Chapter Ten
On Monday morning, Alexandre stood before his empty classroom. His heart raced from an emotional cocktail of nerves and excitement.
The first class of the fall semester was about to begin, officially ending his life as a research scientist.
Students trickled in, filling the empty desks. The sight of them shook Alexandre out of his rumination. He smiled whenever he made eye contact with someone.
He connected his laptop to the overhead projector. Then giggles filled the room. The notes in his presentation slides were in full view, including his “Hi, I’m Professor Alexandre Brodeur!” introduction. Alexandre turned red, then laughed along with his students.
“Welcome to General Microbiology,” Alexandre said once the titters died down.
“I’m Professor Alexandre Brodeur—as you clearly saw on the screen.
This is my first semester at SUNY New Paltz.
I recently joined the faculty from the University of Oregon.
We’re going to have a fascinating time exploring the world of microorganisms.”
Alexandre’s nerves vanished as he spoke. Muscle memory kicked in. He no longer needed the notes he’d painstakingly prepared. Sure, a few students looked like they were still waking up. But most nodded along, buzzing with the excitement of the new term.
“I promise to make every class as interesting as possible,” Alexandre continued. “Ask me anything. There are no dumb questions. As scientists, it’s our job to challenge accepted beliefs and find new ways to look at the world.”
As he wrapped up, Alexandre held up a stack of notecards.
“I take your feedback seriously. At the end of each class, please write down one thing you liked, one thing you didn’t, and any questions or comments.
Everything is anonymous, so don’t go easy on me.
If I bored you to sleep or explained something terribly, tell me.
I’ll improve. For today, please include why you’re taking this class and what you hope to get from it. ”
His students bent over their desks. The sound of pens scratching paper filled the air.
Back in his office, Alexandre read every card. A few students hoped to go into cancer research. Several planned to be doctors or nurses. Others mentioned pursuing advanced degrees.
Some students wrote that they were the first in their families to go to college. Others noted the lack of people who looked like them in their chosen career paths, and their desire to change that reality. Their words echoed what Mei had told him.
Alexandre could barely remember being as young and optimistic as his students. Still, the small but potentially formative time he’d have with them imbued him with pride.
He was organizing the notecards into a neat pile when another thought hit him: If these undergrads were the future of biology, then he belonged to its past.
· · ·
Alexandre drove south with the windows down, the hot summer air rushing through the car. His first week of classes had gone better than he’d expected.
In Tarrytown, Alexandre parked outside his parents’ aging but well-kept two-story home. He drew a breath as he approached the door. Why was he dreading a simple lunch?
“Alexandre!” Clarisse embraced him. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Come in.”
Alexandre trailed his mother through the living room, past the overstuffed bookcases and worn armchairs. He smiled at the framed watercolor of Saint-Malo, a fortified city in Brittany, the region of France where both sets of his grandparents were from.
Clarisse led him to the kitchen table. His parents had prepared a green salad with a mustardy vinaigrette, a rustic vegetable soup, and sliced sourdough bread with salted butter. Alexandre loved his parents’ humble yet hearty cooking, served on mismatched plates.
“How’s the semester going?” Jean-Germain asked.
“Really well.” Alexandre helped himself to a slice of sourdough. “My students are enthusiastic. I’ve met most of my colleagues, too.”
“That’s wonderful.” Clarisse passed him the butter. “You can learn how they advanced their field before becoming teachers.”
Alexandre bristled. Was his mother implying that his colleagues no longer contributed to science because they were full-time teachers and not researchers?
“Is your schedule nice and easy?” Jean-Germain asked. “Now that you’re just teaching?”
There it was. Just teaching.
“Not really. I have a full course load.” Alexandre tried to keep his tone light. “Are you still in touch with your old colleagues?” His parents had both retired two years ago.
“We are.” Clarisse nodded. “We’re seeing the Goldfarbs for lunch next week.” Seth and Sylvie Goldfarb were another husband-and-wife professor couple from Fordham.
“How’s Bradley and his malaria research?” Over the years, Alexandre had heard about the Goldfarbs’ son, who was also a research scientist.
“Bradley recently made tenure. At Brown.” Clarisse quickly sipped her soup.
Bradley was five years younger than Alexandre. The news gut-punched him. “That’s great!” Alexandre made himself grin. “Tell the Goldfarbs I say congratulations.”
Clarisse smiled, relief evident on her face. “I will.”
“And, Mom? You can talk about other people’s tenure with me. I’m not going to spontaneously combust.” At least he hoped not.
“It’s a darn shame, though.” Jean-Germain set down his fork. “You’re such a gifted scientist. You deserve everything Bradley Goldfarb has. Are you sure about leaving research?”
Alexandre gritted his teeth. “I made my decision.”
“Have you explored every option? Spend a year at New Paltz, then find a new lab. Think of this as a sabbatical.”
“Dad. No.” Alexandre scrunched the floral napkin in his lap.
“Just look at what the New Paltz students are gaining.” Clarisse shot her husband a look. “A professor with Alexandre’s talent and experience. We’ve had a few colleagues who decided to just teach, too.”
There it was again.
“Mom. Dad.” Alexandre struggled to keep his voice even. “In the last few minutes, you both referred to my new career as ‘just teaching.’ Do you know how that sounds?”
Jean-Germain looked down. Clarisse’s face fell.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never meant to make you feel bad.”
“I didn’t even realize I’d said that,” Jean-Germain said.
“Thanks. I don’t need to feel like a failure every time I see you.”
For a few moments, everyone ate in silence.
“Looks like you got some sun,” Clarisse said. “How was your vacation?”
Alexandre recalled the long days on the beach and evenings on the porch. Mei’s face materialized in his mind. “Just what I needed.”
Jean-Germain finished his soup. “I’m glad you got a week away with Luc and the girls.”
“And Joey.” Alexandre bit back his distaste. “Mei’s fiancé was there.”
“I keep forgetting she’s engaged.” Clarisse gave her husband a knowing look. “So does your father. He was joking that maybe you and Mei would hit it off.”
“You never know,” Jean-Germain said. “Stranger things have happened.”
Alexandre chuckled. His neck reddened.
Clarisse clapped her hands together. “I just remembered! I did know a pair of sisters who married a pair of brothers.”
“See, Alexandre?” Jean-Germain grinned.
Clarisse swatted his arm. “But Mei’s engaged, honey.”
“Oh right.”
“How about dessert?” Alexandre jumped up from the table. He’d rather discuss Bradley Goldfarb’s tenure in excruciating detail than carry on with this topic.
Clarisse stacked their dishes. “We’re only teasing. Your father and I are so glad you’re back. You can’t blame us for being a little silly.”
Alexandre began plating the chocolate-dipped butter cookies he’d brought. Sure, his parents were happy to see him. But would they ever accept his new career?
And when would he stop caring if they didn’t?