Page 82 of The New Place

Which is fine. Yeah, it’s fine. Helpful even, to allay Beverly’s concerns. Chris knows they’re together, and certainly knows they’re serious enough that Abbot wants to leave Callahan to move to Boston. So what’s the difference between that and assuring Beverly they’re in this for the long haul?

It’s Chris. He’s the difference. Chris’s mind works in one direction, and Ned knows exactly what that is. And his mouth works twice as fast as his brain, and Ned’s already turned his phone on do not disturb, which is lucky because he probably has a half-planned wedding he doesn’t know about yet.

No, it’ll be fine. Ned sets his laptop on the lectern as gently as he can. His hands are damp. Giving this talk today is already enough, thanks very much to the damn universe. Chris is just doing what Chris does, exaggerating everything he’s excited about. Beverly heard what she wanted to—what she needed to, really. She has to sell their relationship to HR, and Chris did them a favor.

Married, Ned thinks. Shit.

“You can go ahead and start.” Beverly takes a seat in the front row, setting her phone on her thigh.

Ned takes a long breath, hooking his laptop to the projector with fingers that fumble the job. He scans the room as the screen turns from the blue of standby to his opening slide and tries to remember what he’s supposed to say. His name, he’s sure. Who he is. What he’s doing here, talking to this small scatter of people amidst mostly vacant seats.

“I’m Ned,” he says to the room, sure his voice is too loud and belatedly realizing maybe he should have said Dr. Coppola. But it’s too late now, because he’s started and he has to keep going. “Thank you so much for having me. I’m going to talk about research I’ve done into first-generation college students, with a focus on retention. I’m seeing some interesting trends here at Newbury that we’ll take a look at today, too.”

Flattering trends, he’s made sure to include. About how well the university is keeping its first-gen students enrolled year after year. He hits the wrong key to advance a slide and it’s an awkward moment before he gets it right.

No. Stop. He can’t mess this up, and he’s starting all wrong. He needs to get a grip, and to focus, and to get Beverly on board with his talk, because she’s sitting there with her phone balanced on her thigh, the screen lit up and her eyes darting to it once and then twice.

Ned circles in front of the lectern and leans back against it, looking through the handful of people to catch the eyes of some of the youngest. “Newbury University, right?” Ned asks. “Anyone else grow up hearing about this place?”

The barest of nods, and he forges forward. “So my folks live right across the river, my dad runs an auto shop, and my mom’s done a couple different things for work. Nobody in my family went to college, and when we were high school seniors, my best friend didn’t even apply. Of course, now he has no student debt, so maybe he took the right road out of high school.”

There, a little chuckle. Reeling them in with the dark humor of loans is always guaranteed to work.

“I went to take the SAT, and everyone else had water bottles and snacks and extra pencils—I know, ancient history, because you undergrads today don’t have to painstakingly fill in those little bubbles, since you get tablets or whatever now. But that was my first introduction to this other world kids my age lived in, prepared for this test while I had to borrow a pencil sharpener after the first break.”

Beverly’s looking up at him now. Good. Boarding school, Ned remembers. She was on the other side of the divide he’s talking about, he’s sure.

“Students show up to Newbury every fall who come from that same experience I had. We muddle through financial-aid packages, applications, all of it, just to get lost on campus, and we end up asking directions from a kid whose last name is on the building we’re trying to find. And listen, my parents grew up here and I did too, so I wasn’t dealing with a language barrier or a foreign culture or visas or anything like that. Still, it’s a hell of a culture shock to step onto campus when you’re the first in your family to do so.”

He shouldn’t have sworn, he’s sure, but he gets another couple nods, so he goes with it, feeling like he’s starting to hit his stride. “And that’s just getting to school, when you have support—hopefully—from your friends and family, who are excited to see you off on this new adventure. But going back for a second semester? A third? My buddy was waiting tables, planning to become a bartender, and making bank while I was taking out more and more loans. We all want to quit, to just go home, get back to our normal lives, and that’s what I want to talk about today, how nearly universal the struggles of first-generation students are, and the effect that has on social stratification across socioeconomic classes, nationwide. And, most importantly, what we can all do about it.”

Afterward, he shakes hands with everyone who comes up to him, repeating their names when they say it, and actually genuinely enjoying himself. Rich kids, they used to say of Newbury students when he was growing up, and yeah, the room is full of a different mix of folks than it would be at Adams or Callahan, or especially at a state school, but his research is truly what he said: universal. It touches Newbury as surely as anywhere else, and Beverly clasps his hand between both of hers when she follows after the last member faculty who stopped to chat with him.

“That was great,” she says, and it sounds like she actually means it.

Ned will take it, even if it comes hand in hand with her leaps of assumptions about his love life. “Thank you. I can really, honestly say I didn’t ever think I’d interview at Newbury. I know Abbot—Doctor Abbot, Henry—is really the one with his foot in the door here, but it’s still something for this kid from across the river.”

“You’d be a great fit here,” Beverly says.

Which is nice and mostly, Ned knows, it’s a delicate political stance she’s decided on. Should Abbot end up here regardless of Ned being hired, her star new researcher, and the kid of family friends, won’t think Beverly did less than everything to bring along his⁠—

Not his spouse. Boyfriend. The word had felt so warm and secure. Boyfriend, Ned hasn’t gotten tired of saying yet. Abbot, his incredibly good-looking, impossibly smart boyfriend, and when the mark of a year had ticked over, it had brought some reassurance with it. Ned can date. He can make a relationship work again, pull his life together and untangle himself into a functioning adult who can keep up his half of being in a couple for an entire year.

Getting married rings in his head as he says goodbye to Beverly and steps out into the bright cold of the day.

He scrambles for his phone. There’s a text from Jen: Is Peggy’s basketball jersey at your place? Followed up with Found it, nvm. Another from Dad telling Ned and Mom no need to buy any avocados if they stop by the store, he’s got plenty. And Abbot, a Good luck he sent earlier, and then How did it go? just moments ago.

Okay. Nothing has changed. Beverly just thinks they’re getting married and that’s fine. Good, even.

His phone rings and he jumps.

It’s just Pat. “If I texted Claire last night and she hasn’t texted me back yet, does that mean it’s over?” Pat asks.

“Um, hi?”

“Did you hear from her?”

“Me?”