"I'm sorry, Kennedy, I just don't think you have enough here to make a thesis out of."

"I could collect more data. I can interview tarot card readers in other towns, maybe even through video calls."

"More data isn't the answer. The problem is that the scope of your project is too small. It's more like a week-long assignment than a final thesis. I believe we discussed this last year when we examined potential topics for you."

Kennedy dropped her eyes to the wooden desk that sat between her and her thesis supervisor: a middle-aged woman with clever green eyes who today wore a purple suit jacket. She'd done so much work on this project so far. How could it not be good enough?

"I'm very interested in this particular topic. I'd really like to find a way to make it work. What can I change?"

Professor Worth regarded her critically. "Are you too close to this topic, Kennedy? Any personal bias creeping into your research?"

"No, of course not. It's something that I've found interesting for a long time, that's all."

"Really? You, a statistics major, believe in tarot?"

Kennedy's cheeks warmed. "No, just the opposite."

"That sounds like bias to me. I suggest that at the very least you refine your focus, though starting over again isn't out of the question."

Kennedy pressed her lips together, considering defending her topic further. She'd arrived expecting praise, not a thorough knock-down, and found she couldn't articulate the merits of her idea from the top of her head.

"Thank you, Professor Worth. I'll think carefully about what you've said."

Kennedy stood and collected her things.

"I'd like to speak again in two weeks, Kennedy. Email me and we'll set up another appointment."

"Sure thing," Kennedy said with a watery smile.

She hustled out the door and bolted down the hall to the single-stall ladies' room, locking the door behind her. Breathing slowly and deeply, Kennedy leaned against the back of the bathroom door. Nothing about this week was going according to plan. First she left Charlie's place with bad feelings about their parting, then she'd practically failed a test, barely squeaking by with a B-plus, and now her thesis supervisor wasn't happy with the direction she was taking her project.

Kennedy wasn't used to having her plans frustrated like this. She always planned carefully, anticipated possible set-backs and did her best to have ready solutions for getting herself back on track. She wasn't at all comfortable with this unsettled, out of control feeling.

She pulled out her phone and opened the calendar. Action. What she needed was action to move her back towards center. She had a bit of free time right now, which she had earmarked for studying in the grad student lounge, and then a meeting to tutor one of her undergrad students. She hardly felt like a role model just now, though she supposed she could bluff her way through third-year coursework.

Kennedy splashed a bit of cold water on her still heated face, dried it with a paper towel, and squared her shoulders. When she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, Stacy stood in the hallway, waiting for the ladies' room.

"Kennedy, hey! I don't think I've had a chance to talk to you since the Mandelbrot lecture. Wasn't it amazing? I read his book cover-to-cover after that. I'm seeing it all in a completely different light now that I know more about the origins of it all. And speaking of amazing, how's that guy of yours?"

Kenned took a moment to respond. Stacy's mind moved a thousand miles an hour and never let her tongue get in the way of her rapid-fire mental leaps. She was fascinating to talk to, and it was refreshing to be saved from mindless small talk, but it was sometimes hard to keep up.

"Hey, Stacy. I know what you mean. I keep hearing little flashes from the lecture when I'm studying, and seeing places where the stuff he was talking about applies to other disciplines. And Charlie is... good. A little complicated right now, but things have been going surprisingly well."

"You better hang on to that one. A guy that good-looking who's nice, too? I only spoke to him for a couple minutes, but he didn't seem to be a dullard, either. I mean, he came with you to the Mandelbrot lecture."

"He is smart. Very open-minded, too. Almost too open-minded..."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. Most of the great discoveries were made by people who were willing to try something new; the bad boys and girls of the sciences," said Stacy.

"He's not a bad boy, really. He's too sweet for that. More like a non-conformist."

"Yeah, like there's none of those around here," Stacy laughed, tapping together the toes of her floral sneakers with the neon pink laces.

They spoke for a minute about the relaxed dress code among academics, and said their goodbyes. Stacy was right. Charlie was a good guy, even if he didn't think and act the same way Kennedy did. When she got to the graduate student study lounge, instead of taking out her books, she took out her phone.

"Thinking of you. Miss you," she texted to Charlie. She held the phone silently, hoping he would accept her olive branch. She hadn't made contact with him since walking out of his place two days ago. After three minutes, the phone felt heavy in her hand. She set it on the desk and spread out her books.

She was looking up an unfamiliar formula when her phone vibrated. She dropped her reference book and picked up the phone.

"I miss you too, mi amore. Can I see you this wkend?" he'd replied.

Relief flooded through her body, followed by a tingle of nervous excitement at the words 'mi amore.' She'd seen enough movies to know that, in Italian, it meant 'my love.' Did he feel that strongly for her, or was it just a figure of speech? He was rolling through every sweet nickname he could think of for her. Was this just his latest attempt, or something more?

Her heart thumped, excited at the thought of being on the cusp of falling in love. She'd never considered herself to be in love before. How attached did a person have to get before it was officially love? Did it have to be equal? She certainly had feeling for Charlie, though she wasn't ready to call it love yet, even if he was. But someday, if things kept going the way they were... Yeah, she could see falling in love with her sweet, sexy hippie man.

She texted him back. "Yes. Can't wait. x"

* * *

Kennedy's mind's eye was still flooded with visions of Charlie when her phone rang. She picked it up eagerly, thinking it might be him. She sighed when saw her mother's number. She hurried to the hallway and answered the phone on the fifth ring, earning herself a handful of dirty looks from the other students trying to study.

"Hi, Mom."

"Kennedy! I thought I'd be talking to your machine. You don't usually pick up during the day. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom. I just had my phone out. I was sending a text."

"Really, texting during the day? This has the smell of a boy on it," her mother said in a teasing phone. Kennedy pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mom, I'm twenty-six. I'm allowed to be dating someone."

"Dating, as in plural dates."

"What's up, Mom? What were you calling about, again?" Kennedy asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from her dating life. Talking about boys with her mother always made her feel like an awkward, fumbling teenager, no matter how together the rest of her life was.

"I was calling to see if you could come home for dinner one weekend soon. It's your father's birthday at the end of the month, and I was hoping to surprise him."

"Mom, Dad hates surprises as much as I do. I'd be happy to come to his party, as long as you warn him about it ahead of time."

Laughter tinkled through the phone. "Oh, you are your father's girl, aren't you? Well, it's short notice, but how about this weekend coming?"

Kennedy braced herself. "I can't. I have plans this weekend."

"With who?" her mother asked with false innocence.

"With the guy, Mom."

"Oh? And where did you meet him? What does this 'guy' of yours do?" Kennedy's mother asked.

"He, um, owns a little bookstore downtown."

"Not an academic, then, like you?"

"No, Mom. He's definitely not like me."

"What's he like, then, honey? He's sure turned your head, I can tell that already."

"He's sweet. His customers are mostly older women, you know, your age."

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly.

Kennedy continued on, ignoring the small gaff she'd made. "He's good to his customers. Charming. It doesn't hurt that he's more than a little handsome."

"Hmm," her mother said. The sound was small, but loaded with motherly concern.

"What?"

"Be careful of charming men, Kennedy, especially the handsome ones. Some of the worst people I've ever met had silver tongues that could make atrocities sound like sensible choices."

"Mom, he's not like that."

"I hope so. But be careful. People who are skilled at making other people feel good are usually doing it for their own benefit, to get something they want, or to hide something they don't want you to see."