Page 23 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
Can I see you in my office after your class?
Gabe
Of course.
“Thanks for comingin to see me, Gabriel. How are your classes so far?” Nora studied me from across her desk.
I wished we could dispense with the niceties and go straight to the purpose of this meeting, which I suspected had less to dowith her being the college dean than her being my PhD advisor. “As expected. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Always so formal. We’ve known each other for . . . how long is it, six years now?”
Six years.Hearing that served as a wake-up call. “Give or take.”
She propped an elbow on the desk and perched her chin on her knuckles. “Have you decided when you’ll continue your doctorate?”
Not if—when. Her certainty should have flattered me. Instead, my chest felt tight. “No. Not yet,” I amended.
“Let me remind you that we only allow a maximum of two years leave of absence. Do you know why that is?”
“The longer the leave, the harder it is to return.”
She nodded. “Bingo. You have a stellar record and impressive industry experience. I’d like to move you to the tenure track soon. Assign you to more classes. But for that to happen, you need that degree.”
It should have been a simple decision. I had already invested years into this goal—time I would never get back. Yet I found myself saying, “I’ll give you an update before the winter break.”
“The sooner, the better, Gabriel.”
As I drove home that evening, I contemplated my next steps. Logic dictated I see my dissertation through as quickly as possible. However, the thought of returning to the monotony of research and writing left me cold after the rush of growing my consultancy. I’d tripled my clientele in the span of my break, and returning to my doctorate would destroy my momentum.
I could maximize my hiatus and work on hiring partners to assist my clients when I did go back to my research. But that meant giving up a portion of my profit and worse, potentially risking my contracts if they weren’t managed to my standard.
Times like this, it helped to have someone to talk to.
Glancing at the clock, I calculated that it was almost six thirty in the morning in Manila. If Tala followed her old schedule, she should be awake by now. I took a gamble and called her.
“Do you know what time it is?” Tala answered after two rings, her tone light despite her words.
I smiled. “It’s not my fault you moved to the opposite side of the world.”
“I knew you’d miss me.”
“You broke my routine. I haven’t had a sanity check in nearly three months.”
She gasped. “That’s right! I’m sorry, I got so caught up with the move and getting work figured out?—”
“Tala. I was just joking,” I said. “Am I that bad at it?”
“It’s harder to read you without seeing your face.” She still sounded apologetic, but also amused. “Why don’t we do sanity calls instead? But not this early please.”
“I’m okay, Tala. Don’t worry about me.”
“Who says they’re just for you?” She chuckled. “Though it would also be good for you to make new friends there. Maybe someone from the faculty?”
My lip curled at the thought of it. “Too much trouble.”
“I guess I can relate. I would ask how you are, but I know you hate small talk.”
Thus, why making new friends wasn’t an option.
