At the core of it, societies’ perceptions of human sexuality would never change if people weren’t taught fact over fiction and the old wives’ tales were finally put to rest. He wasn’t here for the money. He was here to make a difference with as many young minds as he could.
In his professional opinion, there was nothing that made one more human than their sexuality. Well, that and opposable thumbs. But he thought about it this way—humankind was certainly getting it on before the first use of the written word. There was a good argument that it came before spoken language, too. To Maxwell, one’s sexuality deserved studying in the same way English, anatomy, or even public speaking did. He intended to make it a table—not taboo—topic.
Every fall, his freshman girls blushed bright red to use words like orgasm and clitoris out loud. Most arrived on campus with knowledge they’d gleaned from Google, glossy magazines, and works of fiction. Far from fact-based science. When they graduated four years later, hearing them openly discuss sexuality as a science instead of a sin made his heart proud. He was doing good. One enlightened mind at a time.
“Legal is at it again.” Harlow rolled his eyes and floated the paper across his desk. A screenshot of Maxwell’s private practice website lay over the page in full color.
“What’s wrong now? I’m not accepting new patients.” Maxwell shrugged and fell into a chair.
“I know, and I appreciate that. However, Legal has asked that you create more separation between your academic life and your practice. You’re using the same number for both, and since you expense part of your cell phone bill to the Psychology Department, our lawyers worry that there may be some level of accountability for Talmadge. Our insurance doesn’t cover your professional liability.”
“Don’t they have better things to do than dissect my financials?”
“No. They’re attorneys.”
“I have my own liability insurance.”
“Understood, but this is a simple fix.”
“Like what?”
“They suggest two phones, one for your patients and one for your duties here. You would expense the one you use for Talmadge and give your patients the other number.”
Maxwell took a deep breath, thinking over his morning. The fighting. The flailing. The flying tea. A soaking cell phone that now sat in a bag of rice. What were the chances? The universe was telling him to make his lemons into lemonade. Like that was even remotely possible. He sighed and slowly started to nod.
“Sure. Of course. Whatever they think. I’m in the market for a new phone anyway.”
Harlow’s brow pulled into a question mark. Wordlessly, he waited for an explanation.
“My phone met an untimely end this morning, and…” Maxwell motioned toward the tea on his shirt again.
“At the hand of a woman, I assume?” Harlow looked away, already knowing the answer.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Because Harlow was right. It was a woman. But not one Maxwell cared to discuss.
“As long as I’ve known you, Maxwell, as smart as you are, it has always amazed me that such a simple thing eludes you.”
“What’s that?”
“Life, and love, are easier to juggle with fewer balls in the air.” Harlow interlaced his fingers and rested them behind his head.
This wasn’t news to Maxwell. It was a proven fact of life. But not all facts fit that well into his.
“Like I said, life only gives what you take. And love…well, if you find it, great. But it’s not a measure I use to define success in life.”
“Why is that?”
“I know, better than most, what it does to people. That isn’t what I want in life. You know what they say about cobblers’ children.”
“That they have no shoes?” Harlow shrugged, not seeing the connection.
“Exactly. After years in private practice, I’ve seen a million ways sex can ruin relationships. It’s not even a fifty-fifty shot that you get a great emotional connection and a great lover. One is always lacking. And, well…I’m a man.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“I’m happy. Only crazy people invite chaos into their lives.”
“Love is chaos?”
“It certainly isn’t something one controls. And we can agree I’ve already got enough chaos in my life.” Again, Maxwell pointed to the tea stain on his shirt. Harlow chuckled and dismissed his friend as a lost cause.
A chaotic schedule he could handle. Hell, he thrived under pressure. Chaotic emotions? No, thanks. The two could not exist in one life. Something he knew firsthand.
There was silence for a moment. Maxwell checked his watch, and Harlow turned to read an incoming email.
“Ugh, speaking of chaos.”
“What’s up?”
“The faculty advisor for the Founder’s Day Gala is on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. It was nearly impossible to get someone to volunteer for the position. No way I’ll get another this late in the game.”
“I overheard some students talking about the gala yesterday. It isn’t that far away. Surely it’s planned.”
“Most of it is planned. But there has to be a faculty advisor to oversee the students—be sure the trains continue to run on time, sign off on the budget, the usual.” Harlow hung his head and rubbed his temples to think. “Lorena is going to kill me. We’ve yet to find a good student intern option for the semester and now this—”
“I’ll do it,” Maxwell offered before he thought about what he was volunteering to do. Harlow’s head shot up, his brow tugging down his forehead again.
“Really?”
Maxwell sat further back in the chair, thinking. It was already planned. Nothing to do but keep the students and trains on the track. Sure, his life was already chaotic, but there was a method in his madness. Power under the pressure.
“Sure. Why not? It’s the same gala every year. I can keep trains running. I’m a department head at a prestigious academic institution. How hard can a gala be?”
“O-okay. That would certainly make my life easier. You’re sure?” Harlow asked one more time, not because he doubted Maxwell’s abilities. More because organizing a gala didn’t fit Maxwell’s reputation on campus.
“It’s a month away. I’ve got it.”
“I’ll have Lorena connect you with the planning committee this afternoon. Thank you.”