Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,41

track down someone called Ryan, who was working in IT but he’s left.”

She waits for more, one hand on the door handle. I’m busy gathering my things for the class so I don’t have to look at her.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “Do you need someone from IT to fix something?”

“No, I need to find this Ryan person.” I look at her now, gnawing at my fingernail. “I don’t have a last name. I called HR but they can’t help me. I was thinking, maybe…”

“I’m sorry, Anna. I don’t know anyone called Ryan who was in IT, if that’s your question.”

“I was hoping you could talk to HR. There can’t be thousands of Ryans who worked in IT and were assigned to do a job at the law faculty recently, right?”

“But you said you already asked them.”

“Yes, but if you ask they might tell you because you’re admin too—maybe admin people help other admin people, I don’t know. Look, you know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I was just thinking out loud.”

I slip past her and out the door.

“I’m happy to help if—”

I raise a hand. “No, it’s fine. Thank you!” Then I stop, turn around and say, “Forget I said anything, okay. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“Mention what?”

I sigh. “The Ryan thing. Just forget it, okay?”

I don’t track down Ryan in the end, but I am on the alert, and it’s only after a few days during which nothing happens that I begin to relax. He would have contacted me if he wanted to speak to me. He knows where I am. The ball is in his court, and there’s not much I can do.

Tonight, the university hosts a dinner in my honor. And I mean, a real dinner. Not the cheese plate and dips version; this is a linen and flowers and crystal glasses and silverware affair, all hired for the occasion and set up on long tables in the main hall. The dean, who is retiring at the end of term, gives a warm speech where he thanks me for making the last year of his career the proudest and most memorable.

Luis is looking very handsome in his tuxedo. He’s chatting to Rohan about art and mathematics, I think. I’m chatting to Bernie, one of my post-doctoral students. He’s telling me about a robot who can make an omelet.

“Shouldn’t that be a robot that can make an omelet?” I say.

Bernie pulls his hair back and ties it into a ponytail with a rubber band that was around his wrist. “People are more likely to trust robots that exhibit human traits, like gazing and nodding and shrugging. I like to think about robots as people. It makes me care more.”

Then June walks up to us, holding a flower arrangement in both hands, like an offering. She’s smiling. “These just came for you,” she says.

She puts the arrangement down on the table and Bernie stands up, brandishing an empty bottle of wine. “I’ll get us a refill.”

“I’m sure the waiters will fix you up,” I say, but he’s already gone and June sits down in his place.

I pull the arrangement closer and unfasten the clear cellophane. Purple lisianthus and daisies set in a white cube.

Luis turns around and peers over my shoulder as I open the card. “Who’s it from?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Who do you think? My mother.”

Congratulations, Anna. I’m very proud of you.

“That’s nice,” June says.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Not really. She could have come. I invited her, you know. It wouldn’t kill her to make the trip once in a while.” I point at the flowers with my chin. “She always sends the same whenever there’s a birthday in the family. When she remembers them, anyway.”

June helps herself to the jug of water. “You’re not close?”

“You could say that. I never see her. She doesn’t even come to visit her grandchildren.”

“No!”

I shrug. “She’s not a caring person, not in that way. And she’s become a recluse of sorts in her old age.” I fan myself with the card. “That’s beside the point anyway, as we were never close. I know this is going to sound strange, but my mother didn’t like me very much.”

June scoffs, shocked I think. “I doubt that.”

“Please. You don’t know her.” But I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Maybe she thinks I’m exaggerating, or that I’m put out because my mother hasn’t shown up for me.

I