Chapter 81 DEFEND FIRST, DECIDE LATER
Alex
Alex stared at the email from a different university. Read it three times. Each time, the words felt more surreal.
We’re impressed by your public scholarship and would like to offer you a tenure-track position in our Literature department, beginning in the Fall semester.
“They want me because of the book,” Alex said. “Because of the movie. Because it is public.”
Elias looked over his shoulder. “That’s good, right? Someone who values that work?”
“Is it? Or is it the wrong reason to hire someone? What about my actual scholarship? My dissertation? My teaching?”
“They mention all of that too. Look. Second paragraph.”
Alex read it again. They did mention his academic work. His publications. His research. But the first line was about public impact. About reaching wider audiences.
“I don’t know how to feel about this,” Alex said.
“You don’t have to decide right now. Just sit with it.”
But Alex couldn’t sit with it. His mind is racing. Processing.
The scholarship he’d lost had been pure academics. Traditional. Focused solely on research and teaching.
This offer was different. Hybrid. Valuing both academic work and public engagement.
“What if I’m always known as the book guy?” Alex asked. “What if that’s all anyone sees?”
“Then you prove them wrong. Through your teaching. Your research. Your work.”
“Or I confirm their suspicions. That I’m not a serious scholar. Just someone who got lucky with a memoir.”
“You’re catastrophizing. You haven’t even talked to them yet.”
Alex called the next day. Spoke with the department chair. A woman named Dr. Stevens. Warm voice. Genuine interest.
“We loved your book,” she said. “But we also love your dissertation work. The combination is rare. We value scholars who can bridge academic and public audiences.”
“I appreciate that. But I’m concerned about being hired for the wrong reasons.”
“What are the wrong reasons?”
“Publicity. Name recognition. Drawing attention to the department.”
“Those are benefits. But they’re not why we’re offering. We’re offering because you’re a strong scholar who also happens to have public reach. Both matter. Equally.”
“How do I know that’s true? That it’s not just what you’re saying to recruit me?”
Dr. Stevens was quiet. Then: “You don’t. Not until you’re here. Working with us. Seeing how we operate. But I can tell you our department values diverse forms of scholarship. Public writing. Digital humanities. Community engagement. You’d fit well here.”
After hanging up, Alex felt less certain. Not more.
“She sounds genuine,” Elias said.
“She does. But so did the other places. Until they weren’t.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I want to talk to Professor Harrison. Let her read it.”
Professor Harrison’s office smelled like old books and stale coffee. Same as always. Comforting in its familiarity.
“A tenure-track offer,” she said, reading the email. “Before you’ve even defended. That’s unusual.”
“That’s what concerns me. Is it legitimate? Or are they just chasing publicity?”
“Could be both. Could be neither. Hard to say without knowing the department.”
“What would you do? If you were me?”
Professor Harrison leaned back. Her chair creaks. “I’d be skeptical. But I’d also be curious. Tenure-track positions are hard to come by. Especially ones that align with your interests.”
“But they’re hiring me for the book. Not my scholarship.”
“Are they? Or are you assuming that because it’s easier than believing they value both?”
Alex sat with that. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been fighting to be seen as a serious scholar for months. Fighting the book. The movie. The publicity. What if you don’t have to fight? What if someone actually values all of it?”
“That feels too easy.”
“Or maybe it’s just different. A different model of academic work. One you’re not used to.”
“So you think I should consider it?”
“I think you should talk to them. Visit campus. Meet the faculty. See if it’s a good fit. Then decide.”
“What about my defense? I’m supposed to defend in six weeks.”
Professor Harrison’s expression shifted. “Six weeks?”
“Yeah. We set the date last month. You approved it.”
“Alex. Have you looked at your dissertation lately? Your final chapter isn’t done. Your bibliography needs work. Your conclusion is a draft.”
Alex’s stomach dropped. “I thought I had more time.”
“You did. Before you got distracted by scholarship drama and movie publicity and everything else. But your defense is in six weeks. And you’re not ready.”
“I can finish. I’ll work every day. All day.”
“That’s what you said last time. Before you ended up in the hospital.”
“This is different. I’ve learned. I have boundaries now.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re about to say yes to a job offer while also trying to finish your dissertation in six weeks. That’s not boundaries. That’s overcommitment.”
Alex left her office feeling worse. Not better.
At home, he told Elias everything.
“Six weeks,” Elias said. “Can you finish in six weeks?”
“I have to. Defense is scheduled. The committee is booked. If I postpone again, I don’t know if they’ll let me reschedule.”
“Then you focus on that. The job offer can wait.”
“Can it? They want an answer in two weeks.”
“Tell them you need more time. That you’re defending soon and can’t make major decisions until after.”
“What if they rescind the offer?”
“Then it wasn’t the right fit anyway.”
Alex emailed Dr. Stevens. Explained the situation. Asked for an extended timeline.
She responded within an hour. Of course. Defend first. We’ll talk after. The position will still be here.
Relief. Temporary but real.
“Okay,” Alex said. “Defense first. Job decision after.”
He pulled out his dissertation. Read through it properly for the first time in weeks.
Professor Harrison was right. He wasn’t ready.
The final chapter needed another twenty pages. The bibliography was missing key sources. The conclusion was barely outlined.
“I have so much work to do,” Alex said.
“Then you work. I’ll handle everything else. Cooking. Cleaning. Life. You just write.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. This is important. We do what it takes.”
Over the next week, Alex worked, focused, intentional healthy hours but productive ones.
Morning writing. Afternoon research. Evening editing. Repeat.
By day seven, he had a complete final chapter. Rough but complete.
By day fourteen, his bibliography was done. Conclusion drafted.
By day twenty-one, he had a full dissertation. Ready for final review.
He sent it to Professor Harrison. Waited.
She called the next day. “It’s good, Alex. Really good. A few minor revisions but you’re ready to defend.”
“Really?”
“Really. You did it. Now you just have to prove it to the committee.”
The defense date loomed. Three weeks away. Then two weeks. Then one.
Alex prepared. Practiced. Anticipated questions. Rehearsed answers.
“You’re going to be great,” Elias said the night before.
“What if I’m not? What if I freeze? What if they ask something I can’t answer?”
“Then you say you don’t know. That you’ll research it further. It’s okay to not have all the answers.”
“Is it? This is my defense. My one shot.”
“It’s not a performance. It’s a conversation. About work, you know better than anyone. You’ve got this.”
Alex tried to sleep. Couldn’t. Kept running through possible questions. Possible failures.
At 2 AM, he gave up. Made tea. Sat in the dark.
Elias found him there at 3. “Can’t sleep?”
“Too nervous.”
“Come to bed. Even if you can’t sleep, you can rest.”
They lay together. Elias is holding him. Alex’s mind is still racing but his body is relaxing.
“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Elias said. “I’m proud of you. For finishing. For trying. For all of it.”
“What if I fail?”
“You won’t. But if you do, we'll figure out the next steps. Together.”
“Together.”
“Always together.”
Alex fell asleep around 4. Woke at 7. Defense at 10.
He dressed carefully. Professional. Academic. Ready.
They drove to campus together. Elias squeezed his hand before he got out.
“You’ve got this.”
“I hope so.”
Alex walked into the building. Climbed the stairs to the conference room. His committee is already there. Waiting.
Professor Harrison smiled. “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll be.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Two hours later, Alex emerged. Exhausted. Exhilarated. Done.
He’d passed. Pending minor revisions. Officially Dr. Lee.
Elias was waiting in the hallway. “Well?”
“I passed.”
“I knew you would.”
They hugged. Alex is finally breathing normally for the first time in weeks.
But as they walked to the car, Alex’s phone buzzed.
Email from Professor Harrison.
Subject: Urgent.
Alex, we need to talk. There’s been a complication with your revisions. Call me immediately.