26. Quo Vadis - Lords of Serendipity

Allard and Patricia lived together a second year. Patricia continued her remote work assessing the research methodologies that Puck developed at a speed and volume that felt defeating for her until finally, it was. She couldn’t keep up with the queries and stopped responding and no one seemed to notice. Around the same time, she received a message from Human Resources, asking about her interest in early retirement. She accepted the package but declined an invitation to a group retirement party that was also honoring two groundskeepers, a clerk, and a residence hall porter, all of whom were probably being replaced by robots and apps, too. Instead, she put more effort into helping international students with their robotic papers, and given her retirement payout, she began charging a modest sum. They were fine with this; in fact, she had the sense they were all so worried and lonely that she could charge them just to spend time with her, but she certainly didn’t like the sound of that. Still, she needed to make a little more money. She’d argued with Allard about her rate—he was convinced she could charge five hundred dollars an hour. She was only charging fifty.

I’m not sure what I do is worth that much, Allard, she’d said.

It’s not what you’re worth. It’s what they’re willing to pay. At a place like Haven, the more you charge students, the more they’ll pay. That’s how these places work. We can 10X your rate just to start. There’s a limit at a school like Arcadia, but not at Haven, he said.

How do you know that? About Arcadia? You were only a TA there. I mean, in addition to your doctoral studies. Allard, are you still a TA there? You are, after all, still in doctoral studies, aren’t you?

For once he looked up from his computer. He was sitting, as usual, on the couch, orange peels and pistachio shells everywhere on the floor.

It’s just something I heard from a friend, he said.

He didn’t answer her questions. Which was its own kind of answer, she knew. As to hearing from a friend, as to even having a friend, he was probably lying, but she couldn’t figure out why he was lying. To her, as a mother, it didn’t matter. Now in his second year of living with her, and even if he didn’t appear to be either TA-ing or in doctoral studies anymore, Allard was, objectively, in a slightly better place than he had been that first winter he spent at the apartment.

And today, suddenly, he looked joyful. He was nearly skipping around the apartment.

What is it? Patricia asked. Did you receive a dissertation completion award?

A what? No. No. Check your email.

She checked her email. Allard had forwarded her a statement from Martin’s university, thanking Martin for the contributions he’d made via the research chair he had held for many years, the funding for which had ceased, effective immediately.

Shall we celebrate? asked Allard.

Amazed by what she’d just read, stunned even, and made more than a little happy, if also worried, Patricia agreed. She left Allard in the living room and sat on the edge of her bed with the door closed. She felt like laughing but was certain she would begin sobbing. She’d lost her job. And so had Allard’s father? Or at least, his research chair? Which, for someone like that, must have felt like the same thing. And Allard knew it had happened, which meant that all these years, he had been following Martin’s career, maybe waiting for a moment like this? And now he wanted to celebrate it, with her? But what was she doing? Sitting in a closed room trying not to cry. Her parents, her brothers, if they were alive they would tell her to get up, toughen up, have a drink. And for once, they were right.

She had a perfect idea for celebrating.

She took the university’s statement announcing that the man who had failed her and never acknowledged their son had just lost the research chair he’d long held at his university, and had it printed up as two placemats. Neither she nor Allard mentioned Martin by name that night as they ate, on top of them, the first and second courses of the elaborate Italian meal that Allard had ordered for them.

Dessert was cold cups of budino. Spooning some into his mouth, Allard was smiling.

You’re enjoying that, I see.

We can test whether they make it better in Rome, said Allard.

What do you mean?

We’re going to Rome.

Pardon me?

It’s a retirement gift. Or a thank-you for letting me stay with you. Whatever. We’re going to Rome, Mom. It’s all arranged.

My goodness! Really? Really? I’ve done no research, but thank you, Allard! That’s very generous of you. Can you afford this?

Allard smiled.

Why are you smiling at that question?

He was smiling because he could afford a lot now that he didn’t have to save millions of dollars to prove himself to his father. He could stop researching and fooling around with crypto models to grow his 2.25 million by another 1.75 million. This was no longer needed. He could do whatever he wanted with his money, with his life. He could even stop pretending to work on his dissertation. He could do something for fun, like make easy money off Haven students through his mother. He actually had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, except meet his father finally. Allard was ready to meet him. And his research-chairless father was now ready to be met. He was in Rome, on sabbatical.

When we get back from Italy, I think we should open a business together.

What?

Don’t worry about it for now.

Allard, I am not going to charge those poor international students extortionate rates for help with their essays.

We’ll talk about it after Rome.

They finished dessert and Patricia offered Allard the last piece of focaccia and then cleared the table. She went to the kitchen for the Fernet-Branca. But also to catch her breath. This trip to Rome wasn’t a retirement gift. It wasn’t about her at all. Allard was planning to meet Martin. All these years, he had secretly been following his career, waiting for him to fall. And he wanted her to be with him. But what was he expecting Patricia to do? See Martin, after all these years? Or just wait and let her son go see the man who never knew of Allard’s existence, the man who had never wanted him to exist at all? She had raised her son to believe in the greatness of all things academic. And because Martin had now lost his academic greatness, what did Allard think he would do, upon meeting his son for the first time? She didn’t know, only that she didn’t want her son to do this to himself.

She returned to the dining room.

About Rome, she said. I’ve always wanted to go to the Eternal City, Allard, and thank you for arranging this trip. It’s a gift, really. But I do want to say that as much as I prefer a nice Chianti to an ouzo, I’ve always had the idea that we would go to Athens, actually, to celebrate your PhD.

Okay.

So we can change the trip to Athens? That would be wonderful.

No. I haven’t finished my PhD. We’re going to Rome.

She could refuse to go to Rome but then he would go on his own, and she didn’t think Martin would be nearly so vulnerable as Allard seemed to think he was. She would not let him go on his own.

Quo vadis, Allard?

He looked it up and smiled.

Exactly. We’re going to Rome.