26. Academic Validation and Sushi Assholes
TWENTY-SIX
academic validation and sushi assholes
Dahlia
The first week of August is here before I know it and I’m finally meeting with Professor Rosa about the grant.
Daphne is locked in her room with music blasting, so I send her a text letting her know I’m heading out.
She thumbs up my message, and I make a mental note to corner her later for a bestie sleepover.
Wes is consuming my every thought, but I still want to be a good friend to Daph.
I wish I could say I’ll stop being wrapped up in Wes, but it feels unlikely.
I don’t even want to stop being wrapped up in him.
He’s becoming an obsession I don’t really want to give up, which is terrible news for me.
Thankfully, school isn’t too far from the apartment, four stops and I’m walking up the stairs taking me out right down the street from Brooklyn U.
I did my undergrad at the state community college and when a professor recommended me for a scholarship for grad school, I put my head down and hustled my ass off to earn the money.
Thank fuck I did. I don’t think I could afford to take out any more student loans and I really wanted to continue my education.
School has been the one thing I was always good at.
From a young age, I was always a pleasure to have in class, which became synonymous with my self-worth.
Any grade less than an A- and I was ready to give it all up.
External validation is a fucking bitch because as is human nature, I’m not perfect, nor will I ever be.
It’s a fun cycle—I hold myself to impossible standards and when I don’t meet them, it confirms what I already believe.
I am worthless and stupid and many, many other mean things.
The nagging voice in my head reminds me I could try to go to therapy myself, figure this out and feel better. I just wish I was different.
My class goes slower than I’d like, nervous for my meeting afterwards.
Last week’s papers are passed back and the ninety-two circled in red makes me smile.
Capable. I am capable, I am smart, I am kind.
I mentally chant my mantra for self-compassion.
That’s something healthy people do right?
I go through my routine once more and try to find some peace before I head to my professor’s office.
Popping my headphones on, I play one of my favorite pop songs, needing the confidence of a diva to bolster my own.
My sense of peace lasts the four minute walk to her office where I restart my panic as soon as I sit across from her.
“So, Dahlia, I have to say I’ve been quite impressed with your work so far this semester.
You show great potential, it doesn’t surprise me this is the direction your thesis has taken.
How is the drafting process?” I’m trying to remain neutral from her praise, but it feels so nice to be seen as worthy. Jot that down to psychoanalyze later.
“That’s so kind of you to say. I was able to work on the draft with my friend. He lives on the farm we’d be using for the program. We’ve got a rough draft, but I wanted to get your feedback before I finalize everything and submit it.”
She looks over the document, surprised. “For a first draft, this is exceptional. I can see the care you’ve put into your research.”
“What do you recommend as far as edits or any improvements?” I can’t wait to tell Wes about this.
“If you are comfortable with it, I can take the week to edit and enhance any spots needing extra support. I don’t anticipate I’ll need to change anything major, it’s really well done.
Would that be okay with you? I would love to support you in finalizing this to submit.
I think this kind of program could make a huge difference in many lives.
” I’m ready to melt to the floor in a puddle of emotions.
“If you’re sure? I would be so grateful. This would be a massive help and we’ll take any guidance you have, this is so important to me too. Take all the time you need, Professor. I’ll let my friend,Wes, know. He’ll be so happy.”
“I’m glad to help. I’ll email you as needed while I’m looking this over properly, but please reach out to me too.
Let’s plan to meet back here in a week to get the final draft complete and submitted.
” I agree and with my head in the clouds, I glide out of her office on a high taking me through the rest of the day.
At the apartment, I’m changing before my show tonight, music blasting as I try to hype myself up.
Tonight is hospitality night, so Cunting Season will pull a good crowd.
Daphne is nowhere to be found, so she must be at work already.
Fernando meows loudly at me, but the magnet we have on the fridge shows he was one-hundred-percent fed before Daphne left.
“Fernando,” I sing-song. “Mommy already fed you.” His little green eyes resemble a pouting Puss in Boots, so of course I cave and knock some catnip treats towards him.
Grabbing my bag, I text Wes a meme of a frog wearing a cowboy hat and let him know I’ll call him when I get home tonight.
I want to see his face when I tell him the good news.
I also want to see his face because it’s a hot face, but we’ll pretend it’s for the good news only.
Deny, deny, deny. I love having hot, hunky friends and I most certainly don’t want to suffocate my hot, hunky friend with my tits.
“There she is, my missing friend! I was about to alert the media.” I lean across the bar where Daphne is working. Before I know it, I’m being pelted with cherries and I open my mouth wide to catch one.
“I’m not missing, I’ve been busy. What, is Mister Cowboy not keeping you occupied?” she snarks.
“I’m ignoring that comment. How’s the shift been so far? I go on in like an hour.”
“It’s been steady, though the servers from the sushi place down the street came in for a goodbye party and they’re turning up. It truly might be a goodbye party if that guy doesn’t stop barking ‘pretty girl’ at me when he needs something. He sounds like a fucking parrot.”
That’s the spicy best friend I know and love. I beg her to slip me a Shirley Temple and head back to the dressing rooms to finish getting ready.
“Love you, Damsel,” Daphne yells at me as I walk away.
I turn and throw her a bunch of kisses back and yell, “Love you too, Daph.”
My set is electric tonight and my body vibrates with the pure joy of a good show. I made good tips tonight too, so I will be treating myself to an iced matcha tomorrow.
Leaving the dressing room, I watch as the crowd empties out, leaving the carcasses of mini bottles and lipstick behind.
Thankfully, Daphne is finishing up her closing tasks by the time I don my post-show sweats and I wait at the bar top for her to check out.
The other bartender tonight, Simone, is lingering near Daphne, fingers knotted in front of her.
“I loved working with you tonight, I had a lot of fun. I don’t want to be too forward, but would you want to go out sometime? You’re really pretty and I would love to get to know you more.”
I try to silently shrink down the bar top away from them for privacy, but I am also very nosey. She hasn’t brought anyone home in forever and Simone is absolutely her type—tall, blonde, and huge tits.
During our early years in New York, Daph and I for sure did our part to support the slutty bisexual narrative, kissing our way through sexy representatives of each of the Burroughs.
Though lately, it seems we’ve both slowed down.
Daphne says she’s sworn off dating after one of her ex-boyfriends started fucking her ex-girlfriend and sent her a fruit bouquet to thank her for breaking up with them both.
Daphne throws the towel over her shoulder, turning to Simone. “I’m flattered. I’m not really looking to see anyone right now. If that changes, I’ll definitely hit you up, beautiful.”
I roll my eyes, even when rejecting someone, she’s still flirty. Simone is blushing nervously at this point, and I mentally give her props for braving Daphne. She waves goodbye before she spots me and gives me a surprised smile before she heads out.
“Lady killer strikes again. I’m surprised.” I lean over the bar top.
She scoffs. “Lady killer, my ass. I’m simply not interested right now. My vibrator and nipple clamps are serving me well enough for now. You did good tonight. How’d your meeting go?”
“So good. I’m tired as fuck. We need a movie night soon. I’m having Daphne withdrawals.”
“Soon,” she promises.