Chapter Seven
Bernie
“Dr. Murphy, have you ever considered a career in education policy?”
I give my neighbor a big smile. This is by far the biggest compliment you can get in higher ed. Hey, you’re awesome, you should work with us. “No, I finished my PhD about four years ago and had planned to find a faculty position after my postdoc but plans changed.” I try to keep my voice light.
The truth is, my postdoc went to hell when my co-author pulled all of our research that was under review by academic journals and strong-armed me into embargoing my dissertation. If I had applied for a faculty job at a research university, I wouldn’t have even gotten an interview. Two years with barely any published research? Not exactly top candidate material. Gail saved my ass by hiring me for this job.
The sweet grandpa next to me nods and strokes his mustache like he knows the subtext. Shitty work history aside, I could not be more delighted with my seatmate. I owe Gail a hundred coffees. Maybe some chocolate. Something.
“Hmm, well you know, if you ever want to relocate to the East Coast, we’re always looking for researchers with project management skills,” the man on my left chimes in, asking for my business card as well, and I happily pass them out. I have absolutely no intention of job searching, but it never hurts to be connected.
“How is everyone’s dinner?” Stephen’s voice cuts through the conversations, and people shuffle in their seats to face him. Speak of the devil , I think, watching as he smiles broadly. He’s always loved the limelight. “The steak was great, wasn’t it?”
I huff a small laugh because my soggy noodles with overcooked vegetables were…lackluster, but the key lime pie they’re setting out looks promising. I bring the piece closer to me and ask the server for some coffee.
“I’d like to thank you all for being here tonight. I can’t get over the novelty of connecting in person after our online hiatus. While I’ve loved seeing your children and cats on my computer screen, there’s something special about catching a drink after a conference session and hazing the newbies in person.” He laughs with the room and I shove pie into my mouth to hide the twist of my mouth.
Stephen’s a liar. He was one of the few who went back to campus right away and always bitched about people being unprofessional in remote meetings.
“We’ve had a great conference, and it’s wonderful to honor some of the top entrepreneurs in our field tonight for their accomplishments. With that, I will give it over to the awards committee to share a bit about our recipients.” Stephen steps aside and a group takes the mic to hand out awards.
I tune out the bios and accolades, applauding when prompted. My new favorite man with a mustache nudges his pie in front of me with a wink. I’m not going to argue and shoot him a grateful smile. Who needs dinner when you have double dessert?
Glancing at the program, I see we have a good hour left. Pru’s weirdness has been eating at the back of my mind, and I slide my phone out of my blazer and power it on. I turn it face down in my lap while it blinks to life and wait for the buzz of texts to come through before turning it over, dimming the light so I don’t draw too much attention.
Pru: Is this him?
Pru’s linked a New York Times article, and I brace myself as I open it. The first thing I see is a picture of Ash leaning against a brick building with his arms crossed over his chest. His smile is so wide his eyes look shut. He’s so incredibly handsome in a maroon sweater and fitted slacks. I almost don’t want to read any of the text.
Engineer goes back to school? Dr. Ashish Mishra is going to change the way we educate engineers
Dr. Ashish Mishra thinks we can do better when it comes to engineering education. After building a successful firm in the Boston area with his brother, Ravi Mishra, Dr. Mishra has accepted a clinical faculty position at MIT to rethink how we educate engineers for a complex future. Dr. Mishra recently was awarded a $20 million grant through the Department of Education to scale his pilot program at MIT to two other engineering colleges in the United States. He plans to partner with firms to…
No, no, no. This is not fucking happening to me. I have one damn rule. I look at the date of publication, a year ago. Fuck, no . I copy the link and open a message to Ash. I paste the link and send it. My heart is pounding as I stare blankly at the podium. I feel a hand on my shoulder and look at my seatmate.
“You okay, honey?” I realize I’ve been taking deep pained breaths in an attempt not to lose my shit, and I lock down my emotions hard, giving him a little nod.
“Yes, some unfortunate news from home. Shouldn’t be on my phone anyway, right?”
He has bushy eyebrows, and they furrow when he frowns like two giant hairy white caterpillars. “You need anything?”
I pat his hand in thanks, imagining ice filling my body, freezing every raw feeling that is trying to break out of me. “I’m good, thanks for asking. Everything's fine. I was just surprised.”
My phone buzzes in my lap.
Ash: Bernie, I can explain.
Bernie: That you’re not a cardiologist? That you’re a fucking engineer that works at MIT? Are you seriously a professor?
Ash: Please, Bernie. Just let me explain. I was going to tell you tonight. I know you assumed and I didn’t correct you but you said you wouldn’t date someone you worked with and I thought if you just kept talking to me you’d change your mind.
This is the problem. In the grand scheme of things, it probably doesn’t seem like a big deal. The rational part of my brain understands that people meet in the same industry all the time and date and that one bad experience shouldn’t put someone off for life. I know my reaction is bigger than it should be but my bad experience is literally staring at me from the stage in the front of this ballroom. My bad experience changed my entire future and I’m not into liars.
Bernie: Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuck you’re after, but I’m not interested. I’m blocking your number, don’t contact me.
I take a deep breath and watch my hand clench my phone. I can hear the case crack a little, and it feels like it’s someone else’s hand. I try to sort through the maelstrom of emotions that are trying to fight to the surface. A hot band constricts my chest, and my eyes burn. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. It was just a one-night stand, no reason to be upset.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call, and I quickly decline it, going into contacts and blocking his number. My hands are shaking. I can’t do this right now. I can’t fall apart. I turn my phone off and carefully put it back into my blazer.
I am calm. I am the epitome of professionalism. I stuff all of my emotions into a little box and bury it. I am not bothered by some fucker manipulating me into having emotional sex with him for some kind of sick power play.
Nope, Bernie. You’re not even going to think about him . He doesn’t matter, Stephen doesn’t matter, none of this matters.
List. I need a list.
Step one: You’re going to calm down, you’re going to smile. Step two: you’re going to get on a plane tomorrow afternoon and go home. Step three: you are never coming back to Boston again .
I blink slowly at the applause, and Mr. Mustache pats my shoulder. I look back at him, Moving in slow motion, I glance back, and he juts his chin to the stage, where Stephen holding some stupid glass award and staring at me.
“I think she might be in shock folks. Let’s give Dr. Murphy another round of applause.”
There’s a slight pressure on my back, helping me up from my seat, and I walk slowly around the table toward the podium. What the fuck is happening? I was not nominated for an award. I find Gail in the audience and she gives me two thumbs up. I stand next to Stephen, and he hands me the award, standing too close to me when I step up to the podium and glance down.
Emerging Staff Leader Award , what the fuck?
Autopilot takes over, and I lean toward the mic.
“Thank you for thinking of my work when considering nominations for this award. Of course, research and development is a team effort and the real praise should go to my supervisor Gail Locke, let’s give her a round of applause. Thanks, Gail and the awesome team at West Lafayette.” I point the award toward her and step back. My body jerks a little when Stephen wraps an arm around my waist to ‘guide’ me to the end of the stage where other faculty are holding their stupid glass awards.
“Wait here for pictures?”
I nod, wanting to rip his hands from my body. It’s too close, too familiar. Lock it down, Bernadette . I step between two guys in suits.
Stephen walks back to the podium and gives the room a movie star smile. He really is handsome–if you like snakes.
“Congrats,” one of the suits whispers to me.
I give him a bright smile and nod. “Thanks, you too.”
The suit gives me an encouraging smile, running his eyes over my face, and I turn away. I don’t want to talk anymore.
Stephen wraps up his talk, and the lights come on, releasing people from their assigned seats and ending the conference. I watch as people mill around and Stephen walks back to the group, squeezing himself between me and the suit to my right while the photographer arranges us for pictures. His hand brushes my lower back and I look at him sharply.
“Don’t.” My tone is not professional, but I’m at the end of my rope. I will not tolerate his hands on my body.
I won’t do this. I refuse to engage.
Step one: Smile.
I look at the camera and do just that, one thought circling through my head over and over.
Fuck possibilities.
I notice Mr. Mustache standing at the bottom of the stage watching us. When the photographer is done, Stephen grasps my hand before I can bolt for the door.
He leans down to whisper in my ear, “Bernadette, have a drink with me. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. You can’t just run away without us talking…”
“You ready, honey?” Mr. Mustache calls from the floor. I should really learn this man’s name. He is a national treasure. I pull my hand from Stephen’s and his face gets a little hard.
“Bill, how are you? How are the grandkids?” I can tell Mr. Mustache—I mean Bill, is not moved by Stephen’s personal touch networking based on his caterpillar eyebrows alone. He appraises Stephen coolly.
“Good, Graham, better than I deserve. Dr. Murphy here, promised me a drink after this shindig ended so I could pick her brain. Gail has good things to say.”
“Oh yeah? Bernadette is a real asset to West Lafayette. We miss her in Seattle. You know she used to work for me? She did her doctoral work in my department and did two years of postdoc for me.”
The ‘for me’ grates my nerves raw. It’s not lost on me that I’m being ‘celebrated’ for my staff achievements either.
Because you are fucking staff, Bernie, get over it .
“What a small world. Well, honey, you can tell me all about it. Let’s go before all the good seats are taken.”
Stephen touches my lower back and smiles at both of us. “I’ll see you in the bar, yeah?”
I shift my body and don’t make eye contact. My already small reserve for unwanted human interaction is empty, and I don’t have it in me for another fake smile.
Bill loops his arm through mine. “You good, honey? You look a little upset.”
“I’m good, Bill. I don’t remember agreeing to a drink though,” I grumble.
“Ahhh…what do you say?” I know he’s smiling, but I can’t see his lips through the bushy hair. “Let me treat you to celebrate your award. I need more time to convince you to come work for me. I see Gail over there waving us down.” He points to the entrance where people are streaming out. Gail is not waving, she’s standing there with her arms crossed looking…bossy. I snicker and Bill laughs. Jesus, he sounds like Santa Claus.
“Alright, let's get a drink.”