Below Zero

PRAISEFORTheLoveHypothesis
“Contemporaryromance’sunicorn:theelusivemarriageofdeeplybrainyanddelightfullyescapist….TheLoveHypothesishaswildcommercialappeal,butthequietersecretisthatthereisaspecificaudience,madeupofalltheOlivesintheworld,whohavedeeply,ardentlywaitedforthisexactbook.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorChristinaLauren
“Funny,sexy,andsmart.AliHazelwooddidaterrificjobwithTheLoveHypothesis.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorMarianaZapata
“Thistacklesoneofmyfavoritetropes—GrumpymeetsSunshine—inafunandutterlyendearingway….Ilovedthenodstowardfandomandromancenovels,andIcouldn’tputitdown.Highlyrecommended!”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorJessicaClare
“Abeautifullywrittenromanticcomedywithaheroineyouwillinstantlyfallinlovewith,TheLoveHypothesisisdestinedtoearnaplaceonyourkeepershelf.”
—ElizabethEverett,authorofALady’sFormulaforLove
“Smart,wittydialogueandadiversecastoflikablesecondarycharacters….Arealistic,amusingnovelthatreaderswon’tbeabletoputdown.”
—LibraryJournal(starredreview)
“Withwhip-smartandendearingcharacters,snappyprose,andaquirkytakeonafavoritetrope,Hazelwoodconvincinglynavigatesthefraughtshoalsofacademia….Thissmart,sexycontemporaryshoulddelightawideswathofromancelovers.”
—PublishersWeeklyTitlesbyAliHazelwood
TheLoveHypothesis
LOATHETOLOVEYOU
UnderOneRoof
StuckwithYou
BelowZeroBelowZero
AliHazelwood
JOVE
NEWYORKAJOVEBOOK
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2022byAliHazelwood
ExcerptfromLoveontheBraincopyright?2021byAliHazelwood
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EbookISBN:9780593437834
Joveaudioedition:April2022
Joveebookedition:July2022
Coverillustrationbylilithsaur
AdaptedforebookbyCoraWigen
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_140348893_c0_r0Contents
Cover
PraiseforTheLoveHypothesis
TitlesbyAliHazelwood
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Epilogue
ExcerptfromLoveontheBrain
AbouttheAuthorForShepandCelia.Stillwithnopolarbears,butwithlotsoflove.Prologue
SvalbardIslands,Norway
Present
Idreamofanocean.
NottheArctic,though.NottheonerighthereinNorway,withitsclose-packed,frothywavesconstantlycrashingagainstthecoastsoftheSvalbardarchipelago.It’sperhapsabitunfairofme:theBarentsSeaisperfectlyworthdreamingof.Soareitsfloatingicebergsandinhospitablepermafrostshores.Allaroundmethereisnothingbutstark,ceruleanbeauty,andifthisistheplacewhereIdie,aloneandshiveringandbruisedandprettydamnhungry…well,Ihavenoreasontobitch.
Afterall,bluewasalwaysmyfavoritecolor.
Andyet,thedreamsseemtodisagree.Iliehere,inmyhalf-awake,half-unconsciousstate.Ifeelmybodyyieldpreciousdegreesofheat.Iwatchtheultravioletmorninglightreachinsidethecrevassethattrappedmehoursago,andtheonlyoceanIcandreamofistheoneonMars.
“Dr.Arroyo?Canyouhearme?”
Imean,thisentirethingisalmostlaughable.IamaNASAscientist.Ihaveadoctorateinaerospaceengineeringandseveralpublicationsinthefieldofplanetarygeology.Atanygiventime,mybrainisajumbledmaelstromofstraythoughtsonmassivevolcanism,crystalfluiddynamics,andtheexactkindofanti-radiationequipmentonewouldneedtostartamedium-sizehumancolonyonKepler-452b.IpromiseI’mnotbeingconceitedwhenIsaythatIknowprettymuchallthereistoknowaboutMars.Includingthefactthattherearenooceansonit,andtheideathatthereeverwereishighlycontroversialamongscientists.
So,yeah.Mynear-deathdreamsareridiculousandscientificallyinaccurate.Iwouldlaughaboutit,butIhaveasprainedankleandI’mapproximatelytenfeetbelowtheground.Itseemsbettertojustsavemyenergyforwhat’stocome.Ineverreallybelievedinanafterlife,butwhoknows?Betterhedgemybets.
“Dr.Arroyo,doyoucopy?”
Theproblemis,itcallstome,thisnonexistentoceanonMars.Ifeelthepullofitdeepinsidemybelly,anditwarmsmeevenhere,attheicytipoftheworld.Itsturquoisewatersandrust-tintedcoastlinesareapproximately200millionkilometersfromtheplacewhereI’lldieandrot,butIcannotshakethefeelingthattheywantmecloser.Thereisanocean,anetworkofgullies,anentiregiantplanetfullofironoxide,andthey’reallcallingtome.Askingmetogiveup.Leanin.Letgo.
“Dr.Arroyo.”
Andthentherearethevoices.Random,improbablevoicesfrommypast.Well,okay:avoice.It’salwaysthesame,deepandrumbling,withnodiscernibleaccentandwell-pronouncedconsonants.Idon’treallymindit,Imustsay.I’mnotsurewhymybrainhasdecidedtoimposeitonmejustnow,consideringthatitbelongstosomeonewhodoesn’tlikememuch—someoneImightlikeevenless—butit’saprettygoodvoice.A+.Worthlisteningtoinadeath’sdoorsituation.EventhoughIanFloydwastheonewhoneverwantedmetocomeheretoSvalbardinthefirstplace.Eventhoughthelasttimeweweretogetherhewasstubborn,andunkind,andunreasonable,andnowheseemstosoundonly…
“Hannah.”
Close.IsthisreallyIanFloyd?Soundingclose?
Impossible.Mybrainhasfrozenintostupidity.Itmustreallybealloverforme.Mytimehascome,theendisnigh,and—
“Hannah.I’mcomingforyou.”
Myeyesspringopen.I’mnotdreaminganymore.Chapter1
JohnsonSpaceCenter,Houston,U.S.
Oneyearago
OnmyveryfirstdayatNASA,atsomepointbetweentheHRintakeandatouroftheElectromagneticComplianceStudiesbuilding,someoverzealousnewlyhiredengineerturnstotherestofusandasks,“Don’tyoufeellikeyourentirelifehasledyoutothismoment?Likeyouweremeanttobehere?”
AsidefromEagerBeaver,therearefourteenofusstartingtoday.Fourteenofusfreshoutoftop-fivegraduateprograms,andprestigiousinternships,andCV-beefingindustryjobsacceptedexclusivelytolookmoreattractiveduringNASA’snextroundofrecruitment.There’refourteenofus,andthethirteenthataren’tmeareallnoddingenthusiastically.
“AlwaysknewI’dendupatNASA,eversinceIwaslike,five,”saysashy-lookinggirl.She’sbeenstickingbymysidefortheentiremorning,Iassumebecausewe’retheonlytwonon-dudesinthegroup.Imustsay,Idon’tmindittoomuch.Perhapsit’sbecauseshe’sacomputerengineerwhileI’maerospace,whichmeansthere’sagoodchancethatIwon’tseemuchofheraftertoday.HernameisAlexis,andshe’swearingaNASAnecklaceontopofaNASAT-shirtthatonlybarelycoverstheNASAtattooonherupperarm.“Ibetit’sthesameforyou,Hannah,”sheadds,andIsmileather,becauseSadieandMarainsistedthatIshouldn’tbemyresting-bitchselfnowthatweliveindifferenttimezones.TheyareconvincedthatIneedtomakenewfriends,andIhavereluctantlyagreedtoputinasolideffortjusttogetthemtoshutup.SoInodatAlexislikeIknowexactlywhatshemeans,whileprivatelyIthink:Notreally.
WhenpeoplefindoutthatIhaveaPh.D.,theytendtoassumethatIwasalwaysanacademicallydrivenchild.ThatIcruisedthroughschoolmyentirelifeinaconstantefforttooverachieve.ThatIdidsowellasastudent,IdecidedtoremainonelongafterIcouldhavebookeditandfreedmyselffromtheshacklesofhomeworkandnightsspentcrammingfornever-endingtests.Peopleassume,andforthemostpartIletthembelievewhattheywant.Caringwhatothersthinkisalotofwork,and—withahandfulofexceptions—I’mnotahugefanofwork.
Thetruth,though,isquitetheopposite.Ihatedschoolatfirstsight—withthedirectconsequencethatschoolhatedthesullen,listlesschildthatIwasrightback.Inthefirstgrade,Irefusedtolearnhowtowritemyname,eventhoughHannahisonlythreelettersrepeatedtwice.Injuniorhigh,Isetaschoolrecordforthehighestnumberofconsecutivedetentiondays—whathappenswhenyoudecidetotakeastandandnotdohomeworkforanyofyourclassesbecausetheyaretooboring,toodifficult,toouseless,oralloftheabove.Untiltheendofmysophomoreyear,Icouldn’twaittograduateandleaveallofschoolbehind:thebooks,theteachers,thegrades,thecliques.Everything.Ididn’treallyhaveaplanforafter,exceptforleavingnowbehind.
Ihadthisfeeling,myentirelife,thatIwasnevergoingtobeenough.IinternalizedprettyearlythatIwasnevergoingtobeasgood,assmart,aslovable,aswantedasmyperfectolderbrotherandmyflawlessoldersister,andafterseveralfailedattemptsatmeasuringup,Ijustdecidedtostoptrying.Stopcaring,too.BythetimeIwasinmyteens,Ijustwanted…
Well.Tothisday,I’mnotsurewhatIwantedatfifteen.Formyparentstostopfrettingaboutmyinadequacies,maybe.FormypeerstostopaskingmehowIcouldbethesiblingoftwoformerall-starvaledictorians.IwantedtostopfeelingasthoughIwererottinginmyownaimlessness,andIwantedmyheadtostopspinningallthetime.Iwasconfused,contradictory,and,lookingback,probablyashittyteenagertobearound.Sorry,MomandDadandtherestoftheworld.Nohardfeelings,eh?
Anyhow,Iwasaprettylostkid.UntilBrianMcDonald,ajunior,decidedthataskingmetohomecomingbyopeningwith“YoureyesareasblueasasunsetonMars”mightgetmetosayyes.
Fortherecord,it’sahorrifyingpickupline.Donotrecommend.Usesparingly.Usenotatall,especiallyif—likeme—thepersonyou’retryingtopickuphasbrowneyesandisfullyawareofit.Butwhatwasanundeniablelowpointinthehistoryofflirtingendedupserving,ifyou’llforgiveaveryself-indulgentmetaphor,asameteoriteofsorts:itcrashedintomylifeandchangeditstrajectory.
Inthefollowingyears,IwouldfindoutthatallofmycolleaguesatNASAhavetheirownoriginstory.Theirveryownspacerockthatalteredthecourseoftheirexistenceandpushedthemtobecomeengineers,physicists,biologists,astronauts.It’susuallyanelementaryschooltriptotheKennedySpaceCenter.ACarlSaganbookundertheChristmastree.Aparticularlyinspiringscienceteacheratsummercamp.MyencounterwithBrianMcDonaldfallsunderthatumbrella.Itjusthappenstoinvolveaguywho(allegedly)wentontomoderateincelmessageboardsonReddit,whichmakesitjustatadlamer.
Peopleobsessedwithspacearesplitintotwodistinctcamps.Theoneswhowanttogotospaceandcravethezerogravity,thespacesuits,drinkingtheirownrecycledurine.Andthere’repeoplelikeme:whatwewant—oftentimeswhatwe’vewantedsinceourfrontallobeswerestillundevelopedenoughtohaveusthinkingthattoeshoesareagoodfashionstatement—istoknowaboutspace.Atthebeginningit’ssimplestuff:What’sitmadeof?Wheredoesitend?Whydothestarsnotfallandcrashontoourheads?Then,onceyou’vereadenough,thebigtopicscomein:Darkmatter.Multiverse.Blackholes.That’swhenyourealizehowlittleweunderstandaboutthisgiantthingwe’repartof.Whenyoustartthinkingaboutwhetheryoucanhelpproducesomenewknowledge.
Andthat’showyouendupatNASA.
So,backtoBrianMcDonald.Ididn’tgotohomecomingwithhim.(Ididn’tgotohomecomingatall,becauseitwasn’treallymyscene,andevenifithadbeen,IwasgroundedforfailinganEnglishmidterm,andevenifIhadn’tbeen,fuckBrianMcDonaldandhispoorlyresearchedpickuplines.)However,somethingaboutthewholethingstuckwithme.Whywouldasunsetbeblue?Andonaredplanet,noless?Itseemedlikesomethingworthknowing.SoIspentthenightinmyroom,googlingdustparticlesintheMartianatmosphere.Bytheendoftheweek,I’dsignedupforalibrarycardanddevouredthreebooks.Bytheendofthemonth,Iwasstudyingcalculustounderstandconceptslikethrustovertimeandharmonicseries.Bytheendoftheyear,Ihadagoal.Hazy,confused,notyetfullydefined,butagoalnonetheless.
Forthefirsttimeinmylife.
I’llspareyoumostofthegruelingdetails,butIspenttherestofhighschoolbustingasstomakeupfortheassIhadn’tbustedforthepreviousdecade.Justpicturean’80strainingmontage,butinsteadofrunninginthesnowanddoingpull-upswitharepurposedbroomstick,IwashardatworkonbooksandYouTubelectures.Anditwashardwork:wantingtounderstandconceptslikeH-Rdiagramsorsynodicperiodsorsyzygydidnotmakethemanyeasiertograsp.Before,I’dneverreallytried.Butatthetenderageofsixteen,Iwasconfrontedwiththeunbearableturmoilthatcomeswithtryingyourbestandrealizingthatsometimesitsimplyisn’tenough.Asmuchasitpainsmetosayit,Idon’thaveanIQof130.ToreallyunderstandthebooksIwantedtoread,Ihadtoreviewthesameconceptsover,andover,andfuckingoveragain.InitiallyIcoastedonthehighoffindingout!new!things!,butafterawhilemymotivationbegantowane,andIstartedtowonderwhatIwasevendoing.Iwasstudyingabunchofreallybasicsciencestuff,tobeabletograduatetomoreadvancedsciencestuff,sothatonedayI’dactuallyknowallthesciencestuffaboutMarsand…andwhatthen?GoonJeopardy!andpickSpacefor500?Didn’treallyseemworthit.
ThenAugustof2012happened.
WhentheCuriosityroverapproachedtheMartianatmosphere,Istayedupuntilonea.m.IchuggeddowntwobottlesofDietCoke,atepeanutsforgoodluck,andwhenthelandingmaneuverbegan,Ibitintomylipuntilitbled.ThemomentitsafelytouchedthegroundIscreamed,Ilaughed,Icried,andthengotgroundedforaweekforwakinguptheentirehouseholdthenightbeforemybrotherleftforhisPeaceCorpstrip,butIdidn’tcare.
InthefollowingmonthsIdevouredeverylittlepieceofnewsNASAissuedonCuriosity’smission,andasIwonderedaboutwhowasbehindtheimagesoftheGaleCrater,theinterpretationoftherawdata,thereportsonthemolecularcompositionoftheAeolisPalus,myhazy,undefinablegoalbegantosolidify.
NASA.
NASAwastheplacetobe.
Thesummerbetweenjuniorandsenioryears,IfoundarankingofthehundredbestengineeringprogramsintheU.S.anddecidedtoapplytothetoptwenty.“Youshouldprobablyextendyourreach.Addafewsafetyschools,”myguidancecounselortoldme.“Imean,yourSATsarereallygoodandyourGPAhasimprovedalot,butyouhaveabunchof”—longpauseforthroatclearing—“academicredflagsonyourpermanentrecord.”
Ithoughtaboutitforaminute.Whowouldhavefiguredthatbeingalittleshitforthefirstoneandahalfdecadesofmylifewouldbringlastingconsequences?Notme.“Okay.Fine.Let’sdothetopthirty-five.”
Asitturnsout,Ididn’tneedto.Igotacceptedtoawhopping(drumroll,please)…onetop-twentyschool.Arealwinner,huh?Idon’tknowiftheymisfiledmyapplication,misplacedhalfofmytranscripts,orhadabrainfartinwhichtheentireadmissionsofficetemporarilyforgotwhatapromisingstudentissupposedtolooklike.Iputdownmydepositandapproximatelyforty-fivesecondsaftergettingmylettertoldGeorgiaTechthatI’dbeattending
Nobacksies.
SoImovedtoAtlanta,andIgaveitmyall.IchosethemajorsandtheminorsIknewNASAwouldwanttoseeonaCV.Igotthefederalinternships.Istudiedhardenoughtoacethetests,didthefieldwork,appliedtogradschool,wrotethethesis.WhenIlookbackatthelasttenyears,schoolandworkandschoolworkareprettymuchallthatstandout—withthenotableexceptionofmeetingSadieandMara,andofbegrudginglywatchingthemcarvespotsforthemselvesinmyheart.God,theytakeupsomuchroom
“It’slikespaceisyourwholepersonality,”thegirlIcasuallyhookedupwithduringmostofmysophomoreyearofundergradtoldme.ItwasafterIexplainedthatno,thankyou,Iwasn’tinterestedingoingoutforcoffeetomeetherfriendsbecauseofalectureonKalpanaChawlaIwasplanningtoattend.“Doyouhaveanyotherinterests?”sheasked.Ithrewheraquick“Nope,”wavedgood-bye,andwasn’ttoosurprisedwhen,thefollowingweek,shedidn’treplytomyoffertomeetup.Afterall,Iclearlycouldn’tgiveherwhatshewanted.
“Isthisreallyenoughforyou?Justhavingsexwithmewhenyoufeellikeitandignoringmetherestofthetime?”theguyIsleptwithduringthelastsemesterofmyPh.D.asked.“Youjustseem…Idon’tknow.Extremelyemotionallyunavailable.”Ithinkmaybehewasright,becauseit’sbarelybeenayearandIcan’tquiterecallhisface.
ExactlyadecadeafterBrianMcDonaldmiscoloredmyeyes,IappliedforaNASAposition.Igotaninterview,thenajoboffer,andnowI’mhere.Butunliketheothernewhires,Idon’tfeellikeMarsandIwerealwaysmeanttobe.Therewasnoguarantee,noinvisiblestringofdestinytetheringmetothisjob,andI’mpositivethatImademywayherethroughsheerbruteforce,butdoesitmatter?
Nope.Notevenalittlebit.
SoIturntolookatAlexis.Thistime,herNASAnecklace,herT-shirt,hertattoo—theypullasinceresmileoutofme.It’sbeenalongjourneyhere.Thedestinationwasneverasurething,butIhavearrived,andI’muncharacteristically,sincerely,satisfyinglyhappy.“Feelslikehome,”Isay,andtheenthusiasticwayshenodsreverberatesdeepdowninsidemychest.
Atonepointinhistory,everysinglememberoftheMarsExplorationProgramhadtheirfirstdayatNASA,too.TheystoodintheveryspotwhereI’mstandingrightnow.Gavetheirbankinginformationfordirectdeposit,hadanunflatteringpicturetakenfortheirbadges,shookhandswiththeHRreps.ComplainedaboutHouston’sweather,boughtterriblecoffeefromthecafeteria,rolledtheireyesatvisitorsdoingtouristythings,lettheSaturnVrockettaketheirbreathaway.EverysinglememberoftheMarsExplorationProgramdidthis,justlikeIwill.
IstepintotheconferenceroomwheresomefancyNASAbigshotisscheduledtotalktous,takeinthewindowviewoftheJohnsonSpaceCenterandtheremnantsofobjectsthatwereoncelaunchedacrossthestars,andfeellikeeverysingleinchofthisplaceisthrilling,fascinating,electrifying,intoxicating
Perfect.
ThenIturnaround.And,ofcourse,findtheverylastpersonIwantedtosee.Chapter2
CaltechCampus,Pasadena,California
Fiveyears,sixmonthsago
I’mfinishingmyinitialsemesterofgradschoolwhenIfirstmeetIanFloyd,andit’sHelenaHarding’sfault.
Dr.Hardingisalotofthings:myfriendMara’sPh.D.mentor;oneofthemostcelebratedenvironmentalscientistsofthetwenty-firstcentury;agenerallycrabbyhumanbeing;and,lastbutnotleast,myWaterResourcesEngineeringprofessor.
Itis,quitehonestly,anall-aroundshittyclass:mandatory;irrelevanttomyacademic,professional,orpersonalinterests;andhighlyfocusedontheintersectionofthehydrologiccycleandthedesignofurbanstorm-sewersystems.Forthemostpart,IspendthelectureswishingIwereanywhereelse:inlineattheDMV,atthemarketbuyingmagicbeans,takingAnalyticalTransonicandSupersonicAerodynamics.IdotheleastIcantopullalowB—which,intheunjustscamofgraduateschool,istheminimumpassinggrade—untilweekthreeorfourofclasses,whenDr.Hardingintroducesanew,cruelassignmentthathasfuckalltodowithwater.
“FindsomeonewhohastheengineeringjobyouwantattheendofyourPh.D.anddoaninformationalinterviewwiththem,”shetellsus.“Thenwriteareportaboutit.Duebytheendofthesemester.Don’tcometomebitchingaboutitduringofficehours,becauseIwillcallsecuritytoescortyouout.”Ihaveafeelingthatshe’slookingatmewhilesayingit.It’sprobablyjustmyguiltyconscience.
“Honestly,I’mjustgoingtoaskHelenaifIcaninterviewher.Butifyouwant,IthinkIhaveacousinorsomethingatNASA’sJetPropulsionLab,”Marasaysoffhandedlylaterthatday,whilewe’resittingonthestepsoutsidetheBeckmanAuditoriumhavingaquicklunchbeforeheadingbacktoourlabs.
Iwouldn’tsaythatwe’reclose,butI’vedecidedthatIlikeher.Alot.Atthispoint,mygradschoolattitudeissomemildvariantofIdidnotcomeheretomakefriends:Idon’tfeelincompetitionwiththerestoftheprogram,butneitheramIparticularlyinvestedinanythingthatisn’tmyworkintheaeronauticslab,includinggettingacquaintedwithotherstudents,or,youknow…learningtheirnames.I’mfairlysurethatmylackofinterestisstronglybroadcasted,buteitherMaradidn’tpickupthetransmission,orshe’sgleefullyignoringit.SheandSadiefoundeachotherinthefirstcoupleofdays,andthen,forreasonsIdon’tfullyunderstand,decidedtofindme.
HenceMarasittingnexttome,tellingmeaboutherJPLcontacts.
“Acousinorsomething?”Iask,curious.Itseemsabitsketchy.“Youthink?”
“Yeah,I’mnotsure.”SheshrugsandcontinuestomakeherwaythroughaTupperwareofbroccoli,anapple,andapproximatelytwofucktonsofCheez-Its.“Idon’treallyknowmuchabouthim.Hisparentsdivorced,thenpeopleinmyfamilyhadargumentsandstoppedtalkingtoeachother.TherewasalotofprimeFloyddysfunctionhappening,soIhaven’tactuallyspokentohiminyears.ButIheardfromoneofmyothercousinsthathewasworkingonthatthingthatlandedonMarsbackwhenwewereinhighschool.Itwascalledsomethinglike…Contingency,orCarpentry,orCrudity—”
“TheCuriosityrover?”
“Yes!Maybe?”
Iputmysandwichdown.Swallowmybite.Clearmythroat.“YourcousinorsomethingwasontheCuriosityroverteam.”
“Ithinkso.Dothedatesaddup?Maybeitwassomekindofsummerinternship?Buthonestly,itmightjustbeFloydfamilylore.Ihaveanauntwhoinsiststhatwe’rerelatedtotheFinnishroyals,andaccordingtoWikipediatherearenoFinnishroyals.So.”SheshrugsandpopsanotherhandfulofCheez-Itsinhermouth.“Wouldyoulikemetoaskaround,though?Fortheassignment?”
Inod.AndIdon’tthinkmuchaboutituntilamonthorsolater.Bythen,throughmeansthatIamstillunabletodivine,MaraandSadiehavemanagedtowormtheirwayintomyheart,causingmetoamendmypreviousIdidnotcomeheretomakefriendsstancetoaslightlyalteredIdidnotcomeheretomakefriends,buthurtmyweirdCheez-ItfriendormyotherweirdsoccerfriendandIwillbeatyouupwithaleadpipetillyoupissbloodfortherestofyourlife.Truculent?Perhaps.Ifeellittle,butsurprisinglydeeply.
“Bytheway,Isentyoumycousin-or-something’scontactinfoawhileago,”Maratellsmeonenight.We’reatthecheapestgradbarwe’vebeenabletofind.She’sonhersecondMidorisourofthenight.“Didyougetit?”
Iraisemyeyebrow.“Isthattherandomstringofnumbersyouemailedmethreedaysago?Withnosubjectline,notext,noexplanations?TheoneIfiguredwasjustyoutrackingyourlotterydreamnumbers?”
“Soundslikeit,yeah.”
SadieandIexchangealonglook.
“Hey,youungratefulgoblin,IhadtocallaboutfifteenpeopleI’dswornnevertotalktoagaintogetIan’snumber.And,Ihadtohavemyevilgreat-auntDelphinapromisetoblackmailhimintosayingyesonceyoureachouttoaskforameeting.Soyoubetterusethatnumber,andyoubetterplaytheMegaMillions.”
“Ifyouwin,”Sadieadded,“wesplitthreeways.”
“Ofcourse.”Ihidemysmileinmyglass.“What’shelike,anyway?”
“Who?”
“Thecousin-or-something.Ian,yousaid?”
“Yup.IanFloyd.”Marathinksaboutitforasecond.“Can’treallysay,becauseI’vemethimatlike,twoThanksgivingsfifteenyearsago,beforehisparentssplit.ThenhismommovedhimtoCanadaand…Idon’tevenknow,honestly.TheonlythingIrememberisthathewastall.Buthewasalsoafewyearsolderthanme?Somaybehe’sactuallythreefeet.Oh,also,hishairismorebrown?WhichiskindofrareforaFloyd.Iknowit’sscientificallyunsound,butourbrandofgingerisnotrecessive.”
Great-AuntDelphina’semotionalmanipulationgameisclearlyonpoint,becausewhenmyassignment’sdeadlineapproachesandItextIanFloydinapanic,askingforaninformationalinterview—whateverthehellthatis—hereplieswithinhourswithanenthusiastic:
Ian:Sure.
Hannah:Thanks.I’massumingyou’reinHouston.Shouldwedovirtual?Skype?Zoom?FaceTime?
Ian:I’minPasadenaatJPLforthenextthreedays,butvirtualworks.
TheJetPropulsionLab.Hmm.
Idrummyfingersonmymattress,pondering.Virtualwouldbesomucheasier.Anditwouldbeshorter.ButasmuchasIhatetheideaofwritingareportforHelena’sclass,IdowanttoaskthisguyamillionquestionsaboutCuriosity.Plus,he’sMara’smysteriousrelative,andmycuriosityispiqued.
Nopunintended.
Hannah:Let’smeetinperson.TheleastIcandoisbuyyoucoffee.Soundgood?
Noreplyforafewminutes.Andthen,averysuccinctThatworks.Forsomereason,itmakesmesmile.
???
MyfirstthoughtuponenteringthecoffeeshopisthatMaraisfullofshit.
Tothebrim.
Thesecond:Ishouldreallydouble-checkthetextIansentme.MakesurethathereallysaidI’llbewearingjeansandagrayt-shirtlikeIseemtoremember.Ofcourse,itwouldbealittleredundant,especiallyconsideringthatthecoffeeshopwhereheaskedtomeetiscurrentlypopulatedbyonlythreepeople:abarista,busydoingapen-and-papersudokulikeit’s2007;me,standingintheentranceandlookingaround,confused;andaman,sittingatthetableclosesttotheentrance,gazingpensivelythroughtheglasswindows.
He’swearingjeansandagrayT-shirt,whichwouldsuggest:Ian.Theproblem
Hishairistheproblem.Because,despitewhatMarasaid,it’smostdefinitelynotbrown.Maybeafractionofashadedarkerthanherbright,carrotyorange,but…reallynotbrown.I’mreadytodialhernumberanddemandtoknowwhatridiculousgingerscaletheFloydsoperateonwhenthemanslowlystandsandasks,“Hannah?”
IhavenoideahowtallIanis,buthe’smuchclosertoeightfeetthantothree.AndIfinditveryinterestingthatMaraclaimstobarelyknowhim,consideringthattheylookliketheycouldbesiblings,notjustbecauseoftheaggressivelyredhair,butalsothedark-blueeyes,andthedustingoffrecklesoverpaleskin,and…
Iblink.ThenIblinkagain.IfthreesecondsagosomeonehadaskedmewhetherI’mthetypetomultipleblinkatthesightofsomeguy,I’dhavelaughedintheirface.Thisguy,though…
IguessIstandcorrected.
“Ian?”Ismile,recoveringfromthesurprise.“Mara’scousin?”
Hefrowns,asifmomentarilyblankingonMara’sname.“Ah,yes.”Henods.Onlyonce.“Apparently,”headds,whichmakesmelaugh.Hewaitsformetotakeaseatacrossfromhimbeforefoldingbackinhischair.Inoticethathedoesn’tholdouthishand,nordoeshesmile.Interesting.“Thankyouforagreeingtomeetwithme.”
“Noproblem.”Hisvoiceislow-pitchedbutclear.Deeptimbre.Confident;politebutnottoofriendly.I’musuallyfairlygoodatreadingpeople,andmyguessforhimisthathe’snotquiteenthusedtobehere.He’dprobablyratherbedoingwhateveritisthathecametoCaliforniatodo,buthe’saniceguy,andhe’splanningtomakeavaliantefforttoavoidlettingmeknow.
Hejustdoesn’tseemtobeparticularlygoodatfakingit,whichis…kindacute.
“IhopeIdidn’tmessupyourday.”
Heshakeshishead—anobviouslie—andItaketheopportunitytostudyhim.Heseems…quiet.Thesilenttype,aloof,alittlestiff.Big,morelumberjackthanengineer.Ibrieflywonderifhe’smilitarypersonnel,buttheday-oldstubbleonhisfacetellsmeit’sunlikely.
Andsuchanintriguing,handsomefaceitis.Hisnoselookslikeitwasbrokenatsomepoint,maybeinafightorasportsinjury,andneverbotheredtohealbackquiteperfectly.Hishair—red—isshortandalittlemussed,moreI’vebeenupworkingsincesixa.m.thanartfulstyling.Iwatchhimscratchhis—big—neck,thencrosshis—wide—bicepsonhis—broad—chest.Hegivesmeapatient,expectantlook,likehe’sfullycommittedtoansweringallmyquestions.
Heis,physically,theoppositeofme.Ofmysmallbonesandtannedcomplexion.Myhair,eyes,sometimesevenmysoul,areblack-holedark.Andhereheis,Martianredandoceanblue.
“WhatcanIgetyou?”avoiceasks.IturnandfindSudokuBoystandingrightnexttoourtable.Right.Coffeeplace.Wherepeopleconsumebeverages.
“Icedtea,please.”
HewalksawaywithoutawordandIlookatIanonceagain.I’mitchingtotextMara.YourcousinlookslikeaslightlyjackedversionofPrinceHarry.Maybeyoushouldhavekeptintouch?
“So.”Icrossmyhandsandleanmyelbowsonthetable.“Whatdoesshehaveonyou?”
Hetiltshishead.“She?”
“Great-AuntDelphina.”Heblinkstwice.Ismileandcontinue,“Imean,it’saThursdayafternoon.You’reinCaliforniaforahandfulofdays.I’msureyouhavesomethingbettertodothanmeetupwithyourlong-lostcousin’sfriend.”
Hiseyeswidenforasplitsecond.Thenhisexpressionlevelsbacktoneutral.“It’sfine.”
“Isitanembarrassingbabypic?”
Heshakeshishead.“Idon’tmindhelpingout.”
“Isee.Ababyvideo,then?”
He’ssilentforamomentbeforesaying,“AsIsaid,it’snotaproblem.”Helookslikeheisn’tusedtopeoplepushinghim,whichisunsurprising.Thereissomethingsubtlyremovedabouthim.Vaguelydistantandintimidating.Likehe’snotquitereachable.Itmakesmewanttogetcloserandpoke.
“Ababyvideoofyou…runningaroundinthekiddiepool?Pickingyournose?Rummagingaroundthebackofyourdiaper?”
“I—”
SudokuBoydropsoffmyicedteainaplasticcup.Ian’seyesfollowhimforafewseconds,thenreturntominewithaninterestingmixofstoicresignation.“Itwasmoreofatoddlervideo,”hesayscautiously,likehe’ssurprisingevenhimself.
“Ah.”Igrinintomytea.It’sbothtoosweetandtoosour.Withasubtleaftertasteofgross.“Dotell.”
“Youdon’twanttoknow.”
“Oh,I’mpositiveIdo.”
“It’sbad.”
“You’rereallysellingittome.”
Theleftcornerofhismouthcurvesupward,asmallhintofamusementthat’snotquitefullythereyet.Ihaveanoddstraythought:Ibethissmileislopsided.Beautiful,too.“ThevideowastakenataLowe’s.Withmyolderbrother’snewcamcorder,sometimeinthelate’90s,”hetellsme
“AtaLowe’s?Can’tbethatbad,then.”
Hesighs,impassive.“Iwasaroundthreeorfour.Andtheyhadoneofthosebathroomdisplays.Theoneswithmodelsinksandshowersandvanities.Andtoilets,naturally.”
Ipressmylipstogether.Thisisgoingtobefun.“Naturally.”
“Idon’treallyrememberwhathappened,butapparentlyIneededtousetherestroom.AndwhenIsawthedisplayIwas…inspired.”
“Noway.”
“Inmydefense,Iwasveryyoung.”
Hescratcheshisnose,andIlaugh.“OhmyGod.”
“Withnoconceptofsewagesystems.”
“Right.Sure.Honestmistake.”Icannotstoplaughing.“HowdidGreat-AuntDelphinagetacopyofthevideo?”
“Officially:unclear.ButI’mfairlysuremybrothermadeCDsofit.SentthemtolocalTVstationsandwhatnot.”Hegesturesvaguely,andhisforearmisdustedwithfrecklesandpale-redhair.Iwanttograbhiswrist,holditinfrontofmyeyes,studyitatmyleisure.Trace,smell,touch.“Ihaven’tspentaholidaywiththeFloydsideofthefamilyintwentyyears,butI’mtoldthatthevideoisasourceofgreatentertainmentforallagegroupsatThanksgiving.”
“Ibetit’sthepiècederésistance.Ibettheypressplayrightaftertheturduckencomesout.”
“Yeah.You’dprobablywin.”Heseemsquietlyresigned.Abigmanwithaput-upon-but-enduringair.Inanutterlycharmingway.
“Buthowdoyoublackmailsomeonefromthis?Howmuchworsecanitget?”
Hesighsagain.Hisbroadshoulderslift,thenfall.“Whenmyauntcalled,shebrieflymentioneduploadingitonFacebook.TaggingtheNASAofficialpage.”
Igaspintomyhand.Ishouldn’tlaugh.Thisishorrible.But.“Areyouserious?”
“It’snotahealthyfamily.”
“Noshit.”
Heshrugs,likehe’spastcaring.“Atleastthey’renottryingtoextortmoneyoutofmeyet.”
“Right.”Inodsolemnlyandcollectmyfeaturesintowhathopefullypassesforacompassionate,respectfulexpression.“TheassignmentItoldyouaboutisformyWaterResourcesclass,sothisissurprisinglyontopic.AndIamtrulysorrythatyougotstuckwithmeetingyourlittlecousin’sfriendbecauseyoupubliclyurinatedinaLowe’swhenyoubarelyknewhowtotalk.”
Ian’seyessettleonme,asiftosizemeup.IthoughtIhadhisfullattentionfromthemomentIsatdown,butIrealizethatIwaswrong.Forthefirsttime,he’slookingatmelikehe’sinterestedinactuallyseeingme.Hestudiesme,assessesme,andmyfirstimpressionofhim—detached,distant—instantlyevaporates.Thereissomethingnearlypalpableabouthispresence:awarm,tinglingsensationclimbingupmyspine.
“Idon’tmind,”hesaysagain.Ismile,becauseIknowthatthistimehemeansit.
“Good.”Ipushmyteatotheside.“So,whatwouldyoubedoingrightnow,ifthree-year-oldyouhadknownaboutsanitarysewers?”
Thistimehissmileisatadmoredefined.I’mwinninghimover,whichisgood,verygood,becauseI’mrapidlydevelopingathingforthecontrastbetweenhiseyelashes(red!)andhisdeep-seteyes(blue!).“I’dprobablyberunningabunchoftests.”
“AttheJetPropulsionLab?”
Henods.
“Testson…?”
“Arover.”
“Oh.”Myheartskipsthreebeats.“Forspaceexploration?”
“Mars.”
Ileancloser,notevenbotheringtoplayitlikeI’mnotavidlyinterested.“Isthatyourcurrentproject?”
“Oneofthem,yeah.”
“Andwhatarethetestsfor?”
“Mostlyattitude,figuringoutwheretheshipispositionedinthree-dimensionalspace.Pointing,too.”
“Youworkonagyroscope?”
“Yes.MyteamisperfectingthegyroscopesothatoncetheroverisonMars,itknowswhereitis,whatit’slookingat.Informstheothersystemsaboutitscoordinatesandmovements,too.”
Myheartisnowfullypitter-pattering.Thissounds…wow.Pornographic,almost.Exactlymyjam.“AndyoudothisinHouston?AttheSpaceCenter?”
“Usually.ButIcomeupherewhenthereareissues.I’vebeenstrugglingwiththeimagery,andthefeedupdatekeepslaggingeventhoughitshouldn’t,and—”Heshakeshishead,asifcatchinghimselfhalfwaythrougharantthat’sbeenplayingoverandoverinhismind.ButIfinallyknowwhathe’dratherbedoing.
AndIsurecan’tblamehim.
“Didtheysendyourentireteamhere?”Iask.
Hetiltshishead,likehehasnoideawhereI’mgoingwiththis.“Justme.”
“Soyourteamleaderisnotaround.”
“Myteamleader?”
“Yeah.Isyourbossaround?”
Heissilentforasecond.Two.Three.Four?Whatthe—Ah.
“Youaretheteamleader,”Isay.
Henodsonce.Alittlestiff.Almostapologetic.
“Howoldareyou?”Iask.
“Twenty-five.”Apause.“Nextmonth.”
Whoa.I’mtwenty-two.“Isn’tthatearlytobeateamleader?”
“I’m…notsure,”hesays,eventhoughIcantellthatheissure,andthatheisexceptional,andthateventhoughheknowsit,thethoughtmakeshimmorethanalittleuncomfortable.Ipicturemyselfsayingsomethingflirtatiousandinappropriateback—Wow,handsomeandsmart—andwonderhowhe’dreact.Probablynotwell.
NotthatI’mgoingtohitonmyinformationalinterviewee.EvenIknowbetter.Plus,he’snotreallymytype.
“Okay,what’sthesecuritylikeatJPL?”I’veneverbeen.Iknowit’slooselyconnectedwithCaltech,butthat’saboutit.
“Depends,”hesayscautiously,likehestillcannotfollowmytrainofthought.
“Whataboutyouroffice?Isitarestrictedarea?”
“No.Why—”
“Awesome,then.”Istand,digintomypocketsforafewdollarstoleavenexttomyunfinishedtea,andthenclosemyfingersaroundIan’swrist.HisskinglowswithwarmthandtautmusclesasIpullhimupfromthetable,andeventhoughhe’sprobablytwiceasbigandtentimesstrongerthanme,heletsmeleadhimawayfromthetable.Iletgoofhimthesecondwe’reoutofthecoffeeshop,buthekeepsfollowingme.
“Hannah?What—where…?”
“Idon’tseewhywecan’tdothisweirdinformationalinterviewthing,getsomeworkdone,andhavefun.”
“What?”
Withagrin,Ilookathimovermyshoulders.“ThinkofitasstickingittoevilGreat-AuntDelphina.”
Idoubthefullyunderstands,butthecornerofhismouthliftsagain,andthat’sgoodenoughforme.
???
“Seethisthreadrighthere?It’smostlyaboutthebehaviorofoneoftherover’ssensors,theLN-200.Wecombineitsinformationwiththeoneprovidedbytheencodersonthewheelstofigureoutpositioning.”
“Huh.Sothesensordoesn’trunconstantly?”
Ianturnstome,awayfromthechunkofprogrammingcodehe’sbeenshowingme.We’resittinginfrontofhistriple-monitorcomputer,sidebysideathisdesk,whichisagiant,pristineexpansewithastunningviewofthefloodplainJPLwasbuilton.WhenImentionedhowcleanhisworkspacewas,hepointedoutthatit’sonlybecauseit’saguestoffice.ButwhenIaskedhimifhisusualdeskbackinHoustonisanymessier,heglancedawaybeforethecornerofhisliptwitched.
Iamalmostcertainhe’sstartingtothinkthatI’mnotatotalwasteoftime.
“No,itdoesn’trunconstantly.Howcanyoutell?”
Igesturetowardthelinesofcode,andthebackofmyhandbrushesagainstsomethinghardandwarm:Ian’sshoulder.We’resittingcloserthanwewereatthecoffeeshop,butnocloserthanI’dfeelcomfortablebeingwithoneofthe—alwaysunpleasant,oftenoffensive—guysinmyPh.D.cohort.Iguessmycrossedkneeskindofpressedagainsthislegearlier,butthat’sit.Nobigdeal.“It’sinthere,no?”
ThesectionisinC++.WhichhappenstobetheveryfirstlanguageItaughtmyselfbackinhighschool,wheneverysingleGooglesearchfor“Skills+Necessary+NASA”ledtothesadresultof“Programming.”Pythoncameafter.ThenSQL.ThenHAL/S.Foreachlanguage,Istartedoutconvincedthatchewingonglasswouldsurelybepreferable.Then,atsomepointalongtheway,Ibeganthinkingintermsoffunctions,variables,conditionalloops.Alittleafterthat,readingcodebecameabitlikeinspectingthelabelonthebackoftheconditionerbottlewhileshowering:notparticularlyfun,butoveralleasy.Idohavesometalents,apparently.
“Yeah.”He’sstilllookingatme.Notsurprised,precisely.Notimpressed,either.Intrigued,maybe?“Yes,itis.”
Irestmychinonmypalmandchewonmylowerlip,consideringthecode.“Isitbecauseofthelimitedamountofsolarpower?”
“Yes.”
“AndIbetitpreventsgyrodrifterrorsduringthestationaryperiod?”
“Correct.”Henods,andI’mmomentarilydistractedbyhisjawline.Ormaybeit’sthecheekbones.They’redefined,angularinawaythatmakesmewishIhadaprotractorinmypocket.
“It’snotallautomated,right?Earth-basedpersonnelcandirecttools?”
“Theycan,dependingontheattitude.”
“Doestheonboardflightsoftwarehavespecificrequirements?”
“ThepointingoftheantennarelativetotheEarth,and…”Hestops.Hiseyesfallonmychewed-onlip,thenquicklymoveaway.“Youaskalotofquestions.”
Itiltmyhead.“Badquestions?”
Silence.“No.”Moresilenceashestudiesme.“Remarkablygoodquestions.”
“CanIaskafewmore,then?”Igrinathim,aimingforcheeky,curioustoseewhereit’lltakeus.
Hehesitatesbeforenodding.“CanIaskyousome,too?”
Ilaugh.“Likewhat?Wouldyoulikemetolistthespecsofthemaze-solvingbotIbuiltformyIntrotoRoboticsclassbackincollege?”
“Youbuiltamaze-solvingrobot?”
“Yup.Four-wheel,all-terrain,Bluetoothmodule.Solarpowered.HernamewasRuthie,andwhenIsetherfreeatacornmazesomewherenearAtlanta,shegotoutinaboutthreeminutes.Scaredthecrapoutofthechildren,too.”
Heisfullysmilingnow.Hehasaheart-stoppingdimpleonhisleftcheek,and…Okay,fine:he’saggressivelyhot.Despitetheredhair,orbecauseofit.“Youstillhaveher?”
“Nope.Tocelebrate,Igotwastedatabarthatdidn’tbothertocheckIDsandendedupleavingheratsomeUniversityofGeorgiafrathouse.Ididn’twanttogoback,becausethoseplacesarescary,soIgaveuponRuthieandjustbuiltanelectronicarmformyRoboticsfinal.”Isighandlookintothemid-distance.“I’llneedalotoftherapybeforeIcanbecomeamother.”
Hechuckles.Thesoundislow,warm,maybeevenshiver-inducing.Ineedasecondtoregroup.
I’vesettled—atsomepointonourfive-minutewalkhere,probablywhenhepulledoutaprettyeffortlessscowltointimidatethesecurityguardintolettingmeindespitemylackofID—onthereasonIcan’tquitepinIandown.Heis,verysimply,anever-before-experiencedmixofcuteandoverwhelminglymasculine.Withacomplex,layeredairabouthim.ItspellssimultaneouslyDonotpissmeoffbecauseIdon’tfuckaroundandMa’am,letmecarrythosegroceriesforyou
Notmyusualfare,notatall.Ilikeflirting,andIlikesex,andIlikehookingupwithpeople,butI’mreally,reallypickyaboutmypartners.Itdoesn’ttakealottoturnmeoffsomeone,andIalmostexclusivelygravitatetowardthecheerful,spontaneous,fun-lovingtype.I’mintoextravertswholovebanterandareeasytotalkto,thelessintensethebetter.Ianseemstobethediametricaloppositeofthat,andyet…Andyet,evenIcanseehowthereissomethingfundamentallyattractiveabouthim.WouldItrytopickhimupatabar?Hm.Unclear.
WillItrytopickhimupaftertheendofthisinformationalinterview?Hm.Alsounclear.IknowIsayIwouldn’t,but…thingschange.
“Okay.Myquestionnow.Mara—MaraFloyd,yourcousinorsomething—saidthatyouwereworkingdirectlyontheCuriosityteam?”Henods.“Butyouwere,what?Eighteen?”
“Aroundthatage,yeah.”
“Wereyouanintern?”
Hepausesbeforeshakinghisheadbutdoesn’telaborate.
“Soyoujust…happenedtobehangingoutwithmissioncontrol?ChillingwithyourspacebroswhiletheylandedtheirremotecontrolroveronMars?”
Hislipstwitch.“Iwasateammember.”
“Ateammemberateighteen?”Myeyebrowlifts,andhelooksaway.
“I…graduatedearly.”
“Highschool?Orcollege?”
Silence.“Both.”
“Isee.”
Hebrieflyscratchesthesideofhisneck,andthereagainisthisfeelingthathe’snotquiteusedtobeingaskedquestionsabouthimself.Thatmostpeopletakealookathim,decidethathe’sjustatouchtooaloofanddetached,andgiveuponfiguringhimout.
Istudyhim,morecuriousthanever.“So…wereyouoneofthosekidswhowasreallyadvancedfortheirageandskippedhalfadozengrades?Andthenendedupjoiningtheworkforcewhilestillridiculouslyyoung?”Andmaybeyourpsychosocialdevelopmentwasstillkindofongoing,butyouwereneverreallysharingprofessionaloracademicsettingswithpeopleinyouragegroup,justmucholderoneswholikelyavoidedyouandwerealittleintimidatedbyyourintelligenceandsuccess,whichmeantbeingtheoddmanoutfortheentiretyofyourformativeyearsandhavinga401(k)beforeyourfirstdate?
Hiseyeswiden.“I…Yeah.Wereyouone,too?”
Ilaugh.“Ohno.Iwasatotaldumbass.Stillam,forthemostpart.Ijustthoughtitmightbeagoodguess.”Itfitsthepersona,too.Hedoesn’tcomeacrossasinsecure,notquite,buthe’scautious.Withdrawn.
Ileanbackinmychair,feelingthethrillofhavingpuzzledhimoutalittlebetter.I’musuallynotthisdedicatedtofiguringoutthebackstoryofeveryoneImeet,butIanisjustinteresting.
No.He’sfascinating
“So,howwasit?”
Heblinks.“Howwaswhat?”
“BeingtherewithmissioncontrolwhenCuriositylanded.Howwasit?”
Hisexpressioninstantlytransforms.“Itwas…”He’sstaringdownathisfeet,asifremembering.Helooksawestruck.
“Thatgood?”
“Yeah.Itwas…Yeah.”Hechucklesagain.God,itreallydoessoundgreat.
“Itlookedlikeit.FromTV,Imean.”
“Youwatchedit?”
“Yup.IwasontheEastCoast,soIstayeduplateandallthat.Lookedupattheskyoutofmybedroomwindowandcriedalittlebit.”
Henods,andsuddenlyheisstudyingme.“Isthatwhyyou’reingradschool?Youwanttoworkonfuturerovers?”
“Thatwouldbeamazing.Butanythingthat’sspaceexplorationwilldo.”
“NASAcanputyourmaze-solvingskillstogreatuse.”Hisdimpleisback,andIlaugh.
“Hey,Icandootherthings.Forinstance…”Ipointatthethirdmonitoronthedesk,theonefarthestawayfromme.ItdisplaysapieceofcodeIanhasn’twalkedmethroughyet.“Wantmetohelpyoudebugthat?”Hegivesmeaconfusedlook.“What?It’scode.It’salwaysnicetohaveasecondpairofeyes.”
“Youdon’thaveto—”
“There’sanerroronthefifthline.”
Hefrowns.Thenhescansthecodeforasecond.Thenheturnstome,tothemonitor,tomeagainwithanevenbiggerfrown.Ibrace,halfexpectinghimtolashoutdefensivelyanddenytheerror.I’mfamiliarwiththecrumblingegosofmen,andI’mprettysureit’swhatanyoftheguysinmyPh.D.classwoulddo.ButIansurprisesme:henods,fixesthemistakeIpointedout,andlooksnothingbutgrateful.
Wow.Amaleengineerwho’snotanasshole.Thebarisprettylow,butI’mneverthelessimpressed.
“Wouldyoureallybeupforgoingthroughtherestofthecodewithme?”heaskscautiously,surprisingmeevenmore.Thecontrastbetweenhisgentletoneandhow…howbigandguardedheisalmosthasmesmiling.“It’stheworkaroundtofixthetwo-seconddelayinthepointingissue.IwasgoingtoaskoneofmyengineersinHoustontodebug,but…”
“Igotyou.”IrollmychairclosertoIan’s.Mykneepressesagainsthis,andInearlymoveitawayautomatically,butinasplit-seconddecisionIdecidetoleaveitthere.
Anexperimentofsorts.Testingthewaters.Takingthetemperature.
Iwaitforhimtoshiftback,butinsteadhestudiesmeandsays,“It’safewhundredlines.I’msupposedtobehelpingyou.Areyousure—”
“It’sfine.WhenIwritemyreport,I’lljustpretendIaskedyouabunchofquestionsaboutyourjourneyandmakeuptheanswers.”Justtomesswithhim,Iadd,“Don’tworry,I’llmentionhowhavingtheclapdidnotsetyoubackonyourroadtoNASA.”Hescowls,whichhasmelaughing,andthenI’mgoingoverthecodewithhimforfive,tenminutes.Fifteen.Thelightsoftenstolate-afternoonhues,andoveranhourgoesbywhilewe’residebyside,blinkingatthemonitors.
Honestly,it’sprettybasicrubberduckdebugging:he’sexplainingoutloudwhathe’stryingtodo,whichhelpshimworkthroughcriticalchunks,andalsofiguringoutbetterwaystogoaboutit.ButI’maprettyhappyrubberduck.Ilikelisteningtohislow,evenvoice.IlikethatheseemstoconsidereverysinglethingIsayandneverdismissesanythingoutright.Ilikethatwhenhe’sthinkinghard,hecloseshiseyes,andhislashesarecrimsonhalf-moonsagainsthisskin.Ilikethathebuildsmeticulouslypristinecodewithnomemoryleakage,andIlikethatwhenhisbicepsbrushesagainstmyshoulderallIfeelissolidwarmth.Ilikehisshort,crispfunctions,andthewayhesmellscleanandmasculineandabitdark.
Okay.Sohe’snotmytype.
Idolikehim,though.
WouldMaraminditifIshamelesslyofferedmyselftoherkinattheinformationalinterviewshekindlysetup?Iwouldnormallyjustgoforit,butthisfriendshipbusinesscanbeabitofaburden.Thatsaid,maybeIcansafelyassumethatshewon’tcare,consideringthatshedoesn’tseemtoknowhowexactlysheandIanarerelated.
Plus,she’sageneroussoul.She’dwantherfriendandhercousin-or-somethingtogetlaid.
“DidyougetrandomlyassignedtotheAttitudeandPositionEstimationteam?”Iaskhimwhenwegettothelastfewlinesofcode.
“No.”Heletsoutasmalllaugh.Hisprofileisaworkofnearperfection,evenwiththebrokennose.“Clawedmywaythere,actually.”
“Oh?”
Hesavesandclosesourworkwithafewrapidkeystrokes.“ForCuriosity,Ijoinedtheteamprettylateintothedevelopmentstage,andImostlyfocusedonlaunch.”
“Didyoulikeit?”
“Alot.”Heangleshischairtofaceme.Ourknees,elbows,shouldershavebeenbrushingsomuch,theclosenessfeelsfamiliarbynow.Sodoestheliquidwarmthundermybellybutton.“ButafterthatIbeganworkingonPerseveranceandIaskedforachange.SomethingactuallyrelatedtotheroverbeingonMarsasopposedtothreehoursinCapeCanaveral.”
“SotheyputyouonA&PE?”
“First,IjoinedtheNASAexpeditiontoNorway’sMarsAnalogsite.”
Iinhaleaudibly.“AMASE?”TheArcticMarsAnalogSvalbardExpedition(AMASE,forfriends)iswhathappenswhenabunchofnerdstraveltoNorway,intheBockfjordenareaofSvalbard.OnemightthinkthattheNorthPolehasnothingtodowithspace,butbecauseofallthevolcanicactivityandglaciersit’sactuallytheplaceonEarthmostsimilartoMars.Itevenhasone-of-a-kindcarbonatespherulesthatarealmostidenticaltotheoneswefoundonmeteoritesofMartianorigin.NASAresearchersliketouseitasalocationtotestthefunctionalityofequipmenttheyplantosendonspaceexplorationmissions,collectsamples,examinefunsciencequestionsthatcanprepareastronautsforfuturespacemissions.
Iwanttobepartofitsobad,ashiverrunsdownmyspine.
“Yup.WhenIcamebackIaskedforanA&PEplacement,whichapparentlyeveryonewanted.TothepointthatthemissionleadersentoutaNASA-wideemailaskingwhetherwethoughtwe’dgetdoublepayandfreebeer.”
“Didyou?”
Ilaughatthelookhegivesme.Heisjustsohilariously,deliciouslyteasable.“Whydideveryonewanttobepartofthatteam,anyway?”
Heshrugs.“I’mnotsurewhyeveryoneelsedid.Iassumebecauseit’schallenging.Lotsofhigh-risk,high-rewardprojects.Butformeitwas…”Heglancesoutofthewindow,atamapletreeintheJPLcampus.Actually,no:Ithinkhemightbelookingup.Atthesky.“Itjustfeltlike…”Hetrailsoff,asthoughnotsurehowtocontinue.
“LikeitwasascloseaspossibletoactuallybeingonMars?Withtherover?”Iaskhim.
Hiseyesreturntome.“Yeah.”Heseemssurprised.LikeImanagedtoputsomethingelusiveintowords.“Yeah,that’sexactlyit.”
Inod,becauseIgetit.TheideaofhelpingbuildsomethingthatwillexploreMars,theideaofbeingabletocontrolwhereitgoesandwhatitdoes…thatdoesitforme,too.
IanandIstudyeachotherforafewsecondsinsilence,bothofussmilingfaintly.Longenoughfortheideathat’sbeenbouncinginmyheadtosolidifyonceandforall.
Yeah.I’mgonnagoforit.Sorry,Mara.Ilikeyourcousin-or-somethingalittletoomuchtopassthisup
“Okay,Idohaveacareerquestionforyou.Tosaveourinformationalinterviewappearances.”
“Shoot.”
“So,IgraduatewithmyPh.D.Whichshouldtakemeaboutfourmoreyears.”
“That’sawhile,”hesays,histoneabitunreadable.
Yes,itfeelslikeforever.“Notthatlong.So,Igraduate,andIdecidethatIwanttoworkatNASAandnotforsomeweirdobillionairewhotreatsspaceexplorationlikeit’shisownhomemadepenis-enlargementremedy.”
Ian’snodispained.“Wise.”
“Whatwouldmakemelooklikeastrongcandidate?Whatdoesagreatapplicationpackagelooklike?”
Hemullsitover.“I’mnotsure.Formyteam,Iwouldusuallyhireinternally.ButI’malmostcertainIstillhavemyapplicationmaterialsonmyoldlaptop.Icouldsendthemtoyou.”
Okay.Perfect.Great.
TheopeningIwaswaitingfor.
Myheartratepicksup.Warmthtwistsinmylowerstomach.Ileanforwardwithasmile,feelinglikeI’mfinallyinmyelement.This,this,iswhatIknowbest.DependingonhowbusyIamwithschool,orwork,orbinge-watchingK-dramas,Idothisaboutonceaweek.Whichamountstoquiteabitofpractice.“MaybeIcouldcometoyourplace?”Isay,findingthesweetspotbetweencomicallysuggestiveandLet’sgettogethertoplayCardsAgainstHumanity.“Andyoucouldshowme?”
“Imeant—inHouston.Mylaptop’sinHouston.”
“Soyoudidn’tbringyour2010laptoptoPasadena?”
Hesmiles.“KnewI’dforgottensomething.”
“Suredid.”Imeethiseyessquarely.Leanhalfaninchcloser.“ThenmaybeIcanstillcometoyourplace,andwecoulddosomethingelse?”
Hegivesmeahalf-puzzledlook.“Dowhat?”
Ipressmylipstogether.Okay.MaybeIoverestimatedmyflirtingskills.HaveI,though?Idon’tthinkso.“Really?”Iask,amused.“AmIthatbad?”
“I’msorry,Idon’tfollow.”Ian’sexpressionisallarrestedconfusion,likeIjustsuddenlystartedtalkinginanAustralianaccent.“Badatwhat?”
“Athittingonyou,Ian.”
Icanpinpointtheprecise,exactmomentthemeaningofmywordssinksintothelanguagepartofhisbrain.Heblinksafewtimes.Thenhisbigbodygoesstillinatight,impossible,vibratingway,likehisinternalsoftwareisbufferingthroughanunpredictablesetofupdates.
Helooksabsolutely,almostcharminglymystified,andsomethingoccurstome:I’vestruckupflirtatiousconversationswithdozensofguysandgirlsatparties,bars,laundromats,gyms,bookstores,seminars,muddyobstacleraces,greenhouses—even,ononememorableoccasion,inthewaitingroomofaPlannedParenthood,and…noonehaseverbeenthisclueless.Noone.Somaybehewasjustpretendingnottogetit.MaybehewashopingI’dbackoff.
Shit.
“I’msorry.”Istraightenandrollmychairback,givinghimafewinchesofspace.“I’mmakingyouuncomfortable.”
“No.No,I—”He’sfinallyrebooting.Shakinghishead.“No,youaren’t,I’mjust—”
“Abitfreakedout?”Ismilereassuringly,tryingtosignalthatit’sokay.Icantakeano.I’mabiggirl.“It’sfine.Let’sforgetIsaidanything.Butdoemailmeyourapplicationpackageonceyou’rebackhome,please.IpromiseIwon’treplywithunsolicitednudes.”
“No,it’snotthat…”Hecloseshiseyesandpinchesthebridgeofhisnose.Hischeekboneslookrosierthanbefore.Hislipsmove,tryingtoformwordsforafewseconds,untilhesettleson:“It’sjust…unexpected.”
Oh.Itiltmyhead.“Why?”IthoughtI’dbeenlayingitonprettythick.
“Because.”Hislargehandgesturesinmydirection.Heswallows,andIwatchhisthroatwork.“Just…lookatyou.”
Iactuallydoit.Ilookdownatmyself,takinginmycrossedlegs,mykhakishorts,myplainblacktee.Mybodyisinitsusualcondition:tall.Wiry.Abitscrawny.Olive-skinned.Ievenshavedthismorning.Maybe.Ican’tremember.Pointis,Ilookokay.
SoIsayit—“Ilookokay”—whichshouldsoundconfidentbutcomesoutabitpetulant.It’snotthatIthinkI’mhotshit,butIrefusetobeinsecureaboutmyappearance.Ilikemyself.Historically,thepeopleI’vewantedtosleepwithhavelikedme,too.Mybodydoesitsjobasameanstoanend.ItmanagestoletmekayakaroundCalifornialakeswithoutmuscleachesthefollowingday,anditdigestslactoselikeit’sanOlympicdiscipline.That’sallthatmatters.
Buthisreplyis:“Youdon’tlookokay,”and…no.
“Really.”Mytoneisicy.IsIanFloydtryingtoimplythathe’soutofmyreach?Becauseifso,Iwillslaphim.“HowdoIlook,then?”
“Just…”Heswallowsagain.“I…Womenlikeyoudon’tusually…”
“Womenlikeme.”Wow.SoundslikeI’llactuallyhavetoslaphim.“What’sthat?Because—”
“Beautiful.Youarevery,verybeautiful.Probablythemost…Andyou’reobviouslysmartandfunny,so…”Hegivesmeahelplesslook,suddenlylookinglesslikeageniusNASAteamleaderbuiltlikeacedartreeandmore…boyish.Young.“Isthissomekindofjoke?”
Istudyhimthroughsquintingeyes,revisingmyearlierassessment.Perhapsmyconclusionswerepremature,andit’snotquitecorrectthatnoonecanbethisclueless.Perhapssomeonecan.
Ian,forinstance.Ian,whocouldprobablymakegoodmoneyasastock-photomodel,tags:HotGuy,Ginger,Massive.Isawaboutfourpeoplecheckhimoutonourwayhere,butheapparentlyhasnoideathathecouldbefancasttoplaythehotWeasleybrother.Absolutelyzeroawarenessofhowgloriousheis.
Igrin,suddenlycharmed.“CanIaskyouaquestion?”Irollmyselfcloser,andI’mnotsurewhenthathappened,butheangledhischairsothatmykneesendupslottedbetweenhis.Nice.“It’sabitforward.”
Helooksdownatourtouchinglegsandnods.Asusual,onlyonce.
“CanIkissyou?Like,rightnow?”
“I…”Hestares.Thenblinks.Thenmouthssomethingthat’snotaword.
Mygrinwidens.“That’snotno,isit?”
“No.”Heshakeshishead.Hiseyesarefixedonmylips,theblackofhispupilsswallowingtheblue.“It’snot.”
“Okay,then.”
It’sprettysimple,standingfrommychairandleaningforwardonhis.Mypalmsfindthearmrestsandpressagainstthem,andforalongmomentIstayrightthere,cagingthisbear-sizemanwhocouldflickmeawaywithhislittlefingerbutdoesn’t.InsteadhelooksupatmelikeI’mwondrousandbeautifulandawe-inspiring,likeI’magift,likehe’sabitdumbstruck.
Likehereallywantsmetokisshim.SoIclosethatlastinchandIdo.Andit’s…
Kindofawkward,tobehonest.Notbad.Justalittlehesitant.Hislipspartinagaspwhentheytouchmine,andforasplitsecond,aterrifyingthoughtoccurstome.
It’shisfirstkiss.Isit?OhmyGod,it’shisfirstkiss.AmIreallygivingsomeonetheirfirst—
Ianangleshishead,pusheshismouthagainstmine,anditdestroysmytrainofthought.I’mnotsurehowhemanages,butwhateverhe’sdoingwithhislipsandteethfeelsmassively,aggressivelyright.Iwhimperwhenhistonguemeetsmine.Hegrowlsinresponse,somethingrumblyanddeepinhisthroat.
Okay.Thisisnofirstkiss.Thisisafuckingmasterpiece
He’sprobablytwohundredpoundsofmusclesandIhavenocluewhetherthechaircanholdusboth,butIdecidetolivedangerously:IstraddleIan’slap,feelinghissharpinhalevibratethroughmybody.Forasuspendedsecondourlipspartandhiseyesholdmine,likewe’rebothwaitingforeverypieceoffurnitureintheroomtocollapse.ButJPLmustbeinvestinginsturdydecor.
“Thatwashigh-risk,high-reward,”Isay,andI’msurprisedathowshortmybreathisalready.Theroomissilent,bathedinwarmlight.Iletoutasingle,shakylaugh,andIrealizewhereIan’shandis:hoveringhalfaninchabovemywaist.Warm.Eager.Readytosnap.
“CanI—?”heasks.
“Yes.”Ilaughintohismouth.“Youcantouchme.It’sthewholepointof—”
Idon’tgettofinish,becausethesecondhehaspermissionhishandsareeverywhere,oneonmynape,pullingmylipsintohis,theotheronthesmallofmyback.Themomentmychestpressesagainsthis,hedoesanotherofthoselow,roughsounds—buttentimesdeeper,likeitcomesfromhisverycore.He’sallscratchystubble,warmunwieldyflesh,andinthecornerofmyeyesIseeonlyred,red,somuchred
“I’minlovewithyourfreckles,”Isay,rightbeforenippingatoneonhisjaw.“IthoughtaboutlickingthemthemomentIsawyou.”Imakemywaytothehollowofhisear.Heexhales,sharp.
“WhenIsawyou,I—”Isuckontheskinofhisthroat,andhestutters.“Ithoughtyouwerealittletoobeautiful,”hefinishes,breathless.Hishandsaretravelingundermyshirt,upmyspine,cautiouslytracingtheedgesofmybra.Hesmellsmagnificent,cleanandseriousandwarm.
“Toobeautifulforwhat?”
“Foreverything.Toobeautifultolookat,even.”Hisgriponmywaisttightens.“Hannah,you—”
Iamgrindingmygroinagainsthis.Whichisprobablythereasonwebothsoundlikewe’rerunningamarathon.Andinmydefense,Ireallyonlymeantforthistobeakiss,butyeah.No.I’mnotstopping,andjudgingfromthewayhisfingersdipintothebackofmyshortstocupmyasscheekandpressmetighterintohishardcock,he’snotplanningto,either.
“Doesanyoneelseusethisoffice?”Iask.I’mnotshy,butthisis…good.No-interruptions-pleasegood.I-don’t-want-to-wait-till-we-get-homegood.I’m-going-to-come-in-about-two-minutesgood.
Heshakeshishead,andIcouldcryofhappiness,butIdon’thavetime.It’slikewewereplayingbefore,andnowwe’reinearnest.We’rebarelykissing,uncoordinated,unfocused,justgrindingagainsteachother,andIchasethefeelingofhisbodyagainstmine,thehighofbeingsoclose,hiserectionbetweenmylegsaswebothmakehushed,grunting,obscenenoises,aswebothtrytogetcloser,togetmorecontact,skin,heat,friction,friction,friction,Ineedmorefriction—
“Shit.”Icannotgetenough.It’snotagoodposition,andIhatethisstupidchair,andthisisdrivingmeinsane.Iletoutaloud,infuriatedgroanandsinkmyteethdeepintohisneck,likeIammadeofheatandfrustration,and—
Somehow,IanknowsexactlywhatIneed.Becausehestandsfromthecursedchairwithamuted,“It’sokay,it’sokay,I’vegotyou.”HetakesmerightwithhimanddoessomethingthatcouldtechnicallyqualifyasdestroyingNASApropertytomakeenoughroomforus.AmomentlaterI’msittingonthedesk,andallofasuddenwecanbothmovelikewewantto.Heopensmylegswithhispalmsandslotshisownrightbetweenthem,and—
Finally.Thefrictionis—thisispreciselywhatIaskedfor,preciselywhatIneeded—
“Yes,”Ibreatheout.
“Yeah?”Idon’tevenneedtomovemyhips.Hishandslidesdowntogripmyass,andhesomehowknowsexactlyhowtoangleme,howthehemofmyshortscanbrushagainstmyclit.“Likethis?”Ifeelhiscockiron-hardonmyhipandImakemewling,embarrassing,pleadingsoundsintothehollowofhisthroat,murmuringincomprehensiblyabouthowgoodthisis,howgratefulIam,howI’mgoingtodothesameforhimwhenwefinallyfuck,howI’mgoingtodowhateverhewants—
“Stop,”hepantsintomymouth,urgent,alittledesperate.“Youneedtobequiet,orI’mgoingto—Ijustwantto—”
Ilaughagainsthischeek,reedy,hushed.Mythighsarestartingtoshake.Thereisaliquid,pressingheatswellinginmyabdomen.“Wantto—ah—wanttowhat?”
“Ijustwanttomakeyoucome.”
Itsendsmerightovertheedge.Intosomethingthat’snothinglikemyusual,run-of-the-millorgasm.Thosetendtostartlikesmallfracturesandthenslowly,graduallydeepenintosomethinglovelyandrelaxing.Thosearefun,goodfun,butthis…Thispleasureissuddenandviolent.Itsplintersintomelikeawonderful,terribleexplosion,newandfrighteningandfantastic,anditgoesonandon,asthougheveryheart-stopping,delicioussecondofitisbeingsqueezedoutofme.Iscrewmyeyesshut,clutchIan’sshoulders,andwhimperintohisthroat,listeningtothehushed“Fuck.Fuck,”hemouthsintomycollarbone.IwassosureIknewwhatmybodywascapableof,butthisfeelssomewherewellbeyondit.
Andsomehow,ontopofknowingexactlyhowtogetmethere,Ianalsoknowswhentostop.Theverymomentitallbecomesunbearable,hisarmstightenaroundme,andhisthighbecomesasolid,stillweightbetweenmine.Itwinemyarmsaroundhisneck,hidemyfaceinhisthroat,andwaitformybodytorecover.
“Well,”Isay.MyvoiceisraspierthanIeverrememberhearingit.There’sawirelesskeyboardonthefloor,cablesdanglingbymythigh,andifImoveevenhalfaninchback,I’lldestroyone,maybetwomonitors.“Well,”Irepeat.Iletoutapealofwindedlaughteragainsthisskin.
“Youokay?”heasks,pullingbacktomeetmyeyes.Hishandsaretremblingslightlyagainstmyback.Because,Iassume,Icame.Andhedidn’t.Whichisveryunfair.Ijusthadalife-definingorgasmandcan’treallyremembermyownname,buteveninthisstateIcangrasptheinjusticeofitall.
“I’m…great.”Ilaughagain.“You?”
Hesmiles.“I’mprettygreat,tobe—”Idragmyhanddownbetweenus,palmflushagainstthefrontofhisjeans,andhismouthsnapsshut.
Okay.Sohehasabigcock.Toexactlynoone’ssurprise.Thismanisgoingtobefantasticinbed.Phenomenal.ThebestsexI’veeverhadwithadude.AndI’vehadalot
“Whatdoyouwant?”Iask.Hiseyesaredark,unseeing.Icupmyhandaroundtheoutlineofhiserection,rubtheheelofmypalmagainstthelength,archuptowhisperinthecurveofhisear,“CanIgodownonyou?”
ThenoiseIanmakesisroughandguttural,andittakesmeaboutthreesecondstorealizethathe’salreadycoming,groaningintomyskin,trappingmyhandbetweenourbodies.Ifeelhimshudder,andthisbigmancomingapartagainstme,utterlylostandhelplessinfrontofhisownpleasure,isbyfarthemosteroticexperienceofmyentirelife.
Iwanttogethimintoabed.Iwanthours,dayswithhim.Iwanttomakehimfeelthewayhe’sfeelingrightnow,butahundredfoldstronger,ahundredmillionmoretimes.
“I’msorry,”heslurs.
“What?”Ileanbacktolookathisface.“Why?”
“Thatwas…pitiful.”Hepullsmebacktoburyhisfaceinmythroat.It’sfollowedbyalick,andabite,andohmyGod,thesexisgoingtobeoffthecharts.Earth-shattering.
“Itwasamazing.Let’sdoitagain.Let’sgotomyplace.Orlet’sjustlockthedoor.”
Helaughsandkissesme,differentfrombefore,deepbutgentleandmeandering,and…it’snotreally,inmyexperience,thetypeofkisspeopleshareaftersex.Inmyexperience,aftersexpeoplewashup,puttheirclothesbackon,thenwavegood-byeandgotothenearestStarbuckstogetacakepop.Butthisisnice,becauseIanisanexcellentkisser,andhesmellsgood,hetastesgood,hefeelsgood,and—
“CanIbuyyoudinner?”heasksagainstmylips.“Beforewe…”
Ishakemyhead.Thetipsofournosesbrushagainsteachother.“Noneed.”
“I…I’dliketo,Hannah.”
“Nah.”Ikisshimagain.Once.Deep.Glorious.“Idon’tdothat.”
“Youdon’tdo”—anotherkiss—“what?”
“Dinner.”Kiss.Again.“Well,”Iamend,“Idoeat.ButIdon’tdodinnerdates.”
Ianpullsback,hisexpressioncurious.“Whynodinnerdates?”
“Ijust…”Ishrug,wishingwewerestillkissing.“Idon’tdate,ingeneral.”
“Youdon’tdate…atall?”
“Nope.”Hisexpressionissuddenlywithdrawnagain,soIsmileandadd,“ButI’mveryhappytocometoyourplaceanyway.Noneedtobedatingforthat,right?”
Hetakesastepback—alargeone,likehewantstoputsomephysicalspacebetweenus.Thefrontofhisjeansis…amess.Iwanttocleanhimup.“Why…whydon’tyoudate?”
“Really?”Ilaugh.“Youwanttohearaboutmysocio-emotionaltraumaafterwedid”—Igesturebetweenus—“this?”
Henods,seriousandalittlestiff,andIsoberup.
Seriously?Hereallywantsthat?HewantsmetoexplaintohimthatIdon’treallyhavethetimeortheemotionalavailabilityforanykindofromanticentanglement?ThatIcan’treallyimagineanyonestickingaroundforsomethingthat’snotsexoncetheyreallygettoknowme?ThatI’velongsincerealizedthatthelongerpeoplearewithme,themorelikelytheyaretofindoutthatI’mnotassmartastheythink,aspretty,asfunny?Honestly,Iknowthatmybestbetistokeeppeopleatarm’slength,sothattheyneverfindoutwhatI’mactuallylike.Whichis,incidentally:abitofabitch.I’mjustnotgoodatcaringabout…anything,really.IttookmeaboutoneandahalfdecadestofindsomethingIwastrulypassionateabout.ThisfriendshipexperimentI’mdoingwithMaraandSadieisstillverymuchthat,anexperiment,and…
OhGod.DoesIanwanttodate?Hedoesn’tevenlivehere.“Soyou’resaying…”Iscratchmytemples,comingdownfastfrommypost-orgasmhigh.“You’resayingyou’renotinterestedinhavingsex?”
Hecloseshiseyesinsomethingthatreallydoesn’tlooklikeano.Definitelydoesn’tlooklikealackofinterest.Butwhathesaysis,“Ilikeyou.”
Ilaugh.“Inoticed.”
“It’s…uncommon.Forme.Tolikesomeonethismuch.”
“Ilikeyou,too.”Ishrug.“Shouldn’twehangout,then?Isn’tthatgoodenough?”
Helooksaway.Down,tohisshoes.“IfIspendmoretimewithyou,I’monlygoingtolikeyoumore.”
“Nah.”Isnort.“That’snotthewayitusuallyworks.”
“Itdoes.Itwill,forme.”Hesoundssosolidly,irrefutablysure,Icannotdoanythingbutstareathim.Hislipsarebee-stung,andeverythingabouthimisbeautiful,andhelookssoquietly,stoicallydevastatedattheideaoffuckingmewithnostringsattachedthatIshouldprobablyfindthiscomical,butthetruthisthatIcan’tremembereverbeingthisattractedtosomeoneelse,andmybodyisvibratingforhis,and…
Maybeyoucouldgooutwithhim.Justthisonce.Anexception.Maybeyoucouldtryitout.Maybeitcouldwork.Maybeyoutwowill—
What?No.No.Whatthefuck?JustthefactthatI’mcontemplatingitscarestheshitoutofme.No.Idon’t—I’mnotlikethat.Thesethingsareawasteoftimeandenergy.I’mbusy.I’mnotcutoutforthisstuff.
“I’msorry,”Iforcemyselftosay.It’snotevenalie.I’mprettyfuckingsorryrightnow.“Idon’tthinkit’sagoodidea.”
“Okay,”hesaysafteralongmoment.Accepting.Abitsad.“Okay.If…ifyouchangeyourmind.Aboutdinner,thatis.Letmeknow.”
“Okay.”Inod.“Whenareyouleaving?What’smydeadline?”Iadd,attemptingsomelightheartedness.
“Itdoesn’tmatter.Ican…Itravelherealot,and…”Heshakeshishead.“Youcanchangeyourmindwhenever.Nodeadline.”
Oh.“Well,ifyouchangeyourmindaboutfucking…”
Heexhalesalaugh,whichsoundsalittlelikeapainedgroan,andforamomentIfeelthecompulsiontoexplainmyself.Iwanttotellhim,It’snotyou.It’sme.ButIknowhowthatwouldsound,andIknowbetterthantoputthewordsoutthere.Soweregardeachotherforafewseconds,andthen…thenthere’snothinglefttosay,isthere?Mybodygoesthroughthemotionsautomatically.Islideoffthedesk,takeamomenttostraightenthemonitorsbehindme,themouse,thekeyboards,thecable,andwhenIwalkpastIanthroughthedoorhefollowsmewithhissolemn,sadeyes,runninghispalmoverhisjaw.
ThelastwordsIhearfromhimare,“Itwasreallygoodtomeetyou,Hannah.”IthinkIshouldsayitback,butthere’sanunfamiliarweightinmychest,andIcan’tquitebringmyselftodoit.SoImakedowithasmallsmileandahalfheartedwave.IstuffmyhandsinmypocketswhilemybodyisstillthrummingwithwhatIleftbehind,andwanderslowlybacktotheCaltechcampus,thinkingaboutredhairandmissedopportunities.
Thatnight,whenIgetanemailfromIanFloyd@nasa.gov,myheartstumblesalloveritself.Butit’sjustanemptyemail,notext,notevenanautomaticsignature.JustanattachmentwithhisNASAapplicationfromafewyearsago,togetherwithahandfulofotherpeople’s.Morerecentonesthathemusthavegottenfromhisfriendsandcolleagues,a
Well.
He’llmakeforagreatboyfriend,Itellmyself,leaningbackinmybedandstaringupattheceiling.ThereisaweirdgreenthinginonecornerthatIsuspectmightbemold.MarakeepstellingmeIshouldjustmoveoutofthisshitholeandfindaplacewithherandSadie,butIdon’tknow.Seemslikewe’dgettooclose.Abigcommitment.Itmightgetmessy.He’llmakeforagreatboyfriend.Forsomeonewhodeservestohaveone.
Thefollowingday,whenMaraasksmeaboutmymeetingwithhercousin-or-something,Isayonly“Uneventful,”andIdon’tevenknowwhy.Idon’tlikelying,andIlikelyingtosomeonewho’srapidlybecomingafriendevenless,butIcan’tmakemyselfsayanymorethanthat.Twoweekslater,IturninareflectionpaperaspartofmyWaterResourcesclassrequirements.
Imustadmit,Dr.Harding,thatIinitiallythoughtthisassignmentwouldbeatotalwasteoftime.I’veknownIwantedtoendupatNASAforyears,andI’veknownthatIwantedtoworkwithroboticsandspaceexplorationforjustaslong.However,aftermeetingwithIanFloyd,IhaverealizedthatI’dlovetowork,specifically,onAttitudeandPositionEstimationofMarsrovers.Inconclusion:notawasteoftime,oratleastnotatotalone.
IgetanA-fortheclass.Andinthefollowingyears,Idon’tletmyselfthinkaboutIantoomuch.ButwheneverIrewatchvideorecordingsofmissioncontrolcelebratingCuriosity’slanding,Icannothelpbutlookforthetall,red-hairedmaninthebackoftheroom.AndwheneverIfindhim,Ifeeltheghostofsomethingsqueezetightinsidemychest.Chapter3
SvalbardIslands,Norway
Present
“Theysaidtheycouldn’tsendfirstresponders!”
Mybreath,dryandwhite,fogstheblackshellofmysatellitephone.BecauseSvalbardinFebruaryiswellintothenegativeCelsius.DisturbinglyclosetothenegativeFahrenheit,too,andthismorningisnoexception.
“Theysaiditwastoodangerous,”Icontinue,“thatthewindsaretooextreme.”Asiftoprovemypoint,ahalf-hissing,half-howlingsoundweavesthroughwhatI’vebeguntothinkofasmycrevasse
Andasfarascrevassesgo,it’sagoodonetogetstuckin.Relativelyshallow.Thewesternwallisnicelyangled,justenoughtoallowthesunlighttofilterin,whichisprobablytheonlyreasonIhaveyettofreezetodeathorgethorriblefrostbite.Thedownside,though,isthatatthistimeoftheyearthereareonlyaboutfivehoursoflightperday.Andthey’rejustabouttorunout.
“Avalanchedangerissetatthehighestlevel,andit’snotsafeforanyonetocomeouttogetme,”Iadd,speakingrightintothesatphone’smic.RepeatingwhatDr.Merel,myteamleader,toldmeafewhoursago,duringmylastcommunicationwithAMASE,NASA’shomebasehereinNorway.ItwasrightbeforeheremindedmethatI’dbeentheonetochoosethis.ThatI’dknownwhattherisksofmymissionwere,andIstilldecidedtoundertakeit.Thatthepathtospaceexplorationisfullofpainandself-sacrifice.Thatitwasmyfaultforfallinginanicyholeinthegroundandsprainingmyfuckingankle.
Well,hedidnotsaythat.Fucking,orfault.Hedid,however,makesurethatIwasawarethatnoonewouldbeabletocomehelpmeuntiltomorrow,andthatIneededtobestrong.Eventhough,ofcourse,webothknewwhattheresultsofamatchbetweenmeandanovernightsnowstormwouldbe.
Storm:100.HannahArroyo:dead.
“Theweather’snotthatbad.”Awaveofstaticalmostdrainsthevoiceontheothersideoftheline.
IanFloyd’svoice.
Because,forsomereason,he’shere.Coming.Forme.
“It’sa—it’sastorm,Ian.Areyou—please,tellmeyou’renotjuststrollingoutdoorswhentheworststormoftheyearisjusthoursfromstarting.”
“I’mnot.”Apause.“It’smoreofabriskwalk.”
Iclosemyeyes.“Inastorm.Ablizzard.Windsofatleastthirty-fivemilesperhour.Heavysnowfallandnovisibility.”
“Youmightbewastedinengineering.”
“What?”
“You’rereallygoodatmeteorologystuff.”
Icannotfeelmylegs;myteetharechattering;everytimeIbreathe,myskinfeelslikeit’sbeenchewedonbyahordeofpiranhas.Andyet,Ifindthestrengthtorollmyeyes.Atleastthecrankybitchinsidemyheartisholdingstrong.“You’dloveit,wouldn’tyou?IfIwerebusygivingtheweatheronlocalnewsinsteadofatNASAwithyou.”
Thewindsareblowingholesthroughmyeardrums.IhonestlyhavenoideahowIcanhearasmileinhis“Nah.”
He’sinsane.HecannotbehereinNorway.Heisn’tevensupposedtobeinEurope.“DidAMASEchangetheirmindonsendinghelp?”Iask.“Havethestormforecastschanged?”
“Theyhaven’t.”Wheneverthestaticdips,Ihearalow,oddlyfamiliarnoisethroughthesatphone.Ian’sbreathing,Isuspect,heavyandloudandfasterthannormal.Likehe’sgruntinghiswaythroughhazardousground.“You’reapproximatelythirtyminutesfrommycurrentlocation.OnceIgettoyou,we’llhaveasixty-minutetrektosafety.Whichmeansthatweshouldbeabletojustbarelyavoidthestorm.”
Thesecondhesaysthewordtrek,mystupidbraindecidestoattempttorotatemyankle.Whichleadstomebitingmychapped,frozenlipstoswallowawhimper.Aterribleidea,asitturnsout.“Ian,nothingofwhatyoujustsaidmakessense.”
“Really?”Hesoundsamused.How?Why?“Nothing?”
“HowdoyouevenknowwhereIam?”
“GPStracker.OnyourIridiumphone.”
“It’simpossible.AMASEsaidtheycouldn’tactivatethetracker.Thesensorsaren’tworking.”
“AMASEisn’twithinrange,andthecomingstormwasprobablyinterfering.”Astronggustofwindlifts,andforapainfullygelidmomentit’severywhere:whooshingaroundme,piercinginsidemylungs,makingitswayintomyears.Itrytocurlmybodyaway,butitdoesnothingtostopthefreezingair.Idigmyselfonlydeeperintothesnowandjostlemystupidankle.
Fuck.
“AMASEisoverthreehoursfrommycreva—location.Ifyoureallydogethereinthirtyminutes,we’renotgoingtomakeitthereintimetoavoidthestorm.Youarenotgoingtomakeitbackintime,andI’mnotgoingtoletsomethingterriblehappentoyoujustbecauseI—”
“I’mnotcomingfromAMASE,”hesays.“Andthat’snotwherewe’regoing.”
“ButhowdidyouevenaccessmyGPStrackerifyou’renotatAMASE?”
Apause.“I’mgoodwithcomputers.”
“You’re—Areyousayingyouhackedyourwayinto—”
“Theymentionedyou’reinjured.Howbadisit?”
Iglanceatmyboots.Icecrystalshavebeguntocrustaroundthesoles.“Justafewscrapes.Andasprain.IthinkIcouldmaybewalk,but—Idon’tknowaboutsixtyminutes.”Idon’tknowaboutsixtyseconds.“Andonthisterrain—”
“Youwon’thavetowalkatall.”
Ifrown,eventhoughmybrowisalmostfrozen.“HowwillIgettowhereverwe’regoingif—”
“Doyouhaveascenders?”
“Yes.Butagain,Idon’tknowifIcanclimb…”
“Noproblem.I’lljusthaulyouout.”
“You…It’stoodangerous.Theterrainaroundtheedgemightcollapseandyou’dfallin,too.”Iletoutachoppybreath.“Ian,Icannotletyou.”
“Don’tworry,I’mnotinthehabitoffallinginsidecrevasses.”
“NeitheramI.”
“Yousureaboutthat?”
Okay.Fine.Iwalkedrightintothisone.“Ian,Icannotletyoudothis.Ifit’s…”Itakeashuddering,frigidbreath.“Ifit’sbecauseyoufeelresponsibleforthis.Ifyou’reriskingyourlifebecauseyouthinkit’ssomehowyourfaultIendeduphere,thenyoureallyshouldn’t.YouknowthatIhavenoonetoblamebutme,and—”
“Iamabouttostartclimbing,”heinterruptsdistractedly,likeIwasn’tinthedeadmiddleofanimpassionedspeech.
“Climbing?Whatareyouclimbing?”
“I’llputawaymyphone,butgetintouchifanythinghappens.”
“Ian,Ireallydon’tthinkyoushould—”
“Hannah.”
Theshockofhearingmyname—inIan’svoice,cocoonedbythewhistleofthewind,andthroughthemetalliclineofmysatphone,noless—hasmeinstantlyshuttingup.Untilhecontinues.
“JustrelaxandthinkofMars,okay?I’llbetheresoon.”Chapter4
JohnsonSpaceCenter,Houston,Texas
Oneyearago
It’snotthatI’mshockedtoseehim.
Thatwouldbe,honestly,prettyidiotic.Tooidioticevenforme:awell-knownoccasionalidiot.ImightnothaveseenIanFloydinoverfouryears—yup,sincethedayIhadthebestsex-and-it-wasn’t-even-really-sex-God-what-a-waste-of-my-lifeandthenbarelyforcedmyselftowavegood-byeathimwhilethemahoganyofhisofficedoorclosedinmyface.Itmighthavebeenawhile,butI’vekeptupwithhiswhereaboutsthroughtheuseofhighlysophisticatedtechnologyandcutting-edgeresearchtools.
I.e.,Google.
Asitturnsout,whenyou’reoneofNASA’stopengineers,peoplewriteshitaboutyou.IswearIdon’tlookup“Ian+Floyd”twiceaweekoranythinglikethat,butIdogetcuriouseveryonceinawhile,andtheInternetofferssomuchinformationinexchangeforsolittleeffort.That’showIfoundoutthatwhentheformerchiefresignedforhealthreasons,IanwaschosenasheadofengineeringforTenacity,theroverthatlandedsafelyinthedeVaucouleursCraterjustlastyear.Heevengave60Minutesaninterview,inwhichhemostlycameacrossasserious,competent,handsome,humble,reserved.
Forsomereason,itmademethinkofthewayhe’dgroanedintomyskin.Hisviselikegriponmyhips,histhighmovingbetweenmylegs.Itmademerememberthathe’dwantedtotakemetodinner,andthatI’dactually—appallingly,unfathomably—beentemptedtosayyes.IwatchedtheentirethingonYouTube.ThenIscrolleddowntoreadthecommentsandrealizedthatagoodtwothirdswerefromuserswho’dnoticedexactlyhowserious,competent,handsome,humble,reserved,andlikelywell-endowedIanwas.Ihastenedtoclickout,feelingcaughtwithmyentiretorsointhecookiejar.
Whatever.
IthinkIexpectedmyGooglesearchtoleadtomorepersonalstuff,too.MaybeaFacebookaccountwithpicturesofadorablegingertoddlers.Oroneofthoseweddingwebsiteswithoverproducedpicturesandthestoryofhowthecouplemet.Butno.TheclosestwasatriathlonhedidabouttwoyearsagonearHouston.Hedidn’tplaceparticularlywell,buthedidfinishit.AsfarasGoogleisconcerned,that’stheonlynon-work-relatedactivityIanhaspartakeninduringthelastfouryears.
Butthat’sreallybesidethepoint,whichis:IknowquiteabitaboutIanFloyd’scareeraccomplishments,andIamwellawarethathe’sstillatNASA.Therefore,itmakesnosenseformetobeshockedtoseehim.AndI’mnot.I’mreallynot.
It’sjustthatwithoverthreethousandpeopleworkingattheJohnsonSpaceCenter,IfiguredI’drunintohimaroundmythirdweekonthejob.Maybeevenduringmythirdmonth.Idefinitelydidnotexpecttoseehimonmyfirstday,inthemiddleofthefreakingnew-employeeorientation.AndIdefinitelydidn’tanticipatethathe’dspotmeimmediatelyandstareforalong,longtime,asthoughrememberingexactlywhoIam,asthoughnotwonderingwhyIlookfamiliarorstrugglingtoplaceme.
Which…heisn’t.Heclearlyisn’t.Ianappearsattheentranceoftheconferenceroomwherethenewhireshavebeenparkedtowaitforthenextspeaker;withaslightlyaggravatedexpressionhelooksaroundforsomeone,noticesme,chattingwithAlexis,aboutamillisecondafterInoticehim
Hepausesforamoment,wide-eyed.Thenweavesthroughtheclustersofpeoplechattingaroundthetable,marchingtowardmewithlongstrides.Hiseyesstayfixedonmineandhelooksconfidentandpleasantlysurprised,likeaguypickinguphisgirlfriendattheairportaftershespentfourmonthsabroadstudyingthecourtshiphabitsofthehumpbackwhale.Butithasnothingtodowithme.It’snotbecauseofme.
Itcannotbebecauseofme,right?
ButIanstopsjustacoupleoffeetawayfromAlexis,studiesmewithasmallsmileforacoupleofsecondslongerthaniscustomary,andthensays:“Hannah.”
That’sit.That’sallhesays.Myname.AndIreallydidn’twanttoseehim.Ireallyfigureditwouldbeweirdtobewithhimagain,afterournot-quite-orgasmlessfirstandonlymeeting.But…
It’snot.Notatall.Itjustfeelsnatural,nearlyirresistibletosmileathim,pushawayfromthetableanduponmytoesforahug,fillmynostrilswithhiscleanscent,andsayagainsthisshoulder,“Hey,you.”
Hishandspressbrieflyintomyspine,andwefittogetherjustlikefouryearsago.Then,asecondlater,webothpullback.Idon’tdoblushing,notever,butmyheartisbeatingfastandthere’sacuriousheatcreepingupmychest.
Maybeit’sbecausethisshouldbeweird.Right?Fouryearsago,Icameontohim.ThenIcameonhim.ThenIturnedhimdownwhenheaskedmetospendorgasmless,space-explorationlesstimewithhim.That’swhatIwantedtoavoid:themale,awkward,ego-woundedreactionIwassureIanwouldhave.
Butnowhe’shere,disarminglypleasedtoseeme,andIjustfeelhappytobeinhispresence,likeIdidbackwhenwecodedourafternoonaway.Helooksabitolder;theday-oldstubbleisaboutoneweekoldnow,andmaybehe’sgottenevenbigger.Fortherest,though,he’sjusthimself.Hairisred,eyesareblue,frecklesareeverywhere.I’mbeingforciblyremindedofhisuniforminitializationinC++—andofhisteethonmyskin.
“Youmadeit,”hesays,likeIreallydidjustgetoffajetplane.“You’rehere.”
He’ssmiling.Ismile,too,andfurrowmybrow.“What?Youdidn’tthinkI’dactuallygraduate?”
“Wasn’tsureyou’deverpassyourWaterResourcesclass.”
Iburstoutlaughing.“What?Justbecauseyousawme,withyourowneyes,putzeroeffortintomyassignment?”
“Thatdidplayarole,yeah.”
“YoushouldreadthestuffIBS’daboutyouinthatreport.”
“Ah,yes.WhatSTDsdidIhavetobattletogettowhereIamtoday?”
“WhatSTDsdidyounot?”
Hesighs.Athroatclearsandwebothturn—Oh,right.Alexisisalsohere.Lookingbetweenus,forsomereasonwithsaucereyes.
“Oh,Ian,thisisAlexis.She’sstartingtoday,too.Alexis,thisis—”
“IanFloyd,”shesays,soundingvaguelybreathless.“I’mafan.”
Ianseemsvaguelyalarmed,asthoughtheideaofhaving“fans”befuddleshim.Alexisdoesn’tseemtonoticeandasksme,“Youtwoknoweachother?”
“Ah…yeah,wedo.Wehada…”Igesturevaguely.“Athing.Yearsago.”
“Athing?”Alexis’seyeswidenevenmore.
“Ohno,Ididn’tmeanthatkindofthing.Wedidsomekindof—oneofthose—whataretheycalled…?”
“Aninformationalinterview,”Ianpatientlyprovides.
“Aninformationalinterview?”Alexissoundsskeptical.ShestaresatIan,whoisstillstaringatme.
“Yeah.Kindof.Itdevolvedintoa…”Intowhat?UsalmostfuckingonNASAproperty?Youwish,Hannah.
“Adebuggingsession,”Iansays.Thenclearshisthroat.
Iletoutalaugh.“Right.That.”
“Debuggingsession?”Alexissoundsevenmoreskeptical.“Thatdoesn’tsoundfun.”
“Oh,itwas,”Iansays.He’sstillstaringatme.Likehe’sfoundhislong-missinghousekeysandisafraidhe’lllosethemagainifhelooksaway.
“Yeah.”Icannothelpmakingmysmilejustatadsuggestive.Anexperiment.Iseemtodolotsofthosewhenhe’saround.“Lotsoffun.”
“Right.”Ianfinallylooksaway,smilingthesameway.“Lots.”
“Howdidyouguysmeet?”Alexisasks,moresuspiciousbythesecond.
“Oh,mybestfriendisIan’scousin-or-something.”
Iannods.“Howis…”Hebrieflystumblesonthename.“IwanttosayMelissa?”
“Mara.Yourcousin’snameisMara.Keepup,willyou?”Ifailtosoundstern.“Haveyounottalkedtohersincesheputusintouch?”
“Idon’tbelievewetalkedbackthen,either.Everythinghappenedthrough—”
“—Great-AuntDelphina,right.How’stheHomeDepotvideo?”
“Lowe’s.Ihearit’smakingaresurgencesinceUncleMitchstartedhostingThanksgiving.”
Ilaugh.“Well,Maraisgreat.ShealsograduatedwithherPh.D.andrecentlymovedtoD.C.toworkfortheEPA.Nointerestinspacestuff.Just,youknow…savingtheEarth.”
“Oh.”Hedoesn’tseemtooimpressed.“It’sagoodfight.”
“Butyou’regladsomeoneelseisshoulderingitwhileyouandIspendourdayslaunchingcoolgadgetsintospace?”
Hechuckles.“Moreorless.”
“Okay,thisisvery…”Alexis,again.Webothturntoher:hereyesarenarrow,andshesoundsshrill.Honestly,Ikeepforgettingshe’shere.“I’veneverseentwopeople…”Shegesturesbetweenus.“Youguysareclearly…”IanandIexchangeabaffledglance.“I’mgoingtoleaveyoutoit,”shesaysinscrutably.Thensheturnsonherheel,andIanandIarealone.
Kindof.We’reinaroomfullofpeople,but…alone.
“Well…hi,”Isay.
“Hey.”Thepitchislower.Moreintimate.
“Ikindofexpectedthiswouldbeunpleasant.”
“This?”
“This.”Ipointbackandforthbetweenus.“Seeingyouagain.Afterthewayweleftoff.”
Hecockshishead.“Why?”
“Just…”I’mnotsurehowtoarticulateit,thatmyexperienceisthatmenwhohavebeenrejectedbywomencanoftenbescaryinamilliondifferentways.Itdoesn’tmatteranyway.ItsoundslikeheputwhathappenedbetweenusbehindhimthesecondIsteppedoutofhisoffice.“Doesn’tmatter.Sinceit’snot.Unpleasant,thatis.”
Iannodsonce.LikeIrememberfromyearsago.“Whatteamhaveyoubeenassignedto?”
“A&PE.”
“Youdon’tsay.”Hesoundspleased.Whichis…new,mostly.MyparentsreactedtothenewsthatIwashiredbyNASAintheirusualway:showingdisappointmentthatIdidnotgointomedicinelikemysiblings.SadieandMarawerealwayssupportiveandhappyformewhenIgotmydreamjob,buttheydon’tcareenoughaboutspaceexplorationtofullygraspthesignificanceofwhereIendedup.Ian,though,Ianknows.Andeventhoughhe’snowabigshot,andA&PEisnothisteamanymore,itstillmakesmefeelwarmandtingly.
“Yeah—thisrandomguyIoncemettoldmeitwasthebestteam.”
“Wisewords.”
“ButI’mnotgoingtostartwiththeteamrightaway,because…I’vemanagedtogetthemtopickmeforAMASE.”
Hissmileissounabashedly,genuinelyhappyforme,myheartleapsinmythroat.“AMASE.”
“Yup.”
“Hannah,that’sfantastic.”
Itis.AMASEistheshit,andtheselectionprocesstotakepartinanexpeditionwasbrutal,tothepointthatI’mnotquitesurehowImadeitin.Probablysheerluck:Dr.Merel,oneoftheexpeditionleaders,waslookingforsomeonewithexperienceingaschromatograph-massspectrometry.WhichIhappentohave,duetosomesideprojectsmyPh.D.advisorfoisteduponme.Atthetime,Iaggressivelybitchedandmoanedmywaythroughthem.Inhindsight,Ifeelabitguilty.
“Haveyoubeenthere?”IaskIan,eventhoughIalreadyknowtheanswer,becausehementionedAMASEwhenwemet.Plus,I’veseenhisCV,andsomepicturesfrompastexpeditions.Inone,takenoverthesummerof2019,he’swearingadarkthermalshirtandkneelinginfrontofarover,squintingatitsroboticarm.Thereisayoung,prettywomanstandingrightbehindhim,elbowsproppedonhisshoulders,smilinginthedirectionofthecamera.
I’vethoughtaboutthatpicturemorethanjustacoupleoftimes.ImaginedIanaskingthewomanfordinner.Wonderedif,unlikeme,shewasabletosayyes
“I’vebeentheretwice,winterandsummer.Bothgreat.Winterwasconsiderablymoremiserable,but—”Hestops.“Wait,isn’tthenextexpeditionleaving…”
“Inthreedays.Forfivemonths.”Iwatchhimnodanddigesttheinformation.Hestilllookshappyforme,butit’salittle…subdued.Asplitsecondofdisappointment,maybe?“What?”Iask.
“Nothing.”Heshakeshishead.“Itwouldhavebeennicetocatchup.”
“Westillcan,”Isay,maybeabittoofast.“I’mnotleavingtillThursday.Wanttogooutand—”
“Notgetdinner,surely?”Hissmileisteasing.“Irememberyoudon’t…eatwithotherpeople.”
“Right.”Thetruthisthatthingshavechanged.NotthatnowIgooutfordates—Iverymuchstilldon’t.AndnotthatI’vemagicallybecomeanemotionallyavailableperson—I’mstillverymuchnot.Butsomewhereinthelastcoupleofyears,thewholeTindergamegot…firstabitold;thenabittiresome;then,eventually,abitlonely.Thesedays,IeitherfocusonworkoronMaraandSadie.“Idodrinkcoffee,though,”Isayonimpulse.EventhoughIfindcoffeedisgusting.
“Icedtea,”Iansays,somehowrememberingmyfour-year-oldorder.“Ican’t,though.”
Myheartsinks.“Youcan’t?”Isheseeingsomeone?Notinterested?“Itdoesn’thaveto—”beadate,Ihastentosay,butwe’reinterrupted.
“Ian,you’rehere.”TheHRrepwho’sbeenshowingthenewhiresaroundappearsathisside.“Thankyouformakingtime—IknowyouneedtobeatJPLbytonight.Everyone.”Sheclapsherhands.“Please,takeaseat.IanFloyd,thecurrentchiefofengineeringontheMarsExplorationProgram,isgoingtotellyouaboutsomeofNASA’songoingprojects.”
Oh.Oh.
IanandIexchangeonelongglance.Forjustamoment,helookslikehewantstotellmeonelastthing.ButtheHRrepleadshimtotheheadoftheconferencetable,andthere’seithernotenoughtimeorit’snotsomethingthat’simportantenoughtobesaid.
Halfaminutelater,Isitandlistentohisclear,calmvoiceashetalksaboutthemanyprojectshe’soverseeing,hearttightandheavyinmychestforreasonsIcannotfigureout.
Twentyminuteslater,Ilockeyeswithhimforthelasttimejustassomeoneknockstoremindhimthathisplanewillboardinlessthantwohours.
Andalittleoversixmonthslater,whenIfinallymeethimagain,Ihatehim.
Ihatehim,Ihatehim,Ihatehim,andIdon’thesitatetolethimknow.Chapter5
SvalbardIslands,Norway
Present
Thenexttimemysatphonevibrates,thewindshavepickedupevenmore.It’ssnowing,too.I’vesomehowmanagedtonestlemyselfinasmallnookinthewallofmycrevasse,butlargeflurriesarestartingtohappilysticktothemini-roverIbroughtwithme.
Whichis,Imustadmit,ironicinacosmickindofway.TheveryreasonIventuredoutherewastotesthowthemini-roverIdesignedwouldworkinhighlystressful,low-sunlight,low-command-inputsituations.Ofcourse,itwasnotsupposedtostorm.Iwasgoingtodropoffthegearandthenimmediatelyreturntotheheadquarters,which…well.Itdidn’tquiteworkoutlikethat,obviously.
Butthegearisbeingcoveredbyalayerofsnow.Andthesunisgoingtosetsoon.Themini-roverisinahighlystressful,low-sunlight,low-command-inputsituation,andfromascientificstandpoint,thismissionwasn’tatotalclusterfuck.Atsomepointinthenextfewdays,someoneatAMASE(likelyDr.Merel,thatasshole)willtrytoactivateit,andthenwe’llknowwhethermyworkwasactuallysolid.Well,theywillknow.Bythen,I’llprobablyjustbeaPopsiclewithaverypissed-offexpression,likeJackTorranceattheendofTheShining
“Areyoustilldoingokay?”
Ian’svoicejostlesmefrommypreapocalypticwhining.Myheartflutterslikeahummingbird—asickly,freezingonewhoforgottomigratesouthwithherbuddies.Idon’tbotheranswering,insteadinstantlyask:“Whyareyouhere?”IknowIsoundlikeanungratefulbitch,andwhileI’veneverconcernedmyselfwithcomingacrossasthelatter,Idonotmeantobetheformer.Theproblemishispresencemakesnodamnsense.I’vehadtwentyminutestothinkaboutit,anditjustdoesn’t.AndifthisistheplaceandtimewhereIfinallycroak…well,Idon’twanttodieconfused.
“Justoutonapromenade.”Hesoundsalittleoutofbreath,whichmeansthattheclimbmusthavebeenatoughone.Ianislotsofthings,butoutofshapeisnotoneofthem.“Takinginthescenery.Whataboutyou?Whatbringsyouhere?”
“I’mserious.WhyareyouinNorway?”
“Youknow”—thesoundbrieflycuts,thenbouncesbackwithageneroushelpingofwhitenoise—“noteveryonevacationsinSouthPadre.Someofusenjoycoolerdestinations.”Thehuffingandpuffingthroughthetenuoussatellitelineisalmost…intimate.We’reexposedtothesameelements,onthesameheavilyglaciatedterrain,whiletherestoftheworldhastakenshelter.We’reouthere,alone.
Anditdoesn’tmakeanysense.
“WhendidyouflyintoSvalbard?”Itcouldn’thavebeenanytimeinthelastthreedays,becausetherewerenoincomingfights.SvalbardiswellconnectedtoOsloandTroms?inthepeakseason,butthatwon’tstartuntilmid-March
So…Ianmusthavebeenhereforahandfulofdays.Butwhy?Heischiefofengineeringonseveralroverprojects,andtheSerendipityteamisapproachingcrunchtime.Itmakesnosenseforoneoftheirkeypersonneltobeinanothercountryrightnow.Plus,theengineeringcomponentofthisAMASEisminimal.OnlyDr.Merelandme,really.Allothermembersaregeologistsandastrobiologists,and—
WhythehellisIanhere?WhythehellwouldNASAsendaseniorengineeronarescuemissionthatwasn’tevensupposedtohappen?
“Areyoustilldoingokay?”heasksagain.WhenIdon’treply,hecontinues:“I’mclose.Afewminutesaway.”
Ibrushsnowflakesfrommyeyelashes.“WhendidAMASEchangeitsmindonsendingreliefefforts?”
Abriefhesitation.“Actually,itmightbemorethanafewminutes.Thestorm’sintensifyingandIcan’tseeverywell—”
“Ian,whydidtheysendyou?”
Adeepbreath.Orasigh.Orapuff,louderthantheothers.“Youaskalotofquestions,”hesays.Notforthefirsttime.
“Yeah.Butthey’reprettygoodquestions,soI’mgoingtokeeponaskingmore.Forinstance,howthe—”
“AslongasIcanasksome,too.”
Inearlygroan.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?Bestconcert?Favoriteconcert?Anoverviewoftheamenitiesofthecrevasse?Itoffersverylittleintermsofnightlife—”
“Ineedtoknow,Hannah,ifyouaredoingokay.”
Iclosemyeyes.Thebiteofthecoldislikeamillionneedleswedgedundermyskin.“Yes.I…I’mfine.”
Suddenly,thecalldrops.Thestatic,thenoise,theyalldisappear,andIcan’thearIananymore.Iglanceatmysatphoneandfinditstillon.Shit.Theproblemisonhisend.Thesnow’sgettingthicker,it’llbepitch-blackinminutes,andontopofthatI’malmostsurethatIanhasbeenattackedbyapolarbear.Ifsomethinghappenstohim,I’llneverbeabletoforgivemyse—
Ihearstepscrackingthesnowandlookuptotherimofthecrevasse.Thelightisdimmingbythesecond,butImakeoutthetall,broadoutlineofamaninaskimask.Heislookingdownatme.
OhGod.Ishereally…?
“See?”Ian’sdeepvoicesays,justalittleoutofbreath.Helowershisneckwarmerbeforeadding,“Thatwasn’tsohard,wasit?”Chapter6
JohnsonSpaceCenter,Houston,Texas
Sixmonthsago
Iamsurprisedbyhowmuchtheemailhurts,becauseit’salot
NotthatIexpectedtobehappyaboutit.It’sawell-establishedfactthathearingthatyourprojecthasbeendeniedfundingisaspleasantasplungingatoilet.Butrejectionsarethebreadandbutterofallacademicjourneys,andsincestartingmyPh.D.I’vehadapproximatelytwelvehundredfantabillionsofthem.Inthepastfiveyears,I’vebeendeniedpublications,conferencepresentations,fellowships,scholarships,memberships.IevenfailedatgettingintoBruegger’sunlimited-drinksprogram—adevastatingsetback,consideringmyloveforicedteas.
Thegoodthingis,themorerejectionsyouget,theeasiertheyaretoswallow.WhathadmepunchingpillowsandplottingmurderinthefirstyearofmyPh.D.barelyfazedmeinthelast.ProgressinAerospaceSciencessayingthatmydissertationwasn’tworthyofgracingtheirpages?Fine.NationalScienceFoundationdecliningtosponsormypostdoctoralstudies?Okay.MarainsistingthattheRiceKrispiesTreatsImadeforherbirthdaytastedliketoiletpaper?Eh.I’lllive.
Thisspecificrejection,though,cutsdeep.BecauseIreally,reallyneedthegrantmoneyforwhatI’mplanningtodo.
MostofNASAfundingistiedtospecificprojects,buteveryyearthereisadiscretionarypotthat’supforgrabs,usuallyforjuniorscientistswhocomeupwithresearchideasthatseemworthexploring.Andmine,Ithink,isprettyworthy.I’vebeenatNASAforoversixmonths.IspentnearlyalloftheminNorway,atthebestMarsanalogueonEarth,knee-deepinintensefieldwork,equipmenttesting,samplingexercises.Forthepastcoupleofweeks,eversincereturningtoHouston,I’vetakenmyplacewiththeA&PEteam,andit’sbeenreally,reallycool.Ianwasright:bestteamever.
But.Everybreak.Everyfreesecond.Everyweekend.EveryscrapoftimeIcouldfind,Ifocusedonfinalizingtheproposalformyproject,believingthatitwasafuckinggreatidea.Andnowthatproposalhasbeenrejected.Whichfeelslikebeingstabbedwithasantokuknife.
“Didsomethinghappen?”Karl,myofficemate,asksfromacrossthedesk.“Youlooklikeyou’reabouttocry.Ormaybethrowsomethingoutofthewindow,Ican’ttell.”
Idon’tbothertoglanceathim.“Haven’tmadeupmymind,butI’llkeepyouupdated.”Istareatthemonitorofmycomputer,skimmingthefeedbacklettersfromtheinternalreviewers.
Asweallknow,inearly2010,theroverSpiritbecamestuckinasandtrap,wasunabletoreorientitssolarpanelstowardthesun,andfrozetodeathasaconsequenceofitslackofpower.SomethingverysimilarhappenedeightyearslatertoOpportunity,whichwentintohibernationwhenamaelstromblockedsunlightandpreventeditfromrechargingitsbatteries.Obviously,theriskoflosingcontrolofroversbecauseofextremeweathereventsishigh.Toaddressthis,Dr.Arroyohasdesignedapromisinginternalsystemthatislesslikelytofailinthecaseofunpredictablemeteorologicalsituations.SheproposestobuildamodelandtestitsefficacyonthenextexpeditionattheArcticMarsAnaloginSvalbard(AMASE)—
Dr.Arroyo’sprojectisabrilliantadditiontoNASA’scurrentroster,anditshouldbeapprovedforfurtherstudy.Dr.Arroyo’svitaeisimpressive,andshehasaccumulatedenoughexperiencetocarryouttheproposedwork—
Ifsuccessful,thisproposalwilldosomethingcriticalforNASA’sspaceexplorationprogram:decreasetheexperienceoflow-powerfaults,missionclockfaults,andup-losstimerfaultsinfutureMarsExplorationmissions—
Hereistheissue:thereviewsare…positive.Overwhelminglypositive.Evenfromacrowdofscientiststhat,Iamwellaware,feedsonbeingmeanandscathing.Thesciencedoesn’tseemtobeaproblem,therelevancetoNASA’smissionisthere,myCVisgoodenough,and…itdoesn’taddup.WhichiswhyI’mnotgoingtosithereandtakethisbullshit.
Islammylaptopclosed,aggressivelystandfrommydesk,andmarchrightoutofmyoffice.
“Hannah?Whereareyou—”
IignoreKarlandmakemywaythroughthehallwaystillIfindtheofficeI’mlookingfor.
“Comein,”avoicesaysaftermyknock.
ImetDr.MerelbecausehewasmydirectsuperiorduringAMASE,andheis…anoddduck,honestly.Verystiff.Veryhard-core.NASAisfullofambitiouspeople,butheseemstobealmostobsessedwithresults,publications,thekindofsexysciencethatmakesbigsplashynews.InitiallyIwasn’tafan,butImustadmitthatasasupervisorhe’sbeennothingbutsupportive.He’stheonewhoselectedmefortheexpeditiontobeginwith,andheencouragedmetoapplyforfundingonceIwenttohimwithmyprojectidea.
“Hannah.Hownicetoseeyou.”
“Doyouhaveaminutetotalk?”He’sprobablyinhisforties,butthereissomethingold-schoolabouthim.Maybethesweater-vests,orthefactthathe’sliterallytheonlypersonI’vemetatNASAwhodoesn’tgobyhisfirstname.Hetakesoffhismetal-rimmedglasses,setsthemonhisdesk,thenhesteepleshisfingerstogivemealonglook.“It’saboutyourproposal,isn’tit?”
Hedoesn’toffermeaseat,andIdon’ttakeone.ButIdoclosethedoorbehindme.Ileanmyshoulderagainstthedoorframeandcrossmyarmsonmychest,hopingIwon’tsoundthewayIfeel,i.e.,homicidal.“Ijustgottherejectionemail,andIwaswonderingifyouhaveany…insight.Thereviewsdidn’thighlightareasneedingimprovement,so—”
“Iwouldn’tworryaboutit,”hesaysdismissively.
Ifrown.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“It’sinconsequential.”
“I…Isit?”
“Yes.Ofcourseitwouldhavebeenconvenientifyou’dhadthosefundsatyourdisposal,butI’vealreadydiscusseditwithtwoofmycolleagueswhoagreethatyourworkismeritorious.TheyareincontrolofotherfundsthatFloydwon’tbeabletoveto,so—”
“Floyd?”Iraisemyfinger.Imusthavemisheard.“Holdup,didyousayFloyd?IanFloyd?”ItrytorecallifI’veheardofotherFloydsworkinghere.It’sacommonlastname,but…
Merel’sfacedoesn’thidemuch.It’sobviousthathewasreferringtoIan,andit’sobviousthathewasn’tsupposedtobringhimup,fuckedupbydoingitanyway,andnowhasnochoicebuttoexplaintomewhathehintedat.
Ihaveexactlyzerointentionoflettinghimoffthehook.
“Thisis,ofcourse,confidential,”hesaysafterabriefhesitation.
“Okay,”Iagreehurriedly.
“Thereviewprocessshouldremainanonymous.Floydcannotknow.”
“Hewon’t,”Ilie.Ihavenoplanatthemoment,butpartofmealreadyknowsthatI’mlying.I’mnotexactlythenonconfrontationaltype.
“Verywell.”Merelnods.“Floydwaspartofthecommitteethatscreenedyourapplication,andhewastheonewhodecidedtovetoyourproject.”
He…what?
Hewhat?
Noway.
“Thisdoesn’tsoundright.Ianisn’tevenhereinHouston.”IknowthisbecauseacoupleofdaysaftercomingbackfromNorway,Iwentlookingforhim.LookedhimupontheNASAdirectory,boughtacupofcoffeeandoneofteafromthecafeteria,thenwenttohisofficewithonlyvagueideasofwhatI’dsay,feelingalmostnervous,and…
Ifounditlocked.“He’satJPL,”someonewithaSouthAfricanaccenttoldmewhentheynoticedmeidlinginthehallway.
“Oh.Okay.”Iturnedaround.Tooktwostepsaway.Thenturnedbacktoask,“Whenwillhebeback?”
“Hardtotell.He’sbeenthereforamonthorsotoworkonthesamplingtoolforSerendipity.”
“Isee.”Ithankedthewoman,andthistimeIleftforreal.
It’sbeenalittleoveraweeksincethen,andI’vebeentohisoffice…inanumberofinstances.I’mnotevensurewhy.Anditdoesn’treallymatter,becausethedoorwasclosedeverysingletime.WhichishowIknowthat:“IanisatJPL.He’snothere.”
“Youaremistaken,”Merelsays.“He’sback.”
Istiffen.“Asofwhen?”
“That,Icouldnottellyou,buthewaspresentwhenthecommitteemettodiscussyourproposal.AndlikeIsaid,hewastheonewhovetoedit.”
Thisisimpossible.Nonsensical.“Areyousureitwashim?”
MerelgivesmeanannoyedlookandIswallow,feelingoddly…exposed,standingthewayIaminthisofficewhilebeingtoldthatIan—Ian?Really?—isthereasonIdidn’tgetmyfunding.Itseemslikealie.ButwouldMerellie?He’swaytoostraitlacedforthat.Idoubthehastheimagination.
“Canhedothat?Vetoaprojectthat’sotherwisewellreceived?”
“Consideringhispositionandseniority,yes.”
“Why,though?”
Hesighs.“Itcouldbeanything.Perhapsheisjealousofabrilliantproposal,orhe’dratherthefundinggotosomeoneelse.Someofhisclosecollaboratorshaveapplied,Ihear.”Apause.“Somethinghesaidmademesuspectthat…”
“What?”
“Thathedidn’tbelieveyoucapableofdoingthework.”
Istiffen.“Excuseme?”
“Hedidn’tseemtofindfaultsintheproposal.Buthedidtalkaboutyourroleinitinless-than-flatteringtones.Ofcourse,Itriedtopushback.”
Iclosemyeyes,suddenlynauseous.IcannotbelieveIanwoulddothis.Icannotbelievehe’dbesuchabackstabbing,miserabledick.Maybewe’renotclosefriends,butafterourlastmeeting,Ithoughthe…Idon’tknow.Ihavenoidea.IthinkmaybeIhadexpectationsofsomething,butthisputsaswiftendtothem.“I’mgoingtoappeal.”
“Thereisnoreasontodothat,Hannah.”
“Thereareplentyofreasons.IfIanthinksthatI’mnotgoodenoughdespitemyCV,I—”
“Doyouknowhim?”Merelinterruptsme.
“What?”
“Iwaswonderingifyoutwoknoweachother?”
“No.No,I…”Oncehumpedhisleg.Itwasfantastic.“Barely.Justinpassing.”
“Isee.Iwasjustcurious.Itwouldexplainwhyhewassodeterminedaboutdenyingyourproject.I’dneverseenhimquiteso…adamantthataproposalnotgetaccepted.”Hewaveshishand,likethisisnotimportant.“Butyoushouldn’tconcernyourselfwiththis,becauseIhavealreadysecuredalternativefundingforyourproject.”
Oh.NowthisIdidnotexpect.“Alternativefunding?”
“Ireachedouttoafewteamleaderswhoowedmefavors.Iaskedthemiftheyhadanybudgetsurplustheymightwanttodedicatetoyourproject,andIwasabletoputtogetherenoughtosendyoubacktoNorway.”
Ihalfgasp,halflaugh.“Really?”
“Indeed.”
“OnthenextAMASE?”
“TheonethatleavesinFebruaryofnextyear,yes.”
“WhataboutthehelpIaskedfor?Iwillneedoneotherpersontohelpmebuildthemini-roverandtobeinthefield.AndI’llhavetotravelquiteawayfromhomebase,whichmightbedangerousonmyown.”
“Idon’tthinkwe’llbeabletofinanceanotherexpeditionmember.”
Ipressmylipstogetherandthinkaboutit.Icanprobablydomostoftheprepworkonmyown.IfIdon’tsleepforthenextfewmonths,which…I’vedoneitbefore.I’llbefine.TheproblemwouldbewhenIgettoSvalbard.It’stooriskyto—
“I’llbethere,outinthefieldwithyou,ofcourse,”Dr.Merelsays.I’malittlesurprised.InthemonthswewereinNorway,Isawhimdoverylittlesamplecollectingandsnowplodding.I’vealwaysthoughtofhimasmoreofacoordinator.Butifheoffered,hemustmeanit,and…Ismile.“Perfect,then.Thankyou.”
Islipoutoftheroom,andforabouttwoweeksI’mhighenoughontheknowledgethatmyprojectwillbehappeningthatImanagetodojustthat:notletanyoneknow.Idon’teventellMaraandSadiewhenweFaceTime,because…becausetoexplainthedegreeofIan’sbetrayal,I’dhavetoadmittothelieItoldthemyearsago.BecauseIfeellikeatotalidiotfortrustingsomeonewhodeservesnothingfromme.Becausebeinghonestwiththemwouldfirstrequiremetobehonestwithmyself,andI’mtooangry,tired,disappointedforthat.Inmyrants,Ianbecomesafaceless,anonymousfigure,andthereissomethingfreeinginthat.InnotlettingmyselfrememberthatIusedtothinkofhimfondly,andbyname.
Then,exactlyseventeendayslater,ImeetIanFloydinthestairwell.Andthat’swheneverythinggoestoshit.
???
Ispothimbeforeheseesme—becauseofthered,andthegenerallargeness,andthefactthathe’sclimbingupwhileI’mgoingdown.Thereareaboutfiveelevatorshere,andI’mnotsurewhyanyonewouldwillinglychoosetosubjecttheirbodiestothestressofupwardstairs,butI’mtooshockedthatIanistheonedoingit.It’sthekindofglory-lessoverachievingI’vecometoexpectfromhim.
Myfirstinstinctistopushhimandwatchhimfalltohisdeath.ExceptI’malmostsureit’safelony.Plus,Ianisconsiderablystrongerthanme,whichmeansitmightnotbefeasible.Abortmission,Itellmyself.Justsqueezeby.Ignorehim.Notworthyourtime.
Theproblemsstartwhenhelooksupandnoticesme.Hestopsexactlytwostepsbelow,whichshouldputhimatadisadvantagebut,depressingly,unfairly,tragically,doesn’t.Weareateyelevelwhenhiseyeswidenandhislipscurveinapleasedsmile.Hesays,“Hannah,”atouchofsomethinginhisvoicethatIrecognizebutinstantlyreject,andIhavenochoicebuttoacknowledgehim.
Thestaircaseisdeserted,andsoundcarriesfar.His“Icamelookingforyou”isdeepandlowandvibratesrightthroughme.“Lastweek.Someguyinyourofficesaidyoudon’tworktheremuch,but—”
“Fuckoff.”
Thewordscrashoutofme.Mytemperhasalwaysbeenreckless,onehundredmilesperhour,and…well.Stillis,Iguess.
Ian’sreactionistoobaffledtobeconfused.Hestaresatmelikehe’snotsurewhathejustheard,andit’stheperfectchanceformetowalkawaybeforeIsaysomethingIregret.ButseeinghisfacemakesmerememberMerel’swords,andthat…thatisreallynotgood.
Hedidn’tbelieveyoucapableofdoingthework.
Theworstpart,theonethatactuallyhurts,ishowthoroughlyImisjudgedIan.Iactuallythoughthewasagoodguy.Ilikedhimalot,whenIneverletmyselflikeanyone,and…howdarehe?Howdarehestabmeinthebackandthenaddressmeasthoughhe’smyfriend?
“Whatexactlyisitthatyouhaveaproblemwith,Ian?”Isquaremyshoulderstomakemyselfbigger.Iwanthimtolookatmeandthinkofacruisertank.IwanthimtobescaredI’mgoingtopillagehim.“Isitthatyouhategoodscience?Orisitpurelypersonal?”
Hefrowns.Hehastheaudacitytofrown.“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Youcancutit.Iknowabouttheproposal.”
Forasecondheisabsolutelystill.Thenhisgazehardens,andheasks,“Whotoldyou?”
Atleasthe’snotpretendingnottoknowwhatI’mreferringto.“Really?”Isnort.“Whotoldme?That’swhatseemsrelevant?”
Hisexpressionisstony.“Proceedingsregardingthedisbursementofinternalfundingarenotpublic.Ananonymousinternalpeerreviewisnecessarytoguarantee—”
“—toguaranteeyourabilitytoallocatefundingtoyourclosecollaboratorsandfuckupthecareersoftheonesyouhavenousefor.Right?”Hejerksback.NotthereactionIexpected,butitfillsmewithjoynonetheless.“Unlessthereasonwaspersonal.AndyouvetoedmyproposalbecauseIdidn’tsleepwithyou,what,fiveyearsago.”
Hedoesn’tdenyit,doesn’tdefendhimself,doesn’tscreamthatI’minsane.Hiseyesnarrowtoblueslitsandheasks,“ItwasMerel,wasn’tit?”
“Whydoyoucare?Youdidvetomyproject,so—”
“DidhealsotellyouwhyIvetoedit?”
“IneversaidthatitwasMerelwho—”
“BecausehewastherewhenIexplainedmyobjections,atlengthandindetail.Didheomitthat?”Ipressmylipstogether.Whichheseemstointerpretasanopening.“Hannah.”Heleanscloser.We’renosetonose,Ismellhisskinandhisaftershave,andIhateeverysecondofthis.“Yourprojectistoodangerous.Itspecificallyasksthatyoutraveltoaremotelocationtodropoffequipmentatatimeoftheyearinwhichtheweatherisvolatileandoftentotallyunpredictable.I’vebeeninLongyearbyeninFebruary,andavalanchesdevelopoutoftheblue.It’sonlygottenworseinthelastfew—”
“Howmanytimes?”
Heblinksatme.“What?”
“HowmanytimeshaveyoubeentoLongyearbyen?”
“I’vebeenontwoexpeditions—”
“Thenyou’llunderstandwhyItaketheopinionofsomeonewhohasbeenonadozenmissionsoveryours.Plus,webothknowwhattherealreasonofthevetowas.”
Ianopens,thencloseshismouth.Hisjawhardens,andI’mfinallysureofit:he’smad.Pissed.Iseeitinthewayheclencheshisfist.Theflareofhisnostrils.Hisbigbodyisjustinchesfrommine,glowingwithanger.“Hannah,Merelisnotalwaystrustworthy.Therehavebeenincidentsunderhiswatchthat—”
“Whatincidents?”
Apause.“It’snotmyinformationtodisclose.Butyoushouldn’ttrusthimwithyour—”
“Right.”Iscoff.“OfcourseIshouldtakethewordoftheguywhowentbehindmybackoverthewordoftheguywhowenttobatformeandmadesuremyprojectwasfundedanyway.Veryhardchoicetomake.”
Hishandliftstoclosearoundmyupperarm,atoncegentleandurgent.Irefusetocareenoughtopullawayfromhistouch.“Whatdidyoujustsay?”
Irollmyeyes.“Isaidabunchofthings,Ian,butthegistofitwasfuckoff.Now,ifyou’llexcuseme—”
“Whatdoyoumean,Merelmadesurethatyourprojectwasfundedanyway?”Hisgriptightens.
“ImeanexactlywhatIsaid.”Ileanin,eyeslockedwithhis,andforasplitsecondthefamiliarfeelingofbeingclose,here,nearhimcrashesovermelikeawave.Butitwashesawayjustasquickly,andallthatisleftisanoddcombinationofvengefulsadness.Ihavemyproject,whichmeansthatIwon.ButIalso…Yeah.Ididlikehim.Andwhilehewasalwaysjustintheperipheryofmylife,IthinkmaybeI’dhoped…
Well.Nomatternow.“Hefoundanalternative,Ian,”Itellhim.“MeandmyinabilitytocarryouttheprojectaregoingtoNorway,andthereisnothingyoucandoaboutit.”
Hecloseshiseyes.Thenheopensthemandmutterssomethingunderhisbreaththatsoundsalotlikefuck,followedbymynameandotherhurriedexplanationsthatIdon’tcaretolistento.Ifreemyarmfromhisfingers,meethiseyesonelasttime,andwalkawayswearingtomyselfthatthisisit
IwillneverthinkofIanFloydagain.Chapter7
SvalbardIslands,Norway
Present
He’snotwearingNASAgear.
Bynowit’snearlydark,thesnowfallssteadily,andwheneverIlookuptotheedgeofthecrevasse,hugesnowflakeshurlstraightintomyeyes.Buteventhen,Icantell:IanisnotwearingthegearNASAusuallyissuestoAMASEscientists.
HishatandcoatareTheNorthFace,adullblackdustedwithwhite,interruptedonlybytheredofhisgogglesandskimask.Hisphone,whenhetakesitouttocommunicatewithmefromtheedgeofthecrevasse,isnotthestandard-issueIridiumone,butamodelIdon’trecognize.Hestaresdownforalongmoment,asifassessingtheshitfuckofasituationImanagedtoputmyselfin.Flurriescirclearoundhim,butneverquitetouch.Hisshouldersriseandfall.One,two,severaltimes.Then,finally,heliftshisgogglesandbringsthephonetohismouth.
“I’llsenddowntherope,”hesays,inlieuofagreeting.
TosaythatI’minabitofapredicamentatthemoment,orthatIhaveafewproblemsonmyhands,wouldbeavastunderstatement.Andyet,staringupfromtheplacewhereIwaspositiveI’dbiteituntilaboutfiveminutesago,allIcanthinkaboutisthatthelasttimeItalkedwiththisman,I…
Itoldhimtofuckoff.
Repeatedly.
Andhediddeserveit,atleastforsayingthatIwasn’tgoodenoughtocarryouttheproject.Butatthetimehealsomentionedthatmymissionwasgoingtobetoodangerous.Andnowhe’sshownuptotheArcticCircle,withhisdeep-setblueeyesandevendeepervoice,topullmeawayfromcertaindeath.
IalwaysknewIwasanasshole,butI’dneverquiterealizedtheextentofit
“IsthisthemostmassiveItoldyousoinhistory?”Iask,attemptingajoke.
Ianignoresme.“Onceyouhavetherope,I’llbuildananchor,”hesays,tonecalmandmatter-of-fact,notatraceofpanic.It’slikehe’steachingakidhowtotietheirshoelaces.Nourgencyhere,nodoubtthatthiswillgoasplannedandwe’llbothbefine.“I’llpreparethelipandhaulyouupovermyshoulder.Makesureeverythingisclippedtoyourbelayloop.Canyoupullonthefixedside?”
Ijuststareupathim.Ifeel…I’mnotsurewhat.Confused.Scared.Hungry.Guilty.Cold.Afterwhat’sprobablywaytoolong,Imanagetonod.
Hesmilesalittlebeforethrowingdowntherope.Iwatchituncoil,slitherdowntowardme,andcometorestacoupleofinchesfromwhereI’mhuddled.ThenIreachoutandclosemyglovedhandarounditsend.
I’mstillconfused,scared,hungry,andguilty.ButwhenIglanceupatIan,maybeIfeelalittlelesscold.
???
It’sjustasprain,I’mprettysure.Butasfarassprainsgo,thisisabadone.
Ianistruetohispromisesandmanagestogetmeoutofthecrevasseinbarelyacoupleofminutes,buttheinstantI’monthesurface,Itrytolimparound,and…it’snotlookinggood.Myfoottouchesthegroundandpainspearsthroughmyentirebodylikelightning.
“Fu—”Ipressahandagainstmylips,tryingtohidemygaspinthefabricofmygloves,strugglingtokeepupright.I’mprettysurethattheloudswishingofthewindswallowsmywhimper,butthereisn’tmuchIcandotohelpthetearsfloodingmyeyes.
Thankfully,Ianistoobusycollectingtheropetonotice.“I’lljustneedasecond,”hesays,andIwelcomethereprieve.Hemighthavejustrescuedmefrombecomingapolarbear’sdessert,butforsomereasonIhatetheideaofhimseeingmeallweepyandweak.Okay,fine:Ineededsaving,andmaybeIdon’tlooklikemuchatthemoment.Butmypainthresholdisusuallyprettyhigh,andI’veneverbeenawhiner.Idon’twanttogiveIananyreasontobelieveotherwise.
Except.
Exceptthatthosetwolonelytearshaveopenedthefloodgates.Behindme,Ianloadshisclimbinggearintohisbackpack,hismovementspracticedandeconomical,andI…Icannotbringmyselftoofferanyhelp.Ijuststandawkwardly,tryingtosparemythrobbingankle,ononefoot,likeaflamingo.Mycheeksarehotandwetinthefallingsnow,andIlookdownatmystupidcrevassethinkingthatuntilaminuteago—untilIanFuckingFloyd—itwasgoingtobethelastplaceIsaw.Thelastsliceofsky.
Andjustlikethat,arushingterrorpunchesthroughme.ItknocksoutthefabricatedquietofmyMartianocean,andthesheermagnitudeofwhatnearlyhappened,ofallthethingsIlovethatIwouldhavemissedoutonifIanhadn’tcomeforme,sweepsthroughmybrainlikearake.
Dogs.Threea.m.inthesummer.SadieandMarabeingabsoluteidiots,andmelaughingatthem.Hikingtrips,kiwiicedtea,thatGreekrestaurantInevergotaroundtotrying,elegantcode,thenextseasonofStrangerThings,reallygoodsex,aNaturepublication,seeinghumansonMars,theendingofASongofIceandFire—
“Weneedtobeonourwaybeforethestormgetsworse,”Iansays.“Areyou—”
Ianlooksatme,andIdon’teventrytohidemyface.I’mwellpastthat.Whenhecomescloser,adarkfrownonhisface,Ilethimholdmyeyes,liftmychinwithhisfingers,inspectmycheeks.Hisexpressionshiftsfromurgent,toworried,tounderstanding.Idrawinabreaththatturnsintoagulp.Thegulp,tomyhorror,morphsintoasob.Two.Three.Five.Andthen…
ThenI’mjustafuckingmess.Blubberingpitifully,likeachild,andwhenawarm,heavybodywrapsaroundmeandgripsmetightly,Ioffernoresistance.
“I’msorry,”ImurmurintothenylonofIan’sjacket.“I’msorry,I’msorry,I’msorry.I—Ihavenocluewhat’swrongwithme,I—”It’sjustthatIhadn’tknown.Downinthecrevasse,Iwasabletopretenditwasn’thappening.ButnowthatI’mout,andIdon’tfeelnumbanymore,it’sallfloodingback,andIcannotstopseeingthem,allthethings,allthethingsthatIalmost—
“Shh.”Ian’shandsfeelimpossiblylargeastheymoveupanddownmyback,cuppingmyhead,strokingmysnow-damphairwhereitspillsfromunderthehat.Weareintheicymiddleofastorm,butthisclosetohim,Ifeelalmostpeaceful.“Shh.It’sokay.”
Iclingtohim.Heletsmesobforlongmomentswecannotafford,pressingmeagainsthimwithnoairbetweenus,untilIcanfeelhisheartbeatthroughthethicklayersofourclothes.Thenhemumbles“FuckingMerel”withbarelyrestrainedfury,andIthinkthatitwouldbesoeasytoblamethingsonMerel,butthetruthis,it’sallmyfault.
WhenIleanbacktotellhim,hecupsmyface.“Wereallyneedtogo.I’llcarryyoutothecoast.Ihavealightbraceforyourankle,justtoavoidmessingitupevenmore.”
“Thecoast?”
“Myboatislessthananhouraway.”
“Yourboat?”
“Comeon.Wehavetogetgoingbeforemoresnowfalls.”
“I—maybeIcanwalk.Icanatleasttry—”
Hesmiles,andthethoughtthatIcouldhavedied—Icouldhavedied—withoutbeingsmiledatlikethis,bythisman,hasmylipstrembling.“Idon’tmindcarryingyou.”Adimpleappears.“Dotrytocontainyourloveforcrevasses,please.”
Iglareathimthroughthetears.Asitturnsout,it’sexactlywhathewantsfromme.
???
Iancarriesmealmostalltheway.
Tosaythathedoesitwithoutbreakingasweat,inthewhiteoutofathickeningsnowstorm,innegative-ten-degree-Celsiusweather,wouldprobablybeabitofanexaggeration.Hesmellssaltyandwarmashedepositsmeononeofthebunksonthelowerdeckoftheboat,asmallexpeditionshipnamedM/SSj?veien.Idospotlittledropletsofperspirationhereandthere,andtheymakehisforeheadandupperlipshinebeforehewipesthemwiththesleevesofhiscoat
Still,Ican’tquitegetovertherelativeeasewithwhichhemadehiswaythroughglaciatedplateausforoveranhour,wadingthrougholdandfreshsnow,sidesteppingrockyformationsandicealgae,neveroncecomplainingaboutmyarmscoiledtightaroundhisneck.
Healmostslippedtwice.Bothtimes,Ifeltthesteelofhismusclesastheytensedtoavoidthefall,hislargebodysolidandreliableasitbalancedandreorientedbeforepickingupthepaceagain.Bothtimes,Ifeltbizarrely,incomprehensiblysafe.
“IneedyoutoletAMASEknowthatyou’resafe,”hetellsmethesecondwe’reontheboat.Ilookaround,noticingforthefirsttimethattherearenootherpassengersonboard.“Andthatyoudon’tneedresponderstocomeoutoncethestormletsup.”
Ifrown.“Wouldn’ttheyknowthatyoualready—”
“Rightnow.Please.”HestarespointedlyuntilIcomposeandsendamessagetotheentireAMASEgroup,inawaythatremindsmethatheisverymuchaleader.Usedtopeopledoingashesays.“Wehaveaspaceheater,butit’snotgoingtodoawholelotinthistemperature.”Hetakesoffhisjacket,revealingablackthermalunderneath.Hishairismessy,andbright,andbeautiful.Notnearlyasdisgustinglyhat-squishedasmine,aninexplicablephenomenonwhichshouldbetheobjectofseveralresearchstudies.MaybeI’llapplyforagranttoinvestigateit.ThenIanwillvetome,andwe’llbebacktoMutualHatesquareone.“ThewindsaremoreseverethanI’dlike,butonboardisstillasaferoptionthanashore.We’reanchored,butthewavesmightgetnasty.There’santi-seasicknessmedsnexttoyourbunk,and—”
“Ian.”
Hefallsquiet.
“WhyareyounotwearingaNASAsurvivalsuit?”
Hedoesn’tlookatme.Insteadhedropsonhiskneesinfrontofmeandbeginstoworkonmybrace.Hislargehandsarefirmbutdelicateonmycalf.“Areyousureit’snotbroken?Isitpainful?”
“Yes.Andyes,butgettingbetter.”Theheat,oratleastthelackoffreezingwinds,ishelping.Ian’sgrip,comfortingandwarmaroundmyswollenankle,doesn’thurt,either.“Thisisn’taNASAboat,either.”NotthatIexpectedittobe.IthinkIknowwhat’sgoingonhere.
“It’swhatwehadatourdisposal.”
“We?”
Hestilldoesn’tmeetmyeyes.Insteadhetightensthebraceandpullsathickwoolensockovermyfoot.IthinkIfeeltheghostsoffingertipstrailingbrieflyacrossmytoe,butmaybeit’smyimpression.Itmustbe.
“Youshoulddrink.Andeat.”Hestraightens.“I’llgetyou—”
“Ian,”Iinterruptsoftly.Hepauses,andwebothseemsimultaneouslytakenabackatmytone.It’sjust…pleading.Tired.I’musuallynotonefordisplaysofvulnerability,but…Ianhascomeforme,inasmallrockingboat,acrossthefjords.WearealoneintheArcticBasin,surroundedbytwenty-thousand-year-oldglaciersandshriekingwinds.Thereisnothingusualaboutthis.“Whyareyouhere?”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“What?Youmissyourcrevasse?Icantakeyoubackif—”
“No,really—whyareyouhere?Onthisboat?You’renotpartofthisyear’sAMASE.Youshouldn’tevenbeinNorway.Don’ttheyneedyouatJPL?”
“They’llbefine.Plus,sailingisapassionofmine.”He’sobviouslybeingevasive,butthecoldmusthavefrozenmybraincells,becauseallIwantrightnowistofindoutmoreaboutIanFloyd’spassions.Trueormadeup.
“Isitreally?”
Heshrugs,noncommittal.“WeusedtosailalotwhenIwasakid.”
“We?”
“MydadandI.”Hestandsandturnsawayfromme,startingtorummageinthelittlecompartmentsinthehull.“He’dbringmealongwhenhehadtowork.”
“Oh.Washeafisherman?”
Ihearafondsnort.“Hesmuggleddrugs.”
“Hewhat?”
“Hesmuggleddrugs.Weed,forthemost—”
“No,Iheardyouthefirsttime,but…seriously?”
“Yup.”
Ifrown.“Areyou…Areyouokay?Isthateven…Isthatathing,smugglingweedonboats?”
He’stinkeringwithsomething,givingmehisback,butheturnsjustenoughformetocatchthecurveofhissmile.“Yeah.Illegal,butathing.”
“Andyourfatherwouldtakeyou?”
“Sometimes.”Heturnsaround,holdingasmalltray.Healwayslooksbig,buthunchedinthetoo-lowdeckhefeelsliketheGreatBarrierReef.“Itwoulddrivemymomcrazy.”
Ilaugh.“Shedidn’tlikehersonbeingpartofthefamilycriminalenterprise?”
“Gofigure.”Hisdimpledisappears.“They’dyellaboutitforhours.NowonderMarsbegansoundingsoattractive.”
Icockmyheadandstudyhisexpression.“IsthatwhyyougrewupnotknowingMara?”
“WhoisM—Oh.Yeah.Forthemostpart.Momisn’tveryfondoftheFloydsideofthefamily.ThoughI’msurehe’stheblacksheepbytheirstandards,too.Iwasn’treallyallowedtospendtimewithhim,so…”Heshakeshishead,asiftochangethetopic.“Here.It’snotmuch,butyoushouldeat.”
Ihavetoforcemyselftolookawayfromhisface,butwhenInoticethepeanutbutterandjellysandwicheshemade,mystomachcrampswithhappiness.IwiggleinthebunkuntilI’msittingstraighter,takeoffmyjacket,andthenimmediatelyattackthefood.MyrelationshipwitheatingismuchlesscomplicatedthantheonewithIanFloyd,afterall,andIlosemyselfinthestraightforward,soothingactofchewingfor…foralongtime,probably.
WhenIswallowthelastbite,IrememberthatI’mnotaloneandnoticehimstaringatmewithanamusedexpression.
“Sorry.”Mycheekswarm.Ibrushthecrumbsfrommythermalshirtandlicksomejamoffthecornerofmymouth.“I’mafanofpeanutbutter.”
“Iknow.”
Hedoes?“Youdo?”
“Wasn’tyourgraduationcakejustagiantReese’scup?”
Ibitetheinsideofmycheek,takenaback.ItwastheoneMaraandSadiegotmeafterIdefendedmythesis.TheygottiredofmelickingfrostingandpeanutbutterfillingofftheCostcosheetcakestheyusuallyboughtandjustorderedmeagiantcup.ButIhavenorecollectionofevertellingIan.Ibarelythinkofit,honestly.IrememberaboutitonlywhenIlogintomybarelyusedInstagram,becausethepictureofthethreeofusdigginginisthelastthingIeverposted—
“Youshouldrestwhileyoucan,”Iantellsme.“Thestormshouldeaseupbyearlytomorrowmorningandwe’llsailout.I’llneedyourhelpinthisshitvisibility.”
“Okay,”Iagree.“Yeah.ButIstilldon’tunderstandhowyoucanbeherealoneif—”
“I’llgocheckthateverythingisallright.I’llbebackinaminute.”HedisappearsbeforeIcanaskexactlywhatheneedstocheckon.Andhe’snotbackinaminute—orevenbeforeIleanbackinthebunk,decidetorestmyeyesforjustacoupleofminutes,andfallasleep,deadtotheworld.
???
Thebarkofthewindandtherhythmicrockingoftheboatrouseme,butwhatkeepsmeawakeisthechill.
IlookaroundintheblueglowoftheemergencylampandfindIanafewfeetawayfromme,sleepingontheotherbunk.It’stooshort,andbarelywideenoughtoaccommodatehim,butheseemstomakedo.Hishandsarefoldedneatlyonhisstomach,andthecoversarekickedtohisfeet,whichtellsmethatthecabinisprobablynotascoldasIcurrentlyfeel.
Notthatitmatters:it’sasifthehoursspentoutsidehaveseepedintomybonestokeeponicingmefromtheinside.Itrytohuddleunderthecoversforafewminutes,buttheshiveringonlygetsworse.Perhapsstrongenoughtodislodgesomekindofimportantcerebralpathway,becausewithoutreallyknowingwhy,Igetoutofmybunk,wraptheblanketaroundmyself,andlimpacrosstherollingfloorinIan’sdirection.
WhenIliedownnexttohim,heblinks,groggyandmildlystartled.Andyethisfirstreactionisnottothrowmeintheseabuttopushtowardthebulkheadtomakeroomforme.
He’sawaybetterpersonthanI’lleverbe.
“Hannah?”
“Ijust…”Myteetharechattering.Again.“Ican’tgetwarm.”
Hedoesn’thesitate.Ormaybehedoes,butjustafractionofasecond.Heopenshisarmsandpullsmetohischest,and…Ifitinsidethemsoperfectly,it’sasthoughtherewereaspotreadyformeallalong.Afive-year-oldspot,familiarandcozy.Adelicious,warmnookthatsmellsofsoapandsleep,frecklesandpale,sweatyskin.
Itmakesmewanttocryagain.Orlaugh.IcannotrememberthelasttimeIfeltthisfragileandconfused.
“Ian?”
“Hm?”Hisvoiceisrough,allchest.Thisiswhathesoundslikewhenhewakesup.WhathewouldhavesoundedlikethemorningafterifI’dagreedtogotodinnerwithhim.
“HowlonghaveyoubeeninSvalbard?”
Hesighs,awarmchuffonthecrownofmyhair.Imustbecatchinghimoffguard,becausethistimeheanswersthequestion.“Sixdays.”
Sixdays.That’sonedaybeforeIarrived.“Why?”
“Vacation.”Henuzzlesmyheadwithhischin.
“Vacation,”Irepeat.Histhermalissoftundermylips.
“Yeah.Ihad”—heyawnsagainstmyscalp—“lotsoftimeleftover.”
“AndyoudecidedtospenditinNorway?”
“Whydoyousoundincredulous?Norway’sagoodplace.Ithasfjordsandskiresortsandmuseums.”
Exceptthat’snotwhereheis.Notataskiresort,andmostdefinitelynotatamuseum.“Ian.”Itfeelssointimate,tosayhisnamesoclosetohim.Topressitintohischestasmyfingerscurveintohisshirt.“Howdidyouknow?”
“Knowwhat?”
“Thatmyprojectwasgoingtobesuchashitshow.ThatI…ThatIwasn’tgoingtobeabletofinishmyproject.”Iamgoingtostartcryingagain.Possibly.Likely.“Wasit—wasitthatobvious?AmIjustthistotal,giant,incompetentassholewhodecidedtodowhateverthefuckshewanteddespiteeveryoneelsetellingherthatshewasgoingto—”
“No,no,shh.”Hisarmstightenaroundme,andIrealizethatIam,infact,crying.“Youarenotanasshole,Hannah.Andyouaretheoppositeofincompetent.”
“ButyouvetoedmebecauseI—”
“Becauseoftheintrinsicdangerofaprojectlikeyours.Forthepastfewmonths,Itriedtogetthisprojectstoppedinabouttendifferentways.Personalmeetings,emails,appeals—Itrieditall.Andeventhepeoplewhoagreedwithmethatitwastoodangerouswouldnotstepintopreventit.Sono,you’renottheasshole,Hannah.Theyare.”
“What?”Ishiftonmyelbowtoholdhiseyes.Theblueispitch-blackinthenight.“Why?”
“Becauseit’sagreatproject.It’sabsolutelybrilliant,andithasthepotentialtorevolutionizefuturespaceexplorationmissions.Highrisk,highreward.”Hisfingerspushastrandbehindmyear,thenrundownmyhair.“Toohighrisk.”
“ButMerelsaidthat—”
“Merelisafuckingidiot.”
Myeyeswiden.Ian’stoneisexasperatedandfuriousandnotatallwhatI’dexpectfromhisusuallycalm,aloofself.“Well,Dr.MerelhasadoctoratefromOxfordandIbelieveisaMENSAmember,so—”
“He’samoron.”Ishouldn’tlaugh,orburrowevenclosertoIan,butIcannothelpmyself.“HewasatAMASEwhenIwashere,too.Thereweretwoseriousinjuriesduringmysecondexpedition,andbothofthemhappenedbecausehepushedscientiststofinishfieldworkwhenconditionsweren’toptimal.”
“Wait,seriously?”Henodscurtly.“WhyishestillatNASA?”
“Becausehisnegligencewashardtoprove,andbecauseAMASEmemberssignwaivers.Likeyoudid.”Hetakesadeepbreath,tryingtocalmdown.“Whywereyououttherealone?”
“Ineededtodropofftheequipment.Thestormwasn’tforecasted.Butthentherewasanavalanchenearby,Igotscaredthatmymini-roverwouldgetdamaged,startedrunningawaywithoutlooking,and—”
“No—whywereyoualone,Hannah?Youweresupposedtohavesomeoneelsewithyou.That’swhattheproposalsaid.”
“Oh.”Iswallow.“Merelwassupposedtocomeforbackup.Buthewasn’tfeelingwell.Iofferedtowaitforhim,buthesaidwe’dbelosingvaluabledaysofdataandthatIshouldjustgoalone,andI…”IsqueezemyfingersaroundthematerialofIan’sshirt.“Iwent.Andthen,whenIcalledinforhelp,hetoldmethattheweatherwasturning,and…”
“Fuck,”hemutters.Hisarmstightenaroundme,nearlypainful.“Fuck.”
Iwince.“Iknowyou’remadatme.Andyouhaveeveryright—”
“I’mnotmadatyou,”hesays,soundingmadatme.“I’mmadatfucking—”Istudyhim,skeptical,asheinhalesdeeply.Exhales.Inhalesagain.HeseemstocyclethroughafewemotionsthatI’mnotsureIunderstand,andendswith:“I’msorry.Iapologize.Iusuallydon’t…”
“Getmad?”
Henods.“I’musuallybetterat…”
“Caringless?”Ifinishforhim,andhecloseshiseyesandnodsagain.
Okay.Thisisstartingtomakesense.
“AMASEdidn’tsendyou,”Isay.It’snotaquestion.Ianwon’tadmitittome,butinthisbunk,nexttohim,it’ssoobviouswhathappened.HecametoNorwaytokeepmesafe.Everystepoftheway,allhedidwastokeepmesafe.“HowdidyouknowthatIwasgoingtoneedyou?”
“Ididn’t,Hannah.”Hischestrisesandfallsinadeepsigh.Anothermanwouldbegloatingbynow.Ian…Ithinkhejustwisheshecouldhavesparedmethis.“Iwasjustafraidthatsomethingmighthappentoyou.AndIdon’ttrustMerel.Notwithyou.”Hesaysit—you—likeIamaremarkableandimportantthing.Themostpreciousdatapoint;hisfavoritetown;theloveliest,starkestMartianlandscape.EventhoughIpushedhimaway,overandover,hestillcameinarockingboatinthemiddleofthecoldestoceanonplanetEarth,justtogetmewarm.
Itrytoliftmyheadandlookupathim,buthepressesonitgentlyandkeepsstrokingmyhair.“Youreallyshouldrest.”
He’sright.Webothshould.SoIpushalegbetweenhis,andheletsme.Likehisbodyisathingofmine.“Iamsorry.AboutwhatIsaidtoyoubackinHouston.”
“Shh.”
“AndthatI’veputyouindanger—”
“Shh,it’sokay.”Hekissesmytemple.It’swetfromtheslideofmytears.“It’sokay.”
“It’snot.Youcouldbeworkingwithyourteam,orasleepinyourownbed,butyou’reherebecauseofme,and—”
“Hannah,thereisnowhereelseI’dratherbe.”
Ilaugh,watery.“Noteven—notevenliterallyanywhereelse?”
IhearhimchucklejustbeforeIfallasleep.Chapter8
BeforewecanleaveforHouston,wespendonenightinahotelinLongyearbyen,Svalbard’smainsettlement.Itoffersabottomlessbreakfastbuffetandkeepstherooms’temperatureabouttendegreeshigherthanneededforcomfortableinsidedwelling—trulythestuffofpost-crevasse-Hannah’sdreams.I’mnotsurewhetherIansharesmybliss,ashedisappearsassoonasI’msettledin.It’sfine,though,becauseIhavestufftodo.MostlywritingadetailedreportupdatingNASAonwhathappened,whichdoesn’tmentionIan(athisrequest)butendsinaformalcomplaintagainstMerel.Afterthat,Istumbleuponararemomentofgrace:Imanagetoconnecttothemini-roveroutinthefield.IletoutasquealofdelightwhenIrealizethatit’scollectingtheprecisetypeofdataIneeded.Istareattheincomingfeed,rememberwhatIansaidontheboatabouthowvaluablemyprojectwouldbeforfuturemissions,andnearlytearup.
Idon’tknow.Imustbestillshakenup.
Weleavethefollowingday.I’vedonewhatIcametoAMASEfor(surprisinglysuccessfully),andIanneedstobeatJPLinthreedays.ThefirstplanerideisfromSvalbardtoOslo,ononeofthoseminusculeaircraftthattakeofffromminusculeairportswiththeirminusculeseatsandminusculecomplimentarysnacks.IanandIdon’tgettositnexttoeachother,nordowefromOslotoFrankfurt.IpassthetimestaringoutofthewindowandwatchingJAGrerunswithNorwegiansubtitles.Bytheendofthethirdepisode,Istronglysuspectskyldigmeans“guilty.”
“Iguessikkemeans‘not,’then,”Iantellsmeashewheelsmystill-injuredselfthroughtheFrankfurtairport.Iturnbacktolookupathim,puzzled.“What?IwaswatchingJAG,too.It’sagoodshow.Remindsmeofmychildhood.”
“Really?Youusedtowatchashowaboutmilitarylawyerswithyourweirdsmugglerdad?”
Hegivesmeasheepishlook,andIburstintolaughter.
“DoHarmandMacenduptogetherintheend?”Iaskhim.
Hehalfsmiles.“Nospoilers.”
“Oh,comeon.”
“You’llhavetowatchtofindout.”
“OrIcouldlookituponWikipedia.”
Hekeepsonsmiling,likehethinksthatIwon’t.He’sright.
Wearetogetherforthelastlegofthetrip.Ianletsmehavethewindowseatwithoutmehavingtoask,andsettlesbymysideafterputtingawayourbagsandwedgingapillowundermybrace.Heisbroadandsolid,hislegscrampedandtoolongforthelittlespacehehas,andoncewe’rebothbuckledin,itfeelslikehe’sblockingawaytherestoftheworld.Awall,keepingmesafefromthenoiseandtheaction.I’vebeenrestlesseversincetheboatandhaven’tmanagedmorethanverybriefnaps,butafewminutesafterwetakeoff,Ifeelmyselfstartingtodoze,exhausted.ThelastthingIdobeforefallingasleepisleanmyheadagainstIan’sshoulder.ThelastthingIrememberhimdoingisshiftingalittlelower,tomakesurethatI’mascomfortableasIcanbe.
IwakeupsomewhereovertheAtlanticandstayexactlywhereIamforseveralminutes,mytempleagainsthisarm,thecleansmellofhisclothesandhisskininmynostrils.He’slookingathistablet,readinganarticleonplasmapropulsion.Iskimafewlinesinthemethodssectionbeforesaying:“I’musuallynotlikethis.”
Hedoesn’tseemsurprisedthatI’mawake.“Likehow?”
Ithinkaboutit.“Needy.”Ithinksomemore.“Clingy.”
“Iknow.”Ican’tseehisface,buthisvoiceislowandkind.
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Iknowyou.”
Myfirstinstinctistobristleandpushback.Somethingwithinmerejectsbeingknown,becausebeingknownmeansbeingrejected.Doesn’tit?“Youdon’t,though.Reallyknowme.Imean,weneverevenfucked.”
“True.”Henods,andhisjawbrushesagainstmyhair.“Wouldyouhaveletmegettoknowyouifwehadfucked?”
“Nah.”Iyawnandstraighten,archingtostretchmysoreback.“Doyoueverthinkaboutit?”
“Aboutwhat?”
“Fiveyearsago.Thatafternoon.”
“Ithinkaboutitalot,”hesaysimmediately,withouthesitating.Hisexpressionisundecipherabletome.Utterlyunreadable.
“Isthatwhyyoucametorescueme?”Itease.“Becauseyouwerethinkingaboutit?Becauseyouhavebeensecretlypiningforyears?”
Hemeetsmyeyessquarely.“Idon’tknowthattherewasanythingsecretaboutthat.”
Hegoesbacktohistablet,stillcalm,stillrelaxed.Then,afterseveralminutesandacoupleofyawns,hecloseshiseyesandtipshisheadbackagainsttheseat.Thistimehe’stheonetofallasleep,andI’mleftawake,staringatthestronglineofhisthroat,unabletostopmyheadfromspinninginamilliondifferentdirections.
???
WhenwestepoutoftheTSAareaoftheHoustonairport,thereisasigninthecrowd,similartotheoneslimodriversholdupinmovieswhenthey’repickingupimportantclientsthey’reafraidtheywon’trecognize.
hannaharroyo,itsays.Andunderneath:whoalmostdiedanddidn’teventellus.also,shealwaysforgetstoreplacethetoiletpaperroll.whatalittleshit.
It’saprettybigsign.Allthemorebecauseit’sheldbytwonot-very-tallgirls,aredheadandabrunette,whoareveryobviouslyglaringatme.
IturnaroundtoIan.Hesleptonandoffforthepastfourhoursandstilllooksgroggy,hisfacesoftandrelaxed.Cute,Ithink.Andimmediatelyafter:DeliciousHandsome.Want.Isaynoneofitandinsteadask,“Whataremyidiotfriendsdoinghere?”
Heshrugs.“Ifiguredyoumightwanttotalkthroughyournear-deathexperiencewithsomeone,soIdecidedtotellMarawhathappened.Ididnotexpecthertocomeinperson.”
“BoldofyoutoassumeIdidn’ttellhermyself.”
Hiseyebrowlifts.“Didyou?”
“Iwasgoingto.OnceIfeltlesswhiny.And—whatever.”Irollmyeyes.Wow,I’mmature.“HowdidyougofromnotrememberingMara’snametohavinghernumber?”
“Ihadtodounspeakablethings.”
Igasp.“NotGreat-AuntDelphina.”
Hepresseshislipstogetherandnods,slowly,wretchedly.
“Ian,Iamsosor—”
Icannotfinishthesentence,becauseI’mbeingtackledbytwosmallbutsurprisinglystronggoblins.Iwobbleonmyonefunctioningankle,nearlychokingwhentheirarmssqueezetightaroundmyneck.
“Whyareyouguyshere?”
“Because,”Marasaysagainstmyshoulder.Theyarebothfull-oncrying—soweak,sotenderhearted.God,Ilovethem
“Guys.Getittogether.Ididn’tevendie.”
“Whataboutfrostbite?”Sadiemurmursintomyarmpit.I’dforgottenhowfantasticallyshortsheis.
“Notmuch.”
“Howmanytoesamputated?”
“Three.”
“That’snotbad,”Marasayswithasniffle.“Cheaperpedis.”
Ilaughandinhaledeeply.Theysmellwonderful,amixofmundaneandfamiliar,likeairportterminalsandtheirfavoriteshampoosIusedtostealandourcrampedPasadenaapartment.“Seriously,guys,whatareyoudoinghere?Don’tyouhave,like,worktodo?”
“Wetooktwodaysoff,andmyneighboriswatchingOzzy,youingratehag,”Sadietellsmebeforestartingtocryharder.Ipullherevencloserandpatherontheback.
Afewfeetfromus,twotallmenaretalkingquietlytoeachother.IrecognizeLiamandErikfromtheirguestappearancesonourlate-nightFaceTimehangouts,andwaveatthemwithmybestThesetwo,amirite?expression.Theywavebackandanswerwithfondnodsthattellmethey500percentagree.
“Oh—Ian?You’reIan,right?”Maradetachesfromourhug-lump.“Thankyousomuchforcallingus,thismoronwouldhavenevertoldustheextentofwhathappened.And,um,I’msorryIhaven’tbeenintouchforthepast…fifteenyears?”
“Don’tapologize,”Itellher.“HethoughtyournamewasMelissatilltwentyminutesago.”
Shefrowns.“What?Forreal?”
Ianblinksfrommyside,lookingslightlyabashed.
“Well,still.”Sheshrugs.“IpromiseIdon’thaveanythingagainstyoupersonally.I’mjustnotgenerallyafanoftheFloydfamily.”
“NeitheramI.”
Mara’seyeslitup.“They’rehorriblepeople,right?”
“Theworst.”
“Thankyou.Hey,weshouldsecede!Formourownofficialbranchofthefamily.ThatvideoofyoupeeinginaLowe’sthattheyforcedmetowatchoverandover?I’dnevermentionitagain.”
Iansmiles.“Soundsgreat.”
Marasmilesback,butthensheleansbackintohugmeonceagainandwhisperinmyear,“I’mnotevensurehe’sreallyaFloyd.Hishairisbarelyred.”
Iburstintolaughter.IthinkI’mhomeforreal.
???
IwanttostayawakeandbaskinthejoyofhavingSadieandMarainmylivingspaceagain,butIfailandconkoutthesecondwegettomyplace.Iwakeupinthemiddleofthenight,SadieandMaraoneithersideofmeinmyqueen-sizebed,andmyheartissofull,I’mafraidit’lloverflow.ApparentlythisiswhatIamnow,aunicornrainbowmarshmallowkittencreature.Bah.Iwondergroggilywheretheirboyfriendswent,promptlyfallbackasleep,andfindouttheansweronlyseveralhourslater,whenthesunshinesbrightintomykitchenandwe’resittingatmyclutteredtable.
“Theyweregoingtostayinahotel,”Marasays.SheishavingCheez-Itsforbreakfastwithoutevenbotheringtolookashamed.“ButIantoldthemtheycouldbunkwithhim.”
“Hedid?”Myfridgeisfull,eventhoughIunpluggeditbeforeleavingforNorway.Thereareseveralnewboxesofcerealontopofit,andfreshfruitinabasketthatIdidn’tknowIowned.Iwonderwhichoneofthedependableadultsinmylifeisresponsibleforthis.“Doeshehavethespace?”
“Hesaidhehasabigplace.”
“Hmm.”Ican’tbelieveSadie’sVikingboyfriendgetstoseeIan’sapartmentbeforeIdo.Ohwell.
“So,”shesays,“thisseemsliketheperfectopeningtogrillyouandfindoutwhetheryou’reboinkingMara’srelative.Butit’sobviousthatyouare.Plus,youjustalmostPopsicledyourselfattheNorthPole.Sowe’llgoeasyonyou.”
“Thatisveryconsiderate.”Ipluckagrapefromthemysteriousbowl.“I’mnot,though.”
“Bullshit.”
“No,really.Wefooledaroundfiveyearsago,whenwemetupforHelena’sinterview.Thenwehadahugeargumentsixmonthsago,whenItoldhimtofuckoffafterhevetoedmyexpeditionbecauseitwastoodangerous—notbecausehethoughtIwasanidiot,likesomeonetoldme.ThenhecametosavemylifewhenIalmostdiedonsaidexpedition.”Idon’tmentionournighttogetherontheboat,because…there’snothingtosay,really.Technically,nothinghappened.
“AsfarasToldYouSosgo,thisisanexcellentone,”Marasays.
“Right?That’swhatIthought!”
“Hangon,”Sadieinterjects.“Didweknowthathewastheonewhovetoedyourproposal?Anddidweknowaboutthefooling-around-five-years-agobit?Didweforget?”
“Wedidnot,”Marasays.“Wewouldnothaveforgotten.Thankyouforkeepingusupdatedonyourlife,Hannah.”
“Wouldyouhavecaredtoknow?”
TheirHell,yeahsaresimultaneous.
Right.Ofcourse.“Okay,let’ssee.WekindofmadeoutatJPL.Thenheaskedmeoutfordinner.IsaidthatIdidn’tdate,butI’dfuckhimanyway.Hewasn’tinterestedandwewentourseparateways.”Ishrug.“Nowyouknow.”
Maraglaresatme.“Wow.Sotimely.”
Iblowherakiss.
“Butthingshavechanged,right?”Sadieasks.“Imean…lastnighthecarriedyouupstairsforsevenfloorsbecausetheelevatorwasbroken.It’sobviousthathehasathingforyou.”
“Yes,”Maraagrees.“Areyougoingtobreakmybloodrelative’sheart?Don’tgetmewrong,I’dstillsidewithyou.Hosbeforebros.”
“He’snotyourbroinanysenseoftheword,”Ipointout.
“Hey,he’smycousin-or-something.”
Sadiepatsherontheshoulder.“It’stheorsomethingthatgetsmeeverytime.Youcanreallyfeeltheunbreakablefamilyties.”
“Wesecededlastnight.We’rethefoundersoftheFloyds2.0.Andyou”—shepointsatme—“couldbeoneofus.”
“CouldI?”
“Yes.IfyougaveIanachance.”
“I…Idon’tknow.”Ithinkabouthowhesqueezedmyhandwhiletheplanelanded.Aboutthewayheaskedforcookiesinsteadofpretzels,becauseItoldhimthatthey’remyfavorite.AbouthisarmaroundmyshouldersbackinNorwaywhiletheconciergecheckedusintoourrooms.Abouthimfallingasleepnexttome,andmerealizinghowtaxing,howphysicallydemandingitmusthavebeentocomeextractmefromtheidioticsituationIputmyselfinto—nomatterthathedidn’tsomuchasrollhiseyesattheburdenofit.
Idon’tliketheworddating.Idon’tliketheideaofit.ButwithIan…Idon’tknow.Itseemsdifferentwithhim.
“Iguesswe’llsee.I’mnotsurehewouldwanttodate,”Isay,staringatSadie’sFrootLoops.Theensuingsilencedragsonsolong,I’mforcedtolookup.SheandMaraarestaringatmelikeIjustannouncedthatI’mquittingmyjobtotakeupmacraméfull-time.“What?”
“Didshereallyjustusetheworlddate?”MaraasksSadie,pretendingI’mnotsittingrighthere
“Ithinkso.Andwithoutreferringtothedisgustingfruit?”
Marafrowns.“Dude,datesareamazing.”
“No,they’renot.”
“Yes.Trywrappingtheminbacon.”
“Okay,”Sadieacknowledges,“anythingisamazingifyouwrapitinbacon,but—”
Iclearmythroat.Theyturntome.
“So,you’regonnagooutwithhim?”
Ishrug.Thinkaboutit.Theideaissoforeign,mybraincatchesonitforamoment.ButrememberingthewayIansmiledatmebackinSvalbardhelpsmepushrightthroughit.“IthinkI’llask.Ifhewantsto.”
“Consideringthathesavedyourlife,contactedGreat-AuntDelphina,andputuptwodudeshe’sneverseenbeforesotheirgirlfriendscouldhangoutwithyou…Ithinkmaybehedoes.”
Inod,myeyesfixedintothemid-distance.“Youknow,whenIfell,myexpeditionleadersaidthatnoonewascomingtorescueme.But…hecame.Iancame.Eventhoughhewasn’tevensupposedtobethere.”
Sadiefrowns.“Areyousayingthatyoufeellikeyouhavetodatehimbecauseofthat?”
“Nah.”Igrinather.“Asyouknow,it’sprettyimpossibletogetmetodosomethingIdon’twantto.”
Sadiebatshereyesatme.“Ialwaysmanage.”
“Nottrue.”
“Yes,Ido.Forinstance,intenminutesI’mgoingtotakeyoutotheNASAdoctorIanwrotedowntheaddressfor,andwe’regoingtogetyourfootcheckedout.”
Iscowl.“Noway.”
“Iam.”
“Sadie,I’mfine.”
“Youreallythinkyou’regoingtowinthis?”
“Fuckyeah.”
Sheleansforwardoverherbowlofcerealwithasmallsmile.“It’son,baby.Letthebestbitchwin.”
???
Sadie,naturally,wins.
AfterthedoctortellsmestuffIalreadyknew—highsprain,yadayada—andgivesmeabetterbraceIcanwalkon,ItakeSadieandMaratomyfavoritecoffeeshop.Theirplanesareleavinglatetonight,andwesqueezeasmuchaswepossiblycanoutoftheday.WhenwegettoIan’sapartment,Iexpect…
Idon’tknow,actually.BasedonwhatIknowoftheguys’personalities,Ifiguredwe’dfindthembroodinginsilence,checkingtheirworkemails.Occasionallyclearingtheirthroats,maybe.ButIanbuzzesusintohisplace,andwhenwewalkintothewidelivingroom,wediscoverallthreeofthemsprawledonthehugesectional,eachholdingaPlayStationcontrollerastheyyellinthedirectionoftheTV.FurtherinspectionrevealsthatLiam’sandIan’savatarsareshootingatsomegelatinousmonster,whileErik’shuddlesinthefarcornerofthescreen.He’syellingsomethingthatcouldbeDanish.OrKlingon
Noneofthemlooklikethey’vebotheredtoshowerorchangeoutoftheirpajamas.Therearetwoemptypizzaboxesonthewoodencoffeetable,beercansscatteredalloverthefloor,andI’mprettysureIjuststeppedonaCheeto.Westopinourtracksattheentrance,butiftheguysnoticeourarrival,theydon’tshowit.TheykeeponplayinguntilLiamgetshitbyastraybulletandgruntslikeawoundedanimal.
“IhatethatIlovehim,”Maramuttersunderherbreath.
Sadiesighs.“Atleastyoursisn’trunningagainstthewallbecausehecan’tusethecontroller?”
“Guys,”Itellthem,shakingmyhead,“maybeIwaswronginapprovingofyourrelationships.Maybeyoucandobetter.”
Marasnorts.“Excuseme?IsthatasliceofpepperonionIan’sshirt?”
Sureis.“Touché.”
Sadieclearsherthroat.“Hey,guys,it’sgreatthatyou’rehavingfun,butweshouldreallygetgoingifwewanttomakeourflights—”
Theygroaninachorus.Liketen-year-oldsaskedtocleantheirrooms.
“Ijust…can’tbelievetheyactuallylikeeachother,”Marasays,befuddled.
Sadienods.“Idon’tknowhowIfeelaboutthis.Seems…dangerous?”
Icovermymouthtomufflemylaughter.Chapter9
Iandrivesmehomeafterwedropeverybodyoffattheairport,followingadisturbingphonenumberexchangeamongtheguysandafewtearsfromMaraandSadie.I’mdefinitelyfeelingmorelikemyself,becauseIsendthemthroughTSAwithastern“Stopwhining”andgentleslapsontheirbutts.
“Trynottofallintoaglacierforatleastsixmonths,okay?”Sadieyellsatmefromwithintheropedarea.
IflipheroffandlimpbacktoIan’scar.
“Iseewhyyoulovethemsomuch,”hetellsmewhiledrivingbacktomyplace.
“Idon’t.Lovethem,thatis.Ijustpretendtoavoidhurtingtheirfeelings.”
HesmileslikeheknowshowfullofbullshitIamtotheverymilligram,andwe’requietfortherestoftheride.TheoldiesradiostationplayspopsongsthatIrememberfromtheearly2000s,andIstareattheyellowglowofthestreetlights,wonderingifI,too,amanoldie.ThenIanslowsdowntoparkatmyplace,andthatrelaxed,happyfeelingwanesasmyheartpicksupspeed.
ItoldSadieandMarathatI’dseeifhe’sinterestedingoingoutwithme,butit’seasiersaidthandone.I’vepropositionedplentyofpeople,butthis…itfeelsdifferent.I’mnotgoingtobegoodatit.I’mgoingtobetotal,uttershit.AndIanwillrealizeitimmediately.
“Youcould…”Istart.Thenstop.Mykneessuddenlylookincrediblyinteresting.Worksofartthatrequiremymostdedicatedinspection.“Iwasthinkingthat…”
“Don’tworry,I’llcarryyouupstairs,”hesays.He’swearingjeansandanocean-blueshirtthatmatcheshiseyesandcontrastswithhishairand—
It’sscary,howattractiveIfindhim.Thedepthofthiscrushofmine.Ilikedhimsincetheverystart,butmyfeelingsforhimhavebeengrowingsteadily,thenexponentially,and…whatdoIevendowiththem?It’slikebeinghandedaninstrumentIneverlearnedhowtoplay.Beingaskedtosteponstageataconcerthallutterlyunprepared.
Itakeadeepbreath.
“Actually,theyfixedtheelevator.Andthisnewcastiseasytowalkon.So,noneed.Butyou…”Youcandothis,Hannah.Comeon.YoujustsurvivedpolarbearsthankstothisguyYoucansaythewords.“Youcouldcomeupanyway.”
Alongsilencefollows,inwhichIfeelmyheartbeatineveryinchofmybody.Itdrawsouttillitgetsunbearable,andwhenIcannothelpbutglanceup,IfindIanlookingatmewithanexpressionthatcanbedescribedonlyas…sorry.Likeheknowsverywellthathe’sgoingtohavetoletmedown.
Shit.
“Hannah,”hesays,apologetic.“Idon’tthinkit’sagoodidea.”
“Right.”Iswallowandnod.Pushtheweightinmychesttothesideforanunspecifiedlater.God,thatlaterisgoingtobebad.“Okay.”
Henods,too,relievedatmyunderstanding.Myheartbreaksalittle.“Butifyouneedanything,anythingatall—”
“—you’llbethere.Right.”Ismile,and…maybeI’mnot100percentyet,becauseI’mstartingtofeeltearyalloveragain.“Thankyou,Ian.Foreverything.Absolutelyeverything.Istillcannotbelieveyoucameforme.”
Hecockshishead.“Why?”
“Idon’tknow.Ijust…”Icouldbullshitananswerforhim.Butitseemsunfair.He’searnedmorefromme.“Ijustcan’tbelievethatanyonewoulddothatforme.”
“Right.”Hesighsandbitesintohislowerlip.“Hannah,ifthatchanges.Ifyoueverfindyourselfabletobelievethatsomeonecouldcareaboutyouthatmuch.Andifyouwantedtoactuallyhavedinnerwiththatsomeone.”Heletsoutalaugh.“Well…Please,considerme.Youknowwheretofindme.”
“Oh.Oh,I…”Ifeelheatcreepupmyface.AmIblushing?Ididn’tevenknowmybodywascapableofit.“Iactuallywasn’taskingyoutocomeupjustfor…Imean,maybethat,too,butmostly…”Iscrewmyeyesshut.“Iexpressedmyselfpoorly.IwasinvitingyouupbecauseIwouldlovetohavedinner.Withyou,”Iblurtout.
WhenIfindthegutstoopenmyeyes,Ian’sexpressionisstunned.
“Areyou…”Ithinkheforgothowtobreathe.Heclearshisthroat,coughsonce,swallows,coughsagain.“Areyouserious?”
“Yes.Imean,”Ihurrytoadd,“Istillthinkyouwon’tlikeit.I’mjust…reallynotthatkindofperson.”
“Whatkindofperson?”
“Thekindthatpeopleenjoybeingwithforanythingthatisn’t…well,sex.Orsexrelated.Ordirectlyleadinguptosex.”
“Hannah.”Hegivesmeaskepticallook.“Youhavetwofriendswhodroppedeverythingtobewithyou.AndIassumesexwasn’tinvolved.”
“Itwasn’t.AndI—Iwoulddropeverythingforthem,butthey’redifferent.They’remypeople,and—”Shit,Ireallyamabouttotearup.Whatthehell,youalmostdieonceandyourmentalstabilitygetsallfuckedup?“Thereareplentyofpeoplewhowoulddisagree.Likemyfamily.Andyou…You’llprobablyendupnotlikingme.”
Hesmiles.“Seemsimprobable,sinceIalreadylikeyou.”
“Thenyou’llstop.You—”Irunahandthroughmyhair,wishingheunderstood.“You’llchangeyourmind.”
HelooksatmelikeI’mjustabitcrazy.“Inthespanofonedinner?”
“Yes.You’llthinkI’mawasteofyourtime.Boring.”
He’sstartingtojustlook…amused.LikeI’mridiculous.Which…Idon’tknow.MaybeIam.“Ifthathappens,I’lljustputyoutowork.Haveyoudebugsomeofmycode.”
Ilaughalittleandlookoutofthewindow.Therearenocarsatthistimeofnight,noonewalkingtheirdogortakingastroll.It’sjustIanandmeonthestreet.Iloveitandhateit.“Istillthinkyou’dgetthemostoutofthisifwefucked,”Imutter.
“Iagree.”
Iturntohim,surprised.“Youdo?”
“Ofcourse.YouthinkIdon’twanttofuckyou?”
“I…Kindof?”
“Hannah.”Heunbuckleshisseatbeltandangleshimselftowardme,sothatIhavenochoicebuttolookhimintheeyes.Helooksearnestandnearlyoffended.“Ihavethoughtaboutwhathappenedinmyofficeeverydayforthepastfiveyears.Youofferedtogodownonme,andIjust…embarrassedmyself,anditshouldbethemostmortifyingmemoryIhave,butforsomereasonit’sturnedintotheaxiseveryfantasyofminespinsaround,and”—hereachesuptopinchthebridgeofhisnose—“Iwanttofuckyou.Obviously.Alwayshave.Ijustdon’twanttofuckyouonce.Iwanttodoitalot.Foralongtime.Iwantyoutocometomeforsex,butalsowantyoutocometomewhenyouneedhelpwithyourtaxesandmovingyourfurniture.IwantfuckingtobeonlyoneofthemillionthingsIdoforyou,andIwanttobe—”Hestops.Seemstocollecthimselfandstraightens,asiftogivemespace.Togiveusspace.“I’msorry.Idon’twanttocrowdyou.Youcan…”
Hepullsbackafewinches,andallIcandoislookathimopenmouthed.Shocked.Speechless.Absolutely…yeah.Didthisreallyhappen?Isitreallyhappening?Andtheworstpartis,I’malmostpositivethathiswordshavedislodgedsomethinginmybrain,becausetheonlythingIcanthinkofsayinginresponsetoallhesaidis:“Isthatayesondinner?”
Helaughs,lowandbeautifulandalittlerueful.Andafterlookingatmelikenooneelseeverhasbefore,whathesaysis,“Yes,Hannah.Itisayesondinner.”
???
“Um,Icouldmakeusa…”Iscratchmyhead,studyingthecontentsofmyopenfridge.Okay,soit’sfull.Theproblemis,it’sfullexclusivelyofstuffthatneedstobecooked,chopped,baked,prepared.Stuffthat’shealthyanddoesn’ttasteparticularlygood.Iamnow93percentsurethatMarawastheonewhowentshopping,becausenooneelsewoulddaretoimposebroccolionme.“Howdoesoneeven…Icouldboilthebroccoli,Iguess?Inapot?Withwater?”
Ianisstandingbehindme,hischinontopofmyhead,chesthoveringrightbehindmyback.“Boiltheminapotwithwater,”herepeats.
“Iwouldsaltthemafterward,ofcourse.”
“Youwanttoeatbroccoli?”Hesoundsskeptical.ShouldIbeoffended?
No,Ian.Idon’twanttoeatbroccoli.I’mnotevenhungry,tobehonest.ButIhavecommittedtothis.Iamapersonwhoiscapableofhavingdinnerwithanotherhuman.AndIwillproveittoyou.“Icouldmakeasandwich,then.There’slunchmeatoverthere.”
“Ithinkthosearetortillawraps.”
“No,they’re—Shit.You’reright.”
Isigh,slamthedoorshut,andturnaround.Iandoesnottakeastepback.Ihavetoleanagainstthefridgetobeabletolookupathim.“HowdoyoufeelaboutFrootLoops?”
“Thecereal?”
“Yeah.Breakfastfordinner.IfIstillhavemilk.Letmecheck—”
Hedoesnot.Letmecheck,thatis.Insteadheenvelopsmyfacewithhishandsandleansovertome.
Ourfirstkiss,fiveyearsago,wasallme.Mereachingout.Meinitiating.Meguidinghim.Thisone,though…Iansetseverything.Therhythm,thetempo,thewayhistonguelicksintomymouth—everything.Itlastsforaminute,thentwo,thenanuncountablelengthoftimethatblursintoamessofliquidheatandtremblinghandsandsoft,filthynoises.Myarmslooparoundhisneck.Oneofhislegsslidesbetweenmine.IrealizethatthisisgoingtoendexactlylikeourafternoonatJPL.Bothofuscompletelyoutofcontrol,and…
“Stop,”Isay,barelybreathing.
Hepullsback.“Stop?”He’snotbreathingatall
“Dinnerfirst.”
Heexhales.“Really?Nowyouwantdinner?”
“Ipromised.”
“Didyou?”
“Yes.I’mtryingto—toshowyouthat—”
“Hannah.”Hisforeheadtouchesmine.Helaughsagainstmymouth.“Dinneris…it’ssymbolic.Ametaphor.Ifyoutellmethatyou’rewillingtoseewherethingsgo,Ibelieveyou,andwecan—”
“No,”Isaystubbornly.Theurgetotouchhimisnearlypainful.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasthisturnedon.“We’rehavingoursymbolicdinner.I’mgoingtoshowyouthat—whatareyoudoing?”
Heis,Ibelieve,turningaroundtoplucktwograpesfromthesameclusterIhalfatethismorning.HepressesoneagainstmylipstillIbiteintoit,popstheotherinhismouth.Webothchewforawhile,eyeslocked.ThoughhefinishesbeforeIdo,startskissingmeagain,and—amess.
We’reamess
“Doneeatingyourdinner?”heasksagainstmylips.Inod.“Youstillhungry?”Ishakemyheadandhepicksmeupandcarriesmetothe—
“Wrongdoor!”Isaywhenhetriestoenterthebathroom,thentheclosetwhereIkeepthevacuumcleanerIneveruseandtheonepairofsparesheetsIown,andbythetimewe’reonmybedwe’rebothlaughing.Ourteethclacktogetherwhenwetryandfailtokeepkissingasweundresseachother,andIdon’tthinkthatanythinghaseverbeenlikethisbefore,intimateandsweetandsomuchfunatthesametime.
“Just—letme—”Ifinishtakingoffhisshirtandstareathistorso,mesmerized.It’spaleandbroad,fulloffrecklesandlargemuscles.Iwanttobitehimandlickallover.“You’reso…”
Hehasundonemycast.Hesetsitaside,nexttothepajamabottomsthatIthrewonthefloorthismorning,thenhelpsmewiggleoutofmyjeans.“Red?Andspotty?”
Ilaughalittleharder.“Yup.”
“That’swhatI—”
Ipresshimdowntillhe’slyingonthebed.ThenIstraddlehimandpeeloffmytop,ignoringtheslightstinginmyankle.Thisshouldbefamiliargroundtome:bodiesagainstbodies,fleshagainstflesh.Justseeingwhatfeelsgoodandthendoingmoreofit.Itshouldbefamiliar,butI’mnotsureitis.BeingherewithIanismorelikehearing
“God,youlookso—Whatworksbestforyou?”heasksbetweenbreaths.“Foryourankle?”
“Don’tworry,itdoesn’treallyhu—”Istopmyselfassomethingoccurstome.“You’reright.Iaminjured.”
Hiseyeswiden.“Wedon’thaveto—”
“WhichmeansthatIshouldprobablybeincharge.”
Henods.“Butwedon’thaveto—”
Heshutsupthemomentmyhandreachesthezipperofhisjeans.Andhestayssilent,breathingsharply,staringmesmerizedatthewayIundoit,slow,methodical,determined.Hisboxersaretented.Heishard,big.Iremembertouchinghimforthefirsttimeandthinkinghowgoodthesexwasgoingtobe.
Ijustdidn’tthinkitwouldtakeusfiveyearstogetthere.
“Hannah,”hesays.
Ireachinsidetheslitofhisboxerstocuphim.Thesecondmyfingersclosearoundhim,hisnostrilsflare.“Yes?”
“Idon’tthinkyouunderstandhow—Fuck.”
Heishotandhuge.Closinghiseyes,archinghisneckbeforelookingatmeagainwithahalf-warning,half-pleadingexpression.Hefindsmesittingonhisknees,hiscockspasminginmygripasIleanover.“Hannah,”hesays,evendeeperthanusual.“Whatareyou…”
Istartbylickingthehead,thoroughly,delicately.Buthefeelssmoothandwarmagainstmytongue,andIimmediatelygetimpatient.Iflipmyhairsoit’snotinthewayandsealmylipsaroundhim,suckgentlyonce,twice,andthen…
Ihearagrowl.Thenthesoundofsomethingripping.Withthecornerofmyeye,InoticeIan’slargehandfistingthesheet.Didhejusttearmy—
“Stop,”hesays,pleads,ordersme.
Mybrowfurrows.“Youdon’tlikeit?”
“It’snot—”Itightenmygriparoundhislength,andIcanalmosthearhisteethgrind.Hischeeksarebrightred.MarsRed.“Wecan’t.Notthefirsttime.Weneedtodoitinawaythatwon’tmakeme…”
Ipressasoft,lingeringkissatthebase.Heinhalesonce,audibly,fromhisnose.“Sowhatyou’resayingis…youdon’twanttocome?”
“It’smore—shit—aboutkeepingmydignity,”herushesout.
“Dignityisoverrated,”Isaybeforerunningmyteethuphislengthtotaketheheadinmymouthagain.Thistime,heseemstojustgivein.Hishandslidesthroughmyhair,cupsthebackofmyskull,andforasecondhekeepsmethere.Pullsmecloser.PressesmeagainsthimuntilIfeelthetipofhiscockhittingthebackofmythroat.IyieldtoIan,enjoyingthefeelingofhimlosingcontrol,thesaltyflavor,histremblingthighs,thehelplesswayhetugsatmyhairtogetmetotakemore,deeper,better—
Suddenly,it’sallupsidedown.I’mbeingdraggeduphisbody,flippedonmyback,pinnedtothebed.Oneofhishandscanholdbothmywristsabovemyhead,andwhenIlookupIfindhimcagingme.Ifirstnoticethepanicinhiseyes,thenhowclosehewastocoming,thenthesheerreliefthathemanagedtostaveitoff.
“Hannah,”hesays.Histoneislacedwithcommand.
“What?”
Hiscocktwitchesagainstmyabdomen.“IthinkI’llbeinchargenow.”
Ipout.“ButI—”
“I’msorry,but—it’shappening.I’mgoingtofuckyou.I’mnotgoingtocomeinyour—”Hedoesn’tfinishthesentence.Justleansforwardtokissme,andbythetimehe’sdone,I’mnodding,breathless.
“Doyouhavecondoms?”
“No.ButI’monthepill.Wecandoitwithoutanythingifyou’renotgivingmegrossSTDs.ButItrustthatyouwouldn’tsavemefromthewalrusesjusttohavemedieofchlamydia,so—”
Ithinkhelikestheideaofusdoingitwithoutanything.Ithinkhelovestheidea,becausefirsthekissesmebreathless,thenhegetstoworkontakingeverything—everylastlayer—offbothofus.
Thetruthis,Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasfullynakedwithsomeone.WhenI’mhavingsex—thetypeofsexIusuallygofor—therealwaystendstobetheoddirremovablelayer.Abra,atanktop.Not-quite-all-the-way-offpanties.Mypartnershavebeenthesame,withboxerstwistedattheirankles,skirtspulledup,still-cuffedopenshirts
I’veneverdwelledtoomuchonthethought,butthelackofintimacybehindtheencountersiscrystalclearnow.NowthatIanisdrapedoverme,suckingatmybreastsasiftheyareripefruits,histonguesweetandroughagainstthepliantunderside,alternatingbetweentoomuchandnotenough.
Hespreadsmylegsopenwithhisknee,positionshimselfrightbetweenthem,andIexpecthimtoslideininonesmoothmove.I’mcertainlywetenough,andthewayhegripsmywaistbetrayshiseagerness.Butforlongmomentshejustseemssatisfiedtonibbleonmytits.EventhoughIcanfeelhiserection,hotandalittlewet,rubbingagainsttheinsideofmythighwheneverheshifts.Itleadstomegaspingandhimgroaning,somethingdeepandrichrisingfromthepitofhischest.
“Ithoughtyousaidyouwantedtofuck?”Ibreatheout.
“Ido,”herumbles.“Butthis…thisisgood,too.”
“Youcan’t”—asharpintakeofbreath—“youcan’tlikemytitsthismuch,Ian.”
Asoftbite,rightaroundthehardpointofmynipple.Myspineshootsupfromthebed.“Why?”
“Because—they’re…Nooneeverhas.”Idon’twanttomentionthatmybreastsarenothingtowritehomeabout—heprobablyalreadyknows,sincetheyhavebeeninhismouthforthebetterpartofthelasttenminutes.Heseemstogetit,anyway.
“Youhavethemostperfectlittletits.Ialwaysthoughtso.SincethefirsttimeImetyou.EspeciallythefirsttimeImetyou.”Hesucksononewhilepinchingtheother.Heis—precise.Good.Enthusiastic.Filthy.“They’reasprettyastheColumbiaHills.”
Achokedlaughbubblesoutofme.It’sstupidlynicetohavesomeonecomparemybodytoatopographicalfeatureofMars.Ormaybeit’sjustnicetohavesomeonewhoknowstheColumbiaHillstuggingatmynipplesandstaringatthemlikethey’retheeighthandninthwondersoftheuniverse.
“This,”hemurmursintotheskintrailinguptomysternum,“thisistheMedusaeFossae.Itevenhastheseprettylittlefreckles.”Histeethclosearoundmyrightcollarbone.Itwouldbehoteveniftheheadofhiscockweren’tstartingtobrushagainstmypussy.It’swetnessmeetingwetness,alotofmutualeagerness,amesswaitingtohappen.IbandmyarmsaroundIan’sneckandpullhishugeshouldersintomyself,likehe’sthesunofmyveryownstarsystem.
“Hannah.Ididn’tthinkIcouldwantyoumore,butlastyear,whenIsawyouatNASA,I…”Heisslurringhiswords.IanFloyd,alwayscalm,levelheaded,articulate.“IthoughtI’ddieifIcouldn’tfuckyou.”
“Youcanfuckmenow,”Iwhine,impatient,pullinghishairashemoveslower.“Youcanfuckmehoweverandwhereveryouwant.”
“Iknow.Iknow,you’regoingtoletmedoitall.”Heexhalesaticklishtrailalongmyribcage.“ButmaybeIwanttoplaywiththeHerschelCraterfirst.”Histonguedipsinsidemybellybutton,tastingandprobing;butwhenIbegintosquirmandpullhimup,hefollowsmeekly,asifawarethatIcan’ttakemuchmore.Maybehecan’ttakemuchmore,either:hisfingerpartsmyswollenlabiatosliparoundmyclit,aslowcirclewithalittletoomuchpressure.Exceptthatitmightbejusttherightamount.I’mdissolvingnow,inapoolofcoiledmusclesandstickypleasure.
Okay.Sosexcanbe…this.Goodtoknow.
“Thisone,”Ianpantsagainstmymouth,nopretenseofkissingnow.Mymouthisslackwithpleasureandhe’sjuststealingairfromme,suckingbeestingsintomylipsandgroaninghisapprovalintomycheekbone.“ThisonerighthereistheSolisLacus.TheEyeofMars.Gettingallworkedupduringduststorms.”
Hehasperfecthands.Perfecttouch.Iwillexplodeandscattereverywhere,ameteoriteshoweralloverthebed.
“AndtheOlympusMons.”It’shispalmmassagingmyclitnow.Hisfingersslipintomewherevertheyfindanopening,untilthetensioninsidemeissosweet,I’llgoinsane.“Ireallywanttocomeinsideyou.CanI?”
Ishutmyeyesandmoan.It’sayes,andhemustbeabletotell.Becausehegruntsjustassoonastheheadofhiscockbeginstonudgeinsideme,alittletoolargeforcomfort,butverydeterminedtomakespaceforitself.Iordermyselftorelax.Andthen,whenhehitsaperfectspotinsideme,Iordermyselfnottocomeimmediately.
“Ormaybeit’stheVastitasBorealis.”He’sbarelyintelligible.Doingthoselittlethruststhataredesignedmoretoopenmeupthantofuckmeproperly,andyetwe’reboththisclosetoorgasm.It’salittlescary.“Theoceansthatusedtofillit,Hannah.”
“Thereisno—”Itrytogroundmyself.Tofindaplaceinsideofmethatissafefromthepleasure.Ienduponlydiggingmygoodheelintohisthigh,tryingtocomprehendhowsuchspectacularfrictioncanexist.“Wedon’tknowthatthereeverreallywasanocean.OnMars.”
Ian’seyeslosefocus.Theywidenandholdmine,unseeing.Andthenhesmilesandbeginstomoveforreal,withalittlewhisperinmyear.
“Ibettherewas.”
Thepleasurecrashesovermelikeatidalwave.Iclosemyeyes,holdontohimastightasIcan,andlettheoceanwashoverme.Epilogue
JetPropulsionLab,Pasadena,California
Ninemonthslater
Thecontrolroomissilent.Unmoving.Aseaofpeopleindark-bluepoloshirtsandredJPLlanyardswhosomehowmanagetobreatheinunison.Untilaboutfiveminutesago,thehandfulofjournalistsinvitedtodocumentthishistoricaleventwereclearingtheirthroats,shufflingtheirequipment,askingtheoccasionalwhisperedquestion.Butthat,too,hasstopped.
Nowweallwait.Silent.
“…expectonlyintermittentcontactatthistime.Adropoutasthevehicleswitchesantennas…”
IglanceatIan,whositsinthechairnexttomine.Hehasn’tbotheredtoturnonhismonitor.Instead,he’sbeenwatchingtheprogressoftheroveronmine,hisfrowndeepandworried.Thismorning,whenIstraightenedthecollarofhisshirtandtoldhimhowgoodhelookedinblue,hedidn’treply.Honestly,Idon’tthinkheevenheardme.He’sbeenvery,verypreoccupiedforthepastweek.WhichIhappentofind…kindofcute.
“Headingdirectlyforthetarget.Theroverisaboutfifteenmetersoffthesurface,and…we’regettingsomesignalsfromMRO.TheUHFlooksgood.”
Ireachouttobrushmyfingersagainsthisunderthetable.It’smeanttobejustafleeting,reassuringtouch,buthishandclosesaroundmine,andIdecidetostay.
WithIan,Ialwaysdecidetostay.
“Touchdownconfirmed!SerendipityhassafelylandedonthesurfaceofMars!”
Theroomeruptsintocheers.Everyoneexplodesoutoftheirseats,cheering,clapping,laughing,jumping,hugging.Andwithinthedelightful,triumphant,radiantchaosofmissioncontrol,IturntoIan,andheturnstomewiththewidest,mostbrilliantofsmiles.
Thefollowingday,ourkissisonthefrontpageoftheNewYorkTimesDon’tmiss
LoveontheBrain
comingsoonfromBerkleyJove!
“Bytheway,youcangetleprosyfromarmadillos.”
IpeelmynoseawayfromtheairplanewindowandglanceatRocío,myresearchassistant.“Really?”
“Yep.Theygotitfromhumansmillenniaago,andnowthey’regivingitbacktous.”Sheshrugs.“Revengeandcolddishesandallthat.”
Iscrutinizeherbeautifulfaceforhintsthatshe’slying.Herlargedarkeyes,heavilyrimmedwitheyeliner,areinscrutable.HerhairissoVantablack,itabsorbs99percentofvisiblelight.Hermouthisfull,curveddownwardinitstypicalpout.
Nope.Igotnothing.“Isthisforreal?”
“WouldIeverlietoyou?”
“LastweekyousworetomethatStephenKingwaswritingaWinnie-the-Poohspin-off.”AndIbelievedher.LikeIbelievedthatLadyGagaisaknownsatanist,orthatbadmintonracquetsaremadefromhumanbonesandintestines.Chaoticgothmisanthropyandcreepydeadpansarcasmareherbrand,andIshouldknowbetterthantotakeherseriously.Problemis,everyonceinawhileshe’llthrowinacrazy-soundingstorythatuponfurtherinspection(i.e.,aGooglesearch)isrevealedtobetrue.Forinstance,didyouknowthattheTexasChainsawMassacrewasinspiredbyatruestory?BeforeRocío,Ididn’t.AndIsleptsignificantlybetter.
“Don’tbelieveme,then.”Sheshrugs,goingbacktohergradschooladmissionprepbook.“Gopettheleperarmadillosanddie.”
She’ssuchaweirdo.Iadoreher.
“Hey,yousureyou’regoingtobefine,awayfromAlexforthenextfewmonths?”Ifeelalittleguiltyfortakingherawayfromherboyfriend.WhenIwastwenty-two,ifsomeonehadaskedmetobeapartfromTimformonths,I’dhavewalkedintothesea.Thenagain,hindsighthasprovenbeyonddoubtthatIwasacompleteidiot,andRocíoseemsprettyenthusedfortheopportunity.SheplanstoapplytoJohnsHopkins’sneuroprograminthefall,andtheNASAlineonherCVwon’thurt.SheevenhuggedmewhenIinvitedhertocomealong—amomentofweaknessI’msureshedeeplyregrets.
“Fine?Areyoukidding?”ShelooksatmelikeI’minsane.“ThreemonthsinTexas,doyouknowhowmanytimesI’llgettoseeLaLlorona?”
“La…what?”
SherollshereyesandpopsinherAirPods.“Youreallyknownothingaboutfamedfeministghosts.”
Ibitebackasmileandturnbacktothewindow.In1905,Dr.CuriedecidedtoinvestherNobelPrizemoneyintohiringherfirstresearchassistant.Iwonderifshe,too,endedupworkingwithamildlyterrifying,Cthulhu-worshippingemogirl.IstareatthecloudsuntilI’mbored,andthenItakemyphoneoutofmypocketandconnecttothecomplimentaryin-flightWi-Fi.IglanceatRocío,makingsurethatshe’snotpayingattentiontome,andanglemyscreenaway.
I’mnotaverysecretiveperson,mostlyoutoflaziness:Irefusetotakeonthecognitivelaboroftrackingliesandomissions.Ido,however,haveonesecret.OnesinglepieceofinformationthatI’veneversharedwithanyone—notevenmysister.Don’tgetmewrong,ItrustReikewithmylife,butIalsoknowherwellenoughtopicturethescene:sheiswearingaflowysundressandflirtingwithaScottishshepherdshemetinatrattoriaontheAmalfiCoast.TheydecidetodotheshroomstheyjustpurchasedfromaBelarusianfarmer,andmid-tripsheaccidentallyblurtsouttheonethingshe’sbeenexpresslyforbiddentorepeat:hertwinsister,Bee,runsoneofthemostpopularandcontroversialaccountsonAcademicTwitter.TheScottishshepherd’scousinisaclosetedmen’srightsactivistwhosendsmeadeadpossuminthemailandratsmeouttohisinsanefriends,andIgetfired.
No,thankyou.Ilovemyjob(andpossums)toomuchforthis.
Icreated@WhatWouldMarieDoduringmyfirstsemesterofgradschool.Iwasteachinganeuroanatomyclassanddecidedtogivemystudentsananonymousmid-semestersurveytoaskforhonestfeedbackonhowtoimprovethecourse.WhatIgotwas…notthat.IwastoldthatmylectureswouldbemoreinterestingifIdeliveredthemnaked.ThatIshouldgainsomeweight,getaboobjob,stopdyingmyhair“unnaturalcolors,”getridofmypiercings.IwasevengivenaphonenumbertocallifIwas“everinthemoodforaten-inchdick.”(Yeah,right.)
Themessageswereprettyappalling,butwhatsentmesobbinginabathroomstallwasthereactionsoftheotherstudentsinmycohort—Timincluded.Theylaughedthecommentsoffasharmlesspranksanddissuadedmefromreportingthemtothedepartmentchair,tellingmethatI’dbemakingastinkaboutnothing
Theywere,ofcourse,allmen.
(Seriously:Whyaremen?)
ThatnightIfellasleepcrying.Thefollowingday,Igotup,wonderedhowmanyotherwomeninSTEMfeltasaloneasIdid,andimpulsivelydownloadedTwitterandmade@WhatWouldMarieDo.IslappedonapoorlyphotoshoppedpicofDr.Curiewearingsunglassesandaone-linebio:Makingtheperiodictablegirliersince1889(she/her).Ijustwantedtoscreamintothevoid.Ihonestlydidn’tthinkthatanyonewouldevenseemyfirstTweet.ButIwaswrong.
@WhatWouldMarieDoWhatwouldDr.Curie,firstfemaleprofessoratLaSorbonne,doifoneofherstudentsaskedhertodeliverherlecturesnaked?
@198888Shewouldshortenhishalf-life.
@annahhhhRATHIMOUTTOPIERRE!!!
@emily89Putsomepoloniuminhispantsandwatchhisdickshrivel.
@bioworm55NukehimNUKEHIM
@lucyintheseaHasthishappenedtoyou?GodI’msosorry.Onceastudentsaidsomethingaboutmyassanditwassogrossandnoonebelievedme.
Overhalfadecadelater,afterahandfulofChronicleofHigherEducationnods,aNewYorkTimesarticle,andaboutamillionfollowers,WWMDismyhappyplace.What’sbestis,Ithinkthesameistrueformanyothers.Theaccounthasevolvedintoatherapeuticcommunityofsorts,usedbywomeninSTEMtotelltheirstories,exchangeadvice,and…bitch.
Oh,webitch.Webitchalot,andit’sglorious.
@BiologySarahHey,@WhatWouldMarieDoifsheweren’tgivenauthorshiponaprojectthatwasoriginallyherideaandthatsheworkedonforoveroneyear?Allotherauthorsaremen,because*ofcourse*theyare.
“Yikes.”Iscrunchmyfaceandquote-tweetSarah.
Mariewouldslipsomeradiumintheircoffee.Also,shewouldconsiderreportingthistoherinstitution’sOfficeofResearchIntegrity,makingsuretodocumenteverystepoftheprocess?
Ihitsend,drummyfingersonthearmrest,andwait.Myanswersarenotthemainattractionoftheaccount,notintheleast.TherealreasonpeoplereachouttoWWMDis…
Yep.This.Ifeelmygrinwidenastherepliesstartcomingin.
@DrAllixxThishappenedtome,too.IwastheonlywomanandonlyPOCintheauthorlineupandmynamesuddenlydisappearedduringrevisions.DMifuwanttochat,Sarah.
@AmyBernardIamamemberoftheWomeninScienceAssociation,andwehaveadviceforsituationslikethisonourwebsite(they’resadlycommon)!
@TheGeologicianGoingthroughthesamesituationrn@BiologySarah.IdidreportittoORIandit’sstillunfoldingbutI’mhappytotalkifyouneedtovent.
@SteveHarrisonDude,breakingnews:you’relyingtoyourself.Yourcontributionsaren’tVALUABLEenoughtowarrantauthorship.Yourteamdidyouafavorlettingyoutagalongforawhilebutifyou’renotsmartenough,you’reOUT.Noteverythingisaboutbeingawoman,sometimesyou’rejustALOSER
Itisatruthuniversallyacknowledgedthatacommunityofwomentryingtomindtheirownbusinessmustbeinwantofarandomman’sopinion.
I’velonglearnedthatengagingwithbasement-dwellingSTEMlordswhocomeonlinelookingforafightisneveragoodidea—thelastthingIwantistoprovidefreeentertainmentfortheirfragileegos.Iftheywanttoblowoffsomesteam,theycanbuyagymmembershiporplaythird-person-shootervideogames.Likenormalpeople.
Imaketohide@SteveHarrison’sdelightfulcontributionbutnoticethatsomeonehasrepliedtohim.
@ShmacademicsYeah,Marie,sometimesyou’rejustaloser.Stevewouldknow.
Ichuckle.
@WhatWouldMarieDoAw,Steve.Don’tbetoohardonyourself.
@ShmacademicsHeisjustaboy,standinginfrontofagirl,askinghertodotwiceasmuchworkasheeverdidinordertoprovethatshe’sworthyofbecomingascientist.
@WhatWouldMarieDoSteve,youoldromantic.
@SteveHarrisonFuckyou.ThisridiculouspushforwomeninSTEMisruiningSTEM.Peopleshouldgetjobsbecausethey’regoodNOTBECAUSETHEYHAVEVAGINAS.ButnowpeoplefeelliketheyhavetohirewomenandtheygetjobsovermenwhoareMOREQUALIFIED.ThisistheendofSTEMANDIT’SWRONG
@WhatWouldMarieDoIcanseeyou’reupsetaboutthis,Steve.
@ShmacademicsThere,there.
Steveblocksbothofus,andIchuckleagain,drawingacuriousglancefromRocío.@ShmacademicsisanotherhugelypopularaccountonAcademicTwitter,andbyfarmyfavorite.Hemostlytweetsabouthowheshouldbewriting,makesfunofelitismandivory-toweracademics,andpointsoutbadorbiasedscience.Iwasinitiallyabitdistrustfulofhim—hisbiosays“he/him,”andweallknowhowcismenontheinternetcanbe.ButheandIendedupforminganallianceofsorts.WhentheSTEMlordstakeoffenseatthesheerideaofwomeninSTEMandstartpitchforkinginmymentions,hehelpsmeridiculethemalittle.I’mnotsurewhenwestarteddirectmessaging,whenIstoppedbeingafraidthathewassecretlyaretiredGamergaterouttodoxxme,orwhenIbeganconsideringhimafriend.Butahandfulofyearslater,hereweare,chattingabouthalfadozendifferentthingsacoupleoftimesaweek,withouthavingevenexchangedrealnames.Isitweird,knowingthatShmachadlicethreetimesinsecondgradebutnotwhichtimezonehelivesin?Abit.Butit’salsoliberating.Plus,havingopinionsonlinecanbeverydangerous.Theinternetisaseafullofcreepy,cybercriminalfish,andifMarkZuckerbergcancoverhislaptopwebcamwithapieceoftape,Ireservetherighttokeepthingspainfullyanonymous.
Theflightattendantoffersmeaglassofwaterfromatray.Ishakemyhead,smile,andDMShmac.
Marie:IthinkStevedoesn’twanttoplaywithusanymore.
Shmac:IthinkStevewasn’theldenoughasatadpole.
Marie:Lol!
Shmac:How’slife?
Marie:Good!Coolnewprojectstartingnextweek.Myticketawayfrommygrossboss
Shmac:Ihopeso.Can’tbelievedude’sstillaround.
Marie:Thepowerofconnections.Andinertia.Whataboutyou?
Shmac:Work’sinteresting.
Marie:Goodinteresting?
Shmac:Politickyinteresting.So,no.
Marie:I’mafraidtoask.How’stherest?
Shmac:Weird.
Marie:Didyourcatpoopinyourshoeagain?
Shmac:No,butIdidfindatomatoinmyboottheotherday.
Marie:Sendpicsnexttime!What’sgoingon?
Shmac:Nothing,really.
Marie:Oh,comeon!
Shmac:Howdoyouevenknowsomething’sgoingon?
Marie:Yourlackofexclamationpoints!
Shmac:!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Marie:Shmac.
Shmac:FYI,I’msighingdeeply.
Marie:Ibet.Tellme!
Shmac:It’sagirl.
Marie:Ooooh!TellmeEVERYTHING!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Shmac:Thereisn’tmuchtotell.
Marie:Didyoujustmeether?
Shmac:No.She’ssomeoneI’veknownforalongtime,andnowshe’sback.
Shmac:Andsheismarried.
Marie:Toyou?
Shmac:Depressingly,no.
Shmac:Sorry—we’rerestructuringthelab.Gottagobeforesomeonedestroysa5milpieceofequipment.Talklater.
Marie:Sure,butI’llwanttoknoweverythingaboutyouraffairwithamarriedwoman
Shmac:Iwish.
It’snicetoknowthatShmacisalwaysaclickaway,especiallynowthatI’mflyingintotheWardass’sfrosty,unwelcominglap.
IswitchtomyemailapptocheckifLevihasfinallyansweredtheemailIsentthreedaysago.Itwasjustacoupleoflines—Hey,longtimenosee,Ilookforwardtoworkingtogetheragain,wouldyouliketomeettodiscussBLINKthisweekend?—buthemusthavebeentoobusytoreply.Ortoofullofcontempt.Orboth.
Ugh.
Ileanbackagainsttheheadrestandclosemyeyes,wonderinghowDr.CuriewoulddealwithLeviWard.She’dprobablyhidesomeradioactiveisotopesinhispockets,grabpopcorn,andwatchnucleardecayworkitsmagic.
Yep,soundsaboutright.
Afterafewminutes,Ifallasleep.IdreamthatLeviispartarmadillo:hisskinglowsafaint,sallowgreen,andhe’sdiggingatomatooutofhisbootwithanexpensivepieceofequipment.Evenwithallofthat,theweirdestthingabouthimisthathe’sfinallybeingnicetome.
???
We’reputupinsmallfurnishedapartmentsinalodgingfacilityjustoutsidetheJohnsonSpaceCenter,onlyacoupleofminutesfromtheSullivanDiscoveryBuilding,wherewe’llbeworking.Ican’tbelievehowshortmycommuteisgoingtobe.
“Betyou’llstillmanagetobelateallthetime,”Rocíotellsme,andIglareatherwhileunlockingmydoor.It’snotmyfaultifI’vespentasizablechunkofmyformativeyearsinItaly,wheretimeisbutapolitesuggestion
TheplaceisconsiderablynicerthantheapartmentIrent—maybebecauseoftheraccoonincident,probablybecauseIbuy90percentofmyfurniturefromtheas-isbargaincorneratIkea.Ithasabalcony,adishwasher,and—hugeimprovementonmyqualityoflife—atoiletthatflushes100percentofthetimesIpushthelever.Trulyparadigmshifting.Iexcitedlyopenandcloseeverysinglecupboard(they’reallempty;I’mnotsurewhatIexpected),takepicturestosendReikeandmycoworkers,stickmyfavoriteMarieCuriemagnettothefridge(apictureofherholdingabeakerthatsays“I’mprettyrad”),hangmyhummingbirdfeederonthebalcony,andthen…
It’sstillonlytwo-thirtyp.m.Ugh.
NotthatI’moneofthosepeoplewhohateshavingfreetime.Icouldeasilyspendfivesolidhoursnapping,rewatchinganentireseasonofTheOfficewhileeatingTwizzlers,ormovingtostep2ofthecouch-to-5KplanI’mstillvery…okay,sortofcommittedto.ButIamhere!InHouston!NeartheSpaceCenter!Abouttostartthecoolestprojectofmylife!
It’sFriday,andI’mnotduetocheckinuntilMonday,butI’mbrimmingwithnervousenergy.SoItextRocíotoaskwhethershewantstocheckouttheSpaceCenterwithme(No.)ortograbdinnertogether(Ionlyeatanimalcarcasses.).
She’ssomean.Iloveher.
MyfirstimpressionofHoustonis:big.Closelyfollowedby:humid,andthenby:humidlybig.InMaryland,remnantsofsnowstillclingtotheground,buttheSpaceCenterisalreadylushandgreen,amixofopenspacesandlargebuildingsandoldNASAaircraftondisplay.Therearefamiliesvisiting,whichremindsmealittleofanamusementpark.Ican’tbelieveI’mgoingtobeseeingrocketsonmywaytoworkforthenextthreemonths.ItsurebeatsthepervcrossingguardwhoworksontheNIHcampus.
TheDiscoveryBuildingisontheoutskirtsofthecenter.It’swide,futuristic,andthree-storied,withglasswallsandacomplicated-lookingstairsystemIcan’tquitefigureout.Istepinsidethemarblehall,wonderingifmynewofficewillhaveawindow.I’mnotusedtonaturallight;thesuddenintakeofvitaminDmightkillme.
“I’mBeeK?nigswasser.”Ismileatthereceptionist.“I’mstartingworkhereonMonday,andIwaswonderingifIcouldtakealookaround?”
Hegivesmeanapologeticsmile.“Ican’tletyouinifyoudon’thaveanIDbadge.Theengineeringlabsareupstairs—high-securityareas.”
Right.Yes.Theengineeringlabs.Levi’slabs.He’sprobablyupthere,hardatwork.Engineering.Labbing.Notansweringmyemails.
“Noproblem,that’sunderstandable.I’lljust—”
“Dr.K?nigswasser?Bee?”
Iturnaround.Thereisablondyoungmanbehindme.He’snonthreateninglyhandsome,mediumheight,smilingatmelikewe’reoldfriendseventhoughhedoesn’tlookfamiliar.“…Hi?”
“Ididn’tmeantoeavesdrop,butIcaughtyourname,and…I’mGuy.GuyKowalsky?”
Thenameclicksimmediately.Ibreakintoagrin.“Guy!It’ssonicetomeetyouinperson.”WhenIwasfirstnotifiedofBLINK,Guywasmypointofcontactforlogisticsquestions,andheandIemailedbackandforthafewtimes.He’sanastronaut—anactualastronaut!—workingonBLINKwhilehe’sgrounded.Heseemedsofamiliarwiththeproject,Iinitiallyassumedhe’dbemyco-lead.
Heshakesmyhandwarmly.“Iloveyourwork!I’vereadallyourarticles—you’llbesuchanassettotheproject.”
“Likewise.Ican’twaittocollaborate.”
IfIweren’tdehydratedfromtheflight,I’dprobablytearup.Icannotbelievethatthisman,thisnice,pleasantmanwhohasgivenmemorepositiveinteractionsinoneminutethanDr.Wardassdidinoneyear,couldhavebeenmyco-lead.Imusthavepissedoffsomegod.Zeus?Eros?MustbePoseidon.Shouldn’thavepeedintheBalticSeaduringmymisspentyouth.
“Whydon’tIshowyouaround?Youcancomeinasmyguest.”Henodstothereceptionistandgesturesatmetofollowhim.
“Iwouldn’twanttotakeyouawayfrom…astronauting?”
“I’mbetweenmissions.Givingyouatourbeatsdebugginganyday.”Heshrugs,somethingboyishlycharmingabouthim.We’llgetalonggreat,Ialreadyknowit.
“HaveyoulivedinHoustonlong?”Iaskaswestepintotheelevator.
“Abouteightyears.CametoNASArightoutofgradschool.AppliedfortheAstronautCorps,didthetraining,thenamission.”Idosomemathinmyhead.Itwouldputhiminhismid-thirties,olderthanIinitiallythought.“Thepasttwoorso,IworkedonBLINK’sprecursor.Engineeringthestructureofthehelmet,figuringoutthewirelesssystem.Butwegottoapointwhereweneededaneurostimulationexpertonboard.”Hegivesmeawarmsmile.
“Icannotwaittoseewhatwecookuptogether.”IalsocannotwaittofindoutwhyLeviwasgiventheleadofthisprojectoversomeonewhohasbeenonitforfiveyears.Itjustseemsunfair.ToGuyandtome.
Theelevatordoorsopen,andhepointstoaquaint-lookingcaféinthecorner.“Thatplaceoverthere—amazingsandwiches,worstcoffeeintheworld.Youhungry?”
“No,thanks.”
“Yousure?It’sonme.Theeggsandwichesarealmostasgoodasthecoffeeisbad.”
“Idon’treallyeateggs.”
“Letmeguess,avegan?”
Inod.Itryhardtobreakthestereotypesthatplaguemypeopleandnotusetheword“vegan”inmyfirstthreemeetingswithanewacquaintance,butifthey’retheonestomentionit,allbetsareoff.
“Ishouldintroduceyoutomydaughter.Sherecentlyannouncedthatshewon’teatanimalproductsanymore.”Hesighs.“LastweekendIpouredregularmilkinhercerealfiguringshewouldn’tknowthedifference.Shetoldmethatherlegalteamwillbeintouch.”
“Howoldisshe?”
“Justturnedsix.”
Ilaugh.“Goodluckwiththat.”
Istoppedhavingmeatatseven,whenIrealizedthatthedeliciouspollonuggetsmySiciliangrandmotherservednearlyeverydayandthecutegallinegrazingaboutthefarmweremore…connectedthanIoriginallysuspected.Stunningplottwist,Iknow.Reikewasn’tnearlyasdistraught:whenIfranticallyexplainedthat“Pigshavefamilies,too.Amomandadadandsiblingsthatwillmissthem,”shejustnoddedthoughtfullyandsaid,“Whatyou’resayingis,weshouldeatthewholefamily?”Iwentfullyveganacoupleofyearslater.Meanwhile,mysisterhasmadeitherlife’sgoaltoeatenoughanimalproductsfortwo.Togetherweemitonenormalperson’scarbonfootprint.
“Theengineeringlabsaredownthishallway,”Guysays.Thespaceisaninterestingmixofglassandwood,andIcanseeinsidesomeoftherooms.“Abitcluttered,andmostpeopleareofftoday—we’reshufflingaroundequipmentandreorganizingthespace.We’vegotlotsofongoingprojects,butBLINK’severyone’sfavoritechild.Theotherastronautspopbyeveryonceinawhilejusttoaskhowmuchlongeritwillbeuntiltheirfancyswagisready.”
Igrin.“Forreal?”
“Yep.”
Makingfancyswagforastronautsismyliteraljobdescription.IcanaddittomyLinkedInprofile.NotthatanyoneusesLinkedIn.
“Theneurosciencelabs—yourlabs—willbeontheright.Thiswaythereare—”Hisphonerings.“Sorry—mindifItakeit?”
“Notatall.”Ismileathisbeaverphonecase(“Nature’sEngineer”)andlookaway.
IwonderwhetherGuywouldthinkI’mlameifIsnappedafewpicturesofthebuildingformyfriends.IdecidethatIcanlivewiththat,butwhenItakeoutmyphone,Ihearanoisefromdownthehallway.It’ssoftandchirpy,andsoundsalotlikea…
“Meow.”
IglancebackatGuy.He’sbusyexplaininghowtoputonMoanatosomeoneveryyoung,soIdecidetoinvestigate.Mostoftheroomsaredeserted,labsfulloflarge,abstruseequipmentthatlookslikeitbelongsto…well.NASA.Ihearmalevoicessomewhereinthebuilding,butnosignofthe—
“Meow.”
Iturnaround.Afewfeetaway,staringatmewithacuriousexpression,isabeautifulyoungcalico.
“Andwhomightyoube?”Islowlyholdoutmyhand.Thekittencomescloser,delicatelysniffsmyfingers,andgivesmeawelcomingheadbutt.
Ilaugh.“You’resuchasweetgirl.”Isquatdowntoscratchherunderherchin.Shenipsmyfinger,aplayfullovebite.“Aren’tyouthemostpurr-fectlittlebaby?Ifeelsofur-tunatetohavemetyou.”
Shegivesmeadisdainfullookandturnsaway.Ithinksheunderstandspuns.
“Comeon,Iwasjustkitten.”Anotheroutragedglare.Thenshejumpsonanearbycart,piledceiling-highwithboxesandheavy,precarious-lookingequipment.“Whereareyougoing?”
Isquint,tryingtofigureoutwhereshedisappeared,andthat’swhenIrealizeit.Thepieceofequipment?Theprecarious-lookingone?Itactuallyisprecarious.Andthecatpokeditjustenoughtodislodgeit.Andit’sfallingonmyhead.
Right.
About.
Now.
Ihavelessthanthreesecondstomoveaway.Whichistoobad,becausemyentirebodyissuddenlymadeofstone,unresponsivetomybrain’scommands.Istandthere,terrified,paralyzed,andclosemyeyesasajumbledchaosofthoughtstwiststhroughmyhead.Isthecatokay?AmIgoingtodie?OhGod,Iamgoingtodie.SquashedbyatungstenanvillikeWileE.Coyote.Iamatwenty-firstcenturyPierreCurie,abouttogetmyskullcrushedbyahorse-drawncart.ExceptthatIhavenochairinthephysicsdepartmentoftheUniversityofParistoleavetomylovelyspouse,Marie.ExceptthatIhavebarelydoneatenthofallthescienceImeanttodo.ExceptthatIwantedsomanythingsandIneverohmyGodanysecondnow—
Somethingslamsintomybody,shovingmeasideandintothewall.
Everythingispain.
Foracoupleofseconds.Thenthepainisover,andeverythingisnoise:metalclankingasitplungestothefloor,horrifiedscreaming,ashrill“meow”somewhereinthedistance,and,closertomyear…someoneispanting.Lessthananinchfromme.
Iopenmyeyes,gaspingforbreath,and
Green.
AllIcanseeisgreen.Notdark,likethegrassoutside;notdull,likethepistachiosIhadontheplane.Thisgreenislight,piercing,intense.Familiar,buthardtoplace,notunlike—
Eyes.I’mlookingupintothegreenesteyesI’veeverseen.EyesthatI’veseenbefore.Eyessurroundedbywavyblackhairandafacethat’sanglesandsharpedgesandfulllips,afacethat’soffensively,imperfectlyhandsome.Afaceattachedtoalarge,solidbody—abodythatispinningmetothewall,abodymadeofabroadchestandtwothighsthatcouldmoonlightasredwoods.Easily.Oneisslottedbetweenmylegsandit’sholdingmeup.Unyielding.Thismanevensmellslikeaforest—andthatmouth.Thatmouthisstillbreathingheavilyontopofme,probablyfromtheeffortofwhiskingmeofffromundersevenhundredpoundsofmechanicalengineeringtools,and—
Iknowthatmouth.
Levi.
Levi.
Ihaven’tseenLeviWardinsixyears.Sixblessed,blissfulyears.Andnowhereheis,pushingmeintoawallinthemiddleofNASA’sSpaceCenter,andhelooks…helooks…
“Levi!”someoneyells.Theclankinggoessilent.Whatwasmeanttofallhassettledonthefloor.“Areyouokay?”
Levidoesn’tmove,nordoeshelookaway.Hismouthworks,andsodoeshisthroat.Hislipsparttosaysomething,butnosoundcomesout.Insteadahand,atoncerushedandgentle,reachesuptocupmyface.It’ssolarge,Ifeelperfectlycradled.Engulfedingreen,cozywarmth.Iwhimperwhenitleavesmyskin,aplaintive,involuntarysoundfromdeepinmythroat,butIstopwhenIrealizethatit’sonlyshiftingtothebackofmyskull.Tothehollowofmycollarbone.Tomybrow,pushingbackmyhair.