“Yeah. Reminded me of my oldest nephew.”
“Is he a handful, too?”
“There are some who say he’s a lot like me at that age.”
Catherine wasn’t at all fooled by his innocent tone. “Which means that he’s a bit of a brat, right?”
Mike folded his hands over his stomach, his long legs stretched toward the fire. “I’d resent that if I could work up the energy.”
“But you won’t go to that trouble, because you know it’s true.”
“You’re probably right. My mother says someday I’ll have to pay for my raising when I have my own son.”
He was laughing as he spoke, but the thought of Mike’s son brought a nervous lump to her throat. She could almost picture a little blond version of him, and for some reason the image made her chest ache.
She quickly changed the subject. “You never told me—did you ever register for your classes for next semester? What did you decide to take?”
Mike’s smile faded so fast it was as if it had been wiped from his face. “I still haven’t decided. I don’t know if I even will take any classes next semester.”
It was the first she’d heard that he was even considering dropping out again. The decision was entirely his, of course, and he had to decide what was best for him, but she couldn’t help asking, “Why?”
He kept his gaze focused on the fire. “I don’t know. It just seems sort of pointless. I mean—man, it’s going to take years to finish. And I don’t really have a major or anything…”
He sounded more discouraged than disinterested, she realized suddenly. Maybe he just needed a little encouragement. “You’ve talked before about taking more hours a semester, maybe getting finished a little more quickly.”
“Yeah, but we’d still be talking about years. Do you know how old I’d be by then?”
“Only a couple of years older than I am now,” she replied wryly. “And I’m not exactly ready for retirement, Mike.”
She thought he flushed a little, but it was hard to tell in the fi
relight. “I didn’t mean to imply that you are. It’s just…”
“You’re doing so well in your classes. It would be a shame to let the hard work you’ve put in this semester go to waste.”
He was quiet for a notably long time before murmuring, “Actually, my grades have slipped a little.”
Frowning, she turned to face him. “Since when? Your grades were very good the last time you talked to me about them.”
“Those, uh, last two tests—I didn’t do so great on either of them.”
As she recalled, he had spent the night before those tests drinking with his friends, then making love with her. He’d had to work all day the next day, right up until time to leave for his classes. And since then, he had spent most of his spare time with her, assuring her that he was studying during the time they weren’t together.
She would not accept guilt for this, she told herself firmly—despite the way that emotion tried to creep into her mind. She had done everything she could to get Mike to take his classes seriously. “I’m sure you can make up for those two exams by doing very well on your finals. But it’s up to you, of course, what you do from this point.”
“Disappointed in me?” He spoke lightly, but she sensed the sincerity behind the question.
She took a moment to phrase her answer. Speaking candidly, as she always had with him, she said, “I just don’t want you to be disappointed in yourself. If you were only going to school to prove something to other people, then it wouldn’t matter so much. But I thought you were going to prove something to yourself. And that makes me wonder if you aren’t selling yourself short again.”
“I know I can do it, if that’s what you mean. I’ve proven to myself that I can keep my grades up if I work hard enough at it. But maybe I just don’t want to spend the next four to six years working that hard.”
“I understand that it seems daunting now. I’ve even been there myself. There were times during graduate school when I came very close to burnout. I felt as though I’d been in school all my life and that all I’d ever done was work and study while everyone else my age was out playing and enjoying their youth.”
“And I was one of the ones out playing while you were working,” he muttered. “Now you and the others who went straight through in school are settled into jobs and have the means to make plans for your future, and even take some time off occasionally.”
She understood a little what he was trying to say, so she didn’t bother to point out that this was the first weekend she had taken off in quite some time. She was still young, she still worked very hard, and she still had quite a way to go before she could consider herself secure and settled in her profession. But thinking of herself completely starting over again from early undergraduate studies was enough to make her almost shudder. Still…
“So what are you going to do if you quit?” she asked. “Will you continue to do maintenance work?”