“It will still be a tight fit, of course, but—”
“Whatare you talking about?” Maggie finally managed to say.
His presence in the small office was overwhelming. In an effort to reclaim some of her space, she sat down in her desk chair. He followed her lead, sitting on the weathered couch. He was so tall, though, his knees nearly pushed up into his broad chest.
“Didn’t Dean Clearwater email you?”
A lump formed in Maggie’s throat as she angled her chair toward her ancient computer. It had finally turned on while she was in Dahlia’s office, its power rune glowing with a dim light, so she jiggled the mouse and logged in. As it came back to life, she saw the dean’s email with its absurd little exclamation mark indicating its importance.
Maggie,
As you are aware, the Applied Linguistics and Incantation Translation, Runology and Sigil Studies, and Alchemy and Transmutation Departments will be sharing offices while the pall on the third floor is dissipated. Both Dean Bobbin and I appreciate your willingness to open your space to your colleagues.
You will be sharing your office with Dr. Arthur Taliesin, director of the Alchemy and Transmutation Department.
As if she didn’t know who he was. As if he wasn’t sitting in her office, already taking up a ridiculous amount of space. She suddenly felt like there was less air in the room.
I trust you will make Dr. Taliesin feel welcome and supported as he completes the important tasks he needs to succeed in his position, including meeting with students as the term ends, completing his grades, and working on important research.
What was Dean Clearwater going on about? Making Taliesin “feel supported”? What was she, his assistant? It was insulting.
If you have any questions about this arrangement, please don’t hesitate to reach out, though I trust you will make it an easy transition.
Best,
Dean Clearwater
“I see,” Maggie managed to say, her voice gravelly around the lump that was still lodged in her throat.
“So, as I said before, we will need to remove the—”
“Absolutely not,” Maggie interrupted, finding her voice again. “We will put my desk in the corner and yours can go there.” Shegestured to the space underneath the window. She was being downright generous.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just remove the couch?”
“No, it wouldn’t. That is my fainting couch, and I won’t be getting rid of it,” she insisted. The couch made her office, the place she spent more time in than her own apartment, feel more like a home. But more importantly, it made the space significantly less intimidating for the students who came and asked for help. She knew it was ridiculous; she knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t stop herself. Did she actually call it a fainting couch out loud?Gods above.Usually she only called it that in her head.
“Do you…” He paused and looked at her as if he were trying to determine whether he’d heard her correctly. “Do you do a lot of fainting in here?”
She groaned. “It’s an expression.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” she insisted, and began pulling dusty computer parts and books off her desk, piling them wherever they would fit on her bookshelves. Taliesin simply watched her, and when she grunted in his general direction aboutgetting a little help here, he came over and lifted the desk until it was snug in the corner, flush with her shelves.
“I didn’t want to get in your way.” He sniffed, his nose twitching against the dust that had blown in the air. “You seem to have it all figured out without me.”
As she rearranged her belongings and gave everything a thorough dusting, Taliesin returned with a desk, its other end supported by a sheepish-looking Jim, who escaped the office assoon as he dropped it beneath the window, leaving them alone again. Taliesin sat in the creaky chair he rolled in. The desk was too small—it had to be to fit in the minuscule space she had offered him—and he looked like an adult playing with a child’s furniture set. Everything seemed miniature in front of him, and he sighed as he pulled a laptop out of his bag. It was late afternoon, and the sun was shining through the sliver of a window, casting a solitary sunbeam on Taliesin’s new desk.
“See,” Maggie said, gesturing toward the sunbeam. “I’m being generous. You’re getting the only sun this room will see over the next twenty-four hours. You’re welcome.”
“Yes,” he said as he scrolled through what looked like endless emails. “That’s exactly the word that came to mind.Generous.”
—
Maggie lasted exactlythirty-seven minutes. Thirty-seven minutes of distraction. Thirty-seven minutes of frustration. Thirty-seven minutes of Taliesin shuffling through his bag, scratching his pencil across student papers, and tapping his foot up and down in near-constant motion. Finally, she stood up, told him to lock the door on his way out, and left without another word.
There were plenty of other people, people she respected and liked, that she would rather be sharing her office with. Instead, every time she looked up from her computer, there was the back of Taliesin’s head, and she found herself getting angry all over again. About the pall and that awful email from Dean Clearwater. About the budget cut.
