Office Mate

There should be a rule against colleges dropping unwanted English professors into the offices of nice, unsuspecting members of the history faculty.

There is no rule, of course. Colleges can assign office space as they like. Which is why I’m being forced to share my beautiful office with the new guy in the English department. The beginning of a new school year in the fall is usually my favorite time of year, but I’m not looking forward to this semester.

At all.

Space is always at a premium on college campuses—particularly small schools like Milford College, which doesn’t have a big endowment or a lot of rich donors. I understand having to juggle and rejuggle available space, and I’m usually a good-natured and flexible employee. But full-time faculty here have always gotten their own office, and it’s hard not to be annoyed by the fact that I’m suddenly forced to double up with someone new.

I lucked out two years ago when I was first hired at Milford, a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere in south central Virginia. A long-standing member of the history department had just retired, and I ended up with his office on the fourth floor of the main academics building. It’s a big, quirky space with strange angles, a slanted ceiling, and two big windows. I’ve fixed it up with pretty wall hangings, curtains, throw rugs, and knickknacks. The office is exactly the way I want it, and I love coming in to work every morning and seeing it.

But evidently the office is too big. It’s always had two desks, and I should have been more strategic and asked the folks in facilities to move the second desk out of the office when I first arrived so it wouldn’t be such a tempting target. But the second desk was convenient. I used it for students taking makeup tests or if I needed a clear workspace to grade papers or spread out notes for a research project.

And now my office is going to be invaded by a new assistant professor—one I don’t know and who isn’t even in my department.

I’m trying not to be sulky or resentful, but it’s a struggle.

It’s my office. I’m thirty years old and have a PhD in early American history. I don’t have a very impressive salary because the college is small and my discipline is not in high demand. I teach four classes a semester and one in the January interim term. I’m the advisor to the history club, and I sit on three different faculty committees. The least they can give me is my own office.

I’m grumbling about it at lunch on a Friday in late August to my best friend, Jennifer.

“Marcus said they did try to find some other way to get you both your own office,” Jennifer says with a sympathetic look. She works in the financial aid department, and her fiancé is the director of facilities at Milford. “But they just couldn’t work it out.”

“I know.” I took the biggest piece of coconut pie to try to assuage my wounded psyche, and I take a bite of it now, the sweet softness soothing on my tongue. “I’m sure they did everything they could. It’s not Marcus’s fault.”

“He feels bad about it. We know you love your office. But it will just be a year, and maybe it will be kind of fun.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” The thought perks me up a little. “I did have fun with my office mate in graduate school. She ended up being one of my best friends. I think I’d feel better if I’d actually met the guy. I was visiting Mom and Dad when he came for his campus interview. But everyone was really impressed with him. Hopefully he’ll be nice and friendly. You met him, didn’t you?”

Jennifer is pretty with shoulder-length, light brown hair and intelligent brown eyes. Unlike me, she has a way of coming across as serious and in control. I, on the other hand, have blue eyes that are too big, a baby face with too many curves and dimples, and a round figure that looks all wrong in tailored, professional clothes. I was made for long, soft skirts and pretty tunic tops, and my long, dark hair is always slipping out of any braid or bun I try to contain it in. I used to try to wear suits and look dignified, but I gave that up a long time ago.

“Yes, I met him,” Jennifer says after a noticeable pause. “He seems incredibly smart.”

“Smart? Smart?” My eyes get even bigger than they normally are. “That’s all you can say about him?”

“Well, I didn’t get to know him. I just said hello and listened to his research talk.” She frowns, and I see something quite clear in that expression. “He seems very serious, but very… polite.”

“Polite!” I say it too loudly. The students eating lunch around us turn and look. I lower my voice. “Polite? Oh God, you didn’t like him, did you?”

“I didn’t not like him. I just didn’t get a good sense of him. I’m sure it will be fine.” She’s obviously trying to be encouraging, but it’s not working on me.

Jennifer is naturally reserved. Not nearly as expressive as I am. But I can read the hesitation in her expression.

“It’s not going to be fine,” I groan with exaggerated despair. “It’s going to be terrible.”

“What’s going to be terrible?” Marcus Greene sits down beside Jennifer with his lunch tray. He’s a handsome man with striking blue-gray eyes and an easy grin. He’s giving it to me now. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“It is bad. I have to share my office with an asshole.”