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“Can I ask you a really stupid question?” Gideon’s friend gave her a look that said My dear, that ship has sailed, so she continued, “What is Valentine’s Day?”
“There are a few theories as to the holiday’s origin. The Catholic church recognizes several saints named Valentine, with associated folklore, and the modern holiday is an amalgam of ancient and modern springtime courtship rituals,” he explained, misunderstanding her question.
“No, I mean, what the fuck is with all these hearts? Why don’t I know about this?”
Palamedes quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t answer that! You haven’t heard of Valentine’s Day, at all? The death cult doesn’t do Hallmark holidays?”
“Guess not.” Gideon shrugged. She had assumed for the past week that Valentine’s Day would be some sort of regional calendar footnote, but the whole campus was decked out in pink and red. Even her no-nonsense instructor friend decorated his office with a dish of romantic candy. She peeled the wrapper off the chocolate and popped one in her mouth as someone knocked on the door.
“Sextus, we need to talk.” Naberius, waving around a pink floral card, let himself in, and Gideon almost choked on her chocolate. He wasn’t doing anything particularly funny, she just found his beef with every other faculty member hilarious. “Are you seriously coming on to me at work? Am I a joke to you?”
Gideon thought, please please please please answer that, but instead, Palamedes put on his teacher voice. “Can you please read the addressee that card, Mr. Tern?”
“Mailbox 102, Camill—oh.” Babs squinted at the card. “I think there has been some confusion.”
“Why did you think that there would be a card for you in Camilla’s mailbox?” Gideon asked.
“Well, the outside said, ‘To the best teacher’s assistant on campus,’” he explained. “Which would be me. Clearly.”
Palamedes took off his glasses to rub his forehead. “You’re not the best TA in your own sections, much less this institution.”
Naberius gave him a look and Gideon hoped that they might fight. She knew how much Naberius liked to throw hands. Instead, he said, “Are you still going to call me?”
Palamedes returned his glasses to his nose and steepled his hands under his chin to frame a resigned sigh. “Hmm. Probably.”