Page 19 of Make Room for Love

“I know.”

“You might as well make a habit of it now.”

Mira’s brows lifted slightly. “You’re pretty persuasive.”

“But don’t listen to me,” Isabel added. How had she gotten so swept up in this? “It’s your life.”

8

“But the queen,for a long time wounded by heavy trouble, feeds the wound by her veins and seizes… Is that right?”

“Almost,” Mira said. This was Lauren’s second ever Latin class, and she always needed a bit of reassurance during office hours. “You’re doing great. Take a look at the verb ending again.”

“Oh, it’s passive. Right?” She looked at Mira, who nodded. “She’s seized by a secret flame.”

“That’s right.” It was a relief to slip into her teacher role, leaving her own problems behind for the time being. “Nice job translating those ablatives. Does anyone know what kind of ablativevenisis?”

“Instrumental ablative,” said Colin, to Lauren’s right.

“Great, instrumental ablative. Dido feeds the wound with her veins. What does that mean? Lauren, do you know?”

“She’s letting her love for Aeneas suck the blood out of her?” Lauren ventured.

“Perfect,” Mira said. Lauren beamed.

A few more undergrads had come in, some of whom Mira didn’t recognize. Word had gotten around, apparently, that she was the most helpful of the TAs for Latin Poetry, and studentswho weren’t in her section were showing up. Mira didn’t mind helping them, exactly, but she had her work cut out for her.

In fits and starts, the two dozen undergrads who drifted in and out of her office worked out Queen Dido’s admiration of Aeneas, her reawakened desire, her rapidly weakening resolve to never marry again. The official end of office hours came and went. Mira stayed an extra ten minutes and then shooed most of the students out, feeling slightly guilty like she did every time.

Lauren was still working in a corner, mumbling as she traced the words on the page. “Lauren, I have to leave, unfortunately,” Mira said. Lauren’s head jerked up, and she scrambled to collect her things. “You don’t have to rush,” Mira added. “Great job today.”

“Oh, thanks! Um…” Lauren looked sheepish. “I meant to talk to you sometime about whether I should be a Classics major. I’m a sophomore, so I kind of have to decide soon. Like, really soon. But I know you have to go.”

Mira grabbed her messenger bag. “Do you have some time now?” Lauren nodded. “You can walk with me while I get lunch.”

Lauren’s face lit up. Mira was long used to it, but occasionally she was acutely reminded that her undergrads looked up to her as an authority figure. “That would be great,” Lauren said. “I have to submit the form by Friday, and I’m having trouble deciding. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Of course.” It would be better than dwelling on her own anxieties. Mira was good at being a reassuring TA, if nothing else. “I’d be happy to talk.”

They headed toward the food trucks. Lauren explained her situation. Her parents wanted her to major in pre-med, and she was dutifully taking her science classes. But she’d taken Greek and Roman Mythology to fulfill a requirement, and it had lit a fire in her. She’d gotten a glimpse into an ancient world, full ofpeople who were alien yet familiar in their passions and fears and hopes, and she wanted more.

She had been intent on reading Virgil and Ovid in the original, and she’d worked harder in her Intro Latin class than she ever had in her life. Now she was taking Latin Poetry, Intro Ancient Greek, and two science classes, which was unsustainable. It was time to choose.

“Did you have to decide between Classics and something more ‘practical’?” Lauren made air quotes.

Mira pursed her lips. So much for avoiding the subject of her own life. Still, she would do what she could for Lauren. “Not exactly. My parents didn’t mind me becoming an academic, so I didn’t have to worry about that.” They would have objected far more to Mira becoming an investment banker. “And I was dreadful at math, so most of the practical majors were out of the question anyway.” Lauren laughed politely. “But I thought I could be equally happy in philosophy or literature or history. And then I took my first Latin class as a freshman, like you, and that’s when I knew.”

“Oh, that’s good. Sometimes I worry that I started too late.”

“You didn’t. You’re doing great, okay?” Lauren was clearly hanging on her every word. “Learning to read poetry is a big step up from the intro class. It’s been wonderful to see your progress.”

They lined up at the food trucks, which didn’t serve up anything fancy. Just hot meals for broke grad students who showed up reliably at lunchtime. “We can keep talking, if you want to stick around for lunch,” Mira said.

Lauren looked delighted, like she was being let in on something. “Oh, sure! I’d love to.”

Mira had had TAs and professors in college that she’d admired, brilliant women who didn’t let Mira get away with anything less than her best work. Mira wouldn’t be herselfwithout them. When she’d imagined her own future, she hadn’t only seen herself as an academic, but as a woman, too—finding her own path in academia, as murky and frightening as that vision was.

The thought of an undergrad seeingherthat way, as not only authoritative but aspirational, was vertigo-inducing. Mira hoped she was worthy of it.

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