Chapter 19
chapter nineteen
gabe
Max
Did you do it?
Gabe
Yes.
Max
Finally. We should celebrate—drinks tonight?
Gabe
Alright.
Grabbing one of the beers the bartender set in front of us, Max raised it toward me. “Here’s to you, man. Last month of freedom.”
I clinked my bottle with his and took a long pull from it. He made it something sound more dramatic than it actually was, though I suppose it was warranted. Just a few hours ago, I’d met with Nora and submitted the paperwork to rejoin my PhD program.
That meant Max was right. As of this coming semester, any free time I had would be a thing of the past.
“You ready to dive back into the books?” he asked as he took a chip from the bowl of nachos.
“As ready as I can be.” Which didn’t count for much.
“You have this in the bag. Just buckle down and do that thing you do best.”
I stared at him, wondering what thing he was referring to. Surely he didn’t mean winning card games or making investment calls.
As though he noticed my confusion, he said, “You get shit done.”
“Right.” I should get a plaque with those exact words and hang it in front of my desk. Maybe that would keep me going when the writing process grew tedious. I gave myself a week of research until the motivational words became necessary.
“Are you taking a leave from your classes?”
“No.” I took another drink.
“Your consultancy, then?”
“Also no.”
His jaw dropped. He shook his head. “You’re out of your mind. You know that, right?”
“I can’t take time off now. We’re in the middle of a bull run.” The market was trending upward, and experts predicted investments would reach an all-time high early next year. It was arguably the worst time for me to work on my dissertation, but it was also my final opportunity to do so if I wanted to finish my doctorate in Sterling.
I drained my beer and signaled the bartender for another.
“Do you not see the problem in this scenario?” Max asked, his brows drawn together.
“Of course I do,” I said. “But I have an assistant to make things more manageable.”
“That person better be a damn pro.”
Harry would do. What she lacked in experience, she compensated for in eagerness to learn. Thankfully, she was a quick study.
“How many associates do you have?”
“None.”
He put down his bottle with a thunk. “Certifiable,” he muttered. “You could drop the lectures, at least. That would buy you a little more time. Preserve your sanity.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’re a stubborn one.” There went the head shaking again. “Anytime you need help or a round of beers, you let me know.”
“I appreciate the offer, Doctor Thorpe,” I told him.
Max’s face morphed into a grin. “Damn, that sounds good. It still feels unreal, let me tell you that.”
“I can imagine. Congratulations again. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“Thanks. Next year, it’ll be your turn.”
I nodded but said nothing. In theory, I’d taken one step closer to that goal by reapplying, but the reality of it felt as distant as ever.
“You know what else feels unreal?” Max pointed at me. “You socializing more. Tell me the truth—did you come off a breakup or what?”
Any other time, I would have avoided such a personal question. But Max had become a friend these past months and I saw no harm in answering. “My best friend moved to a different country last year.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. Jason Meyer’s girlfriend, right?”
“He’s Tala’s boyfriend.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, it wasn’t.” I drank my beer while I let my meaning sink in.
He nodded slowly. “I got it. Didn’t know you were such a feminist.”
“I admire people who make their own path, regardless of their gender.”
“Good on you.” Max swilled his beer. “So, if there was no a breakup, are you seeing anyone now?”
I snorted. “Do you think I have the time?”
“I think you’d make time if you wanted to. Then again, you’d barely be able to sleep, let alone date with what you’re taking on.”
My stomach soured with the reminder. I’d decided on my course of action, which should have meant I’d go full speed ahead. No looking back.
I’d always believed that second guessing only wasted time, and what-ifs served as useless distractions. So why did I keep questioning if I’d made the right choice?
After another round of beers, Max and I parted ways. I drove home, alternately contemplating my decision and berating myself for doing so. As I passed the street where Luna lived, my foot eased on the gas. Was she was home? It was eleven—still early for most, considering it was a Friday night.
I found myself wanting to talk to her. It had been almost a month since our trip to Atlanta, and other than that phone call when she thanked me for her drinks, all our conversations had occurred via text.
So I dialed her number. If she didn’t answer, then?—
“I could have been busy, you know.” Her voice streamed through the speaker, bright and lilting.
My chest fell as I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I smiled. “Then you wouldn’t have answered after two rings.”
“What if I was on the toilet?”
“Why would you have your phone in the bathroom?”
“Why not? Haven’t you heard of multitasking?”
My brow furrowed at the implication of her question. “You text while using the toilet?”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course not. That’s unsanitary.”
“Why am I not surprised you said that?”
“Because I’m a rational, hygienic person,” I said. Then I chuckled at the direction this call had gone. “Only you would answer the phone and talk about your toilet habits.”
“Um, no. That’s more common than you think.” She laughed, and my smile widened.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
“If you consider scrolling through Instagram busy. What’s up?”
“I just passed your street and thought I would check in.”
“Ooh, someone had a late-ish night. Hot date?”
“If you consider drinking beers with a fellow professor a hot date,” I said, echoing her wording.
“That depends. Is this fellow professor attractive?”
I tried to see Max through Luna’s eyes. “I suppose some people would say that.”
“Is it Professor Richmond?”
The name didn’t ring a bell. “Who’s that?”
“Only the most beautiful professor on campus. Come on, Gabe. She teaches chemistry.”
“I’m not familiar with her. Anyway, I was talking about a male professor.”
“Let me guess—Professor Thorpe? You guys are in the same department.”
“It’s Doctor Thorpe now. And yes.”
“He was my professor last year,” she said, still unaware of the part I’d played in that. “He’s done with his PhD? I thought he was younger than you.”
I was considering telling her that I’d switched classes with Max, but her last line diverted my attention. “He’s a year older, actually.”
“My bad. Sorry!” Laughter filled her voice, like she was delighted by her unintentional—at least, I assumed it was—dig at my age. “Do you hang out often?”
“Not regularly, but we share the same office space. He invited me for drinks because I filed my return to the doctorate program today.” The admission slipped out before I could think about it.
“Oh wow! You’re doing the thing.”
“I am.”
“Are you excited?”
As much as I’d be to get a root canal. “That’s not the adjective I would use.”
“It’s a huge deal, and you have so much going on. But if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.”
How could she say that with such certainty? I wanted to ask, but the question reeked of insecurity. Worse, it felt like a cry for validation. I shouldn’t need someone to assure me of my capabilities when I’d taken myself this far already.
So rather than asking, I said, “Thanks. What about you—have you decided about your minor?”
“Well, I spoke with my advisor again. She updated my academic plan so I can add the extra courses to my schedule without getting delayed. It looks doable, and honestly, when I saw the list of classes, I was sold. They’re all so interesting.”
As Luna spoke, her voice grew more animated. I could almost feel the energy buzzing from her through the speaker. “That’s great, Luna,” I said. “Minor in fashion merchandising, right?”
“Yup! I just need to look into student loans. I wanted to add more shifts at the store, but apparently, I’ve maxed out the number of working hours for international students.”
“How much do you need?”
“I’m not taking your money, Gabe.”
Anticipating that response, I said, “How about a loan between friends? No interest.”
She took her time answering. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer. It’s just—I don’t want the money thing to mess with our friendship. I’d rather deal with high interest rates than risk that.”
Her words caused my chest to tighten. Still, I tried to keep my tone casual. “It won’t mess with anything. I promise.” I didn’t care when she paid me back, or if she paid me back at all. I’d give her the money outright if she asked me to.
“That’s not something you can promise ahead of time.”
“I know I can.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it wasn’t an outright no. I could work with that. “Let me know and we’ll discuss.” Realizing I was already parked in my usual spot—for how long, I wasn’t sure—I said, “I should let you get back to your scrolling.”
“It was great talking with you. And congrats on your decision to finish your PhD. Let me know if there’s any way I can help, okay?”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Night, Gabe.”
“Good night, Luna.” Then I remembered something. “Don’t forget to disinfect your phone. Who knows what microscopic lifeforms have propagated there.”
She huffed. “Ha ha. Very funny. Bye, Professor.”
I used to hate the way she called me that, how the word dripped with sarcasm and carried a sharp edge. Now it seemed playful. Maybe even affectionate.
Nicknames were never my thing. We had names for a reason, and most nicknames sounded sappy—but I didn’t mind it coming from her.
Entering my house, I glimpsed myself in the mirror next to my coat rack. I was smiling. And I realized that the headache that had been brewing throughout the day had eased since talking with Luna.
Good thing I’d seen her apartment and called her.
I froze. When did I start seeing that apartment building as Luna’s instead of Tala’s?
And more importantly, when did Luna become someone I could call just because I wanted to?