Chapter 5
FIVE
Alis
“Are you nervous?” I glide my hand slowly down Sunny’s ponytail as she looks out the passenger side window.
“Kind of.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks back at me, her soft smile not reaching her eyes. “What if no one talks to me? What if they hate me?”
“Hate you? That’s not possible. You’re a ray of sunshine — even your name says it.” I wink and tug her hair, and she responds in true Sunny fashion with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious. You have nothing to worry about. You’re fun and pretty, smarter than any other kid I know. And with your quick wit, bullies don’t stand a chance. Anyone who comes at you will get a verbal lashing of epic proportion.” I slide my hand around her shoulder and squeeze lightly.
Sunny’s looking down at her lap, ringing her hands together. “I know. I just miss my friends and my school. I miss home.”
“I know, hun. I miss home, too. Try not to be nervous about making new friends — just be yourself. Your first few days might be a little uncomfortable, but you’ll get the hang of things. Do you want me to walk in with you?”
Suddenly she snaps her head up and glares at me. “Not a chance. I’m nine, not five.” I laugh at her sass.
“I know, goof. You remember where your class is? That tour we took Friday was seriously information overload.” Sunny laughs. There’s that smile.
“Yeah, Monty. I know where to go.”
“Alright, kiddo. Skidaddle. You’re going to make me late for my first day if I don’t head that way now.”
Sunny grabs her backpack from between her legs, opens the car door, and slings the pack over her shoulder before turning to look at me. “Love you, Monty.”
“Love you, Sunshine. See you after school. I’ll be the crazy one yelling obscenities because I can’t figure out the carpool line. Can’t miss me.”
Sunny shakes her head as she turns and walks toward the school building.
I wish you could see how grown up she is, sis. She looks just like you and she’s just as awesome.
When I pull into the campus parking lot I’m pleased to find a handful of open parking spots near the sidewalk. Hopefully this lack of overfill is the norm. I step out into the perfect August weather and make my way to meet Dr. Matthews.
Clothes still wrinkle-free? Check.
Teeth still white post-coffee? Check.
Messenger bag with laptop? Check.
Matching shoes? Check. Yes, I have been known to walk out of the house wearing two different shoes. Come at me.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to the faculty office building and quietly make my way to the directory. Dr. Matthews is on the second floor, Pod C. Got it.
The building has an elevator, but I prefer the open stairs so I turn to walk up them.
This building is silent, except the echoes of people walking on the hardwood floor.
I opted for my new flats today. No sense in trying to look sexy-chic when surrounded by English nerds, am I right? I’d probably break my ankle anyway.
Once I make it up the stairs, I head toward Pod C.
“Hi, I’m Alis Gilmore, here to see Dr. Matthews.
” The secretary looks up at me with a warm smile.
She looks so much like my grandma, I’d be concerned they were long lost sisters if my grandmother wasn’t about the same age as this woman when she died fifteen years ago. Her name plate reads Amelia Murphy.
Amelia, that’s a pretty name. Grandma’s name was Analise, so they both start with an A. God, I miss that woman.
“Hello, dear. Dr. Matthews is expecting you. You’re a bit early, so why don’t you have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea while you wait? I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” She’s as sweet as Grandma, too. This lady might be my new best friend.
“Nothing to drink, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Alright, dear. You just let me know if you change your mind.” She gives me one last smile, then adjusts her glasses and looks back to her computer monitor to continue working. This gives me a few minutes to study her features.
Her gray hair is styled in a twist, and her round face is soft.
I can see lines near her eyes and mouth, a sure sign of a joy-filled life.
I wonder if any of the picture frames on her L-shaped desk are of her children and grandchildren?
Her pearl earrings are small and dainty, and complement her delicate, gold-rimmed glasses.
Oh, and would you look at that — her wedding ring has a pearl center stone instead of the traditional diamond.
Stunning. This woman is simply stunning.
A door opens to the left and out walks Dr. Abigail Matthews, senior professor of English and American Literature.
Her straight dark blonde bob, flowing silk blouse, and wide-legged trousers give her a professional, yet approachable look—but the bold red lipstick screams powerhouse.
She’s a woman effortlessly in charge, and she’s not afraid to show it.
Meanwhile, Dorky McDorkson here looks more like an elementary school librarian with my low chignon (read: messy bun), glasses, light gray blouse, dark blue and white polka dot skirt, and yellow flats.
Please, please, please, can I be like her when I grow up?
“Aurora, it’s so nice to finally meet you face to face.” I stand as she extends her hand for me to shake.
“Hi, Dr. Matthews, it’s great to meet you, too. And please, call me Alis. The only person who calls me Aurora is my mother, and that’s only when I’ve done something to upset her.” Dr. Matthews laughs, and tilts her head toward her office.
“Right, Alis, then. Come with me. Let’s chat.”
I follow her into a large office streaming with natural light.
The furniture is modern and sleek, light woods and gray leather.
Everything has sharp angles, but the wall of white built-in bookshelves filled with books and framed quotes gives the room a grounded, cozy feel.
The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of the mountains from this vantage point is breathtaking.
“Wow,” I say under my breath. She hears me and says, “I know, right? I never imagined having an office with this view.”
“It’s incredible. I love your office, also. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I figure if I’m going to spend seventy hours a week holed up in here I better decorate it to feel like home.”
“That makes sense.”
“Please, have a seat.” Dr. Matthews gestures toward one of two gray lounge chairs, and I set my bag next to it before sitting down.
“Did relocating go well? Any hiccups?”
“No, thankfully, everything went smoothly. Our apartment is furnished, so we didn’t have to move anything heavy. My mom drove up to help us get settled. I don’t think things would have gone so smoothly without her.”
“Our?”
“Yes. My daughter and my best friend moved here with me. We’re renting a three-bedroom apartment about fifteen minutes from here, closer to the suburbs.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! Now that you say it, I remember you mentioning that you are a single parent. How old is your daughter?”
“She’s nine. Going on nineteen.” I roll my eyes and Dr. Matthews chuckles.
“Strong willed?”
“Not so much. She’s funny and kind. She’s also quick-witted and sarcastic, which she gets from spending too much time around my roommate and me. She’s a lot like her mom was — full of life and always looking to take care of the people around her.”
Dr. Matthews quirks an eyebrow, confusion filling her expression. “Her mom?”
Whoops. I’m not used to talking to people who don’t know our history, so I forgot to provide context.
“Yeah, sorry, I should have explained that. Sunny is my biological niece, but when my sister and her husband died they named me as her guardian, and I adopted her a few years later. Legally becoming her mother made doctor visits, school paperwork, and such a heck of a lot easier.”
Dr. Matthews is taken back by our story. “Wow. That’s … wow. She sounds like a lovely girl. I hope to meet her someday.”
I smile, hoping to ease any heartbreak my voice revealed while explaining the loss of my sister and the resulting mother/daughter relationship. “I’ll try to bring her to campus sometime. I’m sure she’d love to meet you as well.”
Dr. Matthews leans forward, elbows on her desk. “So, let’s get down to business. We have a busy semester ahead of us, and we’ve had some shuffling in this department so your responsibilities have changed a bit from the last time we spoke.”
“Changed, how?”
“Nothing too drastic. You are still mainly my teaching assistant and grader. You’ll teach my undergraduate English composition classes — that class meets Tuesday and Wednesday at 9 a.m. You’ll teach, but I’m still listed as the professor of record.
Fall classes begin next week, and I already emailed you the syllabi for my five classes.
The one syllabus you don’t have is for a fall break intensive, and I’ll need you in that class from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. the entire week to help students, and to handle assignment turn-ins, and grading while I lecture.
The students in that class have book reviews due at the beginning of the course, and a research paper due two weeks after class ends.
The only other grades in that class are for participation and daily reading quizzes.
It’s the only other undergraduate course I teach, and it was added to my plate at the last minute. ”
“Okay. An extra class and a week in the classroom doesn’t sound like too much to add on.” Dr. Matthews smiles, a tinge of nervousness present. I guess there’s more?
“You’ll have a few other things as well.
I’m sorry to toss this on you, but with budget cuts we weren’t able to hire on more help, so we’ve redistributed the workload among the remaining professors and teaching assistants instead of fighting the board for more funding.
They only let us know about the budget changes three weeks ago, so we’ve had to scramble to sort everything out. ”
My eyes go wide. “That sounds intense.”