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  Isabella calls me back the next day.

  It might be in correlation with the multiple attempts I made after the meal. Although I do understand why she didn’t pick up. Well, at first, I figured it was because it was past 8 pm and she had better things to do than answer my calls. But when I hear her voice on the other end, I have other ideas. “Alexej, what is going on?”

  She’s whispering. Her voice is hoarse. And I can almost picture her rubbing her eyes. I check the clock and see how much time I have left before work. “Sorry, nothing urgent.”

  “You called me seven times.”

  “I know. I was—”

  “Ruminating, as always. What is going on?”

  I clear my throat. “Should we talk at another moment?”

  “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage. Tell me.”

  A sigh escapes my mouth. It’s not even eight, and she’s accepting that I vent on her. Since she’s been my tutor for my PhD, we’ve had a particular relationship. I feel entitled to her, and surely, she feels bound to my success. “I was wondering if there were any advancements.”

  Ruffles of clothes or sheets and the sound of a door closing later, she answers. “What did I tell you?”

  “Hum. Many things.”

  “Please, try to remember.”

  I definitely know what she wants to hear. But I already feel dumb about making her wake up early and call me immediately after she opened her eyes because of the seven calls she missed. “I need to be patient?”

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  “Yes,” she hisses on the phone, emphasizing the end of the word. I close my eyes. “I truly am doing everything that is in my power, Alexej.”

  “Is Andrew Miller working at one of Tufts labs?” I blurt before I chicken out.

  It could be a total coincidence, but since he’s already taught classes at Tufts in the past, it’s most likely. The fact that we never crossed each other’s path is relatively odd, though.

  That, might be in correlation with my regular absence from the professor's lounge.

  Isabella’s voice erupts from the speaker. “Andrew Miller?” My lack of response is enough. “He’s one of us, yes. It’s been a while. He started new courses this semester, right?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He wanted to be part of the teaching team again. Clark was particularly interested, for some reason. He’s always been fond of him.” I haven’t imagined their attitude towards one another at the first meeting. “He’s at the Cognitive and Development Lab.”

  “Since when has Synergology been a part of their research?”

  “It’s not.” She keeps on moving, maybe dressing up, because I hear the phone being carried, her voice changing tone and volume. “He primarily conducts experiments on children and toddlers. Like the rest of the lab. Concerning their ways of communication and how our world and societies affect their language, did you never wonder what our labs actually do?”

  I ponder over the idea of reminding her that I should have gone to Boston. I should have taught at the School of Medicine there, since there’s none in Medford, but she convinced me, and begged me to stay here, because of how ‘valuable and necessary’ my contribution to their lab was.

  She adds. “Why do you ask?”

  Why do I ask? Curiosity. Jealousy. And she’s the Dean of Research; she would be the one with the answers. I have other questions. Why him and not me? What is holding up? Is his contribution ‘valuable and necessary’ too? Instead, I respond, “Just wondering.”

  “I know what’s happening in your head, Alexej,” Isabella says perfectly, and I already close my eyes because of the scowl that I’m about to receive, “and I need you to stop. Believe me when I say that I’m doing my best. Things are taking longer to concretize because of aspects that neither of us can control. I’m sorry. Most researchers had to wait for more than five years. You still have time. Don’t rush.”

  “Bella, come to bed.” A muffled voice grunts on the other end. And I smile.

  “Take care of that gentleman, please. Sorry for bothering you.” My hand is already on the handle of my front door.

  Her sweet laugh resonates. “Don’t worry about it. Have a great day.”