Page 61 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
“Let me guess—Professor Thorpe? You guys are in the same department.”
“It’s Doctor Thorpe now. And yes.”
“He was my professor last year,” she said, still unaware of the part I’d played in that. “He’s done with his PhD? I thought he was younger than you.”
I was considering telling her that I’d switched classes with Max, but her last line diverted my attention. “He’s a year older, actually.”
“My bad. Sorry!” Laughter filled her voice, like she was delighted by her unintentional—at least, I assumed it was—dig at my age. “Do you hang out often?”
“Not regularly, but we share the same office space. He invited me for drinks because I filed my return to the doctorate program today.” The admission slipped out before I could think about it.
“Oh wow! You’re doing the thing.”
“I am.”
“Are you excited?”
As much as I’d be to get a root canal. “That’s not the adjective I would use.”
“It’s a huge deal, and you have so much going on. But if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.”
How could she say that with such certainty? I wanted to ask, but the question reeked of insecurity. Worse, it felt like a cry for validation. I shouldn’t need someone to assure me of my capabilities when I’d taken myself this far already.
So rather than asking, I said, “Thanks. What about you—have you decided about your minor?”
“Well, I spoke with my advisor again. She updated my academic plan so I can add the extra courses to my schedule without getting delayed. It looks doable, and honestly, when I saw the list of classes, I was sold. They’re all so interesting.”
As Luna spoke, her voice grew more animated. I could almost feel the energy buzzing from her through the speaker. “That’s great, Luna,” I said. “Minor in fashion merchandising, right?”
“Yup! I just need to look into student loans. I wanted to add more shifts at the store, but apparently, I’ve maxed out the number of working hours for international students.”
“How much do you need?”
“I’m not taking your money, Gabe.”
Anticipating that response, I said, “How about a loan between friends? No interest.”
She took her time answering. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer. It’s just—I don’t want the money thing to mess with our friendship. I’d rather deal with high interest rates than risk that.”
Her words caused my chest to tighten. Still, I tried to keep my tone casual. “It won’t mess with anything. I promise.” I didn’t care when she paid me back, or if she paid me back at all. I’d give her the money outright if she asked me to.
“That’s not something you can promise ahead of time.”
“I know I can.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it wasn’t an outright no. I could work with that. “Let me know and we’ll discuss.” Realizing I was already parked in my usual spot—for how long, I wasn’t sure—I said, “I should let you get back to your scrolling.”
“It was great talking with you. And congrats on your decision to finish your PhD. Let me know if there’s any way I can help, okay?”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Night, Gabe.”
“Good night, Luna.” Then I remembered something. “Don’t forget to disinfect your phone. Who knows what microscopic lifeforms have propagated there.”
She huffed. “Ha ha. Very funny. Bye, Professor.”
