Why I Love Singlehood: (25 page)

They had a typical marriage. I just never thought about it like that.

I stacked the last few cups. Why did Minerva think Jay would let Cici keep her like a bug under her thumb? And how did I not set her straight when Minerva had come to me? Regardless of whether Cici was a three-headed monster or an angel, Minerva had turned her into a force to be reckoned with—one she could undoubtedly never win against. To Minerva, that monster was real. I’m sure Cici said or did something once, or gave Minerva a look that made her feel like she was a stain on the carpet. And Minerva—wonderful and strong and spirited as she was—was vulnerable. She had a hard time letting go of disappointments and shortcomings, especially her own. She loved Jay so much that she wanted to be perfect for him, or perfect enough to be with him. And she wanted to be accepted by a woman who wasn’t affectionate or open. Besides, she was Minerva—she made everything into a challenge.

My mind continued spinning as NCLA English professor Paul, a new Regular, politely requested a refill of French roast.

Was
I
like that? Was I a perfectionist, or worse, a revisionist? With every year that had passed since my parents’ deaths, I was only able to remember every good time, every quality moment of laughter, every hug—and I was able to forget every fight, every neglected tear, every shouted expletive. It took Olivia’s kicking me out to make me see that she needed so much more. And it had taken me far longer to come to the same conclusion about myself, about my relationships.

How could I get it so all wrong?

I didn’t hear from Minerva that night, nor did I see her the next morning. By lunchtime I was nervous. I didn’t want to intrude or make anything worse, but I couldn’t help but worry about what happened and how she was. By one thirty I couldn’t take it any longer.

You ok?
I texted her.

She responded within five minutes.
Yeah.

Want to talk?

Shop busy?

Before I could answer, she followed with,
Stupid question. I’ll stop by later. Need chai.

I felt a wave of relief.

I’ll have one waiting for you.

24

An Offer

HE CAME IN
out of the blue. Ed Rush, a former colleague from NCLA and the current writing department chairperson, hadn’t been to The Grounds since he’d brought several prospective faculty candidates to show off the “community ties” to the campus. Although he had introduced me by name, he referred to me as an alumna rather than former faculty. I didn’t take offense to this—he was probably afraid someone would think I’d left because I hated the department or the college. One candidate, however, recognized me.

“I read your book,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes. Liked it, too. You tell a good story.”

“Well, thanks,” I replied, a bit dazed. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone—including myself—had talked about my novel. “You must have a thing for obscure novels that go straight to the bargain shelf before going out of print.”

“You should write another,” the man said.

When I left teaching, I left behind all that publish-or-perish stuff. Funny, it had never occurred to me that I could write or publish because I
wanted
to. At the time I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.

“Good to see you, Eva,” said Ed, bringing me back to the present moment. “How’s business?”

“Couldn’t be better. How’d it work out with that last batch of candidates?”

“Major flakes,” said Ed.

I laughed. “So what can I get you?” I asked.

“How about a large mocha hazelnut coffee and coming back to teach a course?”

“Comin’ right up,” I said and went to process his order in automaton fashion, until my brain caught up and I stopped in my tracks before turning around to face him.

“What was that second thing?”

“Jenna Jaffe is taking maternity leave for the first half of next semester.”

I straightened my posture and dropped my jaw. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

“We’ve covered her course load except the short story class, and since that used to be yours, she wanted you to do it. What do you say?”

I was flattered, but dumbfounded.
Teaching? After all this time?

“Wow. I need some time to think about it, Ed.”

“Don’t think too long.”

“Can’t you get a TA to do it?”

“Not at upper level. Besides, you
know
the course. And she specifically asked for you.”

“But Ed, it’s been
years
…

“It’s like riding a bike.”

“Yeah. I suck at biking, by the way. Even the stationary ones.”

He laughed. “Call me at my office. I hope you’ll do it, Eva. We’ve missed you.”

“You’ll know by the end of the week,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said.

He stood there, not moving.

“You gonna camp out here and wait?” I asked.

“My mocha hazelnut?” he said.

My brain snapped back into café mode. “Ohh! Sorry about that,” I said as I finished filling his order. “On the house.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.” With that he took his drink, stopped at the self-service bar for a couple of extra napkins, and headed out. I saluted him with two fingers as he turned and exited the café.

Jenna Jaffe had been my advisor and mentor throughout my graduate work at NCLA. When I had begun my thesis project, she encouraged me to submit it to agents and sent the manuscript to her own, who signed me no sooner than I had submitted it to the thesis committee. I owed Jenna a lot. The only reason I was good at teaching was because I tried to replicate the experience I’d had in her classes.

We had also been good friends. I loved her sense of humor; she loved my freakish knowledge of pop culture. Back during my grad school days, I probably hung out with Jenna and her circle of friends and faculty as much as I did with Minerva and Jay, although the two circles never overlapped. When I hung out with Jenna, I felt important, scholarly. When I hung out with Minerva, I felt free, like I was getting a second chance at adolescence without all the angst or acne.

I had always sensed that Jenna disapproved of my leaving my teaching and writing career behind. She had given me her blessing, but only after an unsuccessful attempt to talk me out of opening The Grounds. “It’s not that I think you’d fail, Eva,” she’d said. “It’s that I think you’d be wasting a talent.”

“What good is that talent if it’s not something I want to do?” I had replied.

When The Grounds first opened, Jenna had attended the grand opening with our colleagues and friends, and she’d stopped by on a weekly basis, enough that I’d had her pegged as a Regular. But weekly had slowed to bimonthly, then once a month, then once every two months, and then I rarely saw her anymore. I wondered when I’d stopped missing her, why we’d drifted apart, if it really was because of my career shift. And I wondered if she had missed me, or when she’d stopped.

Not more than a minute after Ed’s departure, Scott, Norman, Beulah, Spencer and Tracy, and Minerva all perched around the counter, surrounding me. I fell back a step and hit the counter with my rear end.

“Yikes! What is this,
The Birds
?”

“Tell us you’re going to do it,” said Beulah.

“I said I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” asked Minerva.

“It’s not easy to step into a classroom and fill someone else’s shoes, especially when she’s got her own style and rapport with her students. I haven’t even seen her reading list.”

“But you have time to prepare and go over all of that with her,” said Tracy.

“Look, if you’re worried about coverage, I can handle it,” said Norman.

“It’s not just the three hours of class time. There’s out-of-class conferencing, office hours, reading, grading…It may only be a dozen students, but that’s at least twenty hours of work right there, even if it is just for a few weeks. I’m pullin’ forty-five to fifty hours here on average.”

“So? Hold office hours here,” said Scott.

“Yeah,” said Norman. “They’ll love it. And I’m fine with you reducing your hours. It’s only for what, six weeks?”

“Seven,” I said.

“It’ll be over before you even know it,” he said. “Do it, Eva.”

I took in a breath.

“Scott, go to the NCLA Writing Department Web site and see if Jenna Jaffe has her course syllabus there.”

This instruction mobilized the troops: Scott checked out the Web site, Norman took out the calendar, and Minerva wrote a list of things for Jenna to do for the remainder of the pregnancy in terms of self-care.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the office, preoccupied with mentally composing reading lists and workshop formats and syllabi. Regardless of whether returning to the classroom really was like riding a bike, I was more concerned about whether I’d hate it—or worse,
like
it. I pushed this thought from my mind as Norman reminded me for the third time to draft an ad for a new full-time employee. When I returned to the café, Minerva practically knocked me over.

“Here. I made a list of pregnancy musts for each month, including how to stay fit and comfortable during the last trimester and how to deal with postpartum depression.”

“Geez, Minerva!” I yelped. After a calming breath, I took the list and folded it. “Sure, thanks. I’ll pass it on.”

“So you’re doing it, then,” she said.

“I think so,” I replied.

“OK.” She retreated to her table, her textbooks sprawled open in their usual organized chaos.

Moments later, I glanced around in search of Norman and found him emerging from the kitchen, his shirttails smoothed, holding a paper bag in one hand and a napkin tied to the end of a stirrer in the other. He approached Minerva’s table, slowly waving his napkin.

Minerva opened and closed her mouth several times, each clearly more perplexed than the last. Finally she raised her hands. “I give. What are you doing?”

Norman nodded at his napkin, “Waving the white flag. And I come bearing gifts. A peace offering,” he corrected.

She burst out laughing. “For what?”

Slumping with relief, Norman set the bag on top of her enormous loose-leaf binder and remained standing, still clasping his makeshift flag.

“Oh for crying out loud, Norman, sit down.” He did as she unfolded the top of the bag, eyes growing wide. “Is this…cheesecake from Delmonico’s?”

She glanced at me, and I held up my hands and shook my head as if to say,
I had nothing to do with it
.

“I was a dumbass to open my mouth the other day,” he said. It took me a moment to register that he was talking about the Cici incident and the scene with Jay, but Minerva nodded in understanding, her mouth already full. As she closed her eyes, letting the creamy cheesecake melt on her tongue, I was reminded yet again about how much first bites are like first loves.

“I didn’t…it wasn’t…” He tried again. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed. “It’s OK. And not just because you brought me cheesecake from Delmonico’s—the grand-poobah of cheesecake—although that is grounds to nominate you for sainthood.”

“Thanks. I’d like to take you and Jay out to dinner. I know I offended him, too.”

“I think he’d like that. Let me check our schedules and get back to you.”

She took another bite before flipping open her cell phone. Norman stood up to resume his work, looking considerably more relaxed.

“Cheesecake?” I asked him when he joined me behind the counter.

“Well I couldn’t very well give another man’s wife roses, could I?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“And that meant a mix tape was out of the question, too. And without my two stand-by apologies, I had to improvise.”

“Believe me, Delmonico’s hits the spot. You done good, Norm-o,” I said, giving him a soft punch on the arm.

That night, I called Jenna. She sounded pleased to hear from me and filled me in on everything. The longer we talked, the more comfortable I felt.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re doing this,” she said. “You’re one of the few people I trust to do it right.”