Hearts on Hold

by Charish Reid

  Victoria sat back and thought about it. She remembered what John said about her being thorny. “You don’t get to where I am by being nice.”

  Paula nodded. “Girl, I know that’s right. But if you intend to say yes to a sordid affair, maybe you can employ some of that DuBois Duality and balance out the salty and sweet. Your resting bitch face is impressive, but do you have another expression?”

  Victoria plastered a crazed grin on her face. “This better?” she asked through clenched teeth. Her girls collapsed in tipsy laughter. “What? Don’t I look happy?”

  “It’s a start,” Regina said through her giggles.

  * * *

  Once Paula and Regina had sobered up, Victoria got them out of her house and took her remaining bottle of white wine upstairs to her office. There, she set out to make a plan for the sordid affair decision. She started off using the tried and true method of listing pros and cons. On the whiteboard she had installed over the summer, she drew a large T and began scrawling two lists.

  Pros: Cons:

  John is hot I’m too busy

  John is single Temporary?

  Amazing sex, maybe? Not professional

  Could jeopardize internship

  What if colleagues found out?

  YOU DON’T KNOW HIM!

  He’s responsible for a child

  Mom wouldn’t approve

  Victoria frowned at the last item on the cons list. Mom wouldn’t approve? She wiped it off with the heel of her palm and took a sip of her wine. “How old are you?” she muttered. Old enough to know she didn’t need to check in with her parents anymore. She tilted her head to the side as she stared at her lists. “I could just keep John to myself...”

  When in doubt, say nothing to the parents.

  She carried her wine glass to her desk and sat down. She could already tell the cons list was winning the battle. Fall semester was always a beast and she couldn’t spare time for a fling. Except... She opened the calendar on her computer, which was synced with her phone. “What if...” Victoria scanned the next few weeks that she and John would be working together and began piecing together a loose schedule. She took into account every meeting, each class, and possible lunch break options. She remembered that John said his niece went to school at Hollingsworth Academy. If Victoria was seriously considering having an affair, she needed to think about the girl’s feelings. No need to take her uncle, and primary caregiver, away from her. When she found the school’s website, she glanced through their academic schedule, counting every conference day, half day, and school closure. Victoria jotted down her findings and added them to her calendar.

  Her bottle of wine was nearly empty when she finished her plotting.

  When she looked upon her work, a wave of pride swept through her. But when the wave rolled back out to sea, she was left with her initial embarrassment and anxiety. Sure, each day was planned with care, but nothing about it seemed sexy or...sordid. She had felt more joy from creating a syllabus schedule with weekly class lessons and reading lists. The calendar she stared at on her computer felt like the work of a madwoman. Be that as it may... I’ve always felt better with a plan. Best to walk into a foreign situation with a small measure of confidence, a tool to make one feel in control. Is that what she wanted at the end of the day? To feel in control? If John was serious about his offer, the only way she’d be comfortable enough to engage was to feel empowered. Excel spreadsheets made her feel empowered.

  Tired, Victoria stood to leave her home office. As she turned out the light, she caught a glance of her pros/cons list and remembered what John said in the stacks. If you’re interested in something remotely impulsive... Having interest was very different from actually doing. Fantasies were great and all, but acting on them was risky. Victoria didn’t do risky. She sighed as she flicked the light off. While she wasn’t normally an adventurous person, her body had definitely informed her that she was ready to take a chance. Victoria wanted to do him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jessi’s laughter rang loudly in John’s ear. “I can’t even picture how you and Chris managed,” she said. “Two hulking dude-bros wringing their hands over maxi pads.”

  “We weren’t wringing our hands,” John insisted while looking through the mess on his desk. He was searching for a titles acquisitions list before his sister video called. Martha waited in the doorway tapping her toe.

  “You got it?” she asked in a loud voice. When is she going to get that hearing aid looked at?

  “Jess, hold on. Martha, give me a few minutes, will ya?”

  “Mr. Wegman needs the Children’s acquisitions by the end of the day.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Budgets are due. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll find them for you.”

  The old woman shrugged before hobbling away. “Sure thing, Donovan.”

  “You know damn well you can’t multitask,” Jessi chided him. “Let’s talk when you get home.”

  John continued to search the papers on his desk. “No, no. I want to talk to you now. Did Becca get a chance to call you during her lunch period?”

  “She could only talk for a few minutes, but oh god,” Jessi sighed, “I miss my little pumpkin. She sounded so pitiful. I shouldn’t have come out here.”

  “Jess, she’s fine. She’s just a little mixed-up right now.”

  “And I’m probably to blame for that. Still no word from Allen?”

  John rubbed the side of his face. “No word.”

  “You know, when we last talked, I forgot to mention how the events of this summer might be affecting how he regards you.”

  “Just because I’m keeping his daughter doesn’t mean he can’t call her. Really, Jess. One punch at a church cookout and I’m the monster?”

  His sister bit back her smile. “Not a monster...”

  “You should be proud of my restraint. He knows he got off easy,” John said, pulling a face. “If Becca knew what kind of asshole her father was...”

  “I need you to keep him and his mistresses to yourself,” Jessi said in a steely voice. “Becca doesn’t need to hear it.”

  “Of course.”

  There was a pause in their conversation. John fought to push aside the anger he felt when he’d first seen his sister’s tear stained face. John had wanted to punch the person who’d contributed to Jessi’s pain and who better than the man who was cheating on her?

  “John?”

  He refocused his gaze on the papers before him, right on a spreadsheet of children’s book titles. “I found my list,” he muttered.

  Jessi laughed at him again. “I wanted to say thank you for doing this for Becca and me. Thank you for not making me choose.”

  He immediately softened. “Yeah, of course. How is the research going?”

  “Oh, Stockholm is great! We’re coming up with some exciting urban development plans. I’m collaborating with a civil engineering group from Norway. They’ve done brilliant things with Oslo’s lower income districts. It’s stuff I can bring home and implement in our downtown area. I just have to apply for the grants, of course.”

  John smiled. “Becca sounds just like you, so full of ideas and ready to topple the patriarchy, as she puts it.”

  “Our moms are responsible for some of that,” Jessi said with a chuckle.

  “That’s true,” he said, massaging the back of his neck.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Mmh?”

  “You sound edgy and tense,” Jessi said. “Is it work?”

  “Work is fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  “I know my step-twin’s voice. What is it?”

  Jessi was good at whittling things out of him so he decided to skip the runaround. “It’s a woma
n.”

  His sister tried to keep the laughter from her voice. “A woman, you say?”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “A woman doesn’t make you sound like that,” Jessi said. “She must be interesting.”

  Interesting wasn’t the word. “Sure.”

  “Are you planning to stay mum about her?”

  “I think that would be for the best.”

  “So I need to send in a scout to do some spying? Don’t worry, I’ll get a full report from your niece.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  His sister tilted her head to the side and gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, if the lady in question becomes a bigger deal, you’re free to explore that. Our mothers would love the opportunity to jump in and take care of my pumpkin.”

  He rolled his eyes even though he was thankful for her words. The last thing he wanted to convey was his inability to take care of his niece. “I’m not that hard up for a date,” he said. “I’m not going to leave your daughter at the mall.”

  She chuckled. “Please don’t think you’d be the first person to lose a child in a mall. But seriously, I left her with you because you’re more than capable. And regardless of her current attitude, you’re her favorite person. Have a little single dad fun on the side.”

  John’s mouth twisted in mock-disgust. “I don’t know what you think ‘single dad fun’ looks like, but I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

  “Can you at least tell me what she looks like?”

  “I’m not getting into it.”

  “Ugh, you’re no fun,” Jessi pouted.

  “I hate to let you go, Jess...”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get the picture.”

  “I love you, sis. Stay safe.”

  “Love you too. Give Becca a kiss for me.”

  He hung up and checked the time. Victoria would be here soon. John snatched up the spreadsheet and carried it to the checkout counter. “Here you are, Martha.”

  “Didn’t think you’d find it in that mess,” she said without looking up from her book.

  John raised a brow. “Well I did.”

  “You need to let maintenance in there and clean.”

  He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Yep.”

  “I don’t know how you can get any work done.”

  “Right,” John ignored her and pressed on. “Martha, if a woman comes in asking for me, could you be a dear and direct her to my disaster-zone office?”

  “Same gal from the other night?” Martha asked with a ghostly smile. She glanced up from her novel for the first time. “Yeah, sure. I’ll send her your way.”

  Martha Radcliff was a tough old bird who wasn’t rattled by anything that came her way. Whether it was a belligerent homeless man, a “can I speak to your manager” haircut, or Mr. Wegman’s erratic demands, Martha remained unfazed. Rather than argue with her, John turned on his heel and walked back to his office. He was on edge alright.

  He threw himself in his chair and swiveled away from his desk, facing the bookshelves behind him. Usually, a good book could steady his frantic thoughts. If he could lose himself in someone else’s story, his knee bouncing would cease, his fingers wouldn’t worry a random thread on his shirt.

  John’s father had believed his lack of focus was based on lack of willpower and thought organized sports were the solution. If John focused on the game that would somehow translate to him concentrating on other aspects of his life. Whether he held a football or basketball, John had still floundered in school, anxious about his academic standing. He’d liked making John Sr. proud, but it hadn’t helped his day-to-day struggles. Luckily, his mother had recognized his ADD early enough to intervene with quiet activities. One of her unorthodox attempts included filling his bedroom closet with blankets and pillows. Believing that the small space would help him, she told him to sit quietly and meditate in the dark. It had been a frustrating exercise since he’d still struggled to turn his mind off. She eventually moved a lamp into his closet and told him to try reading. That actually worked. After an hour of sitting in his closet reading Tolkien, surrounded by the quiet and coziness, he was able to steady his thoughts and do productive things like his homework.

  Unfortunately, ADD often contributed to his inability to sleep. And today was no different as he was running on half a night’s sleep. He was still getting used to Becca’s early schedule and made the mistake of reading until 4 a.m. He was halfway through the duke saga and was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t hate it. The main character was a saucy governess with plenty of cheeky quips and a bosom that would not stop heaving. The duke in question was one of those noblemen who wasn’t averse to working, but his dark past made him difficult to love. By the time John had forced himself to put the book down, the two characters had run off to Scotland for a quickie marriage to save the governess’s virtue, or something like that.

  If John was honest, he’d say the duke was a bit of a dick and the governess could probably do better. But he understood that wasn’t the point of the story. Women apparently loved the fantasy aspect of grand balls, carriage rides, and powerful wealthy men to protect them. Did Victoria like those things? Did she want him to take charge and force her into a Vegas marriage to protect her honor? He shook his head. Of course not. She was a self-possessed woman who valued her job enough to put up with his antics. Victoria was coming into this partnership with her university in mind. But that kiss... It would be difficult to complete any task without being reminded of her soft lips pressed against his. Or the scratch of her fingernails against his scalp as she undid his bun.

  The soft knock at his door made his heart jump into his throat. As John swiveled in his office chair, he tried to keep his pulse in check. Victoria stood there, purse in hand, hesitant to cross the threshold. She wore something similar to the outfit from Tuesday night: a heather gray pencil skirt that settled just above her knees and a light pink button-down blouse. Her pale pink pumps were crossed at the ankle as she leaned against the door frame. The fact that she looked more like a librarian than he, aroused him immensely. “Hello,” she said in a bright voice.

  He cleared his throat and stood. “Dr. Reese,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat. “Thank you for coming.” As soon as he said it, he cringed inwardly at the wording.

  Victoria didn’t appear to notice as she sat down at his desk. She gave a cursory glance at the mess that still covered its surface before flashing a smile. Something about the smile felt a little forced, but John tried his best to ignore it. “Of course.”

  When he sat down, he shuffled a few papers around, making space for nothing in particular. He just wanted to appear in control of the clutter. “About the other night...” he started.

  “Before we get to that, can I tell you something?” she asked, but didn’t give him time to respond. She dropped her purse on the floor and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I got into an email battle with someone from Admissions, who wants me to join the Diversity and Inclusion Taskforce. Which at Pembroke means all the faculty of color get photographed several times so we can be featured on the website. The most that this taskforce will do is make me and one other brown professor, Dr. Reddy, work hard to create some kind of projected goals document that will ultimately be ignored.”

  Boom.

  John was about to open his mouth to reply, but she went on.

  “And it’s not that I don’t want to improve Pembroke’s ‘diversity problem,’” she said with air-quotes. “It’s just that this work always ends up on a few people’s backs. I tried this when I was first hired on. Back then, I didn’t know how the hidden cost of invisible labor worked. How they take your desires and twist them around like you’re asking too much to have more women of color alongside you. You end up having to give and give just to fix their mistakes. Four years ago, I was young and gu
ng-ho about making Pembroke woke A-F. Oh my god, I sound like our students. Does your niece say things like that? Jesus, this woman wouldn’t take no for an answer either. She just kept hitting reply and coming back with a new reason why I should pile more stuff on my plate. Finally, I just told her ‘Laurie, please eff-off.’ But of course, I was way more polite than that because Laurie’s feelings would have been hurt and I would have been the aggressor. But I ended the email with ‘Best,’ so surely, she’ll know how pissed I am...” She ended her speech with a smart shrug.

  “Whew chile” was a phrase that he’d often heard his stepmother, Sandra, use and he had never quite understood how appropriate those words were until now. On the one hand, John did not know what words could be offered to let Victoria know he felt bad about the situation with Laurie from Admissions. On the other hand, he was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to share this with him. He would take the same approach he had with Becca: sympathetic but candid. “Your labor is important,” he finally said. “And you did good by rejecting this woman. Someone once told me that ‘no is a sentence too.’ You shouldn’t have to explain yourself to the Lauries of the world.”

  Victoria’s brow creased slightly, as if she were thinking about his words. “Yeah,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Yeah, you’re right. No is a sentence too. But this is a daily occurrence. Pembroke’s team player cult mentality makes it difficult to say no.”

  John nodded as he leaned forward. “But will the cult pay your therapy bills?”

  “Visits to a therapist are included in my health care benefits,” she said with a dismissive shrug.

  John dipped his head to hide his grin. “How about this: Is Pembroke University going to pay for your inevitable mental breakdown?”

  Victoria’s eyes flew to his as she let out a shocked laugh. “I guess not.”

  “What are you currently doing to alleviate the stress?” John asked.

  “Wine?” she said with a mirthless chuckle. “I’m trying not to get in the habit, but when I get home, I feel so...angry. I go to bed angry and then I wake up ready to start the whole thing over. I feel like I’m in this enraged cycle of wanting to explode or sleep. If I don’t get some kind of release soon...” she trailed off, meeting his gaze.