Wednesday, February 1st
Cat
“Come on in,” I hear my Intro to Psychology’s professor call from behind his closed office door.
I open it and peek my head inside his stuffy office. I’m familiar with how cramped it is because I took advantage of a number of his office hours last semester.
“Hi Ms. Stevenson,” Professor Meyers says with a smile, his eyes crinkly behind his thick horn-rimmed glasses. He motions for me to take a seat across from him at his desk.
I step into his office. The chair next to mine is already occupied.
The moment I take a seat, I recognize the guy sitting next to me, though I’m not certain which class I may have shared with him.
A lot of my intro classes last semester were held in rooms that could accommodate 300 students.
I wasn’t exactly able to ascertain everyone’s name, nor would I be able to recognize everyone’s face, but I’ve definitely seen this guy around more than once.
He has dark hair, short enough not to look unkempt, yet not so cropped that one can’t immediately tell it’s curly.
“Miss Stevenson, this is Mr. Campo.”
The guy smiles, reaching his hand out to me. “Levi.”
I shake his hand. “Cat. You were in the Monday and Wednesday afternoon Intro to Psych class, right?”
Levi nods. “Yep. We also had Stats for Behavioral Sciences together on Thursdays.”
“And both of you were some of my top students.” Professor Meyers chuckles, his bearded face bright.
“Thank you for applying to become my research assistants this coming semester. I’m so glad you both accepted the position.
I know it doesn’t pay much, but I promise it’ll be a worthwhile endeavor.
And if all goes well, you’ll even get publication credit. ”
He beams and dives into an exhaustive explanation of what exactly will be required of Levi and me while Professor Meyers works on his latest research paper.
Levi says something funny, and I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days. It feels good… and immediately wrong. Like I’m betraying someone.
I leave the office forty-five minutes later with a general understanding of the research topic—something about the effects of codependency on dyadic coping and relationships—and Professor Meyers’s expectations when it comes to work product.
The first thing I do is look up what in the world dyadic coping is.
I’ve never heard that term. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure exactly what codependency is or why it’s apparently a bad thing.
It should make for an interesting research topic, maybe one I could even repurpose for a paper down the line.
Out of my periphery, I notice Levi approach and fall into step with me. He grins at me. “I’m glad to know I have a research partner by my side because I have no clue what the hell dyodopic coping is,” he says with a chuckle.
I laugh. “I think it’s dyadic. And yes, same,” I say wholeheartedly. “It’ll be a nice kind of checks and balances before we have to submit our stuff to Professor Meyers at the end of each week.”
“Yeah, so I was thinking of spending a couple of hours in the library on Tuesdays and Thursday from like five to seven. I’m usually way more productive here than trying to get shit done at home where I’m distracted by… well, kind of everything,” he says sheepishly.
I nod. “That’s actually a good idea. I tend to get distracted, too. Mostly by my phone.”
“Well, maybe we could research together,” he says with a shrug. “What’s your class schedule looking like?”
“I’m done by three-thirty on Tuesday and Thursday, so I could totally make it to research hour.”
Levi’s smile widens. “Research hour. I like that. Okay, it’s a date then. Start tomorrow?” he asks, breaking away from me to hang a left in the courtyard.
“Sure. Wait, Bobst, right? On Main?” I double-check.
“That one. Meet you at four on the first floor,” he says, already walking backward with a grin. “Try not to research everything without me.”
I laugh and wave, then turn toward the train station, where the weight of the day starts to catch up to me.
I pack myself into the crowded train, cramped between people commuting home after a long day.
While my mom was right—it was good for me to get out of the house—and I was surrounded by people all day long, the moment I’m no longer distracted by classes or conversation, the reality that I haven’t spoken to or heard from Ronan in days now crashes in on me.
How is it possible to live in a city among millions of people, yet feel so alone?
My text messages to Ronan from Sunday, Monday, and yesterday are still unread.
Or maybe he turned off his read notification so I wouldn’t know he read them?
I really should try a hell of a lot harder to stop thinking about Ronan, what he’s feeling, what he’s up to every waking minute, but I just can’t.
The closer I get to my house, the heavier I feel.
“Hey, Kitty,” my mom calls from the kitchen the moment I enter the house. “How was your day?”
I take off my shoes, then hang up my coat. “Living the dream.”
She gives me an empathetic look, then nods. “I know, sweet pea. Come help me trim the green beans.
“Tell me about your meeting with your professor today,” she prompts as soon as I begin cutting the ends off the large pile of green beans, then toss each bean into the pot with a quiet clank.
“It was good. He’s working on an article about the effects of codependency on dyadic coping and relationships, and another student and I are going to be helping with the research,” I say, proud that I pronounced the word correctly.
My mom turns to me, her left hand on her hip, the other grasping a large wooden spoon. She smiles. “Well, well, how apropos.”
I crease my brow at her but don’t bother asking for further explanation. My chest is a collapsed balloon, and my brain feels like static. I don’t ask her what she means. I just keep trimming green beans and let my mind go quiet.