Page 6 of The Scientist
We’d made it through the first leg on the road to remission with this surgery behind us. Next step was a few months of chemo, possibly longer depending on how her body responded to it. She was healing nicely though, and both surgeons gave her the all clear to resume her normal activities at the four-week mark. It was definitely a relief, because I was set to begin my new job next week and wouldn’t be available to her 24/7 as I had been.
I wasn’t expecting to find a job so quickly. California would seem like the land of opportunity for someone in the music biz, but San Jose wasn’t exactly a music mecca. Los Angeles was really the place with the most job prospects, but it was over six hours away and would defeat the whole purpose of me moving here. So I settled for a job doing something I had absolutely no experience in and would probably fall flat on my face trying—teaching.
I had gotten a job as an adjunct musical composition professor at Stanford University. I knew my old friend and roommate from college, Sarah Samaha, worked there, so I called her up, and she graciously helped me get an interview.
I had my interview over a Zoom call with the director of the department, William Abel. He was in his late sixties, completely bald on top, but going for that classic look that ladies loved—leaving the hair to grow on either side of his head. He was overly friendly and managed to make me uncomfortable even three thousand miles away. He would stare at you with his eyes set just a fraction too wide to be considered normal after attempting to make a joke and smiling with his mouth slightly open, waiting for your response. I gave him the laugh he wanted, however fake it was, and he offered me the job at the end of the interview.
On the surface, the job seemed perfect. There weren’t a lot of hours required, so I’d be able to make most of my mom’s appointments. It was close to her doctor, and the pay was much better than I expected. The only problem was my teaching experience lacked a certain… existence. I had, however, seenDead Poets Society, so if I had to resort to standing on Stanford’s furniture to get it right, I would.
“I have that welcome banquet for the faculty on Friday night. You think you’ll be okay to be on your own?” I asked my mom as we drove home from her follow-up visit.
“Looking forward to it, actually.”
“Thanks a lot,” I replied, brimming with sarcasm.
“You really should get a life, Hadley. Spending every waking moment with your mother for a month straight is not a good look.”
“Stop getting cancer, and I’ll think about it.”
“Deal,” she affirmed with a nod.
“So, you’re really going to be okay?” I asked, feeling the need to double check.
“You heard the doctors. They both cleared me to go back to my normal daily activities.”
“What are you going to do without me?”
“I might go cruise the town looking to pick up a handsome gentleman to spend Friday night with.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of guy are you looking for?” I asked, playing along.
“I guess someone who’s not intimidated by a woman with perfect breasts, maybe loves to cook, or at least enjoys eating late night snacks in bed together.”
“Oh, I just thought of the perfect caption for your dating profile:Single and Ready to Pringle.”
“Outstanding. Sign me up!”
When we arrived back at her house, I watched her get out of the car, grab her purse, and close the door with perfect ease. I relented that she might be ready to be on her own… but was I?
Chapter 3
It occurred to me that after a little over a month of living in California, last night was only the third night I’d actually slept in my new home. It was time for life to resume some type of normalcy, which included work and maybe even an attempt to make friends with someone other than my chromosome collaborator.
I arrived at the Stanford Faculty Club and texted Sarah to let her know I’d made it. I had those first day of school jitters, except the butterflies felt more like ostriches performing barrel rolls inside my stomach. Luckily, I knew I’d have at least one friendly face in Sarah. I checked my hair and makeup in the mirror one last time before I got out the car and smoothed down my burgundy wrap dress.
My phone dinged with a text from Sarah saying to meet her inside.I made my way inside the hall and started searching through the packed crowd for her. The hall was lined with floor to ceiling windows on each side with beautiful wooden beams running along the pitched ceiling and farmhouse-style chandeliers throughout. I finally spotted my old friend pushing her way through the crowd with that huge megawatt smile on her face. She looked almost exactly the same as when I had met her ten years ago with the exception of her raven hair cut a lot shorter, hitting her at the shoulder instead of the waist.
“You made it!” she squealed, and we laughed, embracing in a tight hug.
“It’s so good to see you,” I said as a few people bumped into us standing in the middle of the walkway.
“I know! I’m beyond excited that you’re here,” she said, walking us out of the foot traffic. “I’m so sorry to hear about your mom though. How is she? Did the surgery go well?”
I had filled her in on why we were moving to California, and she had periodically checked in on us throughout the process.
“She’s great. The surgery went well, so she’ll be starting chemo next week actually.”
“Wow. I’m sure it must be overwhelming having to deal with all of that on top of moving to a whole new state.”