As You Are

by Claire Cain

  Finally, I hauled open my door and stretched tall after getting out of the car. The used Subaru Forrester I’d bought a few days after I moved to Clarksville was proving a trusty steed thus far, despite the fact I was a reluctant car owner. My New York life was carless—I missed public transportation and being able to read while I went from place to place. I was still making peace with having to pay attention while I traveled. So far, that was one of the biggest things I missed about New York.

  Pulling my fitted tank top down, I adjusted the waistband on my yoga pants and locked the car door. I walked slowly and felt the sun warming my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I stood for a minute in the grass. Then I felt a thwack to my belly and doubled over before I opened my eyes. A white Frisbee lay at my feet, and I picked it up in one hand as I ran a hand across the point of impact.

  “Oh man, I totally didn’t mean to throw it that hard! I’m sorry!” I heard a familiar voice say. He was backlit by the afternoon sun, walking toward me. Henry.

  “I’ll admit it wasn’t particularly pleasant to have my peaceful moment sliced open by a Frisbee, but I should probably be thankful it didn’t hit me in the face,” I said and tossed the Frisbee. It floated over to him delicately and his eyebrows rose.

  “I’m impressed. Are you a closet Frisbee enthusiast, Dr. Kent?”

  “Absolutely not. Unless it’s for typing or inserting food into my mouth, my eye-hand coordination is crap,” I said as I walked over and met him in the grass just off the pathway.

  “HRH and I just finished a game of Frisbee and were going to have a beer. Join us,” he said as he walked with a hand around my shoulders to the little patio I knew was Jake’s.

  “I don’t want to intrude on your family time,” I said, slowing my steps and looking toward my own apartment in the other direction. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Jake again so soon. I’d had a whole lot of Jake yesterday and didn’t trust myself not to be awkward. Plus, every interaction I’d ever had with him had been pretty painful in one way or another.

  “Nonsense. There’s no one else I’d rather talk with. Stay put, I’ll grab you a beer,” he said and pointed to a chair on the patio. I sat on the edge of the seat, not leaning back or looking too comfortable. Henry left the sliding glass door into the house open but closed the screen. I looked inside but the brightness outside and darkness inside made it impossible for me to make out much more than a few dark, bulky shapes—couches or other furniture. Then I heard them talking, and though I’d like to say I either got up and left or just willed myself not to listen, that was neither possible nor likely. I listened, unabashed.

  “The very fine Dr. Kent is awaiting a beer on the back patio,” came Henry’s hushed voice.

  “Don’t say ‘fine.’ It makes you sound like a douchebag,” answered Jake’s voice. I stifled a laugh—good grief, he was crusty.

  “Look at her, and tell me she’s not,” Henry said, and then continued, “you cannot tell me you aren’t interested.”

  “I don’t date.” That was all Jake said in response, and I slumped back in my chair. Ouch.

  But what was I expecting? And would I even want to date him?

  Fine. Yes. I probably would. At this point, there was no denying my interest, despite his taciturn demeanor.

  “You’re an idiot. You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met,” I heard Henry say.

  “I don’t date.” Jake’s voice came again, low and edged with annoyance.

  “Idiot,” I heard again, and then the screen door was sliding open. My cheeks were red, but hopefully they looked that way from the sun and not from overhearing a very stark rejection.

  “Here you are, lovely Ellie,” Henry said and presented me with a Sam Adams. I took it and thanked him, studying the beer for a moment when I heard Jake coming out of the sliding door behind him.

  I needed to tell him how great he was yesterday. I needed to not be awkward. Both seemed impossible.

  “Hello,” Jake’s voice came, and I looked up and met his chocolate-honey eyes.

  (I think this is how you know you’ve taken a step past the casual observation of someone being good-looking. You start thinking of their body parts in terms of food, something to be savored or devoured. Lord help me.)

  I smiled back at him, but my voice wouldn’t budge, so I raised my beer a little, like that was an appropriate response.

  “Ellie, I have a confession to make,” Henry said and looked at me from beneath his brow with a contrite expression. Oh boy.

  “What is it?”

  “I looked you up on ratemyprof.com.”

  I nearly spit out the sip of beer I’d taken. “Why?”

  “I had to know. Had to know what the kids were saying about you, Dr. Kent.” He turned to Jake and said, “It’s a website where you can rate professors.” Then he turned back to me. “And just as I suspected, you had high ratings and a consistent 5-alarm average.” He smiled at me, his little dimple flashing a moment in his right cheek, and I rolled my eyes and shook my head in response.

  “I haven’t been on there since I started teaching. I can only imagine what students have to say.” They could be complimentary or cruel, and that usually directly correlated to the grade they’d earned. I’d stopped looking after my first semester teaching as a grad assistant in my master’s program because all it did was infuriate me that the kids who’d failed had any say since ninety percent of the time they’d failed for not showing up, not turning anything in, or cheating.

  “They say you’re brilliant, engaging, demanding, and you have high expectations. And that you’re hot, obviously,” he said, his smile growing wide as he undoubtedly watched my chest, neck, and entire face turn beet red in embarrassment.

  Instead of speaking, I took another sip of beer and avoided looking at Jake who, apparently unlike my student reviewers, did not think me so hot.

  Good grief, why did I think that?

  “What I want to know is, did you ever hook up with a student?” Henry had a gleam in his eye—this kid was trouble.

  “Absolutely not,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Why not?” Henry pulled his chair toward mine and sat down in it. Jake was standing just outside the door, leaning back against the unopened portion, observing.

  “Aside from it being unethical, I don’t typically find myself attracted to my students. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t date while I was in a position of authority—”

  “—ohhh position of authority, yes. I like the sound of that—” Henry interrupted.

  “—Stop being an idiot, Harry.” Jake’s voice ended Henry’s outburst and was punctuated by Jake lunging toward Henry and knocking his baseball hat off his head.

  I laughed a little as Henry reached for his hat and nearly fell off the chair. When I looked up, Jake was watching me. “Sorry. He’s an idiot, as you can see,” Jake said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying not to show how embarrassed I was by the comments. It wasn’t really Henry, rather it was the persisting sting I felt in the wake of Jake’s clear lack of interest in me after I’d spent a very long day yesterday coming to terms with my very real attraction to him (even if it was mostly a primal thing).

  “I’m not an idiot. I’m just trying to figure out what my chances would be if Dr. Kent was my professor. I can guarantee you I’d be—”

  “Stop what you’re saying before you embarrass yourself or Elizabeth.” Jake’s voice cut Henry off once again, and this time he held that commanding tone I’d heard before.

  “Well do you have a boyfriend, then?” Henry asked me, that glimmer of mischief in his eye still sparkling.

  “Uh… No.” Why did I say uh? It wasn’t like there was a boyfriend or even a potential for one. I had barely dated, and I hadn’t had a boyfriend in years. I was also not embarrassed by that or ashamed of it. It had, for the most part, been a choice, or at the very least, a lack of motivation and desire. Despite all of that very mature thinking, I felt my cheeks burn
ing with a blush.

  “Dating anyone?”

  “I haven’t had time to meet anyone,” I said, using every bit of willpower I had not to look at Jake.

  “You haven’t met anyone you’d be interested in dating since you got here?” Henry asked, nudging my knee with his. What was he wanting me to say? Yes, your brother is attractive to me on almost every possible level.

  I cleared my throat. “Irrelevant. No time for it.” More than ready to move away from talking about me, I looked at Jake. “I wanted to tell you that you were great yesterday. I’m sure you already know that, considering you won and so did almost everyone you coached, but still. You were great.” I could hear the nervousness in my voice, feel the tightness in my chest as I paid him this compliment. I couldn’t quite tell why it made me so nervous—I was simply relaying something true, something I really did think. There was no good reason for me to feel that twisty feeling in my guts when I spoke to him, but I did.

  He nodded, accepting my words without a word of his own. I shifted my eyes away from him and looked out along the path, eying where it curved toward my back patio, just out of sight around the corner at the end of an adjacent building.

  “Did it convince you that we’re not barbarians?” When I heard him, I looked back at him, his face unchanged except his eyes, which held the same mischievous glint Henry’s had moments ago.

  I couldn’t stifle my laugh—both because I was surprised at his comment, which seemed free and less restrained than he usually was with me, and because it was all I could do to give myself a moment to recover. “Definitely. It was far from barbaric. It wasn’t even violent. It was…” I stopped myself, searching for the right word. I was rarely at a loss for words, but it had been happening more often lately. I needed more rest.

  “It rendered her speechless, Wills. Looks like you were so bad, she can’t even think of a way to describe it,” Henry joked, and Jake shook his head slightly, one side of his mouth tilting up into a hint of a smile.

  “You guys are such brothers. No, it was great. It was interesting, and it seemed purposeful. Technical. Smart. Which, I am sorry to admit, I wasn’t expecting.” I gave Jake a contrite look.

  “Have you really never seen wrestling or anything?” Henry asked.

  “My parents are hardcore pacifists to a level that is ridiculous, so we didn’t watch anything akin to fighting growing up. Tennis was as exciting as it got. I went to a charter high school that only had a small sports program, and wrestling wasn’t one of the options. We didn’t even watch football. And as I got older, I didn’t have opportunity. I’ve been locked away reading and writing papers for what feels like a decade, so educating myself about hand to hand combat methods in the US Armed Forces hasn’t quite made it to the top of my list. But, now I know. I get it, and I see the appeal.” I took another sip of my beer and set it down on the small table next to me.

  “I’m glad you came and saw for yourself, then,” Jake said.

  “Me, too,” I said with a small smile, not daring to look him in the eye.

  I stood up then, feeling like I’d run out of things to say and was more than ready to get going. I didn’t recognize the shy feeling I had, didn’t like my inability to verbalize my thoughts. It was time to leave. “I’m going to head home. You guys have a nice evening. Thanks for the beer—I’ll owe you one.”

  “You have a good one Ellie,” Henry said with a wave.

  Jake gave me a nod, and I headed home, trying to ignore the obnoxious thudding in my chest as I walked.

  It had been two weeks since I’d seen Jake, or Alex, for that matter. Well, that wasn’t true. I saw him as I was walking to my car. He was unlocking his front door, and I gave him a tight-lipped courtesy smile and wave, and he gave me a nod and stepped into his house.

  A gripping interaction, to be sure.

  If it had been a movie, I’d have shouted something charming at him or maybe even stumbled and made a joke about my clumsiness. As it was, the interaction was over so fast all I could feel was like I’d dropped a silver dollar and couldn’t find it.

  The fact I hadn’t seen or talked to him didn’t stop me from thinking about him now and then. But I wasn’t prone to pining, and I didn’t even know if I liked the guy. He was obviously a physically attractive person—sure. He was also extremely smart. Very capable. Well-spoken when he chose to speak. He was interesting enough—that unwillingness to offer more than the necessary details did absolutely stoke a fire in me to know more about him.

  So, totally unappealing. Not at all interesting, or someone I’d want to get to know better. At all. Done.

  I’d heard him clearly when he told Henry he didn’t date in direct response to Henry suggesting he might be interested in me. That was a pretty clear indicator he didn’t want to date me. So, I could admit I felt ragingly frustrated when he popped up in my mind. I’d filed him under “Not Happening” in my little alphabetized mental card catalogue of potential friends, colleagues, and relationships. Just to the right of that category existed “In Your Dreams” where lived several celebrities and fictional characters including, but not limited to, Mr. Darcy of Austen fame, Mark Darcy of Bridget Jones’s Diary fame, and George Orwell.

  (1984 was the first book I loved with a mind that was mature. It was the first of many I read early in high school that cracked open my world, a bit with fear, a bit with wonder at the whole universe Orwell had created. What can I say but a brain that thinks in such a challenging way had me at “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”)

  And then, there was what Jake had said in that curiously stark tone on the plane when I asked if he was traveling with family. No wife or kids. Not in the cards for me. If he wasn’t the marrying kind, then I was better off not getting involved in the first place because I did want a husband, and kids, and the whole package.

  So again. Not an option.

  The good thing was, my TESS project, and my writing, were keeping me plenty busy. I was friendly with the other people in the education center, but we were all busy with our own work, and rarely socialized for more than a minute here or there—even Bec, Erin, Lacy, and I.

  I’d settled into my little office well, moved in the one last box, and now had the few bookshelves brimming with books. I had a photo of my parents’ house tucked away behind the door so I saw it when I closed the door. It was one I took when I left for college. I wasn’t sure if it was to remind me of where I came from, or to remind myself why I didn’t want to go back, but there it was. On the wall behind me were my degrees—undergrad, master’s, PhD. I liked seeing those three little ducks in a row on the wall, waving the flag of my over-education. I’d come to think of them that way over the last year and a half as I realized with a sinking weight in the pit of my stomach that I didn’t want to be a part of academia. I’d thought I did, but my first full year of full time, post-grad faculty work had been eye-opening.

  The competition wasn’t the fun kind between colleagues and peers. It wasn’t inspiring and compelling. The gossip was wearying and demoralizing. I knew it wasn’t that way everywhere, but it my department, it was.

  The strange entitlement of many students, even at a school like that where only the best were admitted, was baffling. And the cheating. Dear Lord, how I couldn’t stand it. What more perfect antithesis to the whole point of college was there? Never mind the fact that cheating meant gobs of memorandums and paperwork for me and hand-wringing by students, some of whom very purposefully cheated and some only kind of accidentally did so.

  By the time my first full post-grad year was done, I knew. I knew I didn’t want to be there. I’d been teaching for more than five years as a part of assistantships and my degree funding, but I’d convinced myself that once I was a true-blue professor, like there was something in a name, I wouldn’t care about the other stuff.

  In fact, the pressures and the frustrations, felt more real. The time I thought I’d have to write fiction diminished as it beca
me clear any free time I did have needed to be devoted to professional development, contributing to my department, or writing in my field—all to work toward obtaining that elusive golden carrot called tenure. And that was a thing I then knew with certainty I didn’t want or need.

  “Over-educated, under-satisfied, and searching”—that was what I’d told Alex I was in one of our recent conversations. But the thing was, I knew what I wanted if I let myself be honest, and my few short months at Fort Campbell had taught me it was ok, and I told her so.

  “I love the work I’m doing now—the research on my own, pioneering a little bit, but still getting to interact with soldiers. I also love that when I leave work, I have no sense of guilt.”

  “I know you always felt like you should be working on publications or grant proposals or committee work when you weren’t doing office hours.” She knew because she’d been there during the long years of my PhD except for the two she was in Boston for her master’s, and even then, we talked at least weekly.

  “The timeline of my project matters, but there’s no hard end date other than when my funding runs out, and I padded the calendar so I have plenty of extra time if need be. On weekends I can write, and I’m wrapped up in the book I’ve been writing and editing in the evenings now too.” I’d been working in my writer’s group online, and we gave each other deadlines and shared chapters of our work to get feedback and help—I felt deliriously happy to be doing the work I’d wanted to do since the beginning of high school.

  “I can’t wait to read the whole thing. I’m in suspense!”

  “Not much longer, I hope,” I said. I loved that even though we lived closer, we still called each other. We were both going in different directions, so we didn’t see each other that often, even though Luke lived in the same apartment complex as I did. But sharing my sense of peace with her meant it was real—it wasn’t just horded to myself, and it seemed to multiply the sensation.