Chapter Twenty-Seven

My first week on Klonopin is not exactly a dream. In fact, it could be argued that I almost cease sleeping and become very convinced that the joke demon infestation in my house is a much bigger issue than it actually is. But the weird thing is, it's not anxiety that keeps me awake. Am I paranoid? Sure. Uncomfortable? Definitely. Battling vertigo I've never had before? Yes. But those incessant thoughts that make me afraid to go outside and see people, that have been making me panic about having to go to the South of France, are all fading into the background. They feel about as important to me as making sure my flight, hotel, and Cannes schedule information is correct. Things that, yes, do matter, but don't feel life shatteringly important; if things don't go exactly according to plan, I know I'll be fine.

And okay, it still stings when Maeve keeps her distance during our lectures. But that's easy enough to cope with when I tell myself I have a plan with a timeline. Maeve is qualified for that grant and deserves it a million times over. She'll earn it with the work we did together and everything that came before it. But as someone trying to be worthy of being her girlfriend, I need to do my all to support her. There's one last thing I need to do before I leave for Europe tomorrow. Even if Charlie's right and Maeve has her own shit to work out, I can do this.

Sitting in Ashlee's office, I drum my fingers against the side of the first belt Maeve touched. I fly out to France tomorrow morning. Mandatory Cannes schmoozing starts the second I arrive delirious and jet-lagged Wednesday, Oakley in Flames premieres Friday night, and then schmoozing continues through the next week and a half. Then it's other premiere invites, interviews, lunches and dinners, billionaire yacht parties, and spending some time with Gwyn and my parents, who agreed to come for emotional support. I have not packed yet. But nothing is more important than sitting at this desk, looking Ashlee in the eye, and fighting for someone I believe in. Charlie officially signed with Trish earlier this week, and he said talking to me about Star Trek was what got him to finally drop his old team. I know I can help make an impact.

In Hollywood, anyway. I'm not sure about academia yet.

Ashlee takes a seat across from me and smiles. "What can I do for you, Valeria?"

I stop my fingers from drumming and feel my heart beat faster. "I wanted to talk to you about Maeve before you review her next week."

Ashlee's fingers knit together on the surface of her desk. "Of course. We're so excited to see you and Maeve in action."

Even after everything that's happened, god how my heart warms thinking about Maeve. She could do anything to me, and I'd still be drawn to her like a moth to a flame. "This should actually be in your inbox already, but Maeve set up a fail-safe in case my professional obligations had to take priority over the class. We've arranged for a guest speaker—someone who can speak to the class about professional opportunities. You know Charlie Durst, right?"

Ashlee nods, her expression unreadable. I tug at my jacket.

"He's done a lot of movie musicals and is going to talk about what being on set is like on those kinds of projects. I thought it'd be helpful for you to see her work with a different kind of collaborator. She's the reason our class has run so smoothly, and I wanted her to have a space to shine."

And finally, Ashlee nods. "She does work well on her feet."

"Yeah, she's totally disaster prepared." I take a deep breath. "I know it doesn't seem like I have any academic clout or experience, but I've seen a lot of professors. I'm talking Oxbridge-educated, Ivy-educated trailblazers in the humanities. And Maeve— It's so rare to see a professor who has such a clear grasp of the material they're presenting, someone who keeps up with the current conversations in the field yet has thoroughly excavated the history as well. Someone who also connects with people, who's eager and takes genuine joy in finding ways to share her information with the next generation. Maeve's fucking incredible."

Okay, I was going for professional, but I guess one fuck is acceptable. I glance at Ashlee, who's just listening to me, leaning forward.

"I think your division is so lucky to have gotten Maeve, and I'd hate to see you lose her if she doesn't grow within the department. I know I've never done anything with grants, and I can imagine how difficult it is to allocate funds with so many qualified candidates." I take a breath. "But you'd be making the biggest mistake of your career if you decide not to give Maeve that grant, if you don't eventually give her tenure. And that's my professional opinion, not my opinion as her girlfriend…" Or whatever we are.

And even though I was ready to give a huge mic drop ending, my speech trails off. I fall into silence, with nothing but Ashlee's eyes on me and my own heartbeat vibrating through my eardrums.

Then Ashlee smiles. "You really believe in her, don't you?"

My heart flutters. "Yeah. And I also admire her so much." I rub the back of my neck. It won't do much to fix the thrumming in my ears, but oh, right, I wasn't done yet. "And she wants it so badly. If she hasn't already, she's going to blow you away. Supporting her work isn't just keeping an incredible professor. I stayed on to teach another semester because I believe in her, and you've seen the numbers and attention our class has drawn. I'd sign a contract right now to teach classes with her for the next five years because of how good she is. And I'm not going to be the last high-profile lecturer she brings in. The financial impact she'll have on this department is as unparalleled as her educational impact. I guarantee the return investment you'll get with her is leagues away from what you would get with some Columbia bigwig."

The wait before Ashlee speaks again feels like being in a doctor's office awaiting test results. Guess not all my anxiety is gone. I return to drumming, this time on the cushion of the chair.

"I agree," Ashlee says, plain and simple.

But I don't dare get my hopes up yet.

"Maeve is an incredible scholar and professor." She smiles again. "I'll be happy to add your testimony to our application for the grant. I'm sure it'll help her in our evaluation."

A big, goofy smile spreads across my face. I take in Ashlee's every word, let them fill me with air and metaphorically lift me off the ground. Maeve's second book might be funded within weeks. She can keep building a robust portfolio for tenure. I'm not the only one who thinks Maeve is incredible.

Even if she never loves me again, even if she never so much as looks my way from this moment on, I can leave this experience knowing I crossed paths with someone so special. Someone who will continue to influence the lives around her and be admired and acknowledged for years to come. I was given the blessing of being able to love and be loved by someone as incredible as her. I'll have to accept that for all the work I've done and will do for her, that may be all I'm getting.

The idea makes my chest ache, but even that ache is starting to feel okay.

I don't know if it's a sign, but Maeve has not confiscated my key to her office. So, once I'm finished meeting with Ashlee, I use that key to enter the room where Maeve's and my story started. She doesn't have class today, yet my chest still tightens as I slowly open her office door. But she's not here. I force a breath and step inside.

Same short desk, same brown couch, same Kenyon and Berkeley degrees hanging on the wall. I inhale, hoping to catch a whiff of her floral perfume, the soft one she uses for work. The one I associate with small smiles in lecture, hand touches grading papers, her brightened eyes as she climbs out of a rut in her academic writing when we're here working late. It's not here, though.

Once this semester ends, I may never return to this office. But it fills my heart to imagine that the nameplate on this desk might read Associate Professor Maeve Arko sooner rather than later. God willing, maybe just "professor" one day.

I drop a single laminated pass and plane ticket on Maeve's desk. Probably should've written a sappy note to go with it, but it feels self-explanatory, right? I glance at her desk drawers, contemplating whether this would feel that much different with a note. I don't want there to be any confusion about my intentions. I rub my temples as an ache starts up; maybe there's a reason I don't do grand gestures. As if this is even grand. Hell, it was so simple that I made all the calls to get the pass and plane ticket for after her lecture—

The door whines open.

My muscles seize, and I'm right back to being a kid caught looking at Christmas/Hanukkah presents stowed in my mom's closet.

"Valeria?"

It's a low voice. Not Maeve. Ty.

I force an exhale. It's just Ty.

"Hey," I say, slowly turning to him. Hopefully slow enough to get the red in my cheeks to fade. "Did you get my email about discussion this week?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "And discussion for the week after that. I think the wording was ‘just in case you want to get ahead' along with an emoji smiley face."

The urge to flee the room remains, but my heart is miraculously calm. "Yeah, figured it'd help take the load off you and Maeve."

Has she asked about me?

The words sit on my tongue like a bitter pill that's not dissolving fast enough. I can't say them, though. I can't break the professionalism code, even if Ty very obviously knows Maeve and I dated. It's not his job to get involved in our personal lives. Even though Maeve's been cold, she's been professional. The lectures have remained high-quality and office hours have been efficient. Ty's life, effectively, hasn't changed since Maeve and I broke up. Which is as it should be.

"I appreciate it," Ty says. "Maeve does too."

The words ache in my chest. "You don't have to placate me."

Ty doesn't answer right away. His gaze falls to the desk, to the pass, keys, and ticket. I watch his eyes dart as he processes what he's seeing. As he looks back up at me.

"Good luck in France," he finally says.

And just like that, it's time to go. I have no place in this office anymore. I've done everything I can. I force another breath. Cannes. Even my academic colleagues are telling me to focus on Cannes. On my directorial debut, an unabashedly queer film, premiering worldwide and possibly finding a home that will bring it to thousands of theaters across the country and maybe the world. This is huge, this is a lifetime accomplishment, and ready or not, I have to face it. I'm ready to fight for my little movie.

I force a smile. "Thanks."

It's time to get out of here. Leave the rest up to Maeve.

"Good luck with your movie too," Ty says with a smile.