Page 1 of Surrender to Love

ONE

August is hell, actually purgatory. Between eleven thousand returning students, fourteen hundred incoming freshmen, privileged tenured faculty, and barely committed adjunct faculty, I’m a walking ball of stress for the entire month of August. As the dean of the largest program at the prestigious HBCU Crescent Falls University, the bulk of August’s madness falls on me and my department.

CFU undergraduate studies has six academic programs: Malcolm Redmond College of Arts and Sciences, Susie King Taylor College of Education, Mary Jackson College of Engineering, William H. Hastie College of Juvenile Justice, Mary Eliza Mahoney College of Nursing, and CJ Walker College of Business. My program, business, is the largest. Thirty-five percent of the student population are business majors, which translates to an inundation of emails, calls, and long ass lines the days and weeks leading up to the new fall semester every August.

“Dean Morris,” my executive academic assistant Lexie says as she enters my office. “The food and drinks are all set up. I just need you to sign this receipt and add a tip. The delivery driver is waiting.”

“You can sign and just give them my usual twenty-five percent. A La Carte is always on point. I’m going to be another five minutes; I need to change these last two slides of my presentation,” I say while still concentrating on my laptop screen. “Oh, and please send out the group message to the faculty. They can go ahead and start eating.”

“Half of them are already in there,” she says and that causes me to lift my head because I do not eat food that has been breathed on and picked over by too many hands. “How long have I been your E.A.? Five years,” she asks and answers. “I know you and I already fixed both of our plates before I let any of them in,” she adds immediately, knowing me so well. “They’re on my desk. I’m just going to eat after the meeting.”

“Me too. I’m not eating until afterwards either. You can bring the plates in here and thank you.”

Because I probably spend more hours here than I do in my own home, my office has all the amenities I need to get through my hectic but rewarding days. Growing up in The Manor, in a one-bedroom apartment with my mom and older sister, I had dreams like any child but they weren’t as big as my current reality. My office is bigger than the living room that doubled as me and my sister’s bedroom. Every morning when I walk in here and I see my three degrees on the wall behind my elegant beige and gold L-shaped desk, I beam with pride.

I beat the odds. After earning my bachelor's degree, I continued to earn both my master’s and Ph.D. I’m a homeowner in the neighborhood I dreamed about as a child. It’s not the biggest house in Chandler Heights, but it’s the one I love, the one I designed, and the one of which I possess the deed.

“You’re welcome, but do you need me to take anything to the meeting for you?” Lexie asks, reclaiming my attention.

“No. I think I have everything. You can head over if you want; I’ll be right behind you,” I tell her and she nods.

Crescent Falls University is near and dear to my heart. It was here that I truly recognized my full potential and started to become the woman I am today. So, sitting in this office, holding the prestigious job of dean at my three-time alma mater is a dream come true and full circle moment. I don’t take this honor lightly. When I step foot on this campus, my students, faculty, and team are my top priority. Even though August is a beast, I treasure all of the stress that comes with it.

After reviewing my presentation one final time, I close my laptop, grab my DAZ tumbler and fill it with honey and my tea of the month, butterfly pea infused hibiscus tea. This is my fifth year as the university official for the Beta Mu Chapter of my beloved sorority Delta Alpha Zeta, and for my anniversary, the chapter gifted me a membership to the Nubian Tea Club. Delicious, infused tea leaves arrive at my office each month and I have to admit this one is my favorite so far.

When I walk into the lecture room I reserved for today’s faculty meeting, Lexie is seated at one of the two tables up front, set up and ready to take notes. My professors are all present, seated, and enjoying the catered lunch of chicken and lamb gyros, hummus, Greek salad, and baklava. After queuing up my presentation, I welcome new and returning faculty then start the ice breaker exercise.

Normally, faculty meetings last an hour, but with this being the first one of the semester, it lasts two. I’m starving by the time I’m back in my office, so after washing my hands, I warm the food Lexie set aside and sit in one of the high back cushion chairs in my seating area. As I enjoy my food, I review the business program schedules. I’m meticulous and proactive. I prefer to anticipate a problem and have the solution before it actually arises. I spot check each course, lecture hall number, day, time, and assigned professor then send the final approved draft to the registrar. As soon as I receive the email read receipt, my cell rings. It’s my mom.

“What’s up, lady?” I answer.

“Nothing really. Are you busy?” she asks pensively.

“No. You actually caught me at a good time. I just finished eating lunch.”

“Lunch at four o’clock? You should be getting off, not eating lunch at four.”

“I’m working late today. It’s pre-start week. I have a lot to do before classes actually begin. I’ll probably be here until almost seven.”

“It’s always start, pre-start, grades, and schedule with you. You work too damn hard. The school will be fine without you killing yourself.”

“Ma, it’s my job and I’m good. Normally, I’m off around five or six. It’s just weeks like these when I work a little late.”

“You work all day and night every week actually,” she counters. “What time did you go in this morning?”

“Is that why you called, to fuss about my working schedule?” I say with a grin, ignoring her question.

My mom rides me all the time about my hours and I curve her each and every time. I love everything about my job. Why wouldn’t I? I’m a Black woman Academic Dean of the largest program at a prestigious historically Black university that educates and shapes the lives of young Black men and women every day. No other place could fill and overflow my cup like CFU.

“Actually, I didn’t,” she says and the somberness that overtakes her tone puts me on edge.

“What’s wrong, Momma? Are you okay?”

“I would be if my daughters would at least speak to each other. Kym is pregnant; she found out today,” she says.

At her words, anger instantly rises in my body, transitioning into a damn migraine. My hand raises to my forehead and I massage my throbbing temples. Just the mention of my mom’s other child sets me off.

“Momma, I gotta go. I’m not doing this with you,” I grit, biting my tongue to keep from saying what I really want to say.