Those Who Wait

by Haley Cass

  “Well that’s what happens when your little sister assaults her in the middle of the night,” she retorted, pulling her hand back and rolling her eyes.

  Alex shrugged before Sutton felt her slip under the blankets. “Yeah, well, as the only other Spencer in New York, isn’t it my right to put the fear of God into your girlfriend?”

  Cheeks burning, Sutton pulled her pillow over her head in an attempt to take herself out of this conversation. “She is not my girlfriend.”

  “That’s what Regan said,” Alex tossed back easily. “I have two eyes and I don’t even need them both to have seen the way you look at her. Besides, Sutton Spencer having a fuck buddy? It’s practically unheard of; you would never sleep with someone you didn’t have feelings for.”

  She reached up to grab the pillow that she’d been using to cover her face and hit Alex with it. She gained some satisfaction in the surprised oof and the knowledge that she’d hit her sister right in the face. “Like you’re one to give any sort of relationship advice?”

  She groaned when her own face was hit with a pillow in retaliation. “Damn, I’m not judging you. I’m just saying . . . you like her. And she was out of here like someone lit a match under her. That’s just because of me throwing a jar of peanut butter at her?”

  Sutton wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all; she truly did. Because how had the night that had started out so well turned out like this? Instead, Alex’s words sat heavily on her shoulders. “Can we just not talk about this anymore? Ever? I’ll forget the fact that you broke into my apartment, attacked my friend, and injured my peanut butter if you can forget the fact that you saw – everything that you saw,” she quickly added on, blushing again at the memory of the state of undress Alex had walked in on.

  Alex was quiet for a few moments, before she shrugged. “I guess,” but her voice was more thoughtful than Sutton would have given her credit for. Alex was never overly concerned with Sutton’s relationships, save for the few times she’d offered to beat up some past boyfriends.

  More than anything, though, she didn’t want to ruminate any longer over Charlotte or her leaving or her little sister seeing both of them in any stage of nudity.

  “I’m not going to let go of the fact that you climbed into my bed when I told you, you have to sleep on the couch.” But even with the irritation of Alex sneaking in unannounced, with her possibly having something to do with Charlotte leaving, and with her inevitably going to spend the night in Sutton’s bed instead of the couch, she couldn’t keep the affection out of her voice.

  Alex didn’t miss a beat, grumbling, “You know I hate your couch. And your bed is comfortable as fuck; I’ve been sleeping in the same room as my enemy for three months, do you think I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep?”

  Now, she couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, before she reached out to tap Alex lightly on the chin. When they were children, she’d done it to annoy her because it had been easy to get a rise out of her that way. And now, even though Alex would still sometimes bat her hand away, it was a sign of affection.

  “Well, enjoy your one night of good sleep here then, because that’s all you get,” she repeated, her voice as firm as possible because she meant it, before she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. “You’re lucky I’ve missed you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, no need to get all sappy,” Alex’s voice was gruff the way Sutton knew it got when she was sleepy and when she had emotional cues to meet that she didn’t always want to say aloud. It was enough to make her smile a bit. A few seconds beat by in silence, a calming silence, as she felt Alex shuffle around a bit in bed the way she did when she tried to get comfortable. Her sister’s voice was soft as she said, “And . . . I guess . . . I missed you, too.”

  Despite the tension she’d felt with Charlotte’s departure, she couldn’t help but let it melt away a bit as her smile became a little bit bigger. “Goodnight, Alex. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Her sister hummed back and Sutton felt her settle under the covers a bit more. “G’night.”

  With a deep breath, she willed herself to relax, and cuddled under the blanket more. Before she heard Alex groan. “Jesus. You two were having sex here, right in your damn bed, weren’t you?”

  Embarrassed all over again, Sutton scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t be such a drama queen . . . there’s a different sheet on. But you are more than welcome to move to the couch.”

  Alex huffed and kicked out her legs – a move that made Sutton wince, because her sister would soon be kicking her legs out in her sleep and inevitably hitting Sutton and causing pain – before she hit her palms against the mattress. Her voice was defeated, “Meh. I’m in a mixed martial arts company with a bunch of dudes. I’ve been in grosser places.”

  An exasperated, tired chuckle slipped out of her and even though she still had that feeling of worry low in her stomach wondering about Charlotte, even though she knew Alex would inevitably make for an uncomfortable time once she fell asleep, having her sister there was a comforting presence.

  Within the next few minutes, she fell asleep.

  ***

  The next morning found Sutton knocking on Dr. Martin’s office door, unconsciously fidgeting with the strap of her backpack as it was slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t fallen asleep until after three, after everything that had happened, and her alarm had woken her up at six since she’d had one of her last finals to take at eight.

  Despite the relief she felt at the fact that she was nearly done, she couldn’t help but desperately wish for a tea and possibly a nap. The already sparing three hours of sleep she’d gotten had been even worse because, true to form, Alex had started kicking once she’d truly fallen asleep.

  Sutton already had bruises forming on her legs.

  The only good news she’d gotten this morning came when she’d been tiredly drinking her morning tea, and she’d seen that her jacket was gone. The one that Charlotte had stolen from her. Well, granted, she’d left it at Charlotte’s that first night. But Charlotte had been keeping it from her, deliberately! Wearing it herself.

  Wearing Sutton’s jacket. And Sutton would be lying if it hadn’t made a rush of excitement go through her, warming her chest and her cheeks the previous night when she’d realized that Charlotte was wearing her clothes.

  It was nice, to have that. To share something easy like that. And while she was serious about the fact that it was her favorite jacket and she did want it back . . . she couldn’t help but love that Charlotte had taken it with her when she’d left last night.

  Maybe it was dumb, but it was a little thrill of that faux-battle of ownership of that jacket with Charlotte and she was looking forward to it. Especially if it brought about more times like last night.

  “Miss Spencer, come in,” Dr. Martin’s voice called out, pulling her from her thoughts.

  Shaking her head slightly, she pushed open the office door. It was an imposing space, but warmly filled with books and maps, and after working for Dr. Martin for a few years she was familiar with it.

  She offered her professor a small smile and wave as she made her way to one of the chairs opposite the desk where he sat, putting her backpack and jacket down on the empty seat next to her.

  Despite the fact that she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, she couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. It brought her back to the one time she’d been called to the principal’s office in school to get in trouble.

  With a deep breath to try to quell those nerves, she pressed her hands into her lap. “Hi, Dr. Martin. Did you get the email I sent you? With the potential essay questions for the final?”

  “Ah, yes, expedient and intelligent work as always.” He nodded at her somewhat distractedly as he started to flip through the files he had resting on his desk. “I trust your finals are going well?”

  Her smile was a bit easier now as she relaxed a bit into her chair; in the past, the few times she’d done something Dr. Martin was unhappy with, his mee
tings were short and to the point. A bit sharp at moments, he didn’t mince words when it came to his expectations and she appreciated that.

  “They are; I actually took my last one just now.” She tilted her head, trying to peer at whatever it seemed that he was looking for on his desk, her interest piqued. “Do you . . . I’m sorry, Dr. Martin, but is there something else that you need for me to do before the semester is over?”

  His forehead wrinkled in thought before he snapped his fingers and opened the top drawer in his desk, pulling out another file. “Actually, yes. Sutton, you know that typically I’ve gone through TAs in my past fairly frequently, correct?”

  More confused, especially because his voice took on a familiar, lofty I-know-things-you-don’t-know tone, Sutton nodded. “Um, yes, I do.”

  She was well aware that Dr. Martin was known as a fairly demanding professor to work for. He asked a lot of those who worked for him, and when they made a mistake, he was quick to point it out. And, sometimes, continued to point it out, even if it was in a teasing manner. He’d had TAs who hadn’t even lasted full semesters in the past.

  It was somewhat of a point of pride that Sutton had with herself.

  “In the time you’ve spent working with me, you’ve consistently surpassed my expectations – which is not an easy feat to accomplish. Your writing is thoughtful and engaging, your editing is impeccable, you’re organized, timely, and adaptable.” He tapped his fingers against the file, and gave her a sharp smile. “You’ve managed to make me a little disappointed to have to find a new idiot to replace you next year.”

  Surprised, she blinked back at him for a moment before a smile bloomed over her face. Still, though, she didn’t quite understand . . . “Thank you? I mean, thank you, Dr. Martin, that is actually high praise coming from you. But I’m not quite sure what you – is this some sort of holiday present?”

  It was the only thing she could think to guess. Dr. Martin wasn’t often one to sing the praises of others without reason; even when he’d given her a compliment in the past, it was a quick one.

  The incredulous look he shot her was almost comforting with how typical it was. “You must have very low standards for gifts if my stating facts about your abilities counts as a present.” His mouth quirked in a smile, though, and he shook his head. “No, that’s not a gift. It is however, me leading up to the question: what are your plans for post-graduation? You’ll have an advanced degree from a great university, and I’ve yet to get a request from you for a recommendation for your next step. Which either means you don’t have definite plans or you don’t plan on asking me for one. If it’s the latter, I assure you that for all of my many faults, my word in our field is still a good one.”

  Sutton flushed as she quickly shook her head in denial. “No, it’s not – I’d be honored to have your recommendation, Dr. Martin. It’s just, I haven’t . . . I’m not sure what I’m going to do in May.”

  Her words came out more flustered than she usually was with her professors, and it made her flush even more in embarrassment. Because Sutton had always been a planner; she’d always known what her next step was. But she hadn’t been able to plan her next move yet, not exactly. She wanted – many things. To teach, collegiately. Probably. As it was, though, school was all she’d really truly known. How was she supposed to know for sure if this was what she wanted or if this was just what she was comfortable with?

  It scared her, more than she wanted to admit.

  Dr. Martin was watching her closely, perceptively, before he asked, “What is it that you plan to do for a career? I’m sure that regardless of how good you are at working as my assistant, that isn’t the sort of life you’ve planned on.”

  “I – no, it’s not. I want . . .” She trailed off, feeling her cheeks burn slightly and she curled her hands into fists, speaking slowly, “I’d like to write, I think, but I know that isn’t just something you can fall into.” Well, Sutton knew that she could potentially have certain connections to do so, but she didn’t necessarily feel comfortable with that. “And doing this, working with you, has also made me think that maybe I’d like to be a professor? But I didn’t want to jump right into a doctoral program next year. I want a little break from school, I think, so I’m not – I just don’t know what the next step is,” she admitted, uneasily.

  Whenever this had been brought up with her family in the past few months, she was met with the simple reassurance that you can do anything you put your mind to – which was nice and comforting, because she knew her family members actually thought that. But it wasn’t particularly helpful when determining if she should charge ahead into more schooling or try to figure out some internship that could fit with her degree and try to help her sort through her options.

  She knew that her family would be there to help her and support her no matter what, and her mother’s subtle intonations that she could always move home if she wanted to while she figured everything out reminded her that she did have somewhere to go should she truly need it.

  School, though, had always been good for her, good to her; she liked the environment, she had the motivation to do well, studying and writing papers came naturally to her. She enjoyed it.

  However, simply being smart, and being good in school weren’t the biggest helpers when it seemed like everyone in her family had a calling.

  Sutton . . . liked to read, she liked to write. She enjoyed working as a TA, the structure of a schooling environment. Grading, helping to create assignments, editing papers.

  But it was also all she knew, right now. That had been the environment she’d built for herself, and she liked it. She just wanted to know for sure what would be the next best step, when nothing immediate came to mind.

  The look on Dr. Martin’s face when she bit her lip and looked over at him wasn’t judging or even that lightly mocking one he sometimes wore. Instead, it was considering. “I’d say that writing or teaching would both be within your reach, if that’s what you want. And, not to brag.” The look he shot her now was somewhat mocking, but it worked to make the tension in her shoulders loosen a bit. “But that is somewhat along the lines of what I was thinking.”

  Surprised and flattered, she gave him a wide-eyed look. “Really?”

  He picked up the file he’d retrieved earlier and tapped it once against the desk, before holding it out to her. “I think this is something you should consider.”

  Intrigued, she reached out and grasped the file, flipping it open. “The Roman Archives?” She skimmed over the top of the first page before glancing back at her professor, confused. “You think I should . . . visit the Roman Archives?”

  Not that she would be opposed to doing so, it was somewhere she’d always been curious about, but – still.

  The look he gave her was one of patented impatience. “You think I would recommend to you to visit the Archives? Not visit, Miss Spencer, but intern.”

  Almost with a mind of their own, her fingers flipped to the next page, and she drew her gaze back down. Indeed, there was the first page of an internship application, and she shook her head, murmuring, “I didn’t even know there were internships there.”

  The Roman Archives were world-renowned and one of the biggest drawing points for one of the oldest cities in the world. Literature – dating further back than they could truly name, from all over the world – was kept there. Archived, put into displays. They were copied and edited for newer editions to be published and distributed. Artworks were there as well – some of the greatest and most memorable pieces of art that the known world had could be found there.

  “They offer ten internships every year. It lasts for six months, with five interns of their choice staying on for an additional three. You’d get paid a stipend, small but fair. They provide housing. And you work with some of the masterpieces we know in our time; it’s quite an opportunity. But, it’s all there.” He gestured back to the file in her hands, which seemed even bigger now with the realness of its meaning right there in her h
ands.

  Both heavier and lighter somehow, and she looked back at it in wonder. “You think I should apply?” she asked, hearing the incredulity of her own tone but unable to help it.

  Because she might be a good student, could be a fairly decent writer, and might even be a great TA, but . . . she wasn’t necessarily special enough for a prestigious internship.

  Dr. Martin merely lifted an eyebrow in derision. “I think you’d do very well there, actually, and it would certainly reflect well on you should you choose to become a doctoral candidate.”

  Sutton’s mouth fell open in amazement as she flitted her eyes back down to the file, momentarily speechless as her mind tried to take it all in.

  It didn’t seem to matter to Dr. Martin, though, who pushed back from his desk. “Well, I’ve got a lunch date to attend to. The application is due by the end of the week; I apologize for the late notice, but . . . well, you have it now.”

  She slowly closed the file, stroking her fingertips over it thoughtfully even as her mind spun with possibilities. “I – thank you, Dr. Martin.”

  He shrugged. “If you do choose to apply, I have a recommendation already written.”

  The approving smile he gave her got one in return as she gathered her items and stood, holding the file tightly to her chest. “I’ll see you in a few days for the final.”

  ***

  Two hours later, Sutton had commandeered her usual table at Topped Off. When Regan had started working at the coffee shop, Sutton had become one of the regulars, and the table in the corner at the front window was her favorite. It provided natural light and some seclusion, and not too much exposure to the windows to be a distraction. It was small enough that Sutton didn’t feel like she was taking up too much space when she sat there by herself, but large enough for her to be able to spread her work out.

  Currently, it was covered with the papers from the file Dr. Martin had provided for her. In the file there was the application, as well as all of the details about the program, not to mention testimonies about how wonderful the experience had been.