Chapter Four Maddie #3
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say with a warm smile. “I have to grade my online quizzes from this week and make sure that my students all spelled their names correctly.”
I leave him in a confused state of limbo, unsure what to make of me. Either way, he definitely underestimates me, which I’ve found is the most advantageous of positions.
In the hallway, Dr. Salazar is hovering near the door. “Professor Kowalczk, just the person I was hoping to see.”
“Hi, Dr. Salazar—”
“Please call me Miranda,” she says.
“Only if you’ll call me Maddie.”
“Quid pro quo,” she says, her thick black brows raised.
The streaks of white through her dark hair feel purposeful and the black pencil slacks and cobalt-blue heels she’s wearing stand out among the cozy, warm tones of Mount Astra.
“I just wanted to let you know that I might be popping in to observe at some point in the next few weeks. No pressure. Just standard practice.”
“Great,” I tell her. “I love surprises, and by that I mean, please put me out of my misery and say you’ll sit in on a class sooner rather than later.”
She laughs and the sound of it is loud and almost crass. I immediately want to pick her brain and figure out how she outsmarted the focus groups and got elected.
“I’ll do my best,” she promises, and then steps in a little closer as the hallway begins to quiet and classroom doors begin to close. “And Maddie, you can’t let that old man talk to you like that. Especially in front of your students.”
My mouth opens and closes, looking for an excuse or a reason that I would let Dr. Wallace bully me.
“This is the kind of thing I could fix for you,” Miranda continues, “but I don’t think that will do you any good in the long run. Especially given how male dominated the program is this semester.”
She’s right. The political science department is currently a sea of ungroomed nose hair and rumpled tweed.
I was hired so quickly because the three women and nonbinary professors were poached by a private think tank while two other faculty members are doing their research intensive semesters this fall.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll figure out how to handle it.”
She claps me on the shoulder before speed-walking past me. “I’m here to talk you through anything you need, Maddie. Pop by my office anytime. Even if it’s just to escape the boys’ club.”
I don’t want to make a name for myself in the department as being difficult to work with, but I also know exactly what Miranda means.
This is the kind of situation where I have to assert dominance or else it will turn out like the first time I met Penelope Pike and I let her talk me into removing my nose ring and getting highlights in less than fifteen minutes of knowing her.
Before I head upstairs to the shared adjunct office, I step outside for some fresh air and to peel the orange I tossed in my bag this morning.
While I savor each slice and occasionally lick the juice as it drips down my wrist like a mannerless animal, I open the campus newspaper, The Astra Star-Herald.
The front page is all football and student government elections—which I am honestly triggered by after managing Gentry’s campaign for student body president when I was a second-year and he was a third-year.
The second page delves into the upcoming production of Thoroughly Modern Millie followed by Greek life and the initiative to expand the campus sexual health resource center next summer.
I take a bite of my last orange slice as I land on the final page.
The header on the bottom half reads Throwing It Back.
There are photos of faculty and students from the last few years and even this summer.
Right there in the bottom corner is a photo of Bram and a statuesque woman.
The photo might be grainy, but she is clearly stunning with her long black curls piled atop her head.
He has a stack of papers wedged under his arm and a rucksack on his back.
The woman is wearing hiking shorts, her lean thighs muscled and burnished in a deep, deep tan.
Her elbow is propped up on Bram’s shoulder as she rests her chin on her wrist in a familiar pose.
She’s grinning at the camera and Bram is smiling at her in an all-consuming way.
Let the record show that Bram has never smiled at me.
The caption below reads: Dr. Sara Loe is pictured with colleague and husband Dr. Bram Loe after leading graduate students on a hike in the Rocky Mountains to study a colony of snow-loving moss.
Oh.
Oh.
The paper crinkles as I involuntarily clench my hand into a fist.
Not only does he not smile at me, but he’s married. As in legally wed.
Their mother is gone for the next eight weeks.
Why did I just assume . . . I mean, there hadn’t been a wedding ring, but that doesn’t mean shit.
Fucking hell. I’ve never slept with a married man.
What does that make me? And what right did he have to involve me in his infidelity?
The poor woman is probably off on sabbatical, or hell, I don’t know, helping out with a sick relative while her husband, the green fucking giant, is just boning his way through a college town with his stern voice and rolled-up shirtsleeves and slimy-ass pet frog.
Everything in me wants to storm into his building right now and quit. Leave his cheating ass high and dry.
The money. Come on, Maddie. You need the money.
And okay, the twins are adorable and funny and make me forget for a few hours every day that my life is in shambles. Fern is pretty great too, even though she’s barely spoken to me.
But I have to find another job. Then I have to move out of my car. And then I can quit working for Bram Loe.
My phone buzzes in my bag, and I dig it out to see Nolan’s contact photo. My brother, who’s several years older than me. I swipe to ignore the call. I’ll talk to him soon. Mom too. But first I need to get on my feet and I need to do it on my own.
Nolan was in a boy band ages ago, and after a few rough years (which were perfectly timed with most of my adolescence), he’s back in the public eye.
* He would help me if I asked. I know he would.
But I was the one who dealt with the bills when Nolan was busy or gone, and with Mom’s medications, and leaky sinks and broken-down cars.
After doing all that, I know I can handle my shit myself—plus, if my teenage years and splitting up with Gentry have taught me anything, it’s that relying on anyone other than yourself is a fast track to disappointment.
Anddddd, okay, fine. Admitting the truth about my abrupt move and vehicular lodging to Nolan would require admitting he was right about Gentry and Gentry’s overall suckery and that I had indeed been turning into someone Nolan didn’t know anymore. Someone I didn’t even know.
And that is a conversation best had with a roof over my head. One I paid for myself.