Page 20 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
“That we saw each other on campus.” I motioned for her to step aside. “You cooked. I’ll wash.”
Facing the sink again, Luna resumed scrubbing the dishes. “I’ve got it. You’re a guest.”
I’d been visiting Tala’s apartment longer than Luna lived there, but I didn’t argue the point. Instead, I grabbed a dish towel and dried the glasses Luna had washed.
We worked in silence with a ruler’s length of space between us.
“My mother’s rule was the cook never washed the dishes.” I froze, and so did she. I didn’t know who was more surprised that I’d spoken up, much less about something personal.
I chalked it up to Luna’s cooking. Whenever Tala and I met up, we’d eat at a restaurant or grab takeout. It had been years since I’d had home-cooked food—and Luna’s food lived up to Tala’s rave reviews.
Luna cleared her throat. “Same. I used to cook with Mama and Lola, then Ate and our brother Lonzo washed.” From my peripheral vision, I saw her hands falter before she rinsed the plate. “But Lola got sick, Mama got busy with work, and Ate moved here.”
“And your brother?”
“He helped me wash sometimes, but he had a lot of stuff for school.”
I wanted to ask why he got a pass when she probably had schoolwork too, but it wasn’t my place to pry. Not when I hated being asked personal questions myself.
“I did, actually.”
“Did what?” I asked, wondering if I’d missed part of what she said.
“I told Ate I saw you at school,” she said in a clipped voice. “I just didn’t tell her you ignored me.”
Ahh. “Professors shouldn’t fraternize with students.”
Glancing at me, she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you meet Ate when you were teaching her class?”
“I was a graduate teaching assistant. We didn’t become friends until later on.”
“Uh huh.” Her brows furrowed. “She said you’re an adjunct. Why aren’t you a full-time professor?”
Of course, she had to latch on to that detail and ask about it. “I haven’t finished my doctorate.”
“When will you finish it?”
“When I finish it.”
“Well,thatexplains everything.” She huffed out a breath and scrubbed the dish with more force than necessary.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” The collar of my shirt seemed to grow tighter, and I spoke without thinking. “Some of us have better things to do than gossip and flirt.”
She gaped at me. “I wasnotflirting with you. I would never!”
“I wasn’t talking about myself. Regardless, I advise you not to act overly familiar with your professors.”
She sputtered, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. Again. I hated how words left so much room for emotions. Numbers were better—cold, hard facts.
“What, saying hello isoverly familiarnow?” Her voice rose. “Next you’re going to tell me I can’t smile at a professor or people will think I’m trying to seduce him. I mean, seriously?”
“I’m trying to keep you from losing your scholarship.”
“How did we get from me greeting you to me losing my scholarship?”
Back then, I thought Luna was just being difficult. Overreacting.
What an idiot I was.
