Wish I Were Here

Chapter 3

W ell, Catherine,” Dr. Gupta says, standing up from the café table and smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve. “Welcome to the department.” Dr. Gupta is a medium-height man of South Asian descent wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He’s about two decades older than me and resembles many other professors here at the university in his pressed Oxford shirt and khakis. You wouldn’t know by looking at him that he’s one of the most revered scholars in his field.

For the last hour, we spoke about computational science and numerical analysis and then segued into discussing a number of topics for a joint research paper. Though he never even cracked a smile, I can tell I’ve nailed this meeting and he’s impressed with my ideas. And I’ve earned his esteem. Last night, I stayed up late reviewing research papers and synthesizing my notes into a spreadsheet. I prepared and worked hard for this. Following Dr. Gupta to a stand, I discreetly check that my blouse is still neatly tucked in the waistband of my borrowed pants. I can’t imagine how this meeting would have gone if I’d shown up late and out of breath with coffee-stained trousers.

I’ll have to ask Luca for Mrs. Goodwin’s apartment number so I can drop off her pants once they’ve been dry-cleaned and thank her again for her help. And since I’m feeling considerably more cheerful about the whole disaster than I was an hour ago, I could also thank Luca for coming up with the idea of switching trousers and getting me to my meeting on time.

Even if he was the reason I was late in the first place.

“Your work is very promising,” Dr. Gupta says. “I generally choose a junior faculty member to mentor each year, and I’d be very interested in collaborating with you on your research.” He holds out a hand, nails neatly trimmed, a sensible leather watch circling his wrist.

A buzz of excitement runs through me, and for a moment, I’m tempted to break out in a Carolina shag right there in the middle of the café. One of the greatest mathematical minds of our generation thinks my work is very promising. Of course, on some level I knew that, or he wouldn’t have hired me in the first place. Maybe it was growing up with one parent who was absent and another whose head was in the clouds, but finding a mentor who admires and supports my hard work feels like a huge victory.

I don’t dance in public, though, and I’m certainly not about to undo all the goodwill this meeting afforded me. So instead of breaking out into a two-step, I calmly shake Dr. Gupta’s hand, and we head out of the café onto the sidewalk.

“Your new office should be ready in the next week or so,” Dr. Gupta informs me as we cross the street at the crosswalk. “The facilities department is completing a few renovations, but it will be freshly painted with new furniture before the start of the fall semester.”

The building that houses the mathematics department is situated right next to the lawn where Luca offered to pick me up, so although the odds that he’ll actually show up on time are a million to one, I continue in that direction so Dr. Gupta and I can keep talking.

“I’m sure the office will be very comfortable,” I say calmly, though inside I’m doing another little jig. The idea of my brand-new office thrills me in the same way that moving into my new apartment in the DeGreco building did a month ago. Although I’m nearing thirty, this is the first time I’ll have any real space of my own.

I’ve worked and gone to school since I was eighteen, but I’ve been helping Dad pay the rent for pretty much my whole adult life, so I never had a chance to move out on my own. Not until this new job came along, giving me a taste of calm and order for the first time in my life. The DeGreco building is occupied mostly by quiet older people, so aside from the absentee doorman and coffee mishaps in the lobby, it’s perfect for me. I have my very own one-bedroom apartment that I organized exactly as I wanted it, and it’s such a thrill to know that when I return home at the end of the day, everything will be just as I left it.

Dr. Gupta stops in front of the building that houses the mathematics department and turns to me. “Human resources should be in touch to have you complete your paperwork and come in for orientation.”

I nod, already one step ahead. “I submitted everything in the online portal last week, and they’ve confirmed they’ll be processing the paperwork soon. My orientation is scheduled for Monday in two weeks.” It felt amazing to cross off that task and know I was one step closer to my goals. I pat the side of my bag where my to-do list is tucked into a pocket.

Nail my first meeting with the department head? Check.

Land myself one of the most accomplished mentors in the field? Check.

“Excellent.” Dr. Gupta gives a curt nod, a motion I’m beginning to learn means high praise from the reserved mathematician. “I should have known you’d be on top of things.”

“Always,” I say, aware that I’m sucking up a little now, but I can’t help it. Even if I started out this meeting in the wrong pants, I’m determined to go into this new job on the right foot.

“I look forward to seeing your draft of the paper we discussed. Get it to me by mid-October so we can submit to Studies in Applied Mathematics in the new year.”

I blink at him. “I—” He’d like me to write the draft? By myself? And by October? That’s less than two months away. I thought this was going to be a collaboration. “Shouldn’t we meet to discuss the analysis first?”

“I have faith in your abilities. Feel free to email me if you have questions.”

I’ve been a graduate assistant in the past; I know the junior faculty and graduate students tend to do the bulk of the heavy lifting when it comes to research and peer-reviewed journal articles. But I guess I didn’t expect Dr. Gupta to hand it all to me. Especially because he’ll probably end up being listed as the first author on any papers we—I mean I —produce.

But I haven’t even started this job yet, and I definitely don’t want to rock the boat. Dr. Gupta has made it clear he respects my work, and maybe this is my first big test as a new faculty member. If I complete this paper in record time and impress my new boss, who knows what kind of impact that could have on my career in the department? Besides, it will be an honor to even have my name listed alongside his.

“Sure,” I say. “Of course. October is absolutely no problem.”

Dr. Gupta gives me his curt nod of approval, but before I have time to feel relieved about that, I hear someone calling me from across the lawn.

“Cat! Cat! Over here.”

Oh no.

I’d know that voice anywhere, and it belongs to the last person I want to see right now.

What is he doing here?

And why isn’t he at work?

And… I start to sweat. Is he coming over here?

I give Dr. Gupta an extra-wide smile. “Thank you again for breakfast,” I say, my voice picking up speed with each syllable. “ Itwasnicetoseeyou ,” I blurt in a single breath. Nobody at my new job knows about my nickname, Cat. So, if I hurry this along, maybe I can get out of here before my new boss realizes that the guy in the middle of the lawn is yelling for—

“Catherine.”

Dr. Gupta’s head lifts at the sound of my full first name, his gaze sliding in the direction of the voice. By the way his eyes widen, I know the moment he spots the middle-aged white man waving at me from across the lawn.

“Excuse me, Catherine.” He clears his throat. “Is it possible that… juggler over there is calling for you ?”

My shoulders droop. This patch of lawn is one of “ that juggler’s” favorite places to show off his skills. Usually, a pack of students gather to watch, calling out encouragement and asking to give the juggling clubs a try for themselves. I should have known better than to walk over here. If I’d noticed him on the lawn earlier, I would have turned around and fled in the other direction. But I was so pleased with Dr. Gupta’s praise of my work that I let my guard down.

Big mistake.

Because now the juggler is making his way in our direction, colorful clubs flying to the sky and falling back to earth like giant pieces of confetti. His tanned arms move so fast they look out of focus as he deftly plucks each club from the air and then flicks it higher again.

“Is he calling for me?” I stall, knowing full well that he is. “Gosh.” I shift my weight, wondering if there’s still time to make a run for it.

The juggler is only steps away now, and one by one, he lets the clubs drop into his hands until he’s standing in front of me, holding them out like two colorful bouquets of flowers. “Want to give them a go, Kitty Cat?”

I back away as if those juggling clubs are on fire. “What? No. ” I’m sure in the span of an instant, my face has turned about every color of those clubs—green with nausea, red with mortification, blue with the sad realization that this is actually happening.

The juggler laughs and tucks all six clubs under his arm, reaching out to hug me. “What a wonderful surprise to see you here, Kitty Cat. I’m absolutely delighted.” He pulls me against him, and my heart does a tiny flip in my chest. Because I know he’s delighted to see me; he’s always delighted to see me. I just wish that, at this moment, I could feel the same way.

“Hi, Dad,” I mumble into his denim overalls as I hug him back. Because what else can I do? Give him a shove and run away? That would only cause even more of a scene in front of my new boss, as if such a thing were possible. My only hope now is that I can somehow make this quick.

When I pull back, the first sight I see is Dr. Gupta blinking over and over, mouth slightly ajar. Maybe it’s the nickname my dad has given me that finally broke reserved Dr. Gupta’s careful composure. Or it’s possibly learning that the circus performer standing in front of us in scuffed green Chuck Taylors peeking out from the rolled cuffs of his overalls, hair tied back in a shaggy man-bun, and, inexplicably, a plastic-flowered lei draped around his neck, provided me with half my genetic material.

“It’s, uh, a surprise to see you here, too,” I murmur. Despite this being one of his favorite haunts, it is a surprise to see Dad here, because I thought he worked the late-morning shift at the grocery store in Shadyside. Why isn’t he there now? “But I don’t want to keep you if you have to get to work. I can call you later.”

Dad shoots me a grin, and the fine lines deepen around his dark eyes and sink into his tanned forehead. “No rush. I don’t have to be anywhere but here.” He gives Dr. Gupta a wink, miming the motion of tossing his clubs in the air. “This is the best job in the world.”

Oh no. That can only mean one thing. My gaze flies to the center of the lawn where Dad was juggling moments ago, and I spot his signature fedora in the grass, lying upside down next to his tote bag. A handwritten sign leans against the hat.

THESE TIPS DON’T LIE

He’s out here juggling to make money.

What about his job in the grocery store? My chest burns, and I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears. But I sense my new boss watching me, so I paste on a pleasant smile as if this is all just a bit of fun and not my total nightmare.

Dr. Gupta clears his throat, and I realize he expects an introduction. So much for getting this over with quickly.

“Um, Dr. Gupta, this is—my father, Andrew Lipton. Dad, this is Dr. Gupta. He’s the dean of the mathematics department where I’ve just been hired as a professor .” I tilt my head in a meaningful gesture that I hope gives him the hint that I’m in the middle of an important meeting, and please let’s move things along. But Dad doesn’t get hints. He would never imagine that this was anything but a bit of luck that we ran into each other.

“Dr. G., so nice to meet you,” Dad says buoyantly. Genuinely delighted, as always. “Call me Andy.” He reaches out and pumps Dr. Gupta’s hand up and down. “I’m sure you know how lucky you are to have snagged Kitty Cat for your math department.”

I press my hands to my temples.

“Of course,” Dr. Gupta says, subtly trying to pull his hand from Dad’s. When that doesn’t work, he screws up his face and gives it a good yank, finally dislodging himself from Dad’s overwhelming enthusiasm and stumbling backward. I reach out to keep him from falling in the grass, but luckily, he rights himself before I have to manhandle my new employer.

“Your daughter has a brilliant mathematical mind,” Dr. Gupta says when he’s finally composed himself. “Her development of methods for solving hyperbolic equations is going to make a huge impact on the field of computational analysis someday. But I’m sure you knew that.”

A brilliant mathematical mind! A huge impact! I flush with pride. If we were anywhere else right now, this would be one of the highlights of my career. Instead, I’m just hoping to get out of here before Dr. Gupta changes his mind and takes it all back.

“You don’t have to tell me that Cat is smart.” Dad gives me a wide grin. “I knew that from the moment she figured out how to change her own diaper when she was two. She put the stinky one in the diaper pail and everything.”

I close my eyes. Please tell me he didn’t. Please tell me none of this is happening. But when I peek through my lashes, Dr. Gupta is still standing next to me, his spine straight, eyebrows raised, and Dad is still talking.

“Cat’s always been into math and numbers and calculating the probability of something-something.” Dad shakes his head, and a few locks of his silver-streaked brown hair slide out of his man-bun, sticking out by his temples and making him look slightly unhinged. “She didn’t get it from me.”

I definitely didn’t get my mathematical brain from Dad, or my desire for organization, order, or punctuality. I have no idea if I got it from my mom. And just like it always does, my heart gives a tiny lurch at the thought of the parent I’ve never met. Growing up with Dad’s freewheeling, nonchalant attitude toward rules and conventions, I’ve spent most of my life feeling like a stick-in-the-mud for wanting to be on time to school and pay the bills before they were due. And the more Dad lost job after job, apartment after apartment, the more I dug in. And the more out of place I felt.

But I’ve always wondered if maybe there’s someone else out in the world who gets what it feels like to have her chest squeeze when she walks into a disorganized apartment. Someone who tucks schedules and lists into her bag because they help her to feel in control. Someone who would rather be an hour early than five minutes late.

Dr. Gupta murmurs something noncommittal, and I need to focus because Dad is still talking.

“Yep, definitely didn’t get it from me.” Dad laughs and gives Dr. Gupta a nudge. “I always thought an algae-bra was something a mermaid wears, if you know what I mean.”

“ Okay ,” I jump in, mortification finally galvanizing me into action. But I’m sensing it’s far too late. There’s no coming back from this. “I think Dr. Gupta gets the picture.”

“Yes, I—I really should be going.” Dr. Gupta’s voice is polite but clipped. “Andy, it was very nice to meet you.” Lies. All lies. The only reason this meeting could have possibly been nice for Dr. Gupta is if he’s looking for an amusing anecdote to share with his colleagues while his coffee brews in the department kitchenette. But I’m afraid Dr. Gupta doesn’t have enough of a sense of humor to find even this funny. “I have a faculty meeting to prepare for.”

“Nice to meet you, Doc,” Dad says, reaching out his hand again.

Dr. Gupta pretends he doesn’t see it and turns to me instead. “Catherine.”

I wonder if there’s any way to salvage this. “Thank you again for breakfast. I’m really looking forward to working on that paper we discussed earlier.” My eyes search Dr. Gupta’s face for signs that he’s not as alarmed by this whole interaction as I’m suspecting. “ October ,” I add. “I’ll have it to you then.” He likes my brilliant mind, after all. Surely he won’t hold it against me that my father is essentially a clown with no filter.

But even on a good day, Dr. Gupta is impossible to read, and this is not a good day. He silently heads toward the mathematics building.

I turn to my dad. “What are you doing here?” I hiss.

“I told you. I’m working.”

“What happened to the Harvest Market?”

Dad waves dismissively. “They were so stuffy. The manager got mad at me for juggling a customer’s oranges. Who hates juggling? It’s like hating kittens. And he was so rude when I balanced a carrot on my nose.” He throws his hands up in the air. “For the record, the customers loved it.”

I press my hands to my eyes, a headache coming on. Of course they loved it. The customers always love it.

The truth is that my dad is actually a really talented clown. I don’t mean the kind that wears a red nose and big shoes. My dad dresses in fairly normal, if somewhat wacky, attire. But he can do all kinds of tricks, like juggling fire, spinning a half dozen Hula-Hoops on all of his limbs at once, and walking on stilts. He can even perform tricks while balancing on a slackline hovering above the ground or riding on a unicycle. But aside from a few kids’ birthday parties, the Renaissance Faire, and Burning Man… oh, and his hat on the ground over there… the clown industry is pretty limited in terms of financial opportunities. And while the customers love it, the managers at Dad’s various short-lived jobs tend to object when their employee is tossing burgers and french fries into the air instead of bagging them up and sending them out the drive-through window.

“You promised you’d try at this job. You promised it would stick.”

“I know, Kitty Cat. But it’s just not me. That grocery store was slowly sucking my soul. Besides”—he brightens—“I have a few things in the works.”

He always has a few things in the works, and rarely do they pan out. The grocery store job was a steady income and a sure bet. But it sounds like it’s too late. That job went up like the flames at the end of Dad’s juggling sticks. I gaze out across the lawn at my dad’s hat still sitting there. “I guess you should get back to it before someone steals your money,” I say with a resigned sigh.

Beyond the hat and the lawn, out on the street bisecting the university’s campus, Luca’s car pulls up next to the curb. Unbelievable. He actually showed. I check my watch:

10:01 a.m. And only a minute late. Luca climbs out of the car and stands up so he can look at me across the hood. He gives me a sideways grin and a wave. After the morning I’ve had, I’m strangely happy to see someone smiling at me.

“I should go. That’s my ride.”

Dad turns around to see who I’m looking at, and when he catches a glimpse of Luca and the Town Car, his eyebrows rise. I get it. Luca looks more like Dad’s friends, with his two days of facial scruff, tattoos, and mischievous smile, while I tend to run in the Dr. Gupta crowd.

I reach over to give Dad a hug. “Let’s talk more about this at dinner on Sunday.” Maybe then I can convince him to get another job.