Wish I Were Here

Chapter 31

O n Wednesday morning, I arrive at the front desk of the mathematics department to begin my brand-new position as a tenure-track professor. The orientation went off without a hitch yesterday, and today is finally— finally —my new beginning.

“Hello, I’m Catherine Lipton,” I say to the middle-aged white woman in a cream-colored blouse and high bun sitting at the front desk. “I believe you were expecting me?”

“Yes, Dr. Lipton. We were actually expecting you last week.”

I hesitate, taken aback. “I suppose you heard there was a little mix-up with the paperwork, but it’s all cleared up now.”

“Of course.” The woman stands to greet me, holding out a hand to shake mine. “I’m Georgia Ronstadt, the administrative assistant for the department. I actually have your paperwork right here.”

I take a look at the file in her hand. “Just keep it away from me,” I joke. “I’m still a little sensitive about paperwork.”

She gives me a blank stare and then marches around the desk. “Let me give you the tour.”

Okay, so that joke fell flat. Maybe they’re still sensitive about paperwork around here, too. After all, they would have been scrambling to replace me if I hadn’t worked this out.

Georgia heads down the hall. I trail behind her as she leads me around the newly renovated building, knocking on office doors with a sharp tap and introducing me to the faculty members inside. I met a few of them when I came for my interviews, and I meet several more now.

My impression of the mathematics faculty is the same now as it was then. Everyone seems quiet and a bit reserved as they calmly do their work in their respective offices. I notice they all keep their doors closed, and nobody bothers to make small talk.

It feels a little… cold.

It’s not just the people; the entire place feels that way. The mathematics department is housed in an old brick building from around the same era as the DeGreco. When I came this spring for my interviews, the interior still had all the original charm. Dark moldings framed the entrance to the classrooms, stained glass transoms hung over each doorway, and the offices were furnished with vintage wooden desks and built-in shelving. Now it seems that much of the charm has been renovated away: the wood floors replaced by tile, the walls painted white, and the furniture sleek and modern in tasteful shades of gray and alabaster.

It reminds me a little of Melanie’s condominium building. I didn’t realize until this moment how soulless it felt. But then, everything would feel soulless if you compared it to the hallways of the DeGreco, where the residents’ personalities are displayed by their choice of door decor. The floor mat across the hall from my apartment reads Knock if you want to meet a cat , and I’ll be honest, I’ve been tempted to knock.

But then I remember that during my interviews, I liked that people in the department kept to themselves, the lack of drama, the focus on work. So why am I feeling more downhearted with each click of Georgia’s no-nonsense heels on these stark tile floors?

Why am I wishing for warm colors and open doors and… community?

We round the bend, and my mood lifts. Ahead of us, between the somber line of closed white doors, one stands open. And in front of it, the resident of the office has placed a colorful welcome mat.

“Ah,” Georgia says. “Dr. Sharma must be in.” She gives a little sigh like she’s sorry about that, and then forges ahead toward the door. Though we can see inside, Georgia still gives the same sharp rap on the frame, and the woman inside looks up. She looks to be of South Asian descent and a little older than me. Though she’s dressed conservatively in black trousers and a white blouse, her office is decorated as brightly as her floor mat, with a vase of flowers, colorful throw pillows, and vibrant art prints on the walls.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I repeat for the tenth time up and down these hallways. But instead of a polite nod or half smile like I received at the other nine, Dr. Sharma stands and gives me a hug. “Please call me Radhika. Welcome to the math department.”

“Thank you,” I say, more warmly now.

“You had everyone in quite a state last week with your lost identity.” Radhika gives me a grin.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

She squeezes my arm. “I’m just glad to see you’ve been found.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Me, too.”

Radhika taps her finger to her lips. “Now, I remember from when they hired you that your research is in computational science and numerical analysis. But remind me what you’re teaching this semester.”

“I believe I’m teaching the freshman seminars—geometry, calculus, and algebra.”

Radhika smiles. “Ah, yes. They always stick the new faculty with the freshmen. I taught those courses my first year, too. I know you’re getting started a bit later than expected, so I’m happy to share my syllabi with you.”

It’s a generous offer, one I appreciate more than she knows after the week I’ve had. “That’s really kind of you. It’s been a while since I spent much time on the core subjects.” I give her a sideways smile, and her grin in return is so infectious that before I can stop myself, I say, “At this point, all I remember about algae-bra is that it’s something a mermaid wears.”

Georgia rolls her eyes, but Radhika lets out a startled laugh and throws an arm around me. “Let’s get lunch later this week, Catherine. I think we’ll be friends.”

Georgia and I head back down the hall to my office. It’s everything I always dreamed— my own space to work! —except I can’t help but think it looks like the “before” photo to Radhika’s “after.” Once I’m settled in, I’ll have to do some decorating, maybe pick up a couple more of those botanical prints once I get my first paycheck.

At the thought of those prints, my mind drifts to Luca’s colorful limbs, and my heart aches.

Maybe not the botanical prints, after all.

I spend the morning checking my university email—there’s quite a backlog since I couldn’t access it for a week. And then I find the syllabi that Radhika sent over, so I spend the afternoon planning for my classes. At five forty-five that evening, I pick up my phone and send a text to Melanie.

Heading over to the café. See you at six.

Less than thirty seconds later, my phone beeps with a reply.

Sorry, hung up at work. Can’t make it.

I’m disappointed, but I know I’ll see her at the fundraiser.

And speaking of the fundraiser, I remember that Mrs. Goodwin said they’d be hanging the decorations this evening. Maybe I can make it over there in time to help.

I’m packing up my bag when there’s a knock at the door. Since I left it open, all I have to do is look up to find Dr. Gupta standing there.

“I see you’re finally one of our faculty members, Catherine,” he says dryly.

“I am, sir. And very happy to be here.”

“I read the new outline of our paper last night.” He pauses and then…

He gives me the approving nod. But for some reason, I just can’t get excited about it.

“Excellent work, again,” Dr. Gupta adds. “I think it’s almost ready for you to write it up.” He steps back from the doorway, turning to head down the hall. “Then we can start talking about the next one.”

Before he can disappear from the doorway, something comes over me, and I blurt out, “Wait!”

He swings back around, eyebrows raised.

And I almost take it back. I almost say, Never mind , and buckle down and write the next paper. Except… I can’t. I can’t be the rule follower or people pleaser that I was a week ago. Something’s changed in me, and I can’t change it back. I don’t want to change it back.

While I do want this job, somehow in the past week, I’ve discovered that success doesn’t only mean getting ahead at work. It’s also having a coworker whom you can laugh with at math jokes. And it’s having the time to join the book club, and plan the community center fundraiser, and to stop to chat with Sal in the stairwell, too.

It’s about the people you surround yourself with and the community you build. Luca tried to tell me that, and I was too wrapped up in my narrow view of the world to listen. But maybe it’s not too late.

I clear my throat. “Thank you for pushing me so hard on this paper.”

Dr. Gupta gives me a nod like, Of course .

“It’s turning out better than I imagined,” I continue. “And I look forward to submitting it to Studies in Applied Mathematics with you.”

“Of course,” Dr. Gupta says, turning to leave. “You’re welcome.”

“But the thing is…” I raise my voice.

He slowly spins back around.

“My name will have to appear as first author.”

Dr. Gupta raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

I give him a shaky nod. “There’s one more thing. We’re going to have to ease up on the deadlines. I just got here.”

His mouth drops open.

Well, that’s it. I’ve definitely done it this time. All that work to get my identity back, and I’m going to end up a clown after all. But still, I don’t take it back. I can’t.

Dr. Gupta stares at me for a moment, almost like he’s calculating something in his head. “All right,” he finally says, backing away from the doorway. I hold my breath. “I look forward to being listed as the second author on this paper and collaborating with you on many in the future. On more reasonable deadlines, of course.” He gives me one more approving nod, eyebrows raised, like this time I’ve really impressed him. “Like I’ve always said. You have a bright future ahead of you.”