithely strolled in, found him collapsed over the table and made some crack about him being so broke he’d need to take money from his parents.Don’t,he’d snarled, venomous even by our standards.
‘And on top of that,’ he went on, ‘you’re getting one of the most brilliant early career researchers in the country as a daughter-in-law.’
Oh. Goodness.
Did he really think that?
The hairs on the back of my arm were standing up again, but more importantly, Professor Fisher’s jaw was twitching so hard it was practically humming, and I’d lost my battle with restraint.
I leant over and pressed my lips to Jonah’s jaw. ‘You’re so sweet,’ I said, rubbing my nose performatively against his cheek. ‘I can’t wait to start a life with you.’
His dad looked apoplectic.
