“How’s your dissertation coming?”
He snickered. “Terrible. I don’t have a lot of time to write, and now Professor Picton is pissed with me. I was supposed to give her one of my chapters two weeks ago and it isn’t finished.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to write the damn thing for me. I’d like to go on the job market this fall, but Picton won’t let me unless I’m further along.” He sighed loudly. “I’m probably going to be on the farm for at least another year. The longer I’m there, the harder it is to write.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Julia put her glass down and began rubbing her eyes.
“Are you tired?” Paul sounded concerned.
“A little. My eyes bother me sometimes. It’s probably stress.” She put her hands in her lap. “Sorry. I don’t want this conversation to be all about me. I’d rather hear how you’re doing.”
“We’ll come to that. When did your eyes start bothering you?”
“When I moved to Boston.”
“Lots of grad students end up with eyestrain. You should get your eyes checked.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you wear glasses?”
“No, I drank a lot of milk growing up. It helped my vision.”
She appeared puzzled. “I thought carrots did that.”
“Milk helps everything.”
She laughed.
Paul couldn’t help but appreciate Julia’s beauty, made even more lovely when she laughed.
He was about to say something but was interrupted by the waiter, who served their lunch. When he withdrew, Julia spoke.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Paul fought a frown.
“Ali and I go out occasionally. But it’s casual.”
“She’s a nice person. She cares about you.”
“I know that.” His expression darkened.
“I want you to be happy . . .”
He changed the subject. “How are things in your program?”
Julia toyed with her silverware before answering. “The professors are tough and I’m working all the time, but I love it.”
“And the other students?”
Julia made a face.
“They’re very competitive. I consider a couple of them friends, but I don’t necessarily trust them. I went to the library once and found that someone had hidden a bunch of the Boccaccio resources so the rest of us couldn’t use them for our seminar.”
“So I guess you aren’t spending late nights in the library sharing a carrel?”
“Definitely not.” She nibbled on her food.
“Do you go out at all?”
“Rarely. It’s awkward because the other students bring their partners and Gabriel won’t join me.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to socialize with grad students.”
Paul bit his tongue. Hard.
“He wants to have a baby,” Julia blurted.
She cringed, immediately regretting her lack of discretion.
“It might be a bit difficult, given his biology,” Paul teased. When he saw the look on her face, he grew serious. “And you don’t?”
“Not right away.” She twisted her linen napkin in her lap. “I want to finish my program. I’m worried if we have a baby, I’ll never graduate.”
She ducked her head, berating herself internally for mentioning so personal a struggle to Paul. Gabriel would be livid if he knew she was sharing these kinds of confidences. But she needed to talk to someone. And Rachel, although sympathetic, did not understand the academic world.
“I’m sorry, Julia. Have you told him?”
“Yes. He said he understood. But it’s out there, you know? Once you express that kind of desire, it can’t be taken back.”
Paul tapped his foot under the table. Their conversation had taken a surprising turn, and truthfully, he didn’t know what to say. He quickly thought of something.
“There were some mothers in our program back in Toronto, but only a few.”
“Did they finish?”
“Truthfully? Most of them didn’t. A lot of the guys had kids. But most of them had wives who either stayed at home or worked part time. . . . Hey.” He waited until she lifted her face. “That’s a small sample. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to who was getting pregnant and who wasn’t. There’s probably a group at Harvard that can give you advice about balancing a family and grad school.”
“I didn’t want to have those conversations now.”
“I can understand that.”
Paul shook his head.
“Jules, it’s none of my business, but don’t get pressured into living someone else’s life. If you aren’t ready for a family, say so. And stick to your decision, otherwise you’ll end up miserable.”
“I don’t think having a baby with my husband would make me miserable.” She sounded defensive.
“Dropping out of Harvard would. I know you, Julia. And I know what’s important to you. You’ve been working so hard for this. Don’t throw it away.”
“I don’t want to, but I feel guilty.”
Paul cursed obliquely.
“I thought you said he was supportive of you.”
“He is.”