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As awkward as it was, I texted Professor Evory to tell him I’d overslept and–consequently–had to cancel our lunch plans. It was the polite thing to do, but given how Erika had reacted to the news that I spent the morning in bed, I was nervous to give it to him. But it had to be done, and I could only hope that it didn’t push the point too hard.
And to his credit, he didn’t. Though he had something else on his mind.
How are your lungs? he asked in his response text.
Which was not the question I was expecting, but it was a way to ask if I was feeling okay while still hitting at his lingering concern about my breathing. It had been about two months, but he still had not forgotten the mishap in the train station parking lot.
I wished he had, but my thoughts on the matter were not relevant.
They’re okay, I said. Not why I overslept though.
He hesitated, or so I imagined. I had quickly responded to his text, so I couldn’t imagine he was that far away from his phone and unaware that my answer had come in, meaning that a delay in his response was likely deliberate, but then again, I couldn’t be sure. Texting’s an asynchronistic form of communication. He would get to my message when he got to it and not a moment before.
How’s the traveling been? he finally asked.
I couldn’t tell if he was referencing the trip to see Sven or my intention to go down to St. Louis to check something in their zoo for one of the projects I was editing (that I had used a family vlogger’s YouTube video to get a sense of). Either way, the question must have been at the forefront of his mind. Undoubtedly, he had been waiting to ask me that at our lunch, but with said appointment canceled, it would have to come up right then.
It’s been okay, I replied.
Did Chris go with you to see your father’s friend?
I knew why he asked. I winced. No. He offered, but I didn’t want him to.
Professor Evory didn’t ask why. I didn’t have an answer if he had. Maybe he knew that. Either way, I appreciated the lack of a follow up.
He seems like a great guy, Professor Evory did add.
That didn’t need to be said, I could tell. But he felt compelled to say something, I could also tell. He didn’t want to fully cut me loose by letting the conversation end.
He is, I agreed. And he and I mesh well together.
That’s important in a relationship.
I didn’t want to be cut adrift either, I realized. My thumbs hovered over the screen ready to type out another message despite there being nothing left to say. Had we met for lunch, we would have been bound together by the food on our plates or the rhythm of the meal. We would have had the assurances of each other’s presence without the need to perform some extra duty like maintaining a dying conversation.
But we weren’t at lunch together. I had screwed that up.
Did I tell you that another one of my dad’s friends wants to meet up? I asked.
I knew the answer. The email had just come the day before, a couple of hours before Chris arrived. I had barely had a chance to get my bearings. There was no room in that limited window of time to tell Professor Evory. Also, I hadn’t wanted to bother him with something so trivial.
No, he replied. Is Chris coming with you?
This friend is actually coming to campus on Saturday. For the football game, I explained.
So you’ll have a home court advantage?
I hope so. He’s a psychoanalyst, I think. Makes me a bit nervous, to be honest.
I regretted that confession the moment I had said it. My apprehension was nearly a confession that the therapy-thing hadn’t come together. And so, as Professor Evory worked on his response, I sat in the hallway with a deep-seated dread.
But instead of picking at my sores, Professor Evory asked, How did he and your dad meet?
With that message came a wave of relief. The tide swept me up, and I submitted myself to the indifferent ocean.
Church, I replied, parroting my mother’s explanation. The dude’s actually my godfather.
And you don’t know him?
We moved to AZ and lost touch.
The response was delayed again, and even if I could explain the wait away, I still felt a surge of fear coursing through my veins. My wandering mind found fodder for that fire, even though said fire was eating me away, and one would think that my own mind would want to do something to protect me.
I knew Professor Evory had nothing on his schedule. It had been cleared for us to get lunch, and with the cancellation, the slot was open. He wasn’t ordering food, I knew that. He brought his lunch to work every day, and the plan was to eat out on a picnic bench rather than taking up space in a campus cafe. So this delay was also deliberate, I could assume, but I wasn’t sure why. I would think it was because he was picking apart what I said, taking it bit by bit and examining each syllable. And though I did not know what he was looking for, I knew what he would find.
It was only a matter of time before he saw what I was so desperate to hide. At the thought, I tried to swallow my nerves only to find they were a lump wedged in my throat. I pulled myself up off the floor where the call with Erika had left me. It wasn’t a sign of progress, per say, but with the fear and dread came a wave of electricity that lit up my muscles and spurred me on. But once I got to my feet, I wasn’t sure what else to do. I had the urge to move about, to do something, but no real direction as to what that should be.
Chris was still sleeping in the other room. His snoring was growing softer, and I took that as a sign that he would soon wake up. And when he did, coffee would likely sound good to him. Or so I could assume. It was something we both loved to drink, especially when we first woke up.
I started towards the kitchen as Professor Evory’s message came in. It just seems like he should have tried something to stay in contact. As your godfather.
There was some relief with that message. Professor Evory was judging my negligent godfather and not me.
So with a sigh, I rested my arms on the kitchen counter and typed out a reply. Maybe. But I don’t think godparents are as important of a role as they used to be.
That felt like a half-lie. In Filipino culture, godparents were like extra moms/dads. They had duties and responsibilities before God to make sure you became a decent person. More importantly, they were also often relatives, so they took the assignment seriously. Stephen was white, however. (Mom was pretty sure he was English.) So he wouldn’t have felt that way. To him, falling out of touch with a godchild and her parents–despite that parent being a proclaimed friend–was the norm. While Stephen probably should have been there to help me through it, it just sucked that my dad had died. None of that could be helped, or so he would likely say.
You’re going to meet him in a public place, right? Professor Evory then asked.
I could hear him advising me against bringing Stephen to my somewhat secluded office without him directly saying it. I appreciated the concern. I appreciated him.
We’re meeting at the coffee place in the student center, I explained. It’s got a lot of seating. It will be a little cramped but whatever.
A bit cramped meant plenty of witnesses, we both silently understood. Professor Evory could be content with that. Maybe he would have preferred that Chris also come with me. If so, Professor Evory could have argued that my godfather should want to meet my partner and see for himself that Chris was a fine, upstanding young man who would happily defend me from anyone who met up with me under false pretenses or with malicious intention.
But he didn’t. It would have been a bit heavy handed. And Professor Evory did trust me, not the world with me but me specifically.
I’ll be careful, I promised.
I’ll be on campus, he replied. At the Saturday Scholars series in Quinn-Moore Hall. Text me if you need me.
He likely thought I would just know what he meant when he said ‘need,’ but frankly, I didn’t know what he was talking about. I couldn’t imagine a problem would come up that I would think of bringing to him. Maybe he was willing to help or even able to, but I knew I wouldn’t actually do it. I would tell myself that I didn’t need to waste his time like that.
But I couldn’t tell him that. Instead I said, Chris will also be around.
I thought the remark would bring Professor Evory some comfort. It meant I had a cavalry that I could call if things did go bad. But with his fears assured, the conversation drifted off. He closed it with the same point he always did: if you aren’t okay, please tell me. Which seemed to say that he hadn’t believed me when I said I overslept for no real reason, but regardless, he’d said it so many times to me that it felt no different than the standard send off. In fact, it was standard for him.
As I closed out of my messaging app, I heard stirring in the bedroom. My heart leapt.
“Babe?” Chris called out, audibly surprised that I wasn’t there with him.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I responded, like nothing was wrong.
And nothing was wrong, I would have been quick to say. Ignore that I had a mental breakdown this morning. That was a few minutes ago. I was fine once I’d had a chance to pull myself together.
Or that’s what I would say if he asked.