beaming, megawatt smile. “Taryn, so great to hear from you! How are you?”
“Hi Professor,” I said, trying to hide my emotions. “I’m good. And you?”
“Great, just great. I hear you had to leave for a couple of days for a funeral. Please accept my condolences.”
This sincerity in his voice made me cringe. He truly cared about me, and I was going to let him down.
“Thank you. And actually…” I closed my eyes, rallying my courage. “That’s what I was calling about… leaving.”
“I’m sure they understood the need to attend a funeral,” he said, in that same calm and reassuring voice I’d always sought out when I was struggling to balance home and school. “I know you were already playing catch up, but I have confidence in you. You’re one of my most promising students.”
My stomach twisted at his words. He’d always had such faith in me, and my ability to finish my degree at the top of the class. It only made this conversation that much harder.
“I don’t mean last week,” I said, the lump in my throat making it impossible to keep my voice steady. “I mean… permanently.”
It felt like I was bracing for an oncoming storm, but outside the tinted windows of the car, the sun just kept shining.
The line went silent for a moment as my heart beat louder in my ears.
Speak, I silently pled. I needed him to say what he was thinking. Needed to know just how much I’d disappointed him. Like ripping off a band aid, I was desperate for this moment to be over.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Being here… at the expense of everything else… it’s just not me. There’s so much going on at home that I’m missing, and I get to the lab, and--”
“We’ve been through this,” he interrupted. “You have to take care of yourself first. The other things in life… they’ll wait until you’re established. There’s a reason you’re supposed to put on your own oxygen mask first before helping others.”
“I’m not like you,” I said, my voice firm. “I have to have a balance. I have to know that my family is okay. Otherwise, my dreams aren’t worth the price.”
“Taryn, you’re going to regret leaving— “
“No,” I said. “I’m going to regret staying. This isn’t the right place for me. I’m going to be forever grateful for the experience, and I’m sorry you won’t have a UW representative in the program. But… I think there’s a reason I didn’t go back to school after my mom passed. Taking that time off… it forced me to live a little. To pick my head up and look around. This whole internship… it doesn’t fit me anymore.”
He was silent, and I pictured him fuming. Angry at me for turning my back on him. He’ d always been a no tolerance professor—if you missed a lab, you weren’t allowed to make it up. If you didn’t put his equipment back correctly, or you dared eat something in the lab… you were kicked out, and couldn’t come back until the next day.
“I admit I’m surprised,” he finally said, his voice softer, more resigned, than I expected. “You have a gift for science.”
“I still intend to pursue it,” I said. “But I need the time and space to figure out where I belong. I appreciate that you sought me out. I swear, I won’t go back to working at the mall. Somehow I got comfortable and stopped trying. And an object at rest tends to stay at rest, you know?” I laughed under my breath. “And at the risk of dragging this metaphor out, you got me moving again. You helped me remember that I had dreams, once. And I’m grateful to you for that.”
He fell silent, and I wished he’d speak.
“I’ll pay you back some day,” I continued, resting my head on the steering wheel and closing my eyes. “By contributing to science. I swear. But this is what’s right for me.”
He sighed, and there was more resignation to it than frustration. “Very well,” he said, simply. “Though I don’t agree, I can’t begrudge you the reasons.”
“Do you hate me?” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Of course not,” he said, quickly, as if surprised I’d ask. “I watched you, in the labs, after your mother’s diagnosis. I saw you bury yourself in work and try to ignore the pain. By the time you left the program…”
He trailed off, and I waited, my breath held and burning in my chest, for him to