Chapter 7 #3
I'm looking over the course curriculum, preparing for my first tutorial tomorrow, when there's a soft knock on the door. Craig Pedler, the RA who walked me to my car yesterday and my co-TA for the advanced class, stands in the doorway, holding up two chocolate bars.
"Are you real or a treats-carrying spectre?" I say, with a laugh.
"I'm hoping I'm real, or else I just spent an hour and a half adding citations to my paper when I could've just been floating around in the ether haunting my high school bullies for fun."
I laugh and wave at the other end of the couch.
He plops down, letting me pick a chocolate bar, and we spend twenty minutes talking through our class plan before pivoting to our respective work.
There's no doubt he knows his stuff, warm without being sycophantic, funny without trying too hard.
At one point I say something moderately scathing about the current state of UN peacekeeping frameworks and he laughs and says, "God, yes, finally, everyone here is so polite about it, you'd think the Secretary General was sitting in on our staff meeting.
" We laugh, and it feels good to have someone who understands.
"Lunch?" he says, when the clock on my wall shows 12:30 p.m. "Let me introduce you to the best baguettes on campus. My treat."
I look at my laptop. I have a chapter outline that isn't going to annotate itself and a four p.m. meeting with Professor Pollack that I'm going to over-prepare for, just in case he's finished his puzzle and is actually paying attention.
But I can't help thinking about how this is supposed to help me prepare for the next phase in Alexia Riley's life.
And next-phase Alexia Riley...has friends. A social life.
"Sounds good," I say, standing up, grabbing my coat off the hook on the back of my office door. "But I've got the drinks."
We walk over to Taste Baguette in Hub Central and find an empty spot on the grass with our fresh juices.
We chat easily about some of the current projects Adelaide and Sydney university are working on, and agree the industry might be cannibalising itself, with recruitment at an all-time low.
"So, how different is the department in Sydney compared to Adelaide? " he asks.
"Geez, I wouldn't know where to start."
He takes a bite of his sandwich, crinkling the paper as he says, "Well, you could start by saying how much better the people are here."
The juice bottle lid pops up as I twist it and take a long, dramatic sip. "Well, there certainly are some better people. The admin office, for one. They are very helpful, and nice too...And well, Professor Pollack, what a present, engaged individual..."
He laughs. "Okay, you've got me there. I guess I've got to work a little harder to get on that list, huh? It sounds like I might be in competition with Professor P."
He isn't flirting. Or not on purpose, I don't think, the words are friendly, but they read as platonic. Honestly, who knows. Even if he is, I'm not interested. I'm here for three months; the last thing I need is a reason to stay in Adelaide once the contract ends.
The lunch hour flies by faster than I expect, and my legs temporarily forget how to work as I struggle to my feet from our spot on the grass.
"You alright?" Craig asks, a smirk on his face as he watches me try to bend my legs under me without flashing the entire student body of Adelaide Uni as I stand.
"You know," I put on a pretend glare, "I just thought of one thing the men of Sydney may be better than those here in Adelaide."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, it's how to be a gentleman."
Like a baby giraffe, I get one leg up, but the point of my boot gets stuck in the grass and I topple forward as I try to swing my second leg up.
Luckily, Craig is there. He lunges forward, his arms coming up to catch me around the waist, my arms automatically coming up to drape around his neck.
"Whoa, easy," he says, as I try to pull my foot free, which somehow has us swaying backwards.
Eventually, we right ourselves, and he makes sure I'm steady on my feet before he lets go.
I'm brushing the grass over my skirt when I look up to see Craig nod in greeting to someone.
When I turn, I see the back of a very familiar black head. Something twists in my stomach. First Marcus and Zachary at home, now Rhys at work too. Suddenly I'm remembering exactly why I left Adelaide in the first place. It's just not big enough for all of us.
Craig must catch me looking because he says, "Rhys Pham. Have you met him? He's the employee counsellor in the People and Culture office."
Yes. I've met him. A voice screams inside my head. I don't know why. Like I need reminding. "Er, yeah. I, er, had a meeting with him yesterday, as part of the orientation."
"He's a bit of an odd one, right?" Craig says, scrunching up the wrappers and collecting our empty juice bottles.
"Um, how so?"
"I mean, nice guy, but is it normal to be so...self-contained all the time? So organised too. He seemed to know more about me than I do myself. But so robotic. It was like a conversation with a talking filing cabinet." He smirks at his own joke, waiting for me to laugh too.
And I should laugh. It was funny. But...I don't. Something bitter coats my throat, like it would be betraying him if I did.
"Yeah, maybe he just takes a while to warm up?" I offer.
His left eyebrow lifts for just a moment, but he drops it.
"So, you were saying about Adelaide men not being gentlemen?" he says, referring to his catching me.
Shaking off the remnants of the Rhys conversation, I bend over to grab my bag and give Craig a smirk. "I stand corrected. For now. Let's just say you're even."
He cocks his head and offers me his bent arm. "Well, then please madam, let me escort you back to your office. You just never know what hooligans there be in these parts."
For some reason, I feel the need to look around, as if to make sure someone isn't watching. Then I take his arm, and with a genteel bow of my head, we walk back to my office.
"Hey, thanks for joining me for lunch," Craig says, as I open my office door, pulling off my coat as I step inside.
"Yes, you did have to twist my arm, what with offering to pay and all. But hey, thanks for taking me under your wing."
"Any time. And, uh, I mean that. Any time you need some company for lunch or dinner, just give me a call." He gives me a warm smile that seems to linger just a little longer than friendly. "Lady Riley," he says, with a tip of his imaginary hat, and then leaves.
Okay, maybe he was flirting.
When I turn to my desk, there's a wrapped panini and an iced green tea.
On top, a post-it note that says:
Don't skip lunch — R
The afternoon is so busy, I hardly have time to think about anything outside work.
My second meeting with Professor P, as Craig called him, is significantly more helpful than the first, and I leave feeling excited about my work with him and the work that he wants me to do in the next few months.
He's also interested in my thesis, and has some ideas, though he's careful not to "help" too much.
I leave a little after four p.m., deciding to drop by the house to change into something more comfortable before my five p.m. apartment viewing.
When I get out of the bedroom, though, I'm suddenly aware I'm not the only one home.
"What are you doing here?" I ask Marcus, who's standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands in his jeans, as if he were waiting for me.
"I live here. I'm Mar-cus," he says slowly with a smirk.
"Yeah, but aren't you usually working at this time?" I quickly check my phone. Four-thirty. I've got to go.
"Slow arvo." He pulls his phone out of his pocket. "So, you've got a rental viewing at five?"
"How do you—" I stop. "Leon."
"Leon," he confirms.
I press my fingers to my eyes. I'd texted my brother after booking the appointment for the viewing. I didn’t realise I needed to explicitly tell him his friends don't need to know my business. I foresee an imminent lecture for my big brother.
"I don't need—"
"I know a lot about buildings," Marcus says. Which, fine, is technically true; he literally owns a construction company, but that is not the point.
"I can view apartments by myself."
"Didn't say you couldn't."
“Well…I…um, almost have a doctorate!" I shout as if it should matter, knowing full well, it doesn't.
"In political science,” he says with a smirk. "Not finding mould and load bearing walls.”
I open my mouth to continue the argument, but Zachary materialises from around the corner, as if he's been lingering there the whole time.
I take the chance to cash in on what feels like an unspoken truce after our conversation last night. "Zachary! Thank god you're here." That earns me a strange look, but I move on. "Tell Marcus I'm perfectly capable of looking for an apartment by myself."
Zachary freezes. As if he doesn't know what he's walked into.
But then he holds his hand up and jingles his keys.
"Er, I was going to say that maybe I should drive us. Probably more comfortable than having to cram into Marcus's work truck."
My mouth drops open. So much for thinking he might be on my side.
"No! One of you was bad enough. I'm not bringing you both like a pair of bodyguards."
Just then the front door opens and Rhys walks in, stopping in his tracks as he spots the scene in the hallway.
He looks from me to Marcus to Zachary, hand still hovering with the keys.
Then he spins, walking right back out the door he'd just come from, calling over his shoulder, "Let's go, I'm driving."