One
I wake up too early, too hot, my legs entangled in the sheet. I dreamt of something stressful, something to do with missing a flight or losing my passport. Then there was a ladder that didn’t quite get up to a top floor and was swaying dangerously.
It’s the phone ringing that pulls me out of the dream. I reach for it quickly so as not to wake Luis, my pulse still racing.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
I raise myself on one elbow. “Alex? What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Five? Six? I need to see you.”
Beside me Luis stirs.
“I’ll have to call you back.”
“When can you come?”
He has that urgent tone, the way he speaks when he wants my attention, immediately. It’s not even six in the morning and I’m exhausted already. “I don’t know, Alex. I have a meeting this morning. I’ll come after.”
“No! You have to come now!”
“Alex, I can’t. I’ll come later, as soon as I’m free, all right? What’s going on, anyway?”
He sighs into the phone. Or maybe he’s smoking. He says he doesn’t but I’ve smelt it on him often enough. Dope, mostly. “I’ll tell you when you get here. Bring the notebooks with you.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. It’s important, Anna. Bring them, okay?” He hangs up. I turn to look at Luis who is sleeping beside me, one arm flung above his head, calm as smiling Buddha. I bet he’s not dreaming of swaying ladders and missed flights. I kiss his bare shoulder and he doesn’t even stir. Nothing can wake up Luis, except Luis.
“Who was that?” he croaks.
“Sorry, I was hoping you were still asleep. That was Alex.”
“Of course it was. Can you ask your students not to call in the middle of the night, please?”
He turns on his side and I push playfully against his back. “It’s not the middle of the night, it’s six a.m.” I can hear the birds outside, and there’s a sliver of dawn light slipping around the edge of the blinds.
“I was up late,” he mumbles.
“I know.” I rub my face with both hands. I may as well get up. “You want me to bring you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Downstairs, Roxy greets me by dropping a chewed-up toy at my feet. We go through our usual routine where I stroke her head and she rolls on her back, exposing her pink belly for me to scratch. She’s a French bulldog and technically she’s Mateo’s dog. I let her out the back door and into the yard, then turn on the coffee machine. While I wait for it to warm up I empty the dishwasher, change the water in Roxy’s bowl, open a bag of dog food and scoop some into her food bowl.
All the time I am thinking about Alex, analyzing how he sounded just now, what it might mean. Alex is my best, brightest PhD student. He’s a genius, really. I’ve never had a student like him before. He’s on the cusp of publishing something extraordinary, and my job with him is to make sure he gets there in one piece.
Sipping my coffee, I open my laptop to go over my notes. First thing this morning is a faculty meeting. We’re facing an uncertain future, and I suggested to Geoff about getting together a fundraising committee weeks ago. I did it to make a good impression, to show that I’m a team player and full of good ideas. Geoff agreed to my suggestion—he almost always does. Geoff is the chair of the mathematics department and what Geoff thinks matters. Especially as any day now I will find out if my full professorship application has been successful. I am pretty confident. Or I’m trying to be, anyway. Part of me feels that if I don’t get it after all the extra work I’ve been doing, I may as well give up. Those of us who applied in the department expected to have heard by now, but this year there’s only one full-time position because of our budget cuts and it’s taken longer than usual. Nail-bitingly longer, you could say, but still, I’m cautiously optimistic.
I go back upstairs to shower and get dressed into my usual meeting attire: linen skirt and pearl-colored blouse. Professional but feminine. I clip on a pair of small diamond earrings—not real diamonds, we do all right but we’re not that rich—and fasten a silver necklace with a small heart-shaped pendant around my neck, a gift from the children for Mother’s Day.
In the mirror I catch Luis watching me from the bed, one arm bent behind his head. He’s frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You look… conservative. Like a school teacher.”
“I am a school teacher.”
“You know what I mean.”
I smile and reach for my lipstick—Desert Rose—and stare back at my reflection. My mother’s voice pops into my head, unbidden. Look your best to do your best!
I close my eyes. Why did I have to think of my mother now? Now she’s going to be like an elephant around my neck all day—or is it an albatross? Whatever. A big cumbersome weight dragging me down, making me feel inadequate, reminding me that I’m not quite living up to my potential. Unless I don’t let her. Easier said than done, I think, as I run a brush through my hair.
“Where are you off to, anyway?” Luis asks.
“Faculty meeting, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, but I know he doesn’t. I pick up the bottle of perfume he bought me for my birthday, Lancôme’s La Vie est Belle, and I spray a cloud at the base of my throat.
Geoff at work commented on the scent once: “Is it you who smells so delish?”
Delish. It seemed so suggestive. Sometimes I think if I were willing—which I’m not, at all—but if I were… I used to think he was kind of handsome for an academic, with his dark gray messy curly hair, swept back and reaching down his neck. He wears glasses, thin-rimmed ones, and has a graying beard that makes him look like Neil Gaiman.
Luis rubs his knuckles over his head and throws off the covers.
“Why don’t you stay in bed?” I say.
“That’s okay.” He yawns. “I’m awake now. I’ll be in the shower.”
On the way downstairs I pass by Mateo’s room. He’s still fast asleep, his Batman-themed comforter thrown onto the floor, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. I turn on the light, kiss his hair. “Come on, Matti, time to get up, honey.” He stirs, yawns and his eyes pop open. I pick a sweatshirt up off the floor and put it on the back of his chair, then tell him to get ready and make sure to pack his gym bag.
In Carla’s room, I find her at her desk doing some last-minute revision.
“Morning you, did you sleep well?” I ask, kissing the top of her head.
“Yes, thanks.”
She barely moves, one elbow on the desk, her head propped up on her hand. I kiss her again, smell her long soft hair. At thirteen she’s as tall as me already. “Come and have breakfast.” She nods, mumbles that she’ll be down in a minute.
In the kitchen, I’m preparing school lunches for my children when they bounce in arguing, jostling each other at the fridge, for the milk, over the box of cereal. They work around me, all of us anticipating each other’s movements. Cupboard doors fly open and sometimes get closed again. Bowls are dropped on the kitchen table with a clatter and are filled with cereal and milk, fruit and yoghurt. I try to keep up, put things away as needed, scolding them half-heartedly for making a mess but secretly loving how noisy they are, the chaos they create, and the sense that I’m at the center of it, bringing order to their lives.