by Noelle Adams
“Yes.”
“It’s a big change, I guess. Moving here to Virginia.” I wonder why he took the job at Milford. Notre Dame is a good school, and his publication history is already impressive. Surely he could get a more prestigious job. The job market is tough for faculty in the humanities, but I’d be really surprised if Milford was his only job offer.
“Not really.”
That’s all he says. Not really.
“Where are you from originally?” I ask, still searching for a way to get him to loosen up.
“Virginia.”
Oh. Well, that explains it. No wonder he doesn’t think moving here is a big transition. “I’m from Virginia too. Farmville,” I offer. Some people open up easier if the other person does first. “I did my graduate work at the University of North Carolina.”
“I saw that. On your faculty page on the Milford website.”
So he’s been looking me up. Not surprising. I would have done the same thing. “My folks still live in Farmville. It’s nice that they’re only a couple of hours away. Is your family still in Virginia?”
“Yes.”
“Where in Virginia?”
“Richmond.”
“So you’re pretty close to them too. That’s good.”
He doesn’t answer. If anything, he looks even more closed up than he did before.
I try not to make a face at him. He’s making even simple conversation difficult. “Well, I hope you like it here.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” He’s still standing, looking at me. It would be more natural if he’d go back to unpacking his boxes, but he doesn’t.
I turn on my computer, mostly for something to do. “Well, I’m going to work on a syllabus.”
He nods. “I already have mine mostly done.”
Of course he does.
Then he adds, “I’d like to know your teaching hours, if I may.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your teaching hours? When your classes are? I need to finalize my office hours, and I’d like to coordinate with your teaching hours if possible.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s saying. Surely he doesn’t think he’ll have the office to himself when I’m not teaching. “I’ll be in my office at other times too.”
“Naturally. But if I schedule my office hours during your teaching hours, we won’t be trying to conference with students at the same time.”
Conference with students? It’s all I can do not to repeat the words back to him. “Oh, um, okay. But students stop by whenever.”
“I understand.” He doesn’t move. He’s still waiting.
I manage not to roll my eyes. “This semester, I’m teaching on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at eight, nine, ten, and one.”
For the first time, a real expression crosses his face. It’s faint surprise. “You really stack your classes.”
“I prefer it that way. The first three are repeats of the same class, so I get into a zone with them. And I prefer to have Tuesdays and Thursdays to focus on my other work.”
“I see. That will work fine then. I’ll put my office hours on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. My classes are on Tuesday and Thursday at eight thirty and ten and a Wednesday night class.”
He’s only teaching three classes? How did he get so lucky?
I’ve really got to stop acting so petty and thinking the worst of him. They probably gave him a one-course release because this is his first semester.
He hands me a printed sheet of paper, and I stare down at it in surprise. It’s got his teaching and office hours printed out.
“What if I said I was teaching different hours?” I ask.
“I had a couple of other schedules worked out.”
Evidently he’s one of those kinds of people. Always organized. Always planning ahead. Always uptight about even unimportant things.
Just perfect.
Exactly the kind of person who gets annoyed by my personality. He probably already dislikes me.
I thank him for the (unnecessary) printed schedule and turn toward my computer. I’ve got to adjust dates and page numbers on my syllabus. I’ve got to change a couple of assignments that didn’t work well last time I taught these classes. I need to get ready for a new semester and not worry about my annoying new office mate.
It sounds like we have opposite schedules, so maybe I won’t have to sit in the office with him for long periods of time. Maybe he’ll make himself scarce.
I’ll come in this weekend to rearrange my pretty things on my side of the office. One side will be pretty, and one side will be boring. That much is clear.
I’m not going to worry about it. It’s just a year. I can tolerate anything.
I’ll keep making a few efforts to be friendly, but if he doesn’t reciprocate, I’m not going to keep running into a brick wall.
He’s my office mate. He’s not even in my department.
I don’t have to like him.
It’s a good thing because I already don’t.
ON SUNDAY EVENING, I’m taking it easy, texting with Jennifer and flipping through channels on TV.
I’ve already told her all about Evan, and she’s given me some wise, mature advice about not jumping to conclusions and giving him the benefit of the doubt because maybe he’s not as uptight and annoying as he seems at first.
I tell her she’s right. Because I know she’s right. But it’s hard for me to feel that she’s right. I keep replaying the encounter over and over again in my mind and getting annoyed with him all over again.
I also keep visualizing how good-looking he is and experiencing a deep, physical response to the image.
That annoys me even more.
When another text comes in, I look away from the romantic comedy I’ve landed on and check my phone. Jennifer says, I bet he’s a nice guy. Maybe he just doesn’t make a good first impression.
Maybe.
Jarissa in Admissions said he helped jump her car on Friday and then followed her home to make sure it didn’t stall again. She said he was great.
That was nice.
She thought he was a great guy.
Maybe he liked her more than he liked me.
Why wouldn’t he like you?
Don’t know.
Give it time.
I will.
I mean what I say. He’s evidently a decent guy if he went out of his way to help Jarissa. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt. I’m not sure why I can’t seem to give it to Evan.
It doesn’t speak well of me. I’m a nicer person than this.
I’m going to do better than this.
Two Towers is on. Faramir scene.
I perk up when Jennifer’s text comes in and pull up my cable guide to find the channel. I own the Lord of the Rings movies in three different formats, but that doesn’t stop me from watching them when one is running on cable.
It’s near the end when I flip over, and I shake my head as I watch the scene where Faramir takes Frodo, Sam, and the ring to Osgiliath, something he never does in the book since his rejection of the temptation of the ring is one of his most worthy characteristics.
After a minute, I text, Faramir would NEVER do this!
I know.
NEVER!
I know. You tell me every time.
It needs repeating. A lot! He would NEVER do such a thing! Character assassination!
I know. He’s your man. No one is allowed to assassinate his character, not even a movie you love.
I giggle at that because Jennifer knows me so well. EXACTLY!
I watch until the end of the movie, and then another text comes in from Jennifer. So I guess your date last night wasn’t Faramir?
I’d mentioned last night that the date wasn’t a success, but I hadn’t given her any details. It was a first meeting of a guy I’d connected with through a dating app. I’ve been trying out different dating apps and online sites since I moved to Milford two years ago. I’ve
met a couple of decent guys—one I dated for three months—but overall there’re more losers than winners.
Jennifer knows my favorite male character in The Lord of the Rings is Faramir, and so we use him as a standard for evaluating men.
Definitely not.
I’m pretty sure the guy was disappointed in how I look. I wasn’t skinny enough for him. I don’t hide my body in the pictures I include, but sometimes guys still expect me to be thinner than I am.
This is an immediate red flag that the guy isn’t for me.
I knew from the first minute I met the guy last night that it was going nowhere. I should have just called it quits right away, but instead we had a quick dinner and went through the motions of the date before we were able to get away.
It wasn’t a good evening, but those things happen sometimes when you try to date people you connect with online.
Oh well. Your Faramir is out there somewhere.
I smile at Jennifer’s encouraging text. I’m by nature more optimistic than she is, but she’s recently fallen in love and gotten engaged to Marcus, so she’s predisposed right now to be hopeful about love for other people too. Maybe. Or maybe he’s just in the pages of the book.
You’ll be good either way.
I’ll be good either way.
Two
EVAN LISTENS TO OPERA.
Opera.
I learn this first thing on Monday morning a week later when I get to the office. I arrive at seven forty-five in my usual morning state—which is rushed and slightly frazzled. My hair isn’t pulled back yet, and I’ve got a fistful of jewelry I still need to put on. I’m wearing my favorite dress—it’s long and sleeveless in a flattering blue that matches my eyes, and I really like the way it drapes over the curves of my breasts, belly, and hips. Because it’s sleeveless, I’ve paired it with a pretty duster in a gauzy floral fabric. I might not have quite finished dressing, but I still have fifteen minutes before my class starts, and I felt pretty (if a little harried) as I left my house.
Everything changes when I arrive in my office to be greeted by the sound of opera and Evan typing away at his computer, looking ridiculously handsome in a suit and tie.
A suit.
Plenty of the male professors wear ties to teach—usually paired with old sports jackets and jeans. But the only men at Milford who regularly wear suits are the president and one of the business professors.
But Evan is definitely wearing a real suit. A nice one in charcoal gray with a pale blue shirt and a blue-and-red tie.
He looks like he belongs in a boardroom. Not a Milford classroom.
He also looks so sexy that I actually gulp as my eyes travel up and down his lean body.
I’ve always thought I’m attracted to laid-back, casual guys, so I don’t know why I get this sudden rush of bone-deep attraction.
It doesn’t make sense, and it’s really annoying since I don’t even like this man.
So between the opera and the unexpected surge of lust, my flustered state intensifies. I drop half my jewelry on the floor and stumble over my own feet as I try to make it to my desk.
“Good morning,” he says, looking up from his computer at last. Evidently my clumsy route through the office has finally gotten his attention.
“Morning,” I say, forcing a smile. I didn’t see him much last week since classes hadn’t started yet. We had a couple of beginning-of-the-year faculty meetings, but he sat with people from the English department for those. Otherwise, I wasn’t in the office much and so I didn’t spend much time with him, which I thought was a good transition. I’m over the worst of the annoyance now, and I resolved over the weekend to try to get to know him so I can like him the way I do most people.
“I can turn the music down if you want.”
It’s not loud, but it’s demanding, if that makes sense. I’m not opposed to opera in theory, but I never listen to it myself, and it’s never struck me as a comfortable background sound. It’s so in your face all the time. I don’t recognize the opera that’s playing, but I’m not all that familiar with the genre, so I probably wouldn’t recognize anything except the Marriage of Figaro, Carmen, or Pagliacci.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I have a class at eight anyway.”
“That’s what I thought.” He glances over at the antique-looking clock he’s put on his desk. “Are you running late?”
“No.” I frown at him, forgetting I’m planning to be nice. “I have fifteen minutes.” It’s a reminder that I have some things to do before my class begins, so I drop my big leather bag on the floor and go to recover the jewelry that fell as I entered.
I put on my big hoop earrings and bead necklace and then try three times before I can hook my bracelet. I find a brush in my bag and pull it through my hair before I twist it up in a knot.
I usually start the day with my hair pulled back, but it doesn’t last that way for long. It starts to slip out of any clip I use, and I’m too busy with other things to mess with it.
Evan watches me, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
Surely he doesn’t mind my doing my hair in my own office. If he does, he’ll have to get used to it. I also freshen up my makeup at my desk after lunch.
“What time did you get in?” I ask him, searching for easy conversation.
“Six thirty.”
“Six thirty? Do you always get up that early, or was it just because it’s your first day?”
“I usually get up at five. I work out for an hour, and then I get dressed and am ready for work.” He says this as if it’s a normal daily schedule, when I know maybe two other people at Milford who regularly work out before coming to campus.
Quite a few of the faculty are in good shape, but they don’t get their exercise done at ungodly early hours of the morning. A lot of them don’t even show up until lunchtime, depending on when their classes are scheduled.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m still sleeping at that time.”
“What time do you go to bed? If you’d go to bed earlier, you could get up earlier.”
I manage not to roll my eyes at this piece of advice. “I’m sure that’s true,” I murmur, avoiding his eyes so he won’t see my response. I find the books I need for the course and grab the notebook I put together last week for my survey classes.
I glance in the mirror. I look nice. Soft and curvy and feminine and basically pulled together.
I’m sure my particular brand of looks isn’t what does it for Evan. I’m sure he likes slim, polished women. But that doesn’t matter. I used to be self-conscious about being bigger than normal, and for years I tried to lose some weight so I could get down to what is considered average sized. But sometime in the past five years, I grew to accept my body with all its curves and roundness. Plenty of guys like how I look, and I’m usually perfectly happy with it. I’m certainly not going to let Evan’s cool regard make me feel bad about myself. Despite that weird attraction I felt earlier, I couldn’t care less if he likes how I look.
“Okay,” I say after I’ve confirmed that I don’t have a smear of mascara under my eye or too much cleavage showing. “I’m off.”
“Have a good class.”
Just in case I haven’t been clear, he still hasn’t smiled. Not today. And not at me ever.
It’s the weirdest thing.
Surely even serial killers smile occasionally.
I brush away the thought of Evan so I can focus on my classes. For the next three hours, I hardly think about him at all.
SINCE I HAVE ONLY TEN minutes between my first three classes, I don’t get back to the office until a little after eleven. I’m on that teaching high I get when a class goes well. I feel like I was articulate and insightful, and I got good responses from students.
I’ve chatted with four people on my way back to the office, so I’m in a good mood when I walk in the door.
Evan is still at his desk, typing on his computer, wearing his suit, and listening to opera.
I wonder if
he’s gotten up even once the whole time I was gone.
Maybe he has an iron bladder and doesn’t feel the need to get up and wander around every hour or so to talk to people like I do.
I give him a cheerful hello, resolving yet again to be nice to him. I’ll feel a lot more comfortable with this situation if we can at least get along.
He murmurs a response and doesn’t look up from his computer monitor.
I try not to scowl.
I redid the wall hangings and decorations on my side of the office to make room for the ones he rejected. I notice that one of my framed posters is tilted askew, so I pause to straighten it.
“Why The Lord of the Rings?” he asks.
I hadn’t realized he’d deigned to look away from his computer, but evidently he has since he’s asking about the posters. The three movie posters are the three Lord of the Rings movies. The first one showing the boats on the river at the Argonath, the next of Orthanc and Barad-dûr with a lot of atmospheric smoke between them, and the last one of Aragorn and his sword.
“Don’t you like The Lord of the Rings?” I ask, turning around, genuinely interested.
“I love the books.”
“Oh. I love the books too. But I also love the movies.” I’m doing my best to keep my resolve of friendliness, but he seems to invariably trigger my annoyance button, which almost never gets pushed by anyone else. “Do you not like the movies?”
“I’ve never seen them.” He’s turned his chair away from his computer to face me, so at least that’s a sign he’s involved in the conversation.
“Seriously? You haven’t seen the Lord of the Rings movies?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d like them. Aren’t they just elves doing backflips?”
I almost choke. “No! They’re not just elves doing backflips. I can’t believe you really haven’t seen them.”
“You like them that much?”
“Yes. They’re not perfect movies, but they’re really quite good. I don’t know. The first one came out when I was twelve or thirteen. I’d just read the books for the first time, and I was totally consumed by the movies. I think it was just a pivotal time for me. I really got into them. That’s when I got the posters—when the movies first came out.” I swallow, realizing I’m probably oversharing and he might not want to hear all this. “They... they spoke to me. So, anyway, the posters mean a lot to me now because they meant so much to me back then.” I drop my eyes. “If that makes sense.”
