Wish I Were Here

Chapter 7

L uca follows me back downstairs to the lobby like an overeager puppy, lapping at my heels and barking questions. “So wait a minute. The human resources lady really accused you of not existing?”

“She said I made up my dissertation. My dissertation. Can you believe it?” Somehow this feels like the worst offense. My dissertation took me three years, about a hundred sleepless nights, and a thousand tears. My back still aches from those uncomfortable library chairs I practically lived in while I was researching and writing it. And Helen just tried to delete it all.

“So where are you going with those?” Luca nods at the paperwork in my hand. “How are you going to prove you really are real?”

“I’m going to the Social Security office. I’m sure it’s all just some sort of a silly mix-up. I’ll give them my paperwork, and they’ll find me in the system. By this afternoon, everything will be cleared up, and I’ll be on my way to the faculty luncheon like none of this ever happened.” My words might sound confident, but this entire day I’ve felt like I’m trying to solve for x , when y and z are a mystery.

Luca must hear the waver in my voice, because he reaches out a hand and gently touches my forearm. “Listen, Catherine, let me drive you to the Social Security office.”

I hesitate. On the one hand, the Social Security office is all the way across town. It will take me two buses and probably an hour to get there. On the other hand…

“What about the elevator?”

Luca sighs. “What if I promised that Dante is on his way over here right now to fix the elevator?”

At that moment, a tall, dark-haired white man pushes open the front door and walks in. “Hey, cuz,” he says, crossing the lobby to give Luca some sort of elaborate handshake that ends in a one-armed hug. When he releases Luca’s hand and turns to me, I can see the resemblance. He’s broader than Luca but has the same dark eyes and almost-black hair swooping over his forehead.

“How’s it going?” He hitches his chin at me. “I’m Dante.”

“Catherine,” I say, giving him a regular handshake. So, it turns out that Dante, the elevator guy, is Luca’s cousin? He’s wearing coveralls and well-worn work boots, and it looks like that might be his truck with the ladder parked in front of the building. But is he actually a licensed repairman, or did Luca just hire him because he’s family?

“Thanks for coming over again,” Luca says.

“I can’t believe Mrs. Hartman is at it already.”

Luca shrugs. “It’s their anniversary.”

Dante nods like this makes perfect sense.

I look back and forth between them. Someday, I’m going to get to the bottom of this woman who is apparently fiddling with the elevator. Maybe she just needs someone to stop by to tell her to knock it off. I get the feeling Luca is too nice for that. Beyond the front desk, I spot another bike in the mail room. He lets people in this building get away with everything. But today I have my own mess to clean up.

“Thanks again,” Luca says to Dante before turning to me. “Let’s get you to the Social Security office.”

Thirty minutes later, I shift in my hard plastic chair and glance from the backs of the heads lined up in front of me to the paper number in my hand: 150.

The light-up board above the counter flashes from 111 to 112. Beneath it, several workers calmly type on their keyboards, occasionally glancing at their screens without any sort of urgency.

I am going to be here all day.

Luca wandered off about ten minutes ago, and now he’s chatting with a pretty, dark-haired white woman by the vending machine. My frustration grows every time I glance in their direction. I thought he was coming to offer me moral support, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Luca is an equal-opportunity flirt who directs his charm at young people at the Social Security office in addition to older ones at the DeGreco.

I turn back to the light-up board. The number flips to 113. I sigh.

From across the room, I hear Luca call my name. “Catherine.” He and the woman are making their way over to me. “Over here.” He waves me from my seat.

I stand and squeeze past the older man sitting next to me so I can meet them in the aisle.

“This is Ellie.” Luca gestures at the woman, and she’s even more attractive up close. “My cousin,” he adds.

Another cousin. I don’t want to think about why I’m relieved to hear they’re related. “Hello.”

The woman laughs and gives Luca a nudge. “I hope I’m not your cousin, because that time you kissed me would have been highly inappropriate.”

“Oh.” My spine straightens. Okay, so definitely not related.

“Ellie is my grandpa’s brother’s second wife’s son’s kid.”

I blink, trying to add all that up. Fractal geometry is easier to understand.

“So not blood-related, but she’s basically family.” Luca’s dark eyes lock on mine. “When we kissed, we were in fifth grade.”

I don’t know why he felt the need to add that last part. Luca doesn’t owe me an explanation. Even more confusing is why I’m stupidly glad to hear he hadn’t been kissing Ellie recently. “It sounds like you have a lot of family.”

Ellie’s laugh is light, sparkling. “When you start paying attention, you’ll find Morellis all over the city.”

Luca shrugs. “My grandpa had eight siblings and seven children. We’re a dynasty.”

My eyes widen. “Wow.” Growing up, it was always just Dad and me. His parents passed away when I was two. Apparently, they were supportive of Dad and involved in my life, but I don’t remember them. And of course, I don’t know anything about my mom’s side of the family.

“More like the Mafia.” Ellie laughs. “ Well connected.” I’m not sure whether to take her seriously or not, but at the next moment, she’s waving toward the front counter. “And speaking of, let me hook you up with Tonya in booth two. If anyone can help you sort this out, she can. Come on.” Ellie turns and heads across the room.

Luca moves to follow her, but I hesitate, smoothing the crumpled number in my hand and glancing at the rows of people sitting in uncomfortable chairs and waiting for their turn.

“Catherine.” I feel Luca’s breath on my cheek as he leans over to whisper in my ear. An involuntary shiver runs through me. “You’re worrying about the rules, aren’t you?”

“It’s just that I’m not sure it would be fair to cut the line…”

Luca takes my arm and pulls me toward him, backing up slowly as he goes, and we shuffle a couple of feet toward Tonya’s booth. “I promise it’s okay to let your hair down this one time. Nobody will ever have to know.”

My face is only inches from his chest, and I’m momentarily distracted by his citrusy scent as he shuffles me another couple of feet. “But—”

“Don’t you have some sort of faculty something or other to get to?”

At the word faculty I snatch my arm from Luca’s. “Yes.” I check my watch. “Oh my God. The faculty luncheon starts in an hour.”

“Then let’s get moving, darling.”

Unfortunately, Tonya isn’t a Morelli, and she seems to be the only woman on earth who is immune to Luca’s charms. After Ellie explained my situation and—with a hug for Luca—headed back across the room to her office, Tonya coldly took my Social Security card and has been silently typing numbers and clicking buttons on her screen ever since.

When Luca interrupted her about four minutes ago to flash her a smile and ask how it was going, Tonya grunted at him and kept typing. When he tried again two minutes later, she ignored him altogether.

I rub my sweaty palms on my now-wrinkled pencil skirt. Tonya’s eyes narrow, and her mouth twists to the right. She clicks a few more buttons. I shift from one foot to the other. Luca mirrors my movements. Tonya clicks a few more buttons. Her mouth twists to the left. I shift again.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “ Am I in there? ”

“Nope.” She slides the card back across the counter.

“Nope?” I look to Luca, who raises an eyebrow, and then back to Tonya. “But that’s impossible.” I slide the card back across the counter in her direction. “Can you please check it again?”

Tonya takes my card, types the numbers one by one into her computer, clicks the mouse, and looks back up at me. “Like I said. You’re not in here.”

I clutch the counter in front of me. “But how is that possible? I have a Social Security card right there in your hand. Someone in this agency issued it to me.”

Tonya flips the card over, stares at it for a minute, and then flips it back. “Guess it could be a really good fake.”

“ It’s not a fake .” I can hear that hysterical tinge around the edges of my voice, similar to when I was talking to Helen in HR. But Tonya doesn’t look concerned that I might snap. She looks bored.

“Tonya.” Luca draws out her name, saying it in that same tone he used to call me darling earlier, and that’s how I know he’s about to really turn on the charm. Not that hearing him call me darling charmed me. Absolutely not. But hopefully it will work on Tonya. “My friend is clearly struggling here, so if you could share some of your wisdom and experience and let us know how to prove she exists, we would really appreciate it.”

Tonya stares at him for a moment. He smiles. She stares. His grin widens. She finally cracks. “Fine.” Score one for Luca’s charm. She turns to me. “Do you have a government-issued ID?”

I dig through my wallet and slide my driver’s license across the desk.

Tonya types some more information into the computer. “Nope. You’re not in here.”

“That is simply not possible.”

Tonya shrugs. “Sorry. According to official government records, you don’t exist.”

“But—” I stand there in stunned silence, my mouth agape. “How—” I don’t even know what to say.

Luca steps forward. “Okay, look. Catherine obviously exists. She’s standing right here. She has”—he waves a hand at the cards lined up on Tonya’s side of the counter—“these documents.”

“Fakes,” Tonya mutters under her breath.

I gasp. “ They are not fakes. ”

Luca grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze under the counter. It’s going to be okay , that squeeze seems to say. “What do you recommend Catherine should do to prove that she really is who she says she is?”

“Well.” Tonya considers this, and I hold my breath. “I suppose if you have a birth certificate, you could try to get a new government-issued ID card to prove that you’re really who you say you are. From there, we can start the process of tracking down your Social Security information.”

“I have one! It’s right here.” I lay my birth certificate on the counter and wipe a speck of dust from its clear plastic cover.

Tonya picks it up, flips it over, and then quickly flips it back. “This isn’t your birth certificate.”

“What do you mean it’s not my birth certificate? It says my name, and birth date, and place of birth right there on the page.” I’m breathing hard now, my heart pounding in my chest.

“This is a very good copy of a birth certificate. You’ll need the real thing.” Tonya taps her finger on the corner of the page where an official-looking seal is stamped. “Your real birth certificate will have an embossed stamp. It will be textured. This one is just a print. It’s probably a photocopy.”

I stare at that flat, black-and-white seal, and my hands begin to shake. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Okay.” Luca rests a hand on my shoulder. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” Tonya shrugs and goes back to pecking at her keyboard. Luca gently tugs me to the side of the desk. “Do you have your birth certificate at home? The real one?”

“No.”

“Okay…” Luca cocks his head. “Where could it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why doesn’t anyone seem to believe me?”

“It’s just… well. Out of everyone I know, you’re the most…” He trails off.

“What? I’m the most what ?”

Luca clears his throat. “ Organized. You’re the most organized person I know.”

But I know what he’s thinking. He stood in the middle of my apartment earlier today. I know it wasn’t lost on him that I line up the spines of my books so none of them stick out farther than the others, I color coordinate the dishes in my display cabinet, and I alphabetize the spices in the rack in my kitchenette. “You weren’t going to say organized. You were going to say something like picky , or fussy , or… anal retentive .” Luca’s apartment is probably complete chaos. Maybe that’s why he sleeps on the floor of the lobby. Because he can’t find his bed.

Two pink spots appear on his cheeks. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I was going to say capable and competent , actually. But now that you mention it, you do have a color-coded filing system with printed labels. So why can’t you find your birth certificate?”

“Well,” I huff. “My dad didn’t have color-coded files. I found that copy of my birth certificate in a box of his papers when I was applying to college, along with my Social Security card.” I hold out my hands, palms up. “This was all he had, and I thought it was real. I never needed the embossed stamp, I guess. I just submitted an electronic copy for all the universities and jobs I applied to.”

“Do you think your dad has the real thing?”

I remember stumbling on that box containing my most important paperwork. In addition to my Social Security card and copy of my birth certificate, that box held—among other things—a bunch of CDs by bands from the ’90s, a single black Converse sneaker, and a rubber chicken. “I suppose it’s possible. But good luck finding it in his messy apartment.”

“Maybe you can order a new one.” He turns to Tonya. “Can she order a new birth certificate?”

“Sure.”

I lean into the desk. “Do you know how I’d do that?”

“Not really.”

“Can you… look it up?”

Tonya gives me a stare and then slowly lowers her eyes to the keyboard. She pecks out the letters with one finger. “G-O-O-G-L-E.” Her eyes flit back up to me. “Ever hear of it?” Then she goes back to typing—presumably my question—and then hits Enter with a flourish.

“Okay, let’s see here. Uh-huh. Okay… government-issued ID… uh-huh. Got it.” She looks up at me. “To get a new birth certificate, you need to apply using a valid government-issued ID.” Tonya slides my driver’s license across the counter. “Like this one.” She pauses, and then says, “Only not a fake.”

“For the hundred millionth time, this one is not a fake.”

Tonya leans over the counter and waves at the policeman standing guard by the door. “Bill. Hey, Bill. Come here a second.”

Bill strolls over, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his police uniform right next to the gun strapped to his belt. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Can you look this woman up for me? She claims she’s in the system, but I can’t find her anywhere in mine.” Tonya waves at me to give Bill my ID. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with yours.” She shrugs. “Or maybe it’s a fake.”

I open my mouth to object, but Luca squeezes my hand again.

I slide my ID over to Bill, and he takes a look at the front and then flips it over.

“I’ll need to run this through in my car. I’ll be right back.” He heads outside.

I check my university email while we wait, hoping for a note from Helen that says she cleared things up in HR. But the system must be experiencing problems because my messages won’t load.

A minute later, Bill returns. “Where did you get this?” he demands, waving my card.

“What do you mean? I got it at the DMV on Smithfield Street.”

“That’s impossible. There’s no record of a…” He squints at the card and back at me. “Catherine Lipton. This is the best fake I’ve ever seen. And I used to be a bouncer at a college bar. I’ve seen it all.”

I take a deep breath, but before I can reply, Luca leans in. “It’s not a fake.”

“If it were real, it would show up in my system.”

I wave my hands at my— admittedly wrinkled —blouse and skirt. “Do I look like someone who walks around with a fake ID?”

Bill’s gaze skates down to my feet and back up. “Criminals come in all shapes and sizes, ma’am.”

Criminals? And then things go from bad to worse when he reaches for my arm. “I think we need to go down to the precinct to sort this out.”

I stumble backward in my heels to get away from him. I’d kept them on in the hopes that I’d make it back to the university this afternoon. This is an absolute nightmare. How am I going to explain to Dr. Gupta that I missed the faculty luncheon because I was in lockup? My back hits Luca’s chest, and he reaches in front of me, wrapping a protective arm across my shoulders as if he’s going to wrestle me away from Bill if he has to. I relax against him, just for a second, because I do feel protected. And like I’m not entirely on my own.

“Is there a problem here?” comes a deep voice from behind us. “This rascal giving you trouble, Bill?”

Luca and I spin around to face another police officer. Did he really just call me a rascal? I’m honestly not sure if that’s better or worse than being called a criminal. But no, I think he must mean Luca, because Luca releases me with a “Hey, man!” directed at the officer, and now they’re hugging. I don’t even know what to say about that.

Bill nods in my direction. “You know these people, Marco?”

“I know this guy,” Marco says, giving Luca’s shoulder a shake so hard, I imagine his teeth rattling. “This is my nephew Elbow.”

I guess there really are Morellis all over town. But then I register what Uncle Marco said. My gaze flies to Luca, and I mouth, “Elbow?”

Luca shakes his head, mouthing, “Long story,” in return. His face flushes crimson, and for all the times he’s turned on the charm, it is a hundred times more appealing to see him flustered like this. I look away because the last thing I need is to find Luca appealing.

At that moment, Ellie pops into view, and we’re gathering quite a crowd now. “Did we get things sorted out?” Her gaze drifts to the police officers. “Is there a problem?”

Bill holds up my ID. “This woman is walking around with a fake ID.”

Uncle Marco’s weathered face turns to me, smile gone, eyes narrowed like a movie mob boss who is about to order my disappearance. “Is this true?” he demands.

I am going to jail for sure. And then I remember Ellie joking… or not joking… that Luca’s family is the Mafia.

Or maybe I’ll end up in the river.

“ No. It’s not true.”

“Luca?” he asks.

Luca slides next to me. “This is my friend Catherine. It seems that there’s some sort of a glitch in the system, but her ID isn’t fake. If she were a criminal, she wouldn’t be here trying to sort it out. I can personally vouch for her.”

A warmth spreads across me at the conviction in Luca’s voice. He’s certainly under no obligation to stand up for me, but it means a lot that he is. I just hope he doesn’t end up a mile downstream in cement boots along with me.

Uncle Marco takes the ID and holds it up to the light. “Well, Bill, it looks real to me. And if my nephew says this girl is on the up-and-up, then she is.”

I relax, and my shoulder bumps Luca’s. He grabs my hand again, and I hold on.

Bill begins grumbling, and from across the counter, Tonya—my nemesis only moments ago—swoops in. Maybe Luca’s charm really did work on her earlier. Or maybe it’s the way she’s eyeing Uncle Marco like he’s a tasty sandwich. “Oh, come on, Bill,” she says. “Let the girl go. She doesn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s not a threat to society.”

I gasp, opening my mouth to object. Not the sharpest tool in the shed? I have a PhD in mathematics, for the love of Pythagoras. But Luca tightens his grip on mine, and my extraordinary computational brain gets the hint that it might be better to keep all that to myself.

“Fine,” Bill says, and I get the feeling he doesn’t like everyone ganging up on him. Or maybe he’s jealous of the way Tonya is fluttering her eyelashes at Uncle Marco. He leans over, gathering the rest of my paperwork off the counter, and shoves it at me. “You can go, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Catherine Lipton. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

“But—I still don’t exist. I need to sort this out.”

Bill takes a menacing step toward me. “It’s not too late for me to take you into the precinct.”

Luca backs up a step, dragging me with him. “Come on, Catherine,” he murmurs in my ear, and I can feel his chest vibrate against my shoulder. “You’re not going to last ten minutes in jail. Let’s go. We’ll figure something out.”

We will? I’m not quite sure how Luca, of all people, ended up as my partner in crime. Or why I’m so relieved about it.

Outside in the parking lot, I slump against the Town Car. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Luca leans next to me. “You really have disappeared from the system.”

I close my eyes. Sorting this out feels impossible. The bureaucracy of government agencies is a nightmare to wade through even when you actually have the right paperwork. Since I don’t, people think I’m some sort of catfish or criminal who invented Catherine Lipton for nefarious purposes. “Well,” I say, opening my eyes to roll my head in Luca’s direction. “At least if I get hauled off to jail, it won’t end up on my permanent record… because I don’t have one.”

He crosses an arm over his flat abdomen as a sharp laugh escapes from his lips. “You should have seen your face when Officer Bill got involved. Was that the first time someone threatened to arrest you?”

It wasn’t, actually. Growing up with Dad, there were all sorts of opportunities for run-ins with the law. Like that time we ran out of gas money on the drive home from Burning Man and Dad set up his show on a street corner in Lincoln, Nebraska. He was unaware that it’s illegal to loiter in front of the state capitol. And there was that dance party in a warehouse in the South Side. Shocking nobody, the organizers didn’t secure a permit, so when Dad juggled fire and almost burned the building down, the firefighters and police had something to say about it. But Luca definitely doesn’t need to know about my almost-criminal history. He went to bat for me with his uncle Marco, promising I was an upstanding citizen.

The thought of Uncle Marco reminds me of something important.

I nudge him with my arm. “If I’d been hauled off to the slammer, would you have bailed me out, Elbow ?”

Luca’s cheeks turn pink, and seeing him flustered is as charming as it was the first time around. “I was a skinny kid,” he says defensively. “All knees, and—you know.”

“ Elbows ,” I say, and suddenly, the laughter comes over me like a wave. I press my hand to my mouth to hold it back, but the more I try to stop, the more I lose control of it. I bend forward to suck enough air into my lungs, shoulders shaking. And finally, all the tension I’ve been holding since Helen told me I wasn’t on her list begins to ease.

Luca stands next to me, shaking his head, his expression a cross between amusement and exasperation. Finally, I pull myself together and stand up straight.

“Sorry,” I mutter, wiping my eyes as one last chuckle escapes. “Elbow,” I can’t help sliding in at the end.

Luca sighs. “The dangers of having family all over town,” he mutters. “Someone inevitably pops in the moment you’re standing next to a woman you’re trying to impress and calls you Elbow.”

My smile slowly fades. Is he referring to me as the woman he’s trying to impress? I was the one standing next to him, after all. I suppose it’s possible he meant Tonya, but I’m pretty sure she clocks in at about twice his age. My mind flits back to that moment of connection we had in my apartment earlier. Both moments in my apartment, actually, because that kiss last month definitely felt like a connection. At least it did for me. But I was never sure about Luca. Is it possible he’s attracted to me?

And then I remember that’s when Ellie appeared.

“Well,” I say primly, pushing off the car and moving away from Luca. “Thank you for defending me back there.”

“Of course.” His expression says that he’s not sure what to make of me. Which is understandable, because I’m not sure what to make of me, either.

“And thank you for the ride over here. I guess I should go home and figure out what to do next.” Since I have no idea what that is, I open my purse and dig through it, looking for—I don’t know what. Something that will make me feel in control of this situation and of my ragged emotions.

And then Luca is standing in front of me again. “Catherine,” he says. “This is a lot. Let me help you. We’ll sort this out together.”

“Really?” I tilt my head back and meet his eyes. And then I can’t help myself. “Why?”

Luca looks at me for a long moment. And then he shrugs. “Why not?”

And that probably sums it up. Luca isn’t thinking too deeply about this situation, or about me. It’s just something to do. He strikes me as someone who enjoys an adventure. And my lost identity is more interesting than manning the front desk.

But for most of my life, it’s been “me” sorting things out. I admit I like the sound of “we.” If Luca hadn’t been here today, I might have ended up in jail when Bill and Uncle Marco stepped in. I don’t really know what to do next. So, as shaky as I feel about it, I can’t bring myself to say no to Luca’s offer of help.

“It sounds to me,” Luca says, “the first thing you need to do is find the original copy of your birth certificate. You said you weren’t sure if your dad has it. Can you ask him?”

I remember the box with the rubber chicken. We moved so many times, packed and unpacked so many boxes, Dad probably doesn’t even know what he has. “It’s possible, but it could be anywhere.”

“Well, at least it’s a place to start.” Luca pushes away from the car. “Does he live nearby? I can take you there now.”

At that moment, my stomach growls so loudly, it could be heard across the parking lot. I slap a hand to my abdomen, and Luca cocks his head. “When was the last time you ate something?”

And that’s when I remember the faculty luncheon. “Oh my God, Luca. I’m supposed to be at lunch with my new boss and the other people in my department. It starts in ten minutes. What are they going to think if I’m a no-show?” I make a run for the passenger side of the car and yank the door open. “Can you take me over there?”

Ten minutes later, Luca pulls the Town Car in front of the University Club. I flip down the sun visor and slide open the flap to check my face in the mirror. My makeup wore off hours ago, and after sweating up eight flights of stairs in my apartment building, my hair has gone frizzy. I pull a tube of lipstick and a comb from my bag and clean up as best I can. “Do I look okay? Am I at least passable?”

Luca is silent for a moment as he gazes across the center console at me. “Catherine, you always look…” He hesitates, his gaze roaming over me, lingering on my mouth before sliding to meet my eyes. The air in the car grows heavy. A beat passes, and then another. And behind us, a car honks, reminding me we’re blocking the lane.

Luca shifts toward the windshield. “You always look just like a math professor.”

I don’t know why that disappoints me, because a math professor is exactly what I want to look like. I grab my bag and hop out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nods. “I’ll meet you on the lawn over there in an hour?”

“You really don’t have to, you know. I mean, you’ve been driving me around all day. And I’m sure you have other things to do. The elevator…” I trail off.

“You saw for yourself that Dante’s taking care of the elevator. And we’ve got your birth certificate to track down.”

There’s that we again. “Okay. Thanks, Luca.”

Inside the University Club, I locate the banquet room where the department is hosting the faculty luncheon. The smell of bland baked ziti and soggy vegetables greets me as I enter—standard fare at these sorts of events—and my stomach growls again. But instead of making my way over to the buffet, I locate Dr. Gupta. He’s off to one side, pacing in front of the coatroom, and talking into his phone with uncharacteristic emotion.

“The semester starts next week. How are we just finding out about this now?” he barks at the person on the other end. “We’ll have four classes to cover. Not to mention her committee assignments.”

He’s talking about me. Who else could it be?

Dr. Gupta looks up and spots me standing there. “I have to go. I’ll call you back.” And without waiting for the other person to reply, he hangs up the phone.

I approach him cautiously. “Hello, sir.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I—” I straighten my shoulders. “I’m a member of this faculty.”

Dr. Gupta throws his hands in the air. “Apparently, you’re not. Apparently, nobody knows who you are.”

“I’m Dr. Catherine Lipton. I swear I am.” I take another step forward. “This has all been some sort of terrible mix-up. I’m sorting it out right now.” Thankfully, my voice sounds much more confident than I’m feeling, but I pull my shoulders back for good measure.

Dr. Gupta just shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be good enough.”

My breath hitches. No. He can’t be suggesting that—

“I’m extremely inconvenienced to have to find someone to replace you,” he cuts in.

Replace me? Again, I must have heard him wrong.

“You were scheduled to teach four classes. Plus, what about those papers we talked about? Who is going to write them now that you won’t be here to do it?”

My mouth drops open. “What do you mean I won’t be here to do it? Of course I’ll be here. I told you I’m sorting it out now.”

“Forgive me if I don’t feel a great deal of confidence.”

I know I just met Dr. Gupta a few months ago, but I admit I’m shocked by this conversation. A few weeks ago, he was offering to be my mentor, and today he’s ready to give up on me. Am I really so expendable? What about my potential? My promising work and brilliant mathematical mind ?

“Classes are starting soon,” he points out.

I release the tension in my shoulders. Dr. Gupta is understandably upset that this identity issue has thrown a wrench in the semester. He’s the dean of the department, and he needs to think of the big picture. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to come off as cold and unconcerned. But surely, he has some pull at the university. Maybe there’s something he could do to help. Or at the very least, he could give me some time to sort it out. “I’m well aware that classes are starting soon. And I’m confident that this will all be behind us by then.”

Dr. Gupta makes a vague noise in the back of his throat.

Panic radiates through me. “Please, sir. Give me a few days to sort this out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You have a plan for how to do that?”

I remember Luca out there on the lawn, waiting for me. The first thing you need to do is find the original copy of your birth certificate. It’s a start. It’s a plan. “Yes, of course I do.”

“All right.” Dr. Gupta’s voice drips with skepticism. “I can give you a few days.”

My body sags with relief. “Thank you, sir. I promise you won’t regret it.”

But he’s already turned away from me to head across the room where his colleagues sit.

No. Our colleagues.

They’re mine, too. Or they will be, just as soon as I prove I’m real.