Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
I’m hoping today’s meeting proves beneficial and that Dr. Ryan can accommodate my new commuter status. I still need to find someone to sublet my apartment through the end of my lease, pack up my belongings, and officially move back in with my parents.
I can’t store my apartment furniture, so I’m hoping I can either sell it online or the subletter can offer a decent price for everything. Overthinking has resulted in an epic tension headache, and the end is nowhere in sight.
As I pull into the parking lot near the faculty offices, I see students and professors alike walking to and from spring break intensive classes. Some sit on benches, deep in conversation. Others seem in more of a hurry and struggle to keep their books in hand.
The weather is kind today, for March. Had last week gone differently, I’d be spending my morning preparing to give the afternoon lecture to Dr. Ryan’s undergrad English Lit class.
I’ve taken advantage of how carefree my life has been up to this point.
Sure, my life was busy, but I lived on my own terms. I didn’t have to think through how my daily schedule affected my family, how I would budget for both school and raising a child.
I wish I could switch off reality for a few hours and bask in the simplicity of last Tuesday.
No such luck.
My dashboard clock says I have fifteen minutes until I’m expected in Dr. Ryan’s office, so I gather my purse, secure my favorite wool infinity scarf, and step out into the sunny thirty-four degree day.
I love the weather here. The crisp, clean air on days like today breathes life into me.
I’ll miss living near campus, but at least I’m only moving an hour back home.
I step onto the sidewalk and head toward the faculty offices, staring up at the three-story historical brick building with a soft smile on my face.
Although the rest of my life is currently in disarray, the comfort and stability I find on this campus calms me and helps redirect my focus to the task at hand — convincing Dr. Ryan that I can perform my TA responsibilities perfectly fine as a full-time commuter student.
Once inside, I remove my jacket and scarf and fold them over my arm as I walk toward the English pod — a cluster of offices on the first floor that house all five English department faculty members, and their shared faculty secretary.
“Lisa, hi. I have a 9:30 with Dr. Ryan. Is he ready for me?” Lisa looks up from her computer, her smiling face not revealing if she knows about my sister’s accident.
“Alis, so nice to see you. Dr. Ryan is in his office and he hasn’t had any other visitors this morning so I’m sure you can head right in.”
I thank her, hang my jacket and scarf on the coat rack near her waiting area, and head into what I hope is a productive and helpful meeting.
I knock lightly as I enter. “Dr. Ryan? It’s Alis.”
“Come on in, Alis. I just need to finish typing this email and I’ll be right with you. Please, take a seat.”
As the department head, Dr. Ryan has the largest office in the pod, complete with a separate sitting area. I’m not sure if I should sit at a chair near his desk or on the couch, but I choose the couch so I don’t crowd his space.
Why am I acting so nervous? I’ve worked with Dr. Ryan for more than a year now, and before that we had a great relationship in undergrad.
I’ve earned my position as his TA and we work very well together.
I should not be afraid that he’ll cast me off as if I don’t matter just because I need to adjust my schedule.
“Right then.” Dr. Ryan stands from his computer chair and walks toward the couch, greeting me with a warm smile. “How are you, Alis? I’m sure these last few days have been extremely difficult.”
I stand to shake his hand in greeting, and he places his left hand on top of our clasped hands in a comforting gesture. “I’m alright, considering the circumstances. Thank you for asking, sir.”
He releases my hand and we both sit, he in the leather chair across the coffee table, and I back onto the couch. I don’t know if I’m supposed to lead this conversation or if he will.
“So, I’ve taken care of the guest lecture rescheduling for this week.” Alright, we’re going to dive right in, I guess.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate you finding fill-ins for me this week. I know, in my current mental/emotional state I wouldn’t be able to teach to the best of my ability right now.”
“No worries. You know how the other grad students can be — they’re like piranhas chomping at the bit for any opportunity.”
“Right,” I chuckle, suddenly more nervous about asking for more scheduling accommodations since he’s just reminded me of the competition.
“You plan to commute for the next two weeks? Three?” Dr. Ryan asks, removing his glasses and using his sweater to clean them. Gosh, I hate when people do that. That’s the easiest way to ruin perfectly good lenses. They make alcohol wipes for a reason, people.
I clasp my hands tightly on my lap, trying but failing to quell my nerves. “Actually, sir, I’m here to talk about extending my commuter status.” He pauses mid-cleaning, looking up at me with a blank expression. I have no idea what this man is thinking right now.
“Extending? As in, a month? Or longer?” He replaces his glasses and maintains his poker face.
“Longer. I actually need to become a permanent commuter student.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.
Nothing. Great. I continue, “I learned this weekend that my sister and brother-in-law named me legal guardian of their daughter, so I’ll be moving back home this week and commuting to and from campus each day for the rest of the semester. ”
“Guardian? Aren’t you only twenty-two?”
“Twenty-one, sir. But this is what my sister wanted, and I have my parents to help out and we’ll be living with them, so I won’t be alone. My parents support my continuing with my master’s degree, and with my mom at home I won’t need to sort out childcare while I’m on campus.”
Dr. Ryan steeples his hands, tapping his closed mouth with his joined fingertips. “I see. And what about evening classes? You’re scheduled to teach two undergraduate evening classes next semester.”
Shit. I forgot about those. “Do you know if those are block classes or are they multi-day?”
He stands, walks to the office door, and calls out. “Lisa, can you bring me a print-out of my next-semester schedule?”
I can’t make out her response, but Dr. Ryan returns to his armchair so I assume she’ll bring it in shortly.
“What do you plan to do for your own class schedule? You typically take nine hours. That, on top of your TA responsibilities, and commuting, and serving as a guardian — that all seems like a lot, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir. I plan to lighten my class load, and hopefully with fewer classes and just the two classes to help teach, I won’t have to commute all five days of the week.”
Lisa walks in and hands Dr. Ryan a print-out, then pulls the door closed behind her as she returns to her desk.
“That’s a tall order, but let’s see if we can figure something out.” Oh thank God. He isn’t kicking me to the curb just yet.
Dr. Ryan stands, retrieves a pen and notepad from his desk, then sits next to me on the couch to brainstorm possible schedules that better accommodate my new life as a parent.
After an hour of mapping both teaching and class schedules, I think we have next semester figured out. I’ll have to give up one of my teaching slots, but Dr. Ryan doesn’t seem perturbed by it and I’ll still grade for every one of his classes.
“That should do it, yes?” Dr. Ryan adjusts his glasses as he looks over to me and smiles.
“Yes. Yes, thank you so much!” My eyes are watering. Shit, not now. Don’t cry in front of your professor, idiot!
I wipe my eyes but the tears keep falling.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m just overwhelmed by the last week and I was worried coming into this meeting that I’d have to give up my position as your TA.
I didn’t know if my need to commute and lighten my workload would result in you needing to find someone else, and I’ve worked so hard to earn this position I couldn’t imagine giving it up.
Everything is up in the air right now and I don’t know left from right.
I’m a complete mess.” Cheese and Rice, Alis.
Word vomit much? I’m still crying, now wiping snot from my nose with my shirt sleeve. Lovely.
“Shhh, Alis. Everything is going to be alright.” Dr. Ryan places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly to offer some comfort.
That one touch breaks the emotional dam inside me and suddenly I’m sobbing into my hands, unable to calm the hell down.
“I’m so sorry. I just...” My voice breaks, overwhelmed with emotion and the words sticking in my throat.
Before I know it, Dr. Ryan's comforting arms are around me. “Alis, it's going to be okay. You'll navigate this. And if extending your degree means you stay on as my TA a bit longer, then that's just a bonus.”
I manage a weak laugh, pulling back slightly to meet his understanding gaze. “Thank you, Dr. Ryan. This means a lot.”
As our conversation concludes, the door swings open, revealing Margaret Ryan. Her gaze scans the room — first, landing on me, visibly shaken, then to her husband, comforting me. I see the moment the sight is misinterpreted in her eyes.
“Margaret, this is a surprise,” Dr. Ryan begins, removing his arm from my shoulder and rising to meet her. Of all the responses, he went with ‘this is a surprise’?!
“What is going on here?” Her voice is filled with suspicion.
“Going on?” Dr. Ryan is obviously confused at her accusatory tone. “Margaret, Alis had a rough week, and we were discussing some adjustments for the next semester.”
Her eyebrow arches, unimpressed. “So, you make a habit of cuddling with students when ‘discussing’ things in a closed office?”
Trying to defuse the situation, I interject, “Mrs. Ryan, we were—”
But she cuts me off, her eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”
“Margaret, stop. This is ridiculous. Alis is my student and my teaching assistant, nothing more.”
“Your teaching assistant who stays late to teach night classes with you. Who you talk about more than any other student in your program. Who you are up emailing at all hours of the night. ‘Can’t sleep and need to get some work done,’ my ass.
She worships the ground you walk on. And you talk about her like she’s your favorite fucking pet. ” What?!
Dr. Ryan’s voice is remarkably calm, considering the tantrum his wife is throwing. “Margaret, I’ve told you before. She is my student and my employee and that is all. I have no romantic feelings toward her whatsoever.”
Before?! What the hell is he talking about? This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation?!
“You can tell me that until you’re blue in the face, John, but that doesn’t change the fact that I just walked in on you about to kiss her.” Nope, I’ve had enough of this.
“Mrs. Ryan,” I interject, standing and walking toward her.
“I told you to stay out of this, tramp.” I’ve had the worst week of my life, I’m mentally and emotionally spent, and I have no room left for niceties, nor do I have the ability to think before I speak.
“No, I won’t. Dr. Ryan is my professor and my boss. He’s my educational mentor and nothing more.”
“I know what you college girls think of men like John. He’s older and wiser and you get off on the fantasy of being with him.” The fuck did she just say?!
“You’re wrong, and you’re not only implying that your husband is unfaithful, but that I’m some scheming homewrecker out to ruin your marriage.
That’s the farthest thing from my mind, especially given the fact that my head is currently filled with my dead sister and brother-in-law and my newly-acquired role as a parent. ”
She pauses, looks from Dr. Ryan to me, and spews the most venomous thing anyone has ever said to my face.
“You seriously expect me to believe that you aren’t using your grief to manipulate my husband into your bed?
I see how you look at him with your bedroom eyes.
It’s hero worship. Lustful, manipulative, hero worship.
You may have him fooled into believing your innocent act but I see straight through you. Get out!”
I’m flabbergasted. To suggest that I would ever insert myself into someone else’s marriage or use my personal pain and grief to manipulate another person is inconceivable.
I look to Dr. Ryan and his shocked face is frozen on his wife. He’s silent. No words.
Is he going to come to my defense? Put this psycho bitch in her place? Call for Ashton to come out from behind a bookshelf and tell me I’ve just been Punk’d?
Seconds pass. Still, silence. Say something. Anything. Please!
“I’ll just go.” I grab my purse off the couch and push past this incredibly dysfunctional couple, practically sprinting to Lisa’s coat rack to grab my jacket and scarf.
The office door slams behind me, and unintelligible yelling carries out into the waiting area. Lisa looks at me, eyes wide, seemingly unable to speak. You and me both, sister.
What just happened? And what am I supposed to do now? I try to calm myself down and walk away instead of sprinting, and somehow I manage to say, “Have a good day, Lisa. It was great seeing you.”
I’m in shock when I start my car and wait for it to warm up. I don’t understand how one of the most encouraging meetings I’ve ever had turned into a circus with Margaret Ryan as the deranged ring master.
I try to sort through the jumble of accusations thrown at me in the last ten minutes:
Hero worshipper
Night stalker
Emotional Manipulator
Seductress
Tramp
I don’t think any of those will look good on my résumé. I also never thought any of those titles would be attached to my name.
And Dr. Ryan’s silence? What even was that?
He stood there while his wife verbally attacked me and said nothing to defend my character.
Defended himself, for sure, but left me hanging out to dry.
I mean, I can see now that Margaret Ryan is terrifying, but is he so weak that he can’t stand up for an innocent person when they’re being wrongfully accused of coming onto a married man?
! And she — she’s met me maybe three times?
Four? That woman doesn’t know me at all, so to accuse me of seducing her husband as if she monitors my every interaction with him is absurd.
I have enough shit blowing up in my life right now, and I can’t handle one more thing.
Once my car is warmed, I shake my head to clear the internal fiasco and pull out of the parking lot.
When I arrived here today this place was my sanctuary. Little did I know when I left it’d be the last time I ever step foot on this campus.