Isabella calls me back the next day.

  It might be in correlation with the multiple attempts I made after the meal. Although, I do understand why she didn’t pick up. Well, at first, I figured it was because it was past 8pm and she had better things to do than answer my calls. But when I hear her voice on the other end, I have other ideas. “Alexej, what is going on?”

  She’s whispering. Her voice is hoarse. And I can almost picture her rubbing her eyes. I check the clock and see how much time I have left before work. “Sorry, nothing urgent.”

  “You called me seven times.”

  “I know. I was—”

  “Ruminating, as always. What is going on?”

  I clear my throat. “Should we talk at another moment?”

  “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage. Tell me.”

  A sigh escapes my mouth. It’s not even eight, and she’s accepting that I vent on her. Since she’s been my tutor for my Ph.D, we’ve had a particular relationship. Not friends but not romantic. I feel entitled to her and surely, she feels bound to my success. I’m convinced she wants to see me achieve my ultimate goal, mostly because I’ve seen her picked on the dean more than once. “I was wondering if there were any advancements.”

  Ruffles of clothes or sheets and the sound of a door closing later, she answers. “What did I tell you?”

  “Hum. Many things.”

  “Please, try to remember.”

  I definitely know what she wants to hear. But I already feel dumb about making her wake up early and call me immediately after she opened her eyes because of the seven calls she missed. “I need to be patient?”

  “Yes,” she hisses on the phone, emphasizing the end of the word. I close my eyes. “I truly am doing everything that is in my power, Alexej.”

  “Is Andrew Miller working at one of Tufts labs?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The question floats out of my throat before I could realize this was the real reason I spammed her cellphone. It could be a total coincidence, but since he’s already taught classes at Tufts in the past, it’s most likely. The fact that we never crossed each other’s path is relatively odd, though. But again, despite being a professor for four years, and just like my sister stated the previous night, I never really invested myself in engaging conversations with my colleagues. The department where I give my classes is only a fraction of what Tufts University really is. And within the Arts and Sciences building, numerous professors instruct their discipline. None of them reached out.

  Isabella’s voice erupts from the speaker. “Andrew Miller?” My lack of response is enough. “He’s one of us, yes. It’s been a while. He started new courses this semester, right?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He wanted to be part of the teaching team again. Clark was preciously interested. He’s always been fond of him.” So, there might have been some kind of bribe between the dean and him. “But he’s at the Cognitive and Development Lab.”

  “Since when synergology has been a part of their research?”

  “It’s not.” She keeps on moving, maybe dressing up, because I hear the phone being carried, her voice changing tone and volume. “He primarily conducts experiments on children and toddlers. Like the rest of the lab. Concerning their ways of communication and how our world and societies affect their language, did you never wonder what our labs actually do?”

  “Of course I did. Only the one lab I would love to be a part of.”

  I ponder over the idea to remind her I should have gone to Boston. I should have taught at the School of Medicine there, since there’s none in Medford but she convinced me, and begged me to stay here, because of how ‘valuable and necessary’ my contribution to their lab was. There are probably only a few things between me and my goal but Isabella makes it a personal mission to keep me clear of them. Either because she thinks it would hurt my feelings, or she’s a part of it and I’m being scammed.

  But starting on this path is only making me paranoid. “Why do you ask?”

  Why do I ask? Curiosity. Jealousy. And she’s the Dean of Research, she would be the one with the answers. I have other questions. Why him and not me? What is holding up? Is his contribution ‘valuable and necessary’ too? Instead, I respond, “Just wondering.”

  “I know what’s happening in your head, Alexej,” Isabella says perfectly and I already close my eyes because of the scowl that I’m about to receive, “and I need you to stop. Believe me when I say that I’m doing my best. Things are taking longer to concretize because of aspects that neither of us can control. I’m sorry. Most researchers had to wait for more than five years. You still have time. Don’t rush.”

  “Bella, come to bed.” A muffled voice grunt on the other end. And I smile.

  “Take care of that gentleman, please. Sorry for bothering you.” My hand is already on the handle of my front door.

  Her sweet laugh resonates. “Don’t worry about it. Have a great day.”