o.o.o

There's a fine line, Paige Dineen knows, between being supportive and smothering, between being encouraging and embarrassing as a parent. Moving to a new city to get a job at your son's new university, just so you can be close to him, would be smothering and embarrassing in most situations, and indeed she can tell that Ralph has mixed feelings about his mom being on campus with him. But on the other hand, Ralph's only thirteen. So on the whole, she doesn't feel too bad about following him to CalSci.

She does manage to force herself not to follow him around orientation the weekend before school starts, which she's proud of herself for; and she's rewarded by Ralph asking her, when he comes to find her after orientation ends, if she wants to walk around campus and help him find his new classes. She's thrilled to agree.

They wander together through the California sunshine, admiring the beautiful campus and finding the classrooms for his math, history, and study skills classes, before making their way to the computer science building. Ralph hasn't decided precisely what he wants to study yet, but computer science is definitely in the running, and he's been excited about CS124 ever since he was able to register for the section he wanted.

She's a little less certain, though. "Are you sure you want to take this section?" she asks as they reach the classroom where it will be taught. "We could still switch you to the 4:00 Tuesday-Thursday class."

"We've been over this, Mom," says Ralph confidently. "I want to take from Dr. O'Brien. He's the best in the field, and he almost never teaches freshman-level courses. This could be the most important class I take as an undergrad, and I probably won't have this chance again."

"I know how much you admire his work, Ralph. But his reviews on Rate My Professor are . . ." She sighs. "So bad. They're seriously terrible, Ralph, remember? 'The hardest class I ever took, and Dr. O'Brien's really mean'? Are you sure you want your first semester at college to involve the worst-rated professor at CalSci?"

"Second-worst," comes a masculine voice from behind them, and the Dineens turn to see a man standing there: curly dark hair, olive skin, dressed in a maroon button-up shirt, probably a little older than Paige. "The worst rated professor is Mark Collins. Although actually there was an incident last year and he's currently on leave until his trial finishes up, so I don't know if he counts as a professor right now." The way he talks sounds a little stiff and uncomfortable, but he's got a nice voice, and he's kind of cute, in a way. They're here for Ralph to find his classes, not for Paige to find a date, but she can't help hoping that this guy is faculty here, so she has the hope of seeing him around.

But then Ralph steps forward to shake this guy's hand, his eyes lit up in happiness as he greets him with "I'm pleased to finally meet you, Dr. O'Brien," and Paige's heart sinks to her shoes.

"Oh," she says softly.

Dr. O'Brien shakes Ralph's hand solemnly. "And you are?"

"Ralph Dineen. I recognize you from the photo in that article Scientific American did about the rocket engine redesign."

"You read that?" The professor looks pleased.

Ralph nods. "I've been following your work for a long time."

Paige finally finds her voice. "I am so sorry," she interrupts. Trust her to start Ralph's college career off by insulting one of his professors. "What I said about Rate My Professor—"

He turns those clear dark eyes on her, and she notices suddenly, apropos of nothing, that he's got a scar across his upper lip. It adds an element of interest to his face. And this is not the time to be thinking about that. "I've heard worse," he says flatly, and that really doesn't help her feel better at all. "You must be Ralph's mother," he guesses. "Mrs. Dineen?"

"Miss," she corrects, then finds herself adding, "Paige," as though it matters whether this guy knows her full name.

"Dr. Walter O'Brien," he introduces himself, and extends his hand for her to shake. And okay, she knows it's been a while since she had a date, but it is absurd for her to be so affected by the feeling of his skin against hers. It's just a handshake, for Pete's sake. "And you're here dropping your son off?" She likes the way he accepts the notion of a thirteen-year-old enrolling in college without question.

"Actually, I work here now," says Paige. The professor's eyebrows raise in interest, and it occurs to her that he probably thinks she's a professor too, so it's a bit embarrassing to admit, "I'm the manager of the cafe at the alumni building." She's not ashamed of what she does, but it's certainly not as impressive as being a world-class academic.

He does look a bit underwhelmed by that, but he simply responds, "I enjoy the salmon there. Studies suggest that the Omega-3 fatty acids in salmon may be beneficial to the health of the brain."

"Oh," she says, not sure how else to respond.

Dr. O'Brien has already turned his attention back to Ralph. "So you're in my CS124 class?"

Ralph nods. "I was really hoping to take classes from you at some point in my college career, so when I heard you were actually teaching a freshman-level class . . ."

Dr. O'Brien makes a slightly dismissive face—just a little curl of his upper lip. "The department chair is making me," he says. "I'd much rather focus on grad courses and research. Making me teach freshmen is a poor use of my brain power."

Paige's expression falls.

"I hope you're prepared," Dr. O'Brien says. "I don't make my classes easy."

And Ralph smiles. "That's what I'm hoping for."

Paige can't help smiling proudly, although she does resist the urge to run her hand over her son's hair. "Ralph's been doing computer programming for a few years now."

Dr. O'Brien smiles a little. "Reminds me of me at that age," he says in tones of fond reminiscence. "I hacked the NSA at 11."

"What?" Paige blurts out.

"I'm looking forward to having you in my class," Dr. O'Brien says to Ralph, ignoring her outburst. "Most of the students around here are morons, but you might be an exception. I'll see you Monday at 10. Miss Dineen, perhaps I'll see you around campus." He hesitates, looking suddenly and inexplicably uncertain. "I do . . . enjoy salmon." He nods at them both, then walks down the hall and lets himself into what must be his office.

Ralph watches him go, a small smile on his face. "I think I'm going to like his class."

And Paige covers her face with her hands. "Geniuses," she says with a chuckle and a sigh.

She still feels bad about what the professor overheard, though, so when Ralph gets a phone call as they exit the building, she decides to seize her chance to do something about it.

"It's Dad," Ralph says, looking at the screen. "He said he'd call to see how orientation went."

"Why don't you sit here and take it," says Paige, an idea forming in her mind, "while I run inside and use the bathroom?" A white lie, but one in service of a good cause. Ralph nods and answers the phone, and Paige makes her way back inside, going not to the bathroom but to the door Dr. O'Brien went into earlier. It's got his name on it, but unlike the other offices they've seen today, there are no whiteboards, no flyers, no Far Side cartoons. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

Dr. O'Brien is very surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" he asks bluntly.

"I just wanted to apologize again," she says, then hesitates; it feels awkward to do this standing at his door. "Can I come in?"

He looks embarrassed but backs up so she can come in and seat herself across the desk from him.

"I wanted to apologize for what I said," she said. "It wasn't fair of me to say things like that about you without even knowing you—to judge you before we'd actually met."

He gives her an odd look. "But—but what you said was factually accurate," he says.

She blinks. "Sorry?"

"You said that I had terrible reviews on Rate My Professor," he says. "You were mistaken as to my exact ranking, but you were close, and it was absolutely true to say that I have terrible reviews. Never apologize for speaking facts."

This is disconcertingly similar to conversations she's had with Ralph before, and she automatically says the same thing she always says to her son: "But just because something can be said doesn't always mean that it should be said."

The professor blinks in surprise, his expression indicating that this has honestly never occurred to him before.

"Look," she says, "I just—Ralph has really been looking forward to taking your class, ever since he was admitted to CalSci, and I wanted to make sure I didn't mess anything up for him."

"Not at all," he says promptly. "He had nothing to do with what you said, so it would be illogical to hold it against him. And I assure you, what you said didn't offend me. As I told you, I've heard much worse."

The matter-of-fact way he says that makes her heart twist strangely in her chest. Dr. O'Brien is an odd little duck, to be sure, very blunt and very convinced of his own genius, but she still finds herself wanting to have words with whoever taught him to be so intimately acquainted with unkindness. "I'm sorry."

"You already apologized—"

"No, I mean, I'm sorry you've heard worse."

He looks baffled. "Why? It wasn't your doing."

This is another conversation she remembers having with Ralph when he was young, and she suddenly wonders what Dr. O'Brien's upbringing was like. Was there no one to explain to his genius brain how normal people feel and think? Or did someone try, and Dr. O'Brien just wouldn't be taught? The counselor at Ralph's gifted school did tell her once that Ralph had an unusually high EQ for a genius. Maybe this Walter O'Brien wasn't so lucky. "You can feel sorry about things that weren't your doing," she says softly.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "Well, thank you." He hesitates a moment. "How old is Ralph?" he asks.

"Thirteen," she says.

He smiles. "Your son is impressive. I didn't start college until I was fourteen."

She fights back a laugh at the casual way he says that. "That's still pretty impressive," she points out.

He shrugs it off. "How did you learn he was gifted?"

She smiles a little. "Until he was eight, I thought he had learning problems, actually. He was so spacey and distracted in school."

"Just bored," he says in a knowing tone, and she supposes he was the same way as a kid.

"But luckily we moved to a new school up in Sacramento, and a teacher there realized he was actually brilliant, so she helped us get him enrolled in the district's gifted student program, and . . . here we are. He's so excited to take your class; he's been following your work for a long time. I think you're the reason he chose CalSci."

He nods. "And you gave up your old life to move here so he'd have support at college?"

She hesitates, then confesses, "There wasn't much for me to give up. I was working two jobs—and hating both of them—so I didn't really have any friends, and . . . well, Ralph's the only family I have."

Dr. O'Brien looks at her a long time, to the point that she starts to get uncomfortable. "Ralph's lucky to have you," he says finally.

She gives him a half-smile. "Sometimes I don't feel that way. I haven't been able to help him with his homework since he was ten years old. I never know what he's talking about when he tells me about the latest academic journal he's read."

"Yes, but you're trying," he says, something strange in his tone. "Don't underestimate how important that is." And once again she wonders what his life has been like.

"And now he's here," Dr. O'Brien goes on. "With people like him. I'm speaking from experience when I say, it'll help."

She smiles softly at him, which triggers a tiny, sweet, uncertain smile on his face. She was right earlier: he's cute. And sweet, when he's not calling his students morons (to their faces sometimes, if she's remembering the reviews about him correctly).

Suddenly she starts a little as she remembers the time. "I need to go," she says. "Ralph is waiting for me."

Dr. O'Brien stands as she does. "It was nice to meet you, Miss Dineen," he says a bit formally, and she gets the feeling it's something he's trained himself to say, because he knows he should.

"Likewise," she grins, and decides that she means it. "I think . . . I think I'm very glad that Ralph is in your class."

"So am I," he says. "I'll . . . keep an eye on him. And maybe come get some salmon some time."

"I look forward to it, Dr. O'Brien."

"Walter," he blurts out. She raises her eyebrows, and he clarifies, quieter, "Please call me Walter."

She smiles. "Only if you call me Paige."

"Paige," he repeats, and she kind of likes the way it sounds in his voice. "I look forward to seeing you around campus."

And she's quite sincere when she says, "Me too."

o.o.o

On the Wednesday after classes start, Paige looks up from where she's helping in the back of the cafe kitchen to see Dr. O'Brien—Walter—seated at a corner table with four other people, and she smiles and comes out to say hello.

"Miss Dineen! Paige," Walter corrects himself. "What a—what a pleasant surprise. I mean, not a surprise, I knew you worked here, but I didn't know if I'd—hello." Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he makes introductions: the guy in the black hat, badly suppressing a grin at Walter's awkward introduction, is Dr. Tobias M. Curtis, professor of psychology, who says he gave up his private practice to come teach because he wanted to do research. The woman with the serious case of resting angry face is the improbably named Dr. Happy Quinn, professor of mechanical engineering, who either doesn't notice or doesn't care about the way Dr. Curtis seems to always be watching her from the corner of his eye. The big guy with the happy, young-looking face is Dr. Sylvester Dodd, professor of mathematics, who's so pleasant and cheerful that Paige barely notices that he pulls the sleeve of his sweater up over his palm before he shakes her offered hand. And the older gentleman with the slight southern accent is Lieutenant Colonel Cabe Gallo—"Call me Cabe, 'Lieutenant Colonel' is way too long"—head of the ROTC on campus and a baffling enigma to Paige, because why is a military man in his sixties hanging out with a bunch of eggheads half his age?

But it's Dr. Dodd she turns to first. "I think my son is in your introductory calculus class," she says. "Do you teach a section Tuesdays at 1?"

"I do," he beams. "It's a big class, but I'll keep an eye out for him."

"He'll probably stand out," she chuckles. "He's only thirteen."

"Yes, I've heard—" he starts, then cuts off; from the way Walter shifted, she's pretty sure he just kicked his friend to shut him up. So Walter's talked about her and Ralph, then? She fights back a smile.

"So how's your boy enjoying college?" asks Cabe kindly.

"Oh, he loves it so far," she says. "He's already read about half of his calculus textbook."

Dr. Dodd beams again.

"And he's really excited about the first CS project you assigned," she says to Walter. "He started on it last night."

Walter looks pleased. "Remind him about my office hours, if he needs help," he says. "A lot of students don't take advantage of those."

"They take advantage of mine," says Dr. Curtis.

"That's because you don't make students cry," Dr. Quinn points out. "Unlike some people we know."

"That was one time," Walter says uncomfortably, and Paige fights back a laugh; she read that girl's Rate My Professor review, and it's sad that a professor made a student cry, but knowing Walter now makes the story kind of funny.

"I see you got your salmon," she says to Walter, who looks pleased that she remembered. "I hope all those fatty acids are as good for your brain as you'd hoped."

"Oh no, now he's giving strangers the fish speech?" Dr. Curtis says, and Dr. Quinn and Cabe both snicker.

Walter looks a little embarrassed, but in the way you look when your friends tease you, not when your enemies bully you, and she's glad he has friends to tease him that way. She catches his eye and smiles. "Hey, I'm glad you told me," she says. "Now I have an excuse to eat salmon more often."

Walter gives her that tiny, sweet, uncertain smile he gave her last week in his office, and she's so taken with it that she almost misses Drs. Curtis and Quinn exchanging significant looks. Almost.

"Listen, I've got to go," she says. "Lunch rush. Hopefully I'll see you guys around?"

"We do lunch every Wednesday," says Cabe. "I imagine we'll end up back here sooner or later."

They all bid her farewell, and she returns to her work with a smile on her face.

But the day holds another surprise for her, because when 3:00 rolls around and she's running the cash register because they only have two student employees from 2 to 5, Dr. Curtis comes back to buy a brownie from the display case at the front. "Long time no see, Dr. Curtis," she chuckles.

"Please, call me Toby," he says. "So, a lot less busy here now."

"It gets real slow in the afternoons," she agrees. "But it's nice because my boss Merrick, the food services director—he lurks around here in the mornings, to make sure I'm doing everything right, but he always leaves after the lunch rush to go do things over at the food court."

"Always nicer without Big Brother watching," Toby agrees, and hands her the $1.35 for the brownie. "So how are you enjoying the new job?"

He leans against the display case and chats with her for a while, which she allows, because there's no one else in line, and because he's pretty funny. The fact that he's doing it, though, is a little odd; she'd think he was flirting with her, but she knows she didn't misread the way he was acting around Dr. Quinn earlier.

From him, she learns that the four professors all started teaching around the same time and bonded over being the smartest and least popular people in their departments. "I mean, all the faculty here are smart, but the four of us are certified geniuses. Walt has the fourth-highest IQ in the world."

"Wait, seriously?" she says, suddenly feeling very inadequate with her community college hospitality degree.

He nods. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you yet. He loves making sure people know. Doesn't make him very popular."

"I get the feeling that's true of a lot of his behavior," she says, and Toby laughs aloud.

"Very perceptive. And true of the rest of us, too. Sly's afraid of his own students—he has to psych himself up before every class—and Happy, as you've seen, is just about the most inaccurately named person I've ever met."

"And you? You seem normal."

"I am . . . more so than they are, anyway. But I also might struggle a little with not, you know, analyzing everyone I meet. To their faces."

She laughs. "That's not the way to win friends and influence people."

"It's hard to turn off," he shrugs. "But no, 'genius behaviorist' is not what most people are looking for in a friend."

"And Cabe?"

"Cabe's known Walter since he was a kid. The military's been keeping track of him since he hacked the NSA at 11."

"So that really happened?"

Toby nods. "Got him put on a lot of government watch lists, partly to make sure he doesn't do anything else, and partly so the government knows where to find him when they need his big brain. It made him fail the background check when he first applied to work here—CalSci's connected to NASA and a lot of other government organizations—so Cabe agreed to take the ROTC gig in order to stay close to Walt. Only way to appease the higher-ups."

"That's . . . kind."

"There's some bad blood between the two of them," says Toby. "Or there used to be. I don't know the details, but it's something about some project that Homeland basically tricked Walt into doing when he was a teenager, that he still regrets, to this day. I think Cabe feels guilty for being a part of all that. That's why he took the job, to make it up to him."

She tries to imagine a job someone might regret doing for Homeland Security, and doesn't like the sound of any of the possibilities she comes up with. "Well, if what I've heard about Walter is true, they made a good hire."

Toby nods. "The rest of his department thinks Walter's kind of obnoxious," he says, "but they'll never fire him. The amount he publishes, and the cachet he brings to the school—he's one of the most influential academics in the world, in his field, and you don't get rid of that just because he says things like 'Why should I have to refill the coffee pot? My IQ is at least thirty points higher than yours.'"

Paige snorts. She can definitely imagine him saying that.

"And the casual students hate his classes—they're impossibly hard and he's kind of a jerk—but the smart ones, the ambitious ones, they know it's better to bite the bullet and go for it. Because taking a class from Walter O'Brien—or, if you're lucky and smart enough, getting a research position with Walter O'Brien—that'll make a career."

"Wow. I knew he was smart but I didn't realize . . ."

Toby nods. "So that's our merry gang of misfits," he says. "Tell me about you."

So she tells him about Ralph being recognized as gifted, and how that was the encouragement she needed to finally finish her degree, to be a good example for her son of the importance of finishing college. She tells him how Ralph wanted so badly to go to CalSci, and how excited he was to take a class from his hero, Walter O'Brien, but how the reviews online made her hesitant about the class.

"All true, I'm afraid," says Toby. "But your kid'll be fine. Walt likes other geniuses a lot more than he likes normals, and the fact that Ralph started college a year earlier than Walt did basically guarantees that he'll end up on his good list."

That's good news, but . . . "Why does Walter dislike 'normals' so much?"

Toby shrugs. "They started it." He hesitates, examining her face a long moment. "I'm going to go ahead and assume, from the fact that you're managing a small cafe on a college campus, that your kid's the only genius in the family."

"This must be the 'can't help analyzing people to their faces' that I've heard so much about," she mutters.

"So maybe you haven't experienced firsthand how normal people treat geniuses, especially in school, but you've probably seen it."

She thinks back to 6th grade, when Brian Miller made fun of Alice Gutierrez until she cried because she got the highest score on the math test, and she nods. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So Walter decided at some point, he's going to reject them before they have a chance to reject him. He doesn't realize that what he's doing, of course; he just thinks, 'I'm brilliant, and I'm not going to be ashamed of it.' Even if that means being a jerk to people who aren't brilliant."

"Huh," Paige says, her mind whirling. It fits with the conclusions she's drawn about Walter, and explains a lot more.

"He likes you, though," Toby says, and she blinks in surprise. "I mean, he insisted we come to this cafe today, and it's pretty clear from watching him interact with you why he wanted to eat here."

She blushes. "We really only talked that one time," she insists. "We're just—I mean, barely acquaintances, really."

And Toby grins. "Oh, I know. But after that reaction, suddenly a lot of my suspicions are being confirmed."

She sputters a little in surprise, and he chuckles. "A piece of advice: never kid a kidder. And never . . . out-behavior a behaviorist." He waves a dismissive hand. "You know what I'm trying to say. But hey, I'll make it up to you with a useful piece of information." He leans closer. "Walter's single."

She looks at him, her eyes narrowing, but she can't stop her lips twisting into a smile. "You're a dangerous man, Dr. Curtis."

He smirks. "Whose semester just got a whole lot more interesting."

o.o.o

It's three weeks before Ralph takes advantage of Walter's office hours, which Paige thinks is pretty impressive: a thirteen-year-old kid managing to last three weeks in a notoriously difficult college class before he has to ask for help.

In the three weeks leading up to that, Ralph works hard on his homework and comes home every day absolutely glowing with everything he's learned. Paige grows more comfortable in her position at the cafe and stops dreading the thought of messing up in front of Merrick. And Walter's little group comes to dine at the cafe and chat with her every Wednesday; she flatters herself that maybe her presence is the reason they've settled on going to the cafe each time, when according to Cabe they used to bounce around between the various dining options on campus. And they all—except Walter, for some reason—end up visiting individually for snacks and coffee pretty often, which gives her time to get to know each of them personally. She learns to call them by their first names. Sylvester just raves over how clever Ralph is; Toby and Cabe are funny and down-to-earth and kind; Walter says little but keeps giving her those awkward little smiles that she kind of looks forward to; and Happy—well, she continues to be Happy, and Paige is realizing that the woman doesn't necessarily dislike her, she just doesn't feel the need to gush over things. The group has come to feel like friends, in a way, or at least they're the closest things she has to friends in town right now.

She was sure that this move would be a good thing, but even so, she's surprised to find herself feeling so happy.

On the day in question, she texts Ralph at the end of the workday to see where to meet him to take him home; normally he's studying in the library, but today he texts back that he's in Dr. O'Brien's office, and she, without letting herself look too hard at her reasons, volunteers to come meet him there.

It's her first time back in the computer science building, and she has to admit that she approaches Walter's office with a different feeling than she did last time, knowing now that he isn't just a professor: he's well-known and influential and one of the smartest people on the planet. She assumes that Ralph is in there getting help with his classwork, so she should be expecting the scene that greets her eyes when she approaches the office. But somehow, the sight of Ralph and Walter with their heads bowed together over a textbook together while Walter explains some complicated concept and Ralph looks over with admiration in his eyes just hits her in a way she didn't expect. It's nice. It's just . . . really nice that Ralph's found someone he looks up to so much.

"Hi, Mom," Ralph greets her with a quiet smile. "I'm almost done here."

"Take your time," she says. "But make sure you don't keep Dr. O'Brien after his posted hours. And if you get hungry while you finish . . ." And she pulls out the two brownies that she'd grabbed on a whim on her way out of the cafe.

"Thanks!" Ralph exclaims, grabbing one of the brownies and tearing off the saran wrap with all the fervor a teenage boy can muster.

It takes a minute for Walter to realize the other brownie is for him, but when he does, she doesn't know if she's ever seen him look so pleased. "Oh, these are—these are my favorite."

"I know," she says. "You get one every time you come to the cafe."

He grins and takes it from her, opening it with only a little less enthusiasm than Ralph.

"You know," she says, "we're open from 9 to 7, and later on special occasions. If you ever want a brownie, you don't have to wait until you come in for lunch."

"Oh," he says. "I should—I should do that."

And he does start coming after that, maybe once or twice a week outside the normal Wednesday lunch visit. She starts to learn his schedule, when he has open stretches of time and when he has department meetings that he usually fortifies himself for by grabbing a brownie beforehand, which of course doesn't matter at all. She just happened to pick up the patterns, is all. When he comes by he is as awkward as ever, but she looks forward to it anyway. It's just . . . nice to have a friend.

In mid-October she goes to Walter's office to pick up Ralph late one afternoon, only to find the pair of them deeply absorbed in some elaborate math equation covering an entire whiteboard. Ralph apologizes, but Paige has nowhere to be, so she makes herself comfortable in her usual chair and pulls out the book she has in her purse. "You two go right ahead," she says.

The equation is apparently quite engrossing, because Walter and Ralph talk about it non-stop for an hour. She indulges them for a while—not least because it gives her time to finish her book—but when she finishes the last page and looks up to see that it's 6:03 and the boys show no sign of slowing down, she decides someone's going to have to put the brakes on things. "You guys at a stopping point?" she asks when there's a pause in their conversation. "Because I'm getting hungry and you've kept Dr. O'Brien way past his posted office hours, kiddo."

It's comical, the way they both look back at her with identical expressions of disappointment. "Sorry," she shrugs.

"Your mom's right," says Walter after a moment. "You need to get home—you have other homework besides my class."

Ralph nods. "Okay, Walter," he says. Paige didn't know he'd started calling him Walter instead of Dr. O'Brien, and it's strangely sweet, this odd little friendship that's sprung up between them.

So when Ralph runs off to use the bathroom before they go, and Paige and Walter are left together in the office, she takes the opportunity to say, "I really can't thank you enough for taking Ralph under your wing."

"It's nothing," Walter tries to say, his gaze down on the laptop he's currently slipping into his backpack, but Paige isn't having it.

"You've spent a lot of time with him," she points out. "And even if that doesn't seem like a big deal to you, it's a huge deal to him, to have someone he looks up to so much show an interest in his education."

Walter looks embarrassed and pleased. "He's a brilliant mind," he says, then hesitates. "And a great kid. I'm more than happy to help him." Something dark crosses his face for a moment, and she waits, fairly sure that he's about to say something else. After a short silence, he does. "I—I wish I'd had a mentor like this when I was young," he says, with a tiny, awkward, mirthless smile that gives her the distinct impression that he's feeling vulnerable. "I—my family didn't know what to do with me, or my teachers. I did have academic advisers in college, but they never—it was purely school help. No one ever . . . no one ever made sure I was okay. Or helped me deal with being four years younger than my classmates." He hesitates, then gives her a tight smile. "And even if they'd tried, I don't know if I would have listened; I can be . . . a bit stubborn."

Paige laughs softly.

"I regret that now, looking back," he goes on. "And I can see that Ralph is open to that kind of help. So I'm very happy to fill that role for him."

"Because no one ever filled it for you," she says softly. This is another piece in the puzzle that is Walter O'Brien, and Paige finds herself more and more intrigued by the picture that's emerging as she fits the pieces together. Is it a cliche to get sucked in by a sad story, to want to be the person who heals his wounded heart? Maybe, but she's not sure she cares. Walter is fascinating and vulnerable and prickly and brilliant and awkward and generous and handsome, and Paige is . . . taken with him.

In the weeks and months and years after Drew, she usually rejected any feelings she might be developing for a guy; she was too busy, and guys always seemed to struggle with her having a kid, and the memory of how things ended with Drew always hung over everything like a black cloud. But this is different. Her financial and working situation is finally stable and manageable, and Walter and Ralph get on like a house on fire, and she's known Walter for less than two months but even so, she's pretty sure he'd never behave the way Drew did. So would it be so bad if she's, you know, falling for him?

"What are you doing tonight?" she hears herself say.

He looks surprised. "Not much, why?"

She hesitates, then makes up her mind. "Ralph and I are probably going to go eat at this cafe we like. Why don't you come with us? And let me buy you dinner to say thanks for everything you've done for Ralph?" That is genuinely a reason she wants him to come to dinner. But it's not the only reason.

Walter's eyes light up—he's never been good at hiding his emotions—and for a moment she just knows he's going to say yes. But then his gaze darts over to the door, and his brow furrows, and then he looks back at her. "I—I actually can't tonight."

Maybe he remembered somewhere else he has to be? "Another time, then," she smiles, tamping down her disappointment.

He doesn't say anything, just smiles a bit awkwardly.

o.o.o

"Another time," however, proves elusive. She asks him to join them again in late October, but he's got some lecture he's planning to attend that night, and then in early November Ralph informs her that he'd invited Walter over to see his telescope and join them for Sunday dinner, but Walter said no because he's going out of town that weekend. She can't help but wonder if he's avoiding them, but he still spends loads of time helping Ralph, and he still gives her that sweet, uncertain smile every Wednesday over lunch, and he still comes in for baked goods and coffee at least once a week. So maybe they're just genuinely struggling to line up their schedules.

He does say yes, however, when Paige invites the whole gang over for Sunday dinner, which doesn't help her suspicion that he just doesn't want to be alone with the Dineens.

"This is nice," Cabe says, looking around the apartment, which is small but comfortable and, at the moment, bursting with friends. "If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to have us all over?"

Across the room, Toby catches her eye and smiles, then goes back to watching Happy and Walter examine Ralph's telescope.

She hesitates. She doesn't want him to think she's nosy, or pitying them, but . . . "Toby told me that none of you have family in the area. Which I can sympathize with; I don't really have family at all. And I thought dinner together could be nice." (Toby's actual words were, of course, a bit more blunt as he explained their various family situations: "We're mostly orphaned, estranged or unwanted.")

"Very nice," he assures her. "We don't see each other much outside of CalSci, so this is really good."

Paige is quiet a moment, then, feeling very bold, asks, "You've known Walter a long time, right?"

"Since he was 11," Cabe confirms.

"What was he like then?"

"Shorter," Cabe quips, and then his expression grows thoughtful as Paige chuckles. "Just as brilliant—and just as confident in his own brilliance—as he is now. But also . . . still bright-eyed and naive. Still hoping that he might be able to fit in with his classmates, make friends his age. These days he's kind of stopped trying." He pauses. "I'm actually pretty darn impressed he befriended you."

"Me too, actually," she says. "Did he ever tell you how we met?"

Cabe shakes his head.

"Before the semester started, he overheard me talking to Ralph about how bad his Rate My Professor Reviews were. He stepped in to correct me that he's not the worst-reviewed professor at CalSci, he's the second-worst."

Cabe laughs aloud at that. "And you guys still managed to become friends?"

She shrugs. "Well, as friendly as we are now. I think he's better friends with Ralph than he is with me."

This prompts a long, considering look from her companion. "I know he doesn't show it much, but he thinks the world of you. I can tell."

To her embarrassment, she blushes at that, and any hope she had that Cabe didn't notice is destroyed when he smirks. "So what's going on between the two of you?" he asks.

"Nothing," she insists.

"All right, what do you wish was going on between the two of you?"

"Nothing," she insists, but the increasing heat in her face tells her that her lie is not very convincing. She'd have hoped she'd outgrown getting all flushed and flustered over a boy, but clearly she hasn't.

"Whatever you say," Cabe grins. "Just make sure to invite me to the wedding."

"What wedding?" Walter asks suddenly, and Paige jumps to see that the group has left the telescope and is walking toward them.

"Ralph's," she blurts out. "When he's . . . grown."

Ralph just blinks at her. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

"I need to go make the gravy," she says, and disappears into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to glare daggers at Cabe. He just smirks.

She invites the gang over for Thanksgiving as well, and it's the best one the Dineens have had in a long time. Cabe brings mashed potatoes—turns out he can cook if he puts his mind to it—and everyone else just brings store-bought pies because none of them know their way around a kitchen, meaning they end up with more pie than anything else, which no one is complaining about. They have a delightful meal, and when it's over Cabe turns on a football game, and Toby drifts over after a few moments ("What, I can't like sports? Okay, fine, I admit it, I've placed a few football bets in my time."). Happy and Ralph join them in the living room to look at the toy construction set with the solar-powered motor that Drew sent Ralph for his last birthday; it's well below Ralph's intelligence level—Drew tries, but he's never been able to understand Ralph—but with Happy's help he's soon pulling everything apart and refashioning the pieces into who knows what.

This leaves Paige, Sly and Walter in the kitchen. Armed with heavy duty gloves, Sly starts cleaning up from the meal, his desire to be helpful and keep things tidy apparently overpowering his dislike of touching other people's germy dishes; Paige stands at the sink to begin washing the dishes he hands her, and after a few moments Walter joins her. "This was so nice of you, Paige," Sylvester gushes. "This is one of the nicest Thanksgivings I've ever had."

Walter agrees, then adds, "Although, to be fair, I didn't do Thanksgiving until I came to the US, so I only have half a lifetime of Thanksgivings to compare it to."

Baffled, she looks over at him, but he's scraping bits of leftover mashed potatoes into the disposal and doesn't notice.

"Walter's Irish," Sly supplies helpfully.

She blinks. "You're Irish?" she repeats.

Walter looks up, surprised. "Did I never tell you that?"

"I think I would have remembered something like that."

"Oh. Well, yes, born and raised. I've been in the states long enough to lose the accent, as you might have noticed."

And this is probably just her stubborn little crush on Walter speaking, but suddenly she really wants to hear him speak with an Irish accent. "So when you say you don't have family in the area, you mean your family's all the way across the ocean." Walter nods, and her expression softens. "That must have been rough," she observes, doing the math in her head from what he said earlier—he must have moved to the US in his late teens. "Moving here all alone."

Walter freezes, and looks at Sylvester, who appears to take pity on him. "He didn't," he says, and there's a sadness in his voice that wasn't there before. "His sister Megan moved out here with him."

Something in his tone warns her, and she changes her planned response from "What's she up to now?" to "Oh, I never heard about her."

"She passed away," says Sly. "Almost exactly three years ago. MS."

"I'm sorry," she says softly, glancing over at Walter, who is frowning at the sink, his eyes suspiciously bright. She decides to leave him to his grief, and turns back to Sylvester. "Did you know her?"

"I was married to her, actually."

"Wait, what?" Paige demands, and Sly smiles at her outburst; apparently he's found peace with Megan's death in a way Walter hasn't yet. "So Walter's Irish and the pair of you are brothers-in-law? Any other secrets you've been keeping from me?"

Sly's smile deepens. "Walter almost married Happy once to keep his green card. Luckily he managed to work out another way to stay in the country."

And that's enough to shake Walter out of his sorrow; he turns on Sylvester with a look of annoyance. "That is private information, Sly," he says, and from the living room Happy yells "Yeah, that's private information!" while Paige laughs loud and long. Walter gives her a rueful look, but when he sees that she's laughing at the situation, not at him, his expression softens, and then he smiles at her in a way that sets butterflies to fluttering in her stomach. And the thought hits her anew: she likes this guy. She really, really likes this guy.

So a week later, she gathers up her courage for one more try, and when he comes into the cafe one afternoon to get coffee, she asks him out, point blank, without using Ralph as an excuse this time.

His expression freezes, his smile faltering, and she knows what he's going to say before he's going to say it. "Look," he begins. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," she says, and it's not quite a lie, because it will be fine, eventually, when she's had some time to get over it.

"I do . . . I am very fond of you," he says. "It's just . . ."

Just then a student comes up to the register to buy a cookie, and Paige makes herself smile at Walter as she goes to the baked goods case. "It's fine," she repeats. "I just . . . can we still be friends?"

"Of course," he blurts out, looking relieved. "I would hate to lose y—your friendship."

She smiles and rings up the student, and when she looks back to where Walter had been standing, he's gone.

o.o.o

And Paige is determined that they will indeed continue to be friends, because she's only got five of them in this town, and she can't afford to lose one, especially when losing Walter's friendship might cost her the others'. And she also doesn't want to ruin Ralph's friendship with Walter; her son talks about Walter non-stop, and recently selected a new shirt based on its similarity to one Walter owns, and with apologies to Drew, this is the most positive father-like relationship in Ralph's life. (Really, she doesn't mean it when she says "with apologies to Drew"; the guy has been trying for the last year or two, but he still walked out and left her to raise Ralph on her own for a decade, and anyway his version of trying to be part of Ralph's life is occasional phone calls and presents and a visit once a year.)

So she works extra hard to be friendly and normal around Walter, and after an awkward start, he follows suit, and if not for the fact that he no longer comes to the cafe to buy brownies, she could almost pretend nothing happened between them. He even comes very willingly when she has the gang over for Sunday dinner again, although they say little to each other.

In the meantime, the semester ends and finals week begins, and Ralph spends from dawn to dusk plowing through a mountain of books and notes and computer programs. Now that Walter's done teaching, he and Ralph spend even more time together working on his classwork, with Sly occasionally joining them. Paige only knows this because Ralph tells her; she's no longer as comfortable as she was just settling into Walter's office to wait for them to finish, so she's started meeting Ralph at her car. Ralph notices the change, she can tell, but he doesn't bring it up until the last day of finals.

"Mom," he says quietly as she starts the car, "are you mad at Walter?"

Lucky she was turned away from him at that moment, so he didn't see her expression change. "No, not at all, sweetie."

"Because you never come to his office anymore."

"I've been busy," she says, figuring this is a situation that makes white lies acceptable. "Work has been crazy lately."

He seems to accept that, but he has more to say on the subject, she learns a few minutes later. "Mom," he says when they're nearly home. "Would you ever go out with Walter?"

She forces her expression to stay light. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugs, and his answer is, in his usual way, a bit blunt but guileless. "I like him, and you two get along, and I thought maybe if you were dating he'd always stick around."

There's a pause while she collects herself, and then she manages to smile. "I don't think he and I would work out," she says gently as she parks the car. "But we are good friends, and that's not going to change. And the two of you are good friends, and that's not going to change either. Remember, you still have at least seven semesters left here, and Walter has no intention of leaving CalSci, so you guys are going to have lots of time together."

"But I won't be in his class next semester," Ralph points out.

That's true, he won't. But on the other hand, if Walter's previous behavior is any indication . . . "I think Walter wants to keep helping you, even when you're not in his class," she says; she remembers Walter's intention of being a mentor to Ralph, and makes a mental note to remind him that he needs to tell Ralph of that intention so the boy doesn't worry. "He's told me before how much he enjoys doing it."

This seems to ease Ralph's worry, and he smiles at her and hops out of the car. And Paige takes advantage of her moment alone to let her shoulders slump, just for a second. Then she plasters on a smile and climbs out of the car.

o.o.o

With finals out of the way and school out of session for two and a half weeks, Ralph becomes much more relaxed and happy in the days leading up to Christmas. Paige still has to work up until the 22nd, so Ralph stays home or tags along to campus with her to hang out in the library while she works.

Her newfound circle of friends still spend some of their time on campus as well, trying to finish grading final tests and projects and get their grades submitted by the December 27th deadline. With the campus nearly deserted, both Toby and Happy start spending some of their grading time in the cafe, where Paige can supply them with a steady stream of coffee and food, and Paige considers it a Christmas miracle when a well-timed refresh on Happy's coffee actually earns her a smile. The campus is so dead that Paige has almost no customers and loads of free time, which she spends pretending she's not observing Toby and Happy together; Happy pretends to be annoyed whenever Toby interrupts her grading to say something to her, but Paige sees perfectly well that despite the fact that they've both got laptops and piles of papers competing for space and there are a dozen empty tables Happy would probably be more comfortable at, she still always sits next to Toby.

"How's the grading?" Paige asks Toby one afternoon when he's there alone. "Going to be done in time?"

"Oh yeah, I'll be done by Christmas," Toby says confidently. "Although even if I weren't, no one really cares if you don't hit the deadline. Walt sometimes doesn't get his grades in until mid-January. Which is his own fault, for assigning so much work." He considers a moment. "Although maybe this year will be different. I went to his office yesterday and found him elbow deep in grading. I've never seen him work that hard on getting his grades in before."

"Really?" Maybe that focus is part of the reason she hasn't seen him in a week. "Why the sudden dedication this year?"

Toby shrugs. "Beats me."

The gang, including the Dineens, has decided to spend Christmas at Cabe's, as he's the only one in the group with a real house. Paige is covering food, Sly and Toby are covering decorations, and they're going to have a big dinner Christmas Eve, a sleepover in Cabe's living room (it took some serious doing to talk Happy into that), Christmas morning presents, and then pajamas and hanging out all Christmas day. Paige packs her bags with both anticipation and concern. It's going to be wonderful for her and Ralph to spend the holiday with people they care about for the first time in Ralph's memory. On the other hand, spending 36 hours in the same house as Walter could be uncomfortable, given that they haven't had a real conversation since he turned her down.

But he's not even there when she and Ralph arrive after lunch, so she's spared any awkwardness for the moment. And the group that's assembled is a very cheerful one. Sylvester is like a kid in a candy store, Toby is wearing a reindeer sweater and one of those headbands with mistletoe on it, and Happy's in a good enough mood that she doesn't do anything but roll her eyes at Toby. They watch a Christmas movie, and then pull out board games while Paige goes to the kitchen to start dinner with Cabe's help; the hours tick on, and still no Walter.

When the sun is setting in the late afternoon, and the only thing left to do for dinner is wait another fifteen minutes for it to come out of the oven, Paige pokes her head into the living room to see Cabe reading a newspaper and four of her favorite geniuses racing each other to see who can complete a jigsaw puzzle the fastest. She smiles at the content look at her son's face, and decides to take a moment to go out on the back porch and watch the sunset.

Cabe's place is small, but the copse of trees at the back of the yard give the whole lot a sense of seclusion, which she enjoys; she likes that no one can see her as she stands there and watches the glow of the clouds slowly shift from a delicate blue to a vibrant orange. And that's where she's standing when the door between the back patio and the kitchen opens, and she turns to see Walter standing there, watching her in a way that speaks of barely restrained tension. "Walter!" she says. "You made it! I thought we were going to have to call out a search party."

"I wanted to get my grades submitted before I came," he says.

"Those aren't due until the 27th," she grins.

He takes a step toward her. "Yes, but the, ah, the deadline wasn't my biggest motivating factor."

She tilts her head, questioning, and examines Walter thoughtfully. This is a version of him she hasn't seen lately: eager, jittery, more awkward than usual, very focused on her. She doesn't know what happened to make him cast off the stiffness of the last month, but she's pleased about it.

But before she can ask either what he's so restless about or what made him get his grades done early, he speaks again. "I wanted to talk to you," he says, "about—I was wondering if you and Ralph would like to come over for dinner next week. Just the three of us. You've invited me often enough, and I think I should, uh, return the favor."

She stares.

His open expression shutters a little. "Is that . . . not a good idea?"

"No, it's a great idea," she forces out, not wanting Walter, with his limited understanding of other people's emotions, to misconstrue her silence. "I'm just surprised. Since it seems like you . . ."

He waits patiently.

Honesty is the best policy, right? "You had an excuse not to every time we asked," she finishes. "I was starting to think you just didn't want to spend time with us. You know, alone."

Surprise and dismay fill his expression. "I didn't—that wasn't my intention," he reassures her. "I wanted to come, really."

"Then why—"

"I worried about doing so while Ralph was still in my class," he says quickly. "I was already spending so much time with him on campus; if it became known that I was so closely, uh, involved with his family . . . there was a similar case here a few years ago, where the department decided that a professor had inflated a student's grade because he was pursuing the student's older sister, romantically. There were repercussions."

So he was worried about his professional image, Paige thinks, and then is almost immediately proven wrong when he adds, "I didn't want this to reflect poorly on Ralph, or tarnish his academic career. I didn't want there to be any accusations of favoritism. I was just trying to be careful."

"Oh," she breathes, and takes a step toward him. "So . . . that was the only reason?" And when he nods, she asks, "Why didn't you say anything?"

He gives her an uncomfortable smile. "When you first asked about dinner, I wasn't sure if you were asking as a friend, or as my student's mother, or . . . anything else, and I didn't want to presume . . . I just didn't know how to respond. And then after that it was easier to keep making excuses."

Her heart is starting to pound, and she can feel the stirring of wild hope in her chest. But she forces herself to stay calm. "What about when I asked you out? That time you just said no."

His body language is screaming discomfort, but there's something in his eyes that tells her he's feeling hopeful as well. "I wanted to say yes," he blurts, then looks a little embarrassed. "I was going to explain then, but you didn't really give me a chance. And then you stopped coming by my office, and I just decided . . . it would be easier to get through the semester, submit my grades so that Ralph was no longer my student, and then, uh, do . . . this. This conversation."

Part of her brain is thinking, Ah, so that explains his unusual insistence on getting his grades done early. And part of her brain is thinking, We need to work on his communication skills. But most of her brain is cheering. That part wins out. "So," she says, and she's trying to play it cool but she can feel her smile growing, "if I asked you out again . . ."

He looks pleased a moment, then frowns. "Umm, are you, or is this purely hypothetical? Because in such an emotionally charged situation, it's difficult to be precise without knowing what the other person is feeling . . ."

And that's how she knows just how crazy she is about him: his rambling is just about the most endearing thing she's ever heard. "Walter," she says gently, and reaches out to take his hand. He stares down at their joined hands, then up at her, looking like a deer in the headlights. "I like you. A lot. So I'm asking you on a date. A real one, not a hypothetical one."

Walter starts to smile, and it grows and grows until it lights up his whole face and she's never seen him so happy before, but before he can answer the door opens and Toby's voice interrupts them. "Hey, Paige, the timer went off. Should I—" He breaks off as he sees them standing out there, stepping back quickly from each other and staring guiltily at him like they've just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. It's dusk now, but there's enough light left that Paige can see that Toby looks incredibly smug. "Am I interrupting something?" he says in a knowing tone.

Paige grits her teeth a moment, then says sweetly, "Could you take the pan out of the oven for me? I'll be right in."

"Of course," Toby says magnanimously. He turns to go in, then says, "Oh, one quick thing." Then he pulls the mistletoe headband off his head and puts it on Paige. "Seems like you two need this more than I do," he says with a wink, and returns inside.

Embarrassed, Paige starts trying to pull the headband off without messing up her hair too much. "Subtlety is not his strong suit," she mutters, then stops both her words and her movements when Walter places a hand gently on her wrist.

"Would you mind?" he asks softly, sounding nervous but determined. "If I did?"

She can do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, and shake her head.

But then he seems to lose his nerve. "I don't mean to pressure you," he says quickly. "I mean, it's just a silly tradition. Actually in Norse mythology, mistletoe was the only plant that could harm the god Baldr—"

So she kisses him, while he flounders about in surprise a moment then collects himself enough to return the kiss and to place his hands on the small of her back to pull her closer. What he lacks in skill he makes up for eagerness, and with what brain power she can spare, she thinks to herself that this moment was worth waiting for—although she doesn't know whether she means it was worth waiting for the last semester, or the years since Drew left, or her entire life. Maybe all three.

o.o.o

And so it comes to pass that when Ralph Dineen-O'Brien receives his PhD at the ripe old age of 20, it is his step-father waiting to hood him up on the stage. Down in the audience is his mother, Paige O'Brien, sitting with her two younger children and their guests. On the one side of her, Lieutenant Colonel Gallo entertains little Megan with a coloring book. On the other side sit Ralph's O'Brien grandparents, flown over from Ireland for the occasion, who are happy and proud of their boys, although Sean is a little distracted by his infant granddaughter currently sleeping in his lap. On the other side of the O'Briens sits their son-in-law Sylvester, who's snapping pictures of the ceremony; next to him is the Quinn-Curtis family, with four-year-old Grace nestled between her parents and keeping herself entertained with a novel practically bigger than she is.

Paige looks up and down the row at her loved ones, and then up at the stage where her boys are beaming at each other, both looking proud enough to burst, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop the tears that come to her eyes. Seven years ago, she'd thought she was leaving home to follow Ralph away to college, but it turns out home was waiting for her on campus all along.

o.o.o