5. Emerson #2
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really? ”
“Yes! And everyone loved your paper on—” She pauses to remember the title. “‘The Transformation of Public Music in Early 18th-Century Europe.’ It was a huge success. So, you’re getting some buzz around here in the department.”
“Good buzz?” I ask, trying to suppress a grin.
She grins back. “Good buzz.”
I nod, finally feeling a sense of pride.
For once, maybe things are going my way.
I took a risk leaving my small college in Indiana to come here for a semester, but it’s starting to feel like it was worth it.
I’m in a robust, well-funded music department headed by my dear friend in the greatest city in the world—home to Carnegie Hall and many other iconic venues. A guy could get used to living here.
“If you do well,” Sheena adds, “I think you can nail this interview. I’ve put in a good word for you, and everyone’s excited to meet you.”
“Everyone?”
She nods. “I’ve been talking you up. Laying it on thick. They’re expecting good things.”
I swallow hard, doing my best to smile.
“Emerson”—she pats my arm—“with all the hard work you’ve been doing, this is your time to shine.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Kick some butt this semester. Your students are going to love you. And if you need anything, Will is here. He’s also superb at computers. He minored in Computer Science.”
Sheena walks us to the stairs. “There are lots of social events here, too. And, unlike Indiana, there are actual gay people in New York.”
I grumble. “There are gay people in Indiana, too … besides Pete Buttigieg.”
“Doesn’t he live in Michigan now?”
“We still claim him.”
Sheena laughs. “I’m just saying, there’s a lot more action here. A guy like you could have some fun. Just remember,” she says, hands on my shoulders, “you’re here to kick butt and teach classes, but don’t forget to have a social life, too.”
I nod, though I’m already mentally bracing myself for the reality of what’s to come. “Noted.”
She’s staring at me intently. “I can tell when you’re blowing me off.”
“I’m not blowing you off,” I blurt. “You’ve got a department to run.”
She grins. “Yeah, but you’re part of it now. And Emerson, you never know when someone might wander into your life.”
My mind flashes to my accidental roommate. I can only hope that by the time I get home, Bryce and his dog have wandered out of my apartment. And my life.
I take the train home but get off halfway. The ability to walk in New York, block by block, feels like a privilege. Back in Indiana, you need a car to get anywhere. But here, I can wander. People-watch. Breathe in the air of Central Park.
It’s all wonderful. I don’t want to get my hopes up too much, but I can’t help it. If I can get a permanent job here and teach, it would be incredible.
When I finally get back to my apartment, I trudge up the six flights of stairs. It’s warm outside but not too humid. Inside, though, the staircase is stuffy and claustrophobic. By the time I reach the top, I’m a sweaty mess. When I open the door, Bryce isn’t there, but Bobo is.
He’s sprawled across my suitcase, which is buckling under his weight.
“Off!” I yell.
Bobo sits up, creating more strain on my suitcase.
“Off!” I motion for him to move, but he only stares, his tongue sticking out. He knows that’s his cute side. It makes it hard to stay mad at him. There’s something silly about a big dog sitting on a small suitcase.
I think about pushing him off, but he’s way too massive. It would be a losing battle.
“You have a whole couch. It’s much more comfortable.” I point to the couch like I’m displaying a prize on a game show. “Look at these cushions. Much more comfortable than a suitcase.”
Bobo cocks his head, enjoying the show.
“You can’t actually like sitting on there.” I put my hands on my hips.
Bobo seems to dig in his heels. The suitcase creaks under him, but he doesn’t budge. I think back to experiences with my family dog growing up. I’m using human psychology when I need to be using dog psychology.
“That’s fine.” A smile inevitably curls on my lips.
“You enjoy your cramped suitcase. I’m going to sit down on this comfy, plush couch.
” Dogs are like babies in that they compel you to use a loud, exaggerated voice.
I faint onto the sofa. “Ahhhhhh. That’s nice.
This is a good couch. You’re missing out, Bobo.
Oh, well.” I wiggle myself into the cushions. “More for me.”
Within two seconds, Bobo jumps up. Success! But I don’t plan for him to rest on my legs. I try to pull myself away from the plushness, but I can’t. His legs are too strong, too heavy. They pin mine down.
“Bobo, can you move for a second? I just need to …”
He turns his head to me, confusion spelled out on his face.
“I know. I just asked you to move off the suitcase. I just need you to move a little bit, but stay on the couch.”
My words only confuse him more. He blinks at me, then turns his attention to the front door, a loyal and waiting dog.
“My legs are stuck. And I need to free them. But you stay.” I pet his back, sifting my fingers through his hair. He pays me no mind, his attention on the door. I keep doing it because petting a cute dog is kind of addictive.
I try to maneuver out my legs, but it’s no use.
“You really find my legs more comfortable than a couch cushion?”
He ignores me. I’m going to be buried on this couch, aren’t I? A laugh unexpectedly bursts out of me. It helps break my stress about class tomorrow.
“Okay, you got me,” I say, chuckling some more. I give him a good scratch under the chin.
When he hears the key in the lock, Bobo leaps onto the floor, digging into my legs as he goes. Bryce screams his name, squats down, and hugs him tight. They’ve only been separated for the day, but Bryce acts like it’s been a week. His entire face lights up.
“Hi. Has Bobo given you any trouble today?”
“Nope.” I eye the dog hair on my suitcase but ignore it.
“Good. He’s a great dog. He really knows how to respect people’s stuff.” Bryce kneels on the floor. “I have something to ask. But before I do, I have to say, apropos of nothing, that your hair has never looked better.”
I touch my hair self-consciously. Then I realize where this is going.
“I’m still working on finding a new place. It’s hard when most buildings don’t allow pets. Let alone a dog his size. I think it’s discriminatory, and I’m totally going to file a lawsuit. But in the meantime, I need just a few more days. A week tops. And then I should be able to find something.”
Bobo trots behind Bryce and hops back onto the suitcase. He rests his head on the handle.
“Bobo! Off!” Bryce yells.
Bobo’s big eyes flick to me, almost as if he’s waiting for me to say something.
“I’m sorry,” Bryce says.
“It’s fine.”
“What’s fine?” he asks. “Bobo on your suitcase or us in your apartment?”
And maybe I’m too tired to argue, or maybe I’m too amused by a big dog on my small suitcase, but I find a smile tickling my face. “Both.”