Diana

FINALLY, I’M DONE, with both this silly sociology paper and that horrible soup kitchen. I drop the paper into the folder hanging on the outside of the professor’s office door. With half an hour until class starts, I go down to the cafeteria for a cup of tea.

I choose one of the small tables near the corner, as far away as possible from the few other students in the place, and take a book out of my bag. I’ve barely gotten through two pages when a familiar, scruffy bag crashes down on the table in front of me; the noise makes me jump, and I look up to glare at David.

“Sorry,” he says, and winces. “I didn’t think it’d make that much noise.”

“Did you think at all?”

“Hey, give me a break. It’s still early.” He sweeps the bag off the table, and I flinch as it strikes the floor with another sharp noise. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You obviously can’t help yourself.” I lift my own bag into my lap, take a small bottle of Advil out of one of the side pouches, and wash two of them down with a mouthful of tea.

“Headache?” he asks once I’ve swallowed.

“Yes.”

“That sucks.”

“Why are you here so early?”

“Had a meeting with my philosophy professor.” He leans back in his chair and exhales heavily. “I’m never going to get that stupid paper done.”

“You should have more time to work on it now that our sentence at the mission is over.”

“Ah, it wasn’t that bad.” He smiles. “I might go back, actually.”

“It’s your life,” I say with a shrug. “Just don’t expect to find me there.”

“Yeah, I know, you hated it. But you did good for some poor people , and you got out of doing research. Plus, you made Chastity happy.”

“And we both know which of those three reasons is why you’re going back there.”

“Of course. I’m Mr. Charity Work.” He laughs. “So I asked Chastity out, finally.”

“Did you need to call the paramedics to treat her for shock?”

“Hey, you’re talking like I’m the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something.”

“Calm down. I wasn’t taking a swipe at your masculine pride. Chastity is very sheltered, and this is the first I hear of any man being interested in her.”

“I kind of, y’know, tried to spin it like a ‘thanks for being such a cool person’ thing rather than a date thing. She seemed to be okay with it.” He dips into his bag and pulls up his phone. “How long do you think I should wait to call her?”

“Do you mean after the date?”

“No, no. I didn’t exactly set it up yet.”

Why am I surprised to hear that? He’s never been organized in any aspect of his life. “I have no idea. Why don’t you just call her now?”

“Yeah, but ... is it too soon? Like, am I going to look desperate or something?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re going to look like you want to make more concrete plans to go out with her.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve never understood this need that people have to make relationships so complicated.”

“I’m not trying to make it complicated ...” He glances up at me, then frowns down at his phone. “I just don’t want to screw up.”

“Yes, well, best of luck with that.” I finish my tea, take my bag and stand up. “I’m going to get up to class.”

“Already? There’s still —”

“Would you rather I stayed to listen in on your conversation?”

“Oh. Well, I’m not sure I’m going to ...” He stares at me for a few seconds, then says: “Okay.” I’ve barely taken one step away when he adds: “Hey, Diana. Thanks, huh?”

“Don’t mention it.”

That evening after dinner, I consider calling Belle, but decide against it. She’ll call me soon enough: when she finds out about Chastity and David, at the very latest. My mouth tightens. She’s going to have a fit, and I don’t feel up to dealing with that tonight, especially not after she brushed me off last time.

I call Denise instead. She picks up on the eighth ring, and just from the way that she responds, I can tell that something’s off. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Something’s the matter?”

“No, it’s just ...” She trails off. “Damn, I need a heal ... ah, too late.”

That explains it. “Playing games?”

“Yes. But I just died, so I’ll take a break.” When I don’t respond right away, she adds: “Sorry. I know you hate talking to me while I’m playing.”

“I wouldn’t care what you were doing as long as you could hold down your end of the conversation.”

“Of course. So is your class almost over?”

“Aside from the exam, yes.”

“Have you started studying?”

“Yes, but it’s so easy that it’s almost insulting. Do they really believe that I need a page-long definition of race versus culture?”

“So you won’t be a sociologist, then?” She laughs.

“Most definitely not. Even if the content of the course interested me, the discipline seems to involve far too much contact with far too many other people.”

“I guess the idea is that you have to be part of the society to understand it. Sort of like those researchers who visit those tribes in the Amazon or Africa.”

“There were times at the mission when I felt as though I were in Africa.” I turn to look out the window at the darkening sky. “Have you heard from Chastity recently? Or Belle?”

“Chastity, no, but I did speak to Belle. She wanted me to come over, but it was a work night and I said no. I tried calling her yesterday, no answer. I wrote her an e-mail instead, but she hasn’t written back.”

“That’s not like her.”

“I know. She must be really upset.” Denise pauses. “I don’t feel good about it, but honestly, I don’t think I really did anything wrong either. I mean, I offered to talk about whatever it was with her over the phone, but she didn’t want to. What was I supposed to do?”

“Why are you trying to justify it to me?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. “You’re right. I’m sure that Belle will understand. I’ll just give her time to calm down.”

“Possibly.” I get up and go over to the calendar on my bedroom door. “There’s a meeting next weekend.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. At Belle’s, apparently.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see her then, at the latest. She’d never let a little disagreement spoil the meeting.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Usually, she wouldn’t even let a disagreement happen. What was the matter with her that night?

Denise yawns. “Excuse me,” she says. “I should probably get to bed soon. It’s been tough at work these past couple of days.”

“I don’t know how you do it, forty hours a week. I feel drained when I spend three hours on a paper.”

“It’s not quite the same thing. You get used to it. First one day, then the next, and before you know it, they’re getting a cake for your fifth anniversary ... if you remind them, that is.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”