Page 70 of Let It Be Me

TWENTY-SIX

ruby

After class on Tuesday,I approach Wythe with a little flutter of nerves in my stomach.

Until receiving her response last night—which was short but not unfriendly—I’d almost forgotten I’d emailed her. I’m worried I was too forward. As a mediocre student, I’m not sure I’m entitled to answers about her career history. But she asked me to speak in person, so here I am.

“Professor Wythe? Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Of course. I was hoping you’d come to me today. Walk down to my office, and we’ll chat.” She sweeps her belongings into a chic leather satchel, and we head out of the lecture hall together.

“Thanks for making time for me. I hope I wasn’t being nosy, but your interview got me thinking.”

“Had I known anyone read those things, I might have tried to make my life sound a little more interesting!”

“I think it is, actually. Between what you said to me and that interview, I’ve started to think quality assurance isn’t where I want to land after graduation.”

“Pause there, Ruby. To be clear, I wasn’t discouraging you from going into QA. It’s a highly respected field with plenty of opportunity for advancement.”

“I understand, but the truth is, I didn’t put much thought into choosing it. I just knew it was an easy job to get for a food science grad.” When she raises an eyebrow, I add, “Noteasyeasy, just relatively easy. Compared to other branches.”

“Okay, so tell me why you’ve soured on it.” Her round eyes flash with a playfulness I don’t expect. “Food pun.”

“Good one. If you’ll allow it, I was never sweet on it to begin with.”

Wythe chuckles and gives an eye roll.

“Thinking long-term just doesn’t come naturally to me, and I couldn’t really tell you why I chose food science to begin with. I like food and two of my friends were in the program and it was sophomore year and I had to choose, so here I am.”

Embarrassment comes over me at the disapproving look that crosses Wythe’s face, confirming what I already knew. She’s one of them: ambitious, confident, sure of what they want. Goal setters. High achievers. Unable to comprehend how anyone can be anything but. This is the point where I usually find an excuse to end the conversation. But I asked for her time. And, more importantly, I’m not here to impress her. I’m here for help.

“Anyway, I’m not actually interested in QA, and you’re right. I probably wouldn’t last there. And when I read that you started in QA but ended up pivoting to teaching, I thought you might have some advice on a better fit for me.”

We stop at Wythe’s door and she swipes her key card, her expression now sympathetic. Her office is small, windowless, and overstuffed, not at all in line with her cosmopolitan, elegant vibe. She’s silent until the door has closed behind us and she’s set down her bag and her overflowing desk stands between us.

“Wouldn’t I love to be able to tell you? Unfortunately, Ruby, if you don’t know what you want to do with your life, I can’t possibly know either.”

“Right,” I say slowly. I need to rephrase this. “But just a general direction? I hear research and development can be exciting. Do you think I’d fit there?”

Wythe sighs, somewhere between frustration and sympathy. “I don’t know you. It’s that simple: I don’t know if you’d fit.”

Shame hits me in a fresh wave. I sound ridiculous asking this accomplished woman who’s conversed with me exactly twice to sketch out my life for me. This is what desperation looks like. “Okay,” I say, trying to hide my embarrassment with a confident nod. “That makes sense.”

I prepare to exit, but Wythe plops down in her desk chair and crosses her legs. “Go ahead and sit.” At the same time, we glance around the room for a chair. “Ugh,” she groans. “I don’t know where the hell my other chair disappeared to. It’s okay, just stand. I’ll be quick.”

I find myself crossing my hands behind my back, posing uncomfortably like I’m getting ready to hear my sentence.

“Let me ask you something: Why did you email me in the first place?”

I’m starting to sweat. “I read your interview and I realized you started out in QA and that you’ve worked in a few different sectors of food science. I thought your experience might be able to steer me in one direction or another.”

“Okay, but why did you read my interview?” She smiles knowingly. “Nobody reads those things.”

I hesitate. Why did I? “I guess ... I happened to be thinking about you. Because the comment you left on my paper—the one about finding what you’re good at?—stuck in my head.”

“Ah. I like hearing that. So what are you good at?”

“Related to food science? I don’t know. Cooking? I have no idea.”

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