Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2)

by Georgina Guthrie

  I grimaced at the memory of the few days of repeated panic attacks, one of the most frightening experiences of my life. Thank God my parents had been there to help me through that.

  My father continued to plead his case, mostly to Aubrey. “What I’ve obviously drastically underestimated is the extent of the feelings you have for each other. Perhaps I was naïvely hoping what you felt was a casual attachment. I thought a few days apart would give you a chance to regain perspective. Clearly, I was wrong. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

  He said these last words looking down at our hands, which we’d both unclasped. I wanted nothing more than to hold one of hers at that moment.

  “Do you accept my apology, Aubrey?” he said.

  She gazed at him steadily. “I do. And I’m sorry for going against your wishes. You made it clear in February that you didn’t want me to complicate Daniel’s life, and I—”

  “Don’t,” I intervened. “Don’t apologize for your feelings.”

  “I appreciate that nonetheless, Aubrey,” my father said. “Now I’m going to tell you something against my better judgment. I wasn’t going to share this until I was more certain of the outcome, Daniel, but you obviously think I’m being harsh, worrying about the family name and your standing here at the school without due cause. The situation we dealt with last year is more than enough to warrant my uneasiness, but the truth is, I also have a selfish motivation for my concern. You see, the University of Toronto’s vice president and provost is retiring in June. I’ve applied for the position.”

  My head snapped up as if I’d been slapped. “What? You’re in contention for a U of T administrative position?”

  He nodded. “There’s a strong possibility I’ll be named. I’d be realizing everything I’ve worked so hard for. I never dreamed the opportunity for advancement would present itself now. I thought maybe in a few years, but then I heard of this impending opening, and I thought I’d take a chance.”

  Holy shit! My father, vice provost of one of the most prestigious universities in Canada?

  His eyes pleaded with me to understand why now, of all times, his name needed to remain unsullied, untainted.

  “I don’t understand,” Aubrey said, looking at my father. “What does the provost do?”

  I answered in his stead. “They oversee all of the portfolios of the university including the academic integrity and ethical standards of both students and faculty.”

  “Oh.” Just one syllable, but the look on Aubrey’s face revealed that she understood the implications of my explanation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, turning back to my father.

  “If you were in my place, why might you have kept it a secret?”

  “In case you weren’t successful? You wouldn’t want anyone to know you’d failed.”

  He smiled gently. “You see, son? We’re far more alike than you’d care to admit. My pride was a primary reason behind my secrecy, but it’s not the only one. Your mother tried to convince me to tell you this weekend, but I was reluctant to do that. I didn’t want my aspirations to put more pressure on you. However, the more I thought about it, the more I feared you might believe I was being asinine just for the sake of it.” He slid his hand self-consciously back and forth on the table. “I don’t want to be seen as the enemy. You’re my son, Daniel. I love you, and I want what’s best for you. I want you to be successful beyond your wildest dreams. And I know that you and Aubrey will be wonderful together.” He looked back and forth between us pointedly. “When the time is right.”

  And with those words, I grasped Aubrey’s hand, squeezing it gently.

  He noticed the gesture and sighed, recognizing the futility of arguing. “Okay, son, you should probably head home and get yourself sorted out. You don’t have much time before you have to be in class. Aubrey and I have a few more things to discuss.”

  I didn’t want to leave Aubrey alone to deal with him, but she was a strong woman who could fend for herself, and my father did seem to be in a more conciliatory frame of mind this morning. I stood and touched her shoulder.

  “See you later? In class, of course,” I added, more for my father’s benefit than hers.

  “Of course.” She tried to remain composed. I knew how she felt.

  Leaving this office would be like stepping off a ledge into a dark abyss.

  I was distracted as I sat and marked at my desk that evening. I was still in shock about my father’s potential promotion to vice president and provost. No wonder he was going off the deep end about my relationship with Aubrey. As if my Oxford debacle wasn’t enough! Of course I was pleased for him; he was my father and I loved him, extreme reactions notwithstanding.

  I tried to focus on the papers in front of me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could mark. Honestly—some people’s fucking handwriting. Vince Costa’s test looked like it had been scribed for him by a chimp hanging upside down from a tree. I tossed it aside. I’d look at it another time when my eyes were fresher.

  I was purposely avoiding Aubrey’s test, but I knew I’d have to grade it eventually. I was also avoiding checking my email and voice mail. I dreaded hearing her panicked voice and reading her desperate words. No, first I would take care of the test, and then I would deal with the messages.

  I flipped through the pile, smirking as I remembered the smile on Martin’s face as he’d dropped the tests in front of me at the end of today’s lecture, wiping his hands as if to say “good riddance.” The class had laughed at my expense, but it was all in good fun. Aubrey had smiled wistfully at me before leaving with Julie, who was nattering away excitedly. I gathered they’d been setting off to have coffee together. This was good; she needed the opportunity to vent to a friend. Someone other than Matt.

  Finally, I reached Aubrey’s test booklet. Her neat printing seemed relaxed, unhurried. Considering the frame of mind she must have been in while writing, her ideas were remarkably clear, her analyses precise and articulate.

  That’s my girl.

  She had a firm handle on what had been discussed in lectures and seminars but always took her discussion to another level, offering further insights, more elaborate interpretations. Fuck, she was a good writer! Her prose was descriptive but not flowery, her arguments cogent but not redundant. She would make an amazing journalist or editor. I was hard-pressed to find a single grammatical error.

  There were words inserted here and there with neat little arrows, and I could almost hear her frustrated, “Gah!” as she discovered she’d left out a word. I read her answers again, this time trying to assign marks. I looked at it numerous times but couldn’t find a damn thing to penalize her for. But I couldn’t give her a perfect score. How would that look?

  I started splitting hairs over minor nuances, managing to find a couple of instances in which her logic could be found faulty if one considered an alternate perspective. Even so, I had to assign her twenty-eight out of thirty. Ninety-three percent. Would Martin object? We’d briefly discussed bell curving earlier in the semester, but I wasn’t sure how he felt about students receiving such high marks.

  Not sure what else I could do, I wrote her mark at the top of the page, along with the comment, Clearly and concisely argued. A pleasure to read, Miss Price! I smiled as I imagined her reading it, biting her lip and blushing as she thought about how proud I was of her.

  I drained my coffee cup and retrieved my cell phone from my bag as I waited for my laptop to fire up. Time to check the weekend messages. I had texts from Brad, Jeremy, and Penny, in addition to Aubrey’s, but hers were the only ones that interested me right now. I read her frantic text sent on Friday morning.

  Heartbreaking. That’s the only word to describe it. She’d sounded terrified and devastated, thinking I’d cast her off. Of course I hadn’t answered, and then I hadn’t been in class. She must have been a nervous wreck. I checked my voice mail, and there was Aubrey’s voice.

  “Hi, Daniel, it’s me. I can’t even—God, how can I expla
in how worried I am? It’s Saturday morning, and no one else is home. You haven’t answered my text. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re probably avoiding me because of everything your father said. I can’t blame you, and I know I shouldn’t ask this of you, but can you please let me know you’re okay? I’m sorry, but please? I’m so worried. Okay. Bye.”

  The pain in her voice broke my heart. She was trying so hard to do the right thing, to give me the benefit of the doubt, while being beside herself with worry.

  The next message was from Matt, pleading with me to call Aubrey. I had to give the guy credit. He was nothing if not loyal. Penny had also left a message on Saturday night, telling me she was going to a movie and that I should call her in the morning before Coronation Street to let her know what time Aubrey and I would be over to paint, presuming all of our limbs were intact. There was another from Penny—a rant this time:

  “Where are you, you soddin’ wanker? It’s Sunday morning. You said you’d be back to help us paint. While you’re shagging in a snow bank, I’m staring at these bloody hideous walls. Call me! But Corrie will be on in five minutes so wait till noon, all right? Bye, love.”

  Leave it to Penny to forego the sentimentality. I tossed my phone on the desk and opened my email. Among several, most of them school-related, was an email from Aubrey.

  From: Aubrey Price

  To: Jung Willman

  Date: Sun, Mar 22, 8:13:24 AM

  Subject: Very Worried

  Either you’ve decided your father was right and you’re not going to contact me, or you’re so unwell that you’re incapable of it. I don’t know which of the two alternatives worries me more. All I need is two words. “I’m fine” would suffice.

  Aubrey

  How could she think I’d ignore her messages and let her worry all weekend on purpose? The thought made my heart drop. And she’d sounded so cold. I clicked on “reply” and composed a quick answer.

  From: Jung Willman

  To: Aubrey Price

  Date: Mon, Mar 23, 10:07:29 PM

  Subject: Re: Very Worried

  Hi, sweetheart,

  I’ve retrieved all of your messages, and I feel horrible that you’d think I’d purposely put you through something like this. Don’t ever doubt my feelings for you again, okay?

  I’ve been trying to avoid contacting you, but I’ve been thinking about you all day. I hope my father didn’t give you a hard time this morning. You seemed relaxed in class. You and Julie went out for a coffee afterward, yes? I should call Jer to see how he enjoyed the weekend. Actually, I need to call everyone…but the only person I really want to talk to is you.

  I’m having trouble focusing. I see you everywhere in my apartment. I can’t even brush my teeth without picturing you sitting on the vanity watching me shave. Have you any idea the self-control I had to muster that morning, especially when you spread your legs, flashing those lacy black panties at me? You’re so tantalizing.

  I’ll leave you for tonight. I feel strangely compelled to take a shower before turning in!

  I hope to hear from you, but I’ll understand if you can’t write back. I miss you. Good night & sleep tight.

  -D

  I re-read the email before sending it. I’ll understand if you can’t write back. Understand? Of course I’d understand. But I sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it.

  Chapter 13

  Many Days

  I must hear from thee every day in the hour,

  For in a minute there are many days.

  (Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene 5)

  BY EARLY AFTERNOON ON TUESDAY, I hadn’t heard anything from Aubrey, and I reconciled myself to the fact that she wouldn’t be responding to my email. There was little I could do but take my cues from her and be respectful of her wishes. Of course, that didn’t stop me from leaping for my phone every time it vibrated.

  After several of these Pavlovian episodes, none of which resulted in a message from Aubrey, my response time began to lag. I returned to my marking, taking up residence at the dining room table. I was about to start in on Neil Hammond’s test when my phone buzzed. I reached for it calmly, telling myself not to get my hopes up, when there it was—an email from someone called “Miss_V.” I opened it hurriedly.

  From: Miss_V

  To: Jung Willman

  Date: Tues, Mar 24, 3:32:44 PM

  Subject: Two can play at that game…

  Hey, sailor,

  I’m not sure if you’ll be surprised to hear from me. I was thinking about your email during my French lecture, and I decided to come home and open this new account. Using it feels safer for some reason. Is it naïve of me to think that? I can’t bring myself to cut off all communication. I’m afraid that if we don’t have some sort of contact, I won’t be able to keep my promise. I guess I’m bending the rules on the smaller stuff so I won’t screw up on the big stuff. I don’t know if that means I’m a bad person, but, if so, I suppose I’ll have to accept that judgment.

  You don’t need to worry—your father was fine after you left yesterday. He didn’t say, “Go shout from the rooftops that you want to be together,” but he wasn’t nasty to me. We actually talked more about his new position (he’s excited as hell, just so you know) and what would happen if he got the job, because it’ll mean I’ll end up working for someone else. I’m not too happy about that, but I need the money to repay my parents.

  I suppose I should tell you why I owe them so much money. I know I told you a while ago that I was planning a trip overseas in the summer, but I don’t expect you to remember that. My mom badgered my dad for some cash, and she went ahead and booked my flight to Europe for the end of July. She said she was afraid that if she left it to me, I’d decide not to do it at all. She knows me so well. So, now I owe them both money. I have some saved, but not nearly enough.

  I know you’re rolling your eyes, money bags.

  Yes, I went for coffee with Jul. Got her up to speed and heard all about her weekend with J. I was insanely jealous and have been thinking non-stop about the time we spent together last week. If I close my eyes and really concentrate, I can taste your lips. You are the most fucktacular kisser (yes, I made that word up—zip it, Professor!). Nothing beats the feeling of your tongue teasing mine—at least nothing yet—and I look forward to all of the other things that’ll feel even better.

  Okay, I’m going to stop rambling and head to the library to work on my paper. Matt’s girlfriend is coming over—the lovebirds need some privacy, and if I keep on fantasizing about you, I may need some privacy of my own! Self-employment truly does suck big time.

  I miss you like crazy. Please write back if you get a chance. Reading over Romeo and Juliet again last night, I saw so many lines in a totally different light. For example, Juliet’s words, “I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days,” have a completely different meaning to me now. Was Shakespeare not the most brilliant man?

  Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, even if it is from fifteen feet away.

  Definitely your poppet

  xo

  That was all it took to go from dejected to overjoyed just like that. I re-read it, smiling stupidly and so relieved. She’d sounded good—playful and upbeat. And this summer trip to Europe—what was that all about? It sounded like it might coincide very nicely with Brad and Penny’s wedding. Did I dare hope?

  I should have turned my attention back to Neil Hammond’s test, but Neil was long forgotten. Instead, I clicked “reply.”

  After one of the longest weeks of my life, Friday finally arrived with the promise of an extra hour in Aubrey’s company. Although she’d been true to her word, writing to me every day and insisting on a reply from me, I still sensed that she’d been trying to restrain herself. I’d done nothing of the sort, sending three emails for every one that I received from her. My behavior was bordering on pathetic, but I missed her so much and couldn’t help myself.

  Today’s tutorial would
be very different from the one we’d had two weeks ago. I was certain I’d never be able to read Antony and Cleopatra or Othello again without feeling physically ill.

  I scanned the group assembled around the three tables, quickly checking off attendance in my notebook. Aubrey and Julie were sitting at the table opposite mine. Aubrey was tapping her feet. Was she anxious? Excited? I smiled and got the session underway.

  “Sorry about last week, though I suppose you were happy to have some down time after your test. I gather you all picked up a copy of the sonnet assignment from Professor Brown?”

  “Uh, yeah, can I grab another one? I lost mine.”

  Vince Costa. Not surprising. His test had been a meandering stream of consciousness. The ideas weren’t bad, but organization was clearly not his strong suit.

  I pulled an extra from my bag and handed it to Trina Collins to pass down to him. I looked up and down the tables. “Any questions about that assignment before we talk about Romeo and Juliet?”

  Vince quickly scanned the paper. “Um, why is the mark split into two parts?” Just read the damn sheet properly, you stooge.

  “I’ll be assessing the first part. It’ll be a conference,” I clarified. “You’ll read the sonnet out loud and go through your analysis, I’ll ask you a few questions—help you to tighten up your examination of the poem—then you’ll be on your own to write your analysis for Professor Brown. Make sense?”

  “Okay, yeah. Cool, thanks.”

  “Don’t forget the Much Ado live performance is next week, so if you didn’t do the Hamlet piece, you’ll have to select one of those days for viewing. I have a quick meeting with Professor Brown after tutorial to go over the tests from last week, but I imagine you’ll get them back on Monday. So, let’s take a look at Romeo and Juliet. Here’s what I’d like you to do today: jot down the one thing about the play that frustrates you the most.”