Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            I recognize the voice from my grad school days—Devang, the department administrator. I turn and wave at him, feeling numb. My hand doesn’t feel like mine.

            “Come in, Devang,” Dr. L. says.

            I’m nauseous, dizzy.

            For the past six years, I’ve tried to be the Elsie that Dr. L. wanted. Resourceful, hardworking, tireless. Everything I needed—money, insulin, time, rest, mental fucking space—everything I needed I put after my work. I followed his advice before anyone else’s, thinking that he had my best interests in mind, thinking that he deserved an Elsie who strove for brilliance.

            And all along, all he wanted was someone he could control.

            “Would you rather I come back later?” Devang is asking.

            “No,” Dr. L. says, eyes looking into me, lips pinched tight, “Elise was just about to leave.”

            I hold his gaze, knowing the first time I was truly honest with him is likely going to be the last time I’ll ever see him.

            “Dr. Laurendeau,” I say before turning around, “you should really start calling me Elsie.”





25


            DUCTILITY



From: [email protected]

                Subject: WHY DON’T YOU PICK UP YOUR PHONE? IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS.


[this message has no body]





From: [email protected]

                Subject: Re: Death in the family can’t come to class


hey mrs. hannaway what do you mean, who died? pretty sure you can’t ask me that, it’s a HIPAA violation





From: [email protected]

                Subject: Re: Not who you think I am


Dr. Hannaway,


I apologize! I mixed you up with Dr. Hannaday, who teaches my Shakespeare After Dark: Intercoursing the Bard class. He’s actually a man in his seventies with bushy sideburns and chronic nostril boogers, so . . . Oops & lol. Thank you very much for answering my questions anyway! I ran with your idea of looking at how Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer is loosely based on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and actually got an A+! I attached the paper in case you’re interested (It’s titled: Twilight vs. Shakespeare: May the horniest triumph). Also I looked you up on the BU database, and you teach Intro to Thermodynamics? I’m thinking of signing up for your class next year! I have a STEM requirement, and you’ve been so nice. If anyone can help me understand stuff like gravity or long division, that’s you.


Cam





From: [email protected]

                Subject: Formal complaint


Dear Elsie,


I wanted to thank you again for our conversation re: your former advisor. The pattern of behavior you have highlighted is highly concerning, and an investigation on the matter has started. For now, I want to reassure you that part of my commitment as the new Chair of the Physics Department here at Northeastern is to counteract the secretive, toxic, unregulated academic environment that made it possible for Dr. Laurendeau to isolate you through the years.


I will keep you updated,


Best,

                Bernard Greenberg, Ph.D.



            My decision is already made by Tuesday night, but it’s not until Friday morning that I get on the subway and head toward Cambridge. I walk through Harvard Square, coat open in the middle of a delightfully sunny sixty-degree February day that’s probably paid for by several yards of coral bleaching somewhere in the Red Sea. I feel much like I have for the rest of the week: raw, delicate, a little bumbling. As though I’m gingerly trying on someone else’s life.

            It’s my first time in the building, but I find the office easily. When I knock, a voice yells from inside, “I’m not here! Don’t come in! Go away!”

            I laugh and open the door anyway.

            “Oh my God, Elsie! Come in—I thought you were one of my colleagues. Or students. Or family members. Basically, anyone else.” George seems overjoyed to see me. Her office resembles her: a little messy, but cozy and comfortable. She begins to move a stack of printouts from the chair, but I shake my head.

            “No need. I don’t really have time to stay. I wanted to talk to you in person. About the job.”

            “Oh.” Her expression briefly shifts into a wince. Then reverts back to a small, reassuring smile. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here for that. I totally understand that working for an experimentalist might not be your ideal career. And I have no doubt that you’ll find a tenure-track position soon. And like I said, I think you and I should still—”