Julia

Very carefully I peeked outside my office.  True, the walls were made of glass, except where wood and steel framework held the panes in place, and a transparent door with a plaque in its middle reading "J. Samuels, R-212," but I couldn't afford to take my wide scope for granted.  I looked to the left, then to the right, then back again.  The coast was clear. 

So I tiptoed back inside, and with a long sigh, I reached my arms high over my head and stretched.  Oh, that was just what I needed.  I'd been sitting here in this office of mine since eight, with a couple of breaks for coffee and lunch mixed in for the flavor.  Not that I hadn't been busy, or productive.  Early December was always a high-traffic period for the counseling center at Princeton University, what with finals anxiety and "returning home to an insane family over the holidays" worries circulating in the air. 

However, things would soon drastically wind down around the campus.  Three years working here at Princeton had taught me as much.  It was already the tenth of December, so we counselors also would know a week or so of sweet freedom from the day-to-day grind- which was just enough time to do some much-needed last-minute Christmas shopping.

The stretch felt so nice, I decided to take it a step further.  Keeping my back straight, I bent in half and reached for my toes, my pinned-up hair falling a little messily around my face.  But I didn't mind.  No one could see, and anyway, I was going to be leaving in a few minutes to go pick up-

"Knock knock," a clear, man's voice quipped from the doorway.

Quickly I straightened up, throwing my head back.  For a moment my blood couldn't decide whether it wanted to leave my face or stay there in embarrassment. But as soon as I saw the eternally confident blue eyes set in that masculine, weathered face, I relaxed into a smile. 

"What's new, Stu?" I greeted him.

"Hi, Jules," Stuart said, coming further in.  "Didn't mean to interrupt your yoga, but-"

I waved my hand.  "Not at all, not at all, yoga can wait."  I wrapped my arms around him in a hug.  It was always such a joy whenever my dear Stuart would come to visit me, especially these days when he was so preoccupied with his new projects. 

I say "dear Stuart," and not "boyfriend," because the word just didn't seem appropriate- or respectful- when it came to Dr. Stuart Preus. 

Yes, that's right, THE Stuart Preus.  Princeton's very own physicist (and a rather good-looking one, too), now known the world over for his groundbreaking design of the very first operational cross-continuum interface, affectionately called T-Rod- a device which cracked open a brand new and highly controversial subject once thought to be solely the stuff of science fiction novels and CGI-heavy blockbuster films: time travel. 

In other words, time travel was now, in certain circles (but not public ones, mind you) officially a thing- but a very delicate thing, for the most part reserved for the most careful and clinically executed research.  As it was still such a new category of learning, and a potentially dangerous one at that, information was still withheld from most everyone and kept utterly mum.  Those who had pioneered the technology ten years ago were still fundamentally the only ones with the authority to explore it- which meant Stuart was one of the first people to come to whenever one wanted clues about time-travel's secrets.

But I'm getting sidetracked.  As I was saying...

"Is this consultation professional, or for pleasure?" I asked, looking up.

"Both," he smiled.  "Can we start with pleasure?"

"If you like.  Let's keep it above the neck, though, I am still on the clock." 

With a little chuckle, Stuart bent down and kissed me- politely at first, upon the cheek, and then he moved toward my lips.  But that's as far as it went, for he was short on time- and we were standing in a glass box.

"And now, on a more practical level," Stuart said, letting go.  "Are you going to stay around campus until my presentation tonight?"

"I would, dear, but I have to- it's at seven, right?"

"Right."

"Perfect.  Yes, I have to, um, pick up Danny from school."

"Doesn't your cousin usually do that?"

"Oh, Roxie?  Yeah, but I'm getting off a little early, and I didn't see Danny very much this morning.  I want to see him, so I'll just bring him home and I'll take care of the dog.  Maybe change clothes, put on something that makes me look less like a librarian."

"Don't be silly, you look great."

I shook my head.  "But anyway, after that, we should be good to go."

"Great!  If you could, though, try and get back up here about half an hour early, make sure you get a good spot, the halls here fill up fast."

I nodded.  "You nervous?"

"Not really.  I know most of these people personally, went to dinner with one of them last week.  I just don't want to give too much away."

"Stu, you've shown me the visuals for this a million times.  They're going to love what you show them you're working on- but you're discreet about it.  Worry, do not."

"Yes, Master Yoda," Stuart joked.

I rolled my eyes.  "Don't blame me, blame Danny.  All day yesterday he was talking in a Yoda voice."

"What for?"

"He just wanted to.  He saw Episode Five for the first time on Sunday-"

Stuart was dumbfounded.  "That kid's nine years old and you're just now showing him Empire Strikes Back?"

"Well, he never showed an interest in Star Wars till recently.  That's all people are talking about on the radio, what with this year being A New Hope's fiftieth anniversary, so he asked me about it, and I showed him Number Five, and he loved it."

"What do you show a kid if you don't show them Star Wars?"  Stuart almost sounded injured. 

Star Wars was indeed the man's weak spot.  Everybody's got something.Forty-three years old, but still a Star Wars nerd at heart.  He had seen all the movies, had a vast collection of the old 70s and 80s action figures in mint condition- and even had bought tickets for the three of us Stuart, Danny, and myself- to see the very first Star Wars on the big screen in about a week, which was one of several gifts he surprised me with yesterday for my thirtieth birthday.  (Yes, I was thirty years old- and I cringed every time I thought about it.  I was getting so old.) 

"Oh, I show him all sorts of stuff, you know that.  Old Star Trek, Looney Tunes, Futurama, old black and white movies, eighties' sci-fi- what?"

Stuart was shaking his head.  "Nothing, baby, just- you're so funny sometimes- and by consequence, so is Danny."

I shrugged.  "What can I say?"

"And that," he smiled, "is why I love you."

I looked down, blushing.  "I love you, too."

He leaned down for one more kiss.  "I'd love to stay and talk, but I have to head back and get things together-"

"Right, right, you do that.  I'm pretty close to heading out myself."

So we kissed each other goodbye, said we'd see one another later, and Stuart headed out down the hall back to his own office- or the secret, cross-continuum lab.  On the occasions he wasn't flying to various national (and even a few international) locations to give talks on his methods and designs, he was found in one of those places, working away like the busy bee he was.  I had never seen his lab; he told no one of its whereabouts, though I had a feeling it was on the campus somewhere.

I'm so lucky to have Stuart, and everyone else, I said to myself.  Ten years ago, I would never have thought I'd be where I am now.

Ten years.  It had been that long since T-Rod.  Good God.  Such a decade.  What wonderful and horrible times I could look back on. 

With a sigh, I walked over to my computer and shut it down.  I had no more appointments today, and the walk-in hours were about to come to an end in four minutes.  But it was time to pick up the boy.  The last four minutes would have to fall by the wayside.

Before I walked out, I checked my phone for any messages.  There was one from my old friend Dr. Kurzweil, whom I affectionately knew as Dr. K.  He wasn't much for texting, but he did send me a quick little "Can't wait to see you tonight!  Are you bringing D?"

I sent back, "Not sure.  Probably not.  We'll see."

There was one more message, this one from Danny himself- or, as he had titled himself in the contact list, "Danny Phantom."  Yes, he liked that show, too. 

His message read, "R U going 2 pick me up 2day?"

I had to smile.  That wasn't just the way he texted; Danny would actually write words using numbers and letters, and once got in trouble at school for doing it on a written assignment.  His explanation to the teacher?

He folded his arms and declared, "Prince did it, so why can't I?"

That was Danny for you. 

As I sent back a "Yes!  Love you, see you in a bit!" and closed out of the text app, I looked at the picture of him that I had set as my phone's home screen wallpaper, in which he was sitting on the floor of our little house, holding Fry, our little dachshund, in his lap, preppily decked out in a purple polo shirt (Danny always wore at least one thing that was purple) and grey cargos.  He was smiling broadly, his dark eyes squinting up behind his glasses, his black hair a little mussed and his peachy, rectangular face a little flushed because he had just been rolling around on the floor playing with the dog.  It was just one of those moments you feel the need to capture- and so I did.

My phone buzzed; Danny had replied.  He sent back one word- "YAY," and a laughing emoji - and I just smiled, putting my phone back in my purse.

I locked my office door, headed for the exit.  But as I passed the receptionist's desk, and she called to me "Have a nice day, Ms. Samuels!" I felt myself hesitate.

I could hear it, behind her desk, the radio was on, music very faintly wafting into the air.  I knew the voice.  I knew it well. 

"Chippin' around, kick my brains around the floor/ these are the days it never rains but it pours.  De doh dah dop-"

But nevertheless, I hadn't the time or the inclination to dwell on it.  I lifted my chin and kept walking, rolling my eyes at the pinched falsetto tone. 

Old show-off.

The first thing I did, however, upon climbing into my car, was turn on the music I had on my phone, clicking on my "Non-Prince" playlist.  Not that I didn't like Prince; I loved him.  I just knew that as soon as Danny got in, that's all we'd be hearing.  Right now, I had Oasis to keep me company as I pulled out of the parking lot.  As I tried to think about all the things I had to do in the next hour and a half before heading back up here for Stuart's confidential presentation, I sang along, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel:

"Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you."