Page 20 of Make Room for Love

She ordered the tofu and eggplant with a side of stir-fried cabbage, and Lauren ordered the exact same thing. They took their food to the benches nearby. “What do you think I should do?” Lauren said.

Mira was in no position to give advice to anyone. What was she doing with her Classics degree? She was scraping by on her grad school stipend and living in a tiny room, and last week she’d humiliated herself on campus and cried her eyes out in front of her roommate. And Isabel hadn’t humiliated her a second time; she’d been as blunt and as kind to Mira as on the night they’d met, and she’d helped Mira put herself back together. Mira hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. She could barely make sense of her own life anymore.

Maybe becoming a doctor was the safer move. “You could get a minor in Classics instead,” she said weakly. “It would be easier to keep up with your pre-med classes.”

“I know. But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to do pre-med at all. I don’t want to take the required classes. I don’t think I actually want to be a doctor.” Lauren paused ominously. “Do you think I have any chance of getting into grad school if I keep working hard?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mira said. That much wasn’t in doubt. “I think if you continue at this rate, and start developing your own research interests and write a strong senior thesis, a lot of grad programs would be fortunate to have you. The real question iswhether you actually want to go to grad school. And that’s a decision you shouldn’t take lightly.”

It became clear that Lauren had no idea what grad school was like. Mira tried to explain that after six or seven or ten grueling years of a Ph.D.program, a tenure-track academic job was by no means guaranteed; that most universities didn’t pay their grad students nearly enough; that the teaching burden could be nearly unbearable; that one’s professional life and future prospects were dictated almost entirely by one’s advisor, who could be negligent or abusive. Lauren looked at her wide-eyed.

“I don’t mean to scare you off,” Mira said, even though she had meant exactly that. “I’m fortunate to be able to study what I love and to teach all of you. Just think about it carefully.”

“Is that why you’re all unionizing?”

“For those and many other reasons, yes.” Mira smiled. “Try to pick a place where the grad students are unionized, if you can. Hopefully, by the time you apply, that’ll be everywhere.”

Guilt crept up on her. If she didn’t do her part, she had no right to be saying this to Lauren. And she was angry—angry that she couldn’t wholeheartedly tell one of her brightest students to pursue a life studying what she wanted, and instead had to warn her away.

Mira hadn’t had an easy time in grad school; even so, she’d been lucky in so many ways. But luck shouldn’t enter into it at all. She had to make a better future for her students.

And maybe she owed something to the twenty-year-old Mira who’d been on the cusp of taking so many big risks, and who had deserved a better future than moving in with Dylan out of desperation. Maybe her present self deserved a better future, too.

They talked more about Lauren’s aspirations, what classes she wanted to take, how she might win over her parents. Miraexplained her own research on the lyric poets. Lauren asked, “Can I study that in grad school too?”

Back in her office, Mira pulled up the spreadsheet for canvassing grad students about the union. The slot for the Classics building was open this time, thank goodness.

She could do this. Her despair from Friday had receded, and now she could take a longer view.

Isabel had told her that she needed to find her own way of doing things. Mira knew how to talk to people. She’d spent all morning doing it: listening to her students, building trust with them where she could, not worrying too much if they didn’t pay attention. She’d been doing this for years. And one bad day didn’t count for much—she still had most of her working life in front of her. Mira signed up.

9

Isabel woke up,before her alarm, to a strip of light under her bedroom door. Waking up early was normal these days, now that she wasn’t exhausted every night. The light being on in the living room was not.

She got out of bed, stretched, and opened the door. Mira was sitting at the dining table, slightly slumped to the side. Her eyes were closed, long lashes resting on her cheeks, and her chunky glasses sat crooked on her face. Isabel’s concern flared for a moment. But there’d been no need—Mira had dozed off while working.

She looked like a wilted flower. Isabel was struck by a pang of tenderness so intense it hurt. She wanted to carry Mira to that narrow bed of hers and let her sleep.

Mira stirred. She opened her eyes, saw Isabel, and yelped. Isabel winced. She should have just woken up Mira right away.

“Sorry,” Mira said, for some reason. Her voice was blurry from sleep. She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “Did I wake you up? What time is it?”

“It’s four,” Isabel said, self-conscious. “I usually get up around now.”

“Huh? Oh, it’s late.”

Isabel nodded, feeling ungainly in her own living room. Early mornings werehertime—the city outside was as quiet as it ever was, and she could go about her routine in peace. She was used to Mira’s presence, and used to keeping her emotions on a tight leash. But having to share her sacrosanct morning hours with Mira was throwing her off. That, and the guilt from watching Mira sleep for a second too long.

Mira yawned, stretched her arms, and grimaced. Her movements were stiff, probably from being hunched over for hours. “I remember looking at the clock at three. So it’s only been an hour.”

Isabel walked to the drip coffee maker and got it started. It was something to do other than staring uselessly at the beautiful, rumpled girl in her living room. Her coffee maker had plenty of bells and whistles and had cost a fortune. Isabel had bought it when she turned out as a journeywoman, and she was going to depend on that thing for the rest of her working life. “Did you have to work late or something?” she asked, with her back to Mira.

“Well, I was going to finish these earlier today, but—what did I—oh, yeah. I spent the afternoon in the grad student lounge, talking to people about the union. I got two more people to sign cards.”

“Hey, that’s great.” Isabel had some time before she had to get going, and her coffee wouldn’t be ready for a few minutes. Did Mira want to talk? After their conversation last week, Isabel had no idea where they stood. She wasn’t used to second-guessing herself like this.

She sat down at the table across from Mira before she could talk herself out of it. “How’d it go?”

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