Free Soft Apocalypses by Lucy Snyder Page B

. It felt weird to even think the words. It was easier to think of him as the Professor. Growing up, the other kids at her school had fathers or stepfathers or erstwhile “uncles”, but never Emma. She couldn’t even remember her mom ever going on a date. Of course, with her grindingly long shifts at the hospital, it was hard for her to have much of a social life.
    And that, at least according to her Aunt Mary, was entirely her father’s fault.
    Emma’s mom rarely spoke of him, but her aunt wasn’t one to mince words or keep silent. According to Mary, her father was Edgar Burke, a chemistry instructor who dumped her mother when she got pregnant. Emma’s mom had to drop out of college and go to work as a nurses’ aide while he went on to become a full professor with a fat salary.  Mary wanted her sister to sue for child support, but Emma’s mother never followed up with the lawyers Mary contacted on her behalf.
    It seemed the good Professor was determined to have nothing to do with his daughter. But on her 16th birthday, a FedEx guy delivered a fancy basket of Godiva chocolates to their little clapboard rental in Huntington. That night, Burke telephoned the house, and Emma had her first, awkward conversation with the man who until that day had only given her half her genes.
    The support checks came Johnny-on-the-spot after that. And on her next birthday, right when Emma and her mother were starting to fret over college costs, he offered to pay for Emma to attend UC.
    “Your father wants to meet with you in his office at noon tomorrow,” her mom said, reading over the letter. “He’s in Clay Tower.”
    Emma suddenly felt nervous. She’d talked to the Professor at most six times on the phone, and he’d been away at a conference when she and her mom visited the campus before. “Are ... are you going to come with me?”
    Her mother’s smile faded for the briefest second. “No, honey, I ... I have to be back at the hospital tomorrow. Look, it’ll be fine! Just be your regular sweet self. We can thank the Lord that he’s changed his ways and found the love of Jesus in his heart to finally do right by you.”
     
    There were no crosses in Professor Burke’s office. Nor were there any Christian books that Emma could see in the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves that lined every inch of wall space beyond the doorway and wide window. The Encyclopedia Paranormal volumes and books on Voudun and Medieval witchcraft scattered amongst the organic chemistry and mathematics texts counted as a sort of religious reading, Emma supposed, but surely not the kind that involved Jesus or love.
    The professor himself was sitting behind a wide desk, engrossed in a science journal. He was a lean, well-kept man in his late 40s or early 50s, and he was dressed much more stylishly than she’d expected. His handsome face was an odd mix of the strange and familiar: his nose and full lips were masculine versions of hers, and she’d seen his gray eyes in every mirror.
    Emma wiped her sweaty palms on her khaki skirt and cleared her throat. Burke finally looked up and noticed her standing in the doorway. His face broke into a smile as broad and bright as the noon sun over Antarctica.
    “You must be Emma,” he said, standing and gesturing toward one of the high-backed chairs in front of his desk. “Please, come in and have a seat. So, you’re settled in the dormitory okay? Got all the classes you wanted to take?”
    “Yes sir,” she said as she sat down.
    “Good, good.” He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I took the liberty of getting you a job here on campus at the Erma Byrd Art Gallery. It’s just ten hours a week, and they’ll work around your schedule. I’m sure you could use a bit of pocket money, and it will look good on your resume.”
    He passed the paper to her. It was a job acceptance letter signed by the museum curator. All official and addressed to her, just as if she’d applied on her