Chapter 16 #2
“Monica would understand,” Lara argued.
Quill sighed. “I'd hate to put another person in a position where they have to lie.”
“You would never have had to lie in the first place if you had looked for a decent job like a decent person and had put writing aside for that time.”
I raised both eyebrows.
It was my fault that Lara wasn't convinced of the value of creative pursuits. She had grown up with someone who had always prioritized work and suppressed creativity.
I was proud of the girl she had become, but sometimes I wondered if she had dreams she wasn't telling me about. Dreams she was suppressing.
“Lara,” Quill's voice sounded hesitant. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
A knot formed in my stomach and I tried to find Quill's gaze, but she seemed to be avoiding it.
“Sure, but I need to use the bathroom quickly.” She took off her apron, threw it on the kitchen island, and disappeared into the hallway. The dog trotted happily after her. “One of you needs to watch the dough for a minute!”
Then a door closed audibly.
First Day in Court
Atli ?rvarsson
Quill stared at the picture on the wall, with Dilara in the inflatable pool from fifteen years ago, as if she needed to cling to it for dear life.
I slowly approached her, not wanting to startle her, so I pulled out the yellow transience clinging to her hair strands as carefully as possible.
She turned to me, looked first at my hand and the leaf, immediately ran her hand through her hair, and finally looked up at me.
How could I not sink into those gray lakes?
My jaw tensed.
Focus, Davian. There are things at stake that never should have been on the playing field to begin with.
I slipped the September leaf into one of my back pockets before looking toward the doorway and lowering my voice.
“Under no circumstances can you tell her that we…”
“…that we what?” She raised an eyebrow, looked at me defiantly, and the heat in my face came much too quickly. “Nothing happened, right?”
She pushed past me, stepped over to the kitchenette, and inspected the bowl of dough as if she had as little idea as I did what to do with it.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over to her at the kitchen counter. “Quill.”
The last thing I wanted was for her to feel bad just because I hadn't been able to control myself.
She deserved a decent young man her own age who would take her to the movies, go shopping with her, attend wild college parties with her, and make her forget all the things in her life that she had obviously had to go through.
The knot in my stomach tightened.
Why couldn't I picture her with young men? Why did they seem like immature children next to her in my mind?
“No.” She tapped the dough. “No problem. It's best if we never talk about it again.”
It sounded so casual, tightening the knot even more. And yet she was an anchor of reason against the raging tide of emotions in my soul.
“How long have you known?”
The mere coincidence that she was my daughter's friend was one coincidence too many for me. But I didn't want to believe that she had possibly lied to me a second time and had known from the beginning.
She withdrew her finger.
“Since your first lecture.”
Something inside me relaxed.
“And you couldn't tell me?”
“Something inside me...” She hesitated, turning to face me. “I...” Often, when she looked me in the eyes, she began to stumble over her words. A habit I should find anything but endearing, damn it. “I thought we'd never see each other again.”
The doorbell rang.
In the silence, as the tension grew noticeably, small paws could be heard pattering down the hallway toward the door.
Never see each other again.
My head refused to accept what that could mean. I wanted to ask her, wanted to step closer and take her hand in mine and apologize for all the words I had said to her that day.
Davian. No. Pull yourself together. You'll only give her false hope.
“Dad?”
We both flinched and stepped away from each other as if we had both done something forbidden.
Goodness, she felt the same way I did.
“Are you letting Monica in?” Lara appeared in the doorway. “I have to take care of the dough.”
On the way to the door, I racked my brains.
Either Quill had planned to skip my lecture that day, or...
I pressed my lips together.
She better be joking.
With a deep breath, I opened the door.
A beaming Monica looked at me, a grocery bag in her hand.
“Ah, Davian.” She stepped inside and the dog jumped around her. “Hello, little fellow.”
“Monica.” I lowered my voice. “Could you please tell me why the student you’re so passionately taking under your wing is standing there in my kitchen?”
After Lara had found out that I had discovered that Quill was conducting her research undercover at Maplecrest, the latter had casually mentioned that Monica had given her my address.
“I thought I'd invite her over for dinner.” She pressed her coat into my hand.
“I have a feeling she's on her own here.” Now she also lowered her voice and looked at me in conspiracy as she leaned in. “Her parents stopped paying for her tuition, which means she probably doesn’t even have contact with her family at the moment. If I manage to make her feel comfortable here, I could cover her tuition fees.”
Overwhelmed, I watched Monica scurry down the hallway, followed by a jumping Streusel.
Quill had maneuvered herself deep into something where I should pull her out while I still had the chance.
Borgov I
Carlos Rafael Rivera
“Quillon,” Monica took a sip of her wine and Quill stared at the glass as if there were flies swimming in it. A slight suspicion crept over me, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. “Why did you choose Maplecrest when you could have gone to any other university?”
Monica looked at her curiously before mannerly cutting her filled puff pastry.
A second in which Lara and Quill exchanged warning glances.
They sat next to each other. I, across from Quill. Monica, next to me.
Quill drank from her water, finally cleared her throat, and grazed me with her gaze.
“My parents thought this competitive place would prepare me for the tough life of a lawyer.”
She lied without batting an eyelid, and if I weren't an accomplice in this twisted game, I would believe her completely.
I chuckled quietly and tried not to think about my old stressful job.
Despite having always reacted with calm and composure in stressful situations, having had hard work and ambition as my constant companions since youth, and having developed my own methods in court, I preferred the socially critical lectures I now gave.
Monica nodded, finished chewing, before bombarding Quill with another question.
“And your parents are Canadian lawyers?”
Lara began to eat more hastily. She had never been good at lying.
Quill, on the other hand, let her hand, which still carried the ink writing that had already adorned her skin this afternoon, wander to the glass and calmly took a sip.
“My father is a lawyer.”
It sounded so honest, yet she quickly put down her glass, grabbed her silver cutlery, and cut her own pastry into far too uniform pieces.
Was her father really a lawyer?
Lara had never mentioned anything about Quill's parents, except for unpleasant details about the alcoholism and the tense relationship with her father.
She had never referred to her by name, always just calling her my friend, and I had never asked any questions, except when she was coming home and whether their mutual friend would be with them.
A boy who seemed decent, but you never really knew these days.
“I really hope you're here by choice and that you haven't been pressured into career decisions that aren't yours.”
“Well,” Quill seemed to be back in character. “Maplecrest is in desperate need of female students, isn’t it?”
The right corner of my mouth couldn’t help but move upwards, even though it had a bitter aftertaste. She wouldn’t stay. Monica’s efforts would be in vain.
“Indeed.” Monica seemed more animated than usual, far too hopeful, as if she were getting herself invested in something I would have to pull her out of. “Anthony… I mean, Professor Richter and I have been trying for years to encourage women to start their studies in our department.”
Quill raised both eyebrows.
“Are you and Professor Richter friends?”
“We're just a good team.” She touched my shoulder. “Professor Rydell and Professor Richter are very close, though. They also studied at Maplecrest together.”
Now Quill looked at me in surprise. “Oh?” Her gaze shifted to my daughter. “They did?”
Why was she looking so intently at Lara, who was now reaching for her glass of Coke much too quickly?
Monica, busy with the chicken fillet, didn't notice.
I raised an eyebrow and looked at my daughter questioningly, but she just smiled before quickly continuing to eat.
“The two of them are inseparable,” Monica laughed. “At some point, Professor Rydell will join our side completely.”
Quill looked at me defiantly.
“What's holding you back, Professor?”
Everything about that title felt wrong, even though there was nothing wrong with it.
“Davian,” I said calmly. “As long as we're in this house. I don't like to bring my work home with me.”
That was only part of the truth. Quill and I had grown too close to ever speak to each other formally again without it irritating me.
“Davian's mentor, Professor Richter's father, is a rather conservative man.”