Loathe to Love You

PraiseforAliHazelwood
“Aliterarybreakthrough….TheLoveHypothesisisaself-assureddebut,andwehypothesizeit’sjustthefirstbitofgreatnesswe’llseefromanauthorwhosomehowhastheaudacitytobebothanacademicpowerhouseand[a]divinelytalentednovelist.”
—EntertainmentWeekly
“Contemporaryromance’sunicorn:theelusivemarriageofdeeplybrainyanddelightfullyescapist….TheLoveHypothesishaswildcommercialappeal,butthequietersecretisthatthereisaspecificaudience,madeupofalloftheOlivesintheworld,whohavedeeply,ardentlywaitedforthisexactbook.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorChristinaLauren
“Withhersophomorenovel,AliHazelwoodprovesthatsheistheperfectwritertoshowthatscienceissexyashell,andthatlovecan‘STEM’fromthemostunlikelyplaces.She’smynewestmust-buyauthor.”
—#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorJodiPicoult
“Funny,sexy,andsmart.AliHazelwooddidaterrificjobwithTheLoveHypothesis.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorMarianaZapata
“Gloriouslynerdyandsexy,withon-pointcommentaryaboutwomeninSTEM.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorHelenHoang
“STEMinists,assemble.Yourworldisabouttoberocked.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorElenaArmas
“Thistacklesoneofmyfavoritetropes—GrumpymeetsSunshine—inafunandutterlyendearingway….Ilovedthenodstowardfandomandromancenovels,andIcouldn’tputitdown.Highlyrecommended!”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorJessicaClare
“Pureslow-burninggoldwithlotsofchemistry.”
—PopSugar
“Abeautifullywrittenromanticcomedywithaheroineyouwillinstantlyfallinlovewith,TheLoveHypothesisisdestinedtoearnaplaceonyourkeepershelf.”
—ElizabethEverett,authorofALady’sFormulaforLove
“Smart,wittydialogueandadiversecastoflikablesecondarycharacters….Arealistic,amusingnovelthatreaderswon’tbeabletoputdown.”
—LibraryJournal(starredreview)
“Hilariousandheartwarming,TheLoveHypothesisisromanticcomedyatitsbest….Aperfectamalgamationofsexandscience,suretoappealtoreadersofChristinaLaurenorAbbyJimenez.”
—ShelfAwareness
“Withwhip-smartandendearingcharacters,snappyprose,andaquirkytakeonafavoritetrope,Hazelwoodconvincinglynavigatesthefraughtshoalsofacademia.”
—PublishersWeeklyTITLESBYALIHAZELWOOD
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TheLoveHypothesis
LoveontheBrain
LOATHETOLOVEYOU
UnderOneRoof
StuckwithYou
BelowZeroBERKLEYROMANCE
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2023byAliHazelwood
UnderOneRoof,StuckwithYou,andBelowZerocopyright?2022byAliHazelwood
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
BERKLEYandtheBERKLEYandBcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
EbookISBN:9780593638002
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Hazelwood,Ali,author.
Title:Loathetoloveyou/AliHazelwood.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:BerkleyRomance,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2022021252|ISBN9780593437803(tradepaperback)
Subjects:LCGFT:Romancefiction.|Novellas.
Classification:LCCPS3608.A98845L632023|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20220502
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022021252
UnderOneRoof,StuckwithYou,andBelowZerowereoriginallypublishedseparatelyasaudioeditions,February,March,andApril2022respectively,andthenasebookeditions,May,June,andJuly2022respectively,byJove,animprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
FirstEdition:January2023
Coverillustrationbylilithsaur
BookdesignbyDanielBrount,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_142201953_c0_r0Contents
UnderOneRoof
StuckwithYou
BelowZero
BonusChapter
_142201953_UnderOneRoof
ForBecca,whoisthebestandhadthebestpromptPrologue
Present
Ilookatthepileofdishesinthesinkandreachapainfulrealization:I’vegotitbad.
Actually,scratchthat.IalreadyknewIhaditbad.ButifIhadn’t,thiswouldbeadeadgiveaway:thefactthatIcannotglanceatacolanderandtwelvedirtyforkswithoutseeingLiam’sdarkeyesasheleansagainstthecounter,armscrossedonhischest;withouthearinghisstern-yet-teasingvoiceaskingme,“Postmoderninstallationart?Orarewejustoutofsoap?”
Itcomesrightonthetrailofarrivinghomelateandnoticingthathelefttheporchlightonforme.Thatone…oh,thatonealwaysmakesmyhearthiccupinahalf-lovely,half-wrenchingway.Alsoheart-hiccupinducing:IremembertoturnitoffonceI’minside.Veryunlikeme,andpossiblyasignthatthechiaseedsludgehe’sbeenmakingmeforbreakfastinthemorningswhenI’mlateforworkisactuallymakingmybrainsmarter.
It’sgoodthatI’vedecidedtomoveout.Forthebest.Thesehearthiccupsarenotsustainableinthelongterm,nottomymentalorcardiovascularhealth.I’monlyahumblebeginneratthiswholepiningthing,butIcansafelystatethatlivingwithsomeguyyouusedtohateandsomehowendedupslippinginlovewithisnotawisemove.Trustme,Ihaveadoctorate.
(Inatotallyunrelatedfield,butstill.)
Youknowwhatisgoodaboutthepining?Theconstantnervousenergy.Ithasmelookingatthepileofdishesandthinkingthatcleaningthekitchencouldbeafunactivity.WhenLiamenterstheroom,I’mridingtheunexpectedurgetoloadthedishwasherasfarasitwillcarryme.Iglanceupathim,noticethewayhenearlyfillsthedoorframe,andordermyheartnottohiccup.Itdoesitanyway—evenaddsaflipforgoodmeasure.
Myheart’sajackass.
“You’reprobablywonderingifasniperisforcingmetodothedishesatgunpoint.”IbeamatLiamwithoutreallyexpectinghimtosmileback,because—Liam.He’snexttoimpossibletoread,butI’velongstoppedtryingtoseehisamusement,andIjustletmyselffeelit.It’snice,andwarm,andIwanttobatheinit.Iwanttomakehimshakehishead,andsay“Mara”inthattoneofhis,andlaughagainsthisbetterjudgment.Iwanttopushuponmytoes,reachouttofixthedarkstrandofhaironhisforehead,burrowintohischesttosmelltheclean,delicioussmellofhisskin.
ButIdoubthewantsanyofthat.SoIturnbacktorinseacerealbowlhidingunderthecolander.
“Ifiguredyouwerebeingmind-controlledbythoseparasiticsporeswesawonthatdocumentary.”Hisvoiceislow.Rich.Iwillmissitso,somuch.
“Thosewerebarnacles—See,Iknewyoufellasleephalfway.”Hedoesn’treply.Whichisfine,because—Liam.Amanoffewsmilesandevenfewerwords.“So,youknowtheneighbors’puppy?ThatFrenchbulldog?Hemusthavegottenawayduringawalk,becauseIjustsawhimruntowardmeinthemiddleofthestreet.Leashhangingfromhisneckandall.”Ireachoutforatowelandmyhandbumpsintohim.He’sstandingrightbehindmenow.“Oops.Sorry.Anyway,Icarriedhimbackhomeandhewassocute…”
Istop.BecauseallofasuddenLiamisnotjuststandingbehindme.I’mbeingcrowdedagainstthesink,theedgeofthecounterpressedintomyhipbones,andthere’satallwallofheatflatagainstmyback.
OhmyGod.
Ishe…Didhetrip?Hemusthavetripped.Thisisanaccident.
“Liam?”
“Thisokay,Mara?”heasks,buthedoesn’tmoveaway.Hestaysrightwhereheis,frontpressedagainstmyback,handsagainstthecounteroneachsideofmyhips,and…Isthissomekindofluciddream?Isthisaheart-hiccup-generatedcardiovascularevent?Ismybrainconvertingmymostshamefulnighttimefantasiesintohallucinations?
“Liam?”Iwhimper,becauseheisnuzzlingmyhair.Rightabovemytemple,withhisnoseandmaybeevenhismouth,anditseemsdeliberate.Verymuchnotanaccident.Ishe—?No.No,surelynot
Buthishandsspreadonmybelly,andthat’swhattipsmeoffthatthisisdifferent.Thisdoesn’tfeellikeoneofthoseaccidentalbrushingofarmsinthehallway,theonesI’vebeentellingmyselftostopobsessingover.Itdoesn’tfeellikethattimeItrippedovermycomputercordandalmoststumbledintohislap,anditdoesn’tfeellikehimgentlyholdingmywristtocheckhowbadlyIburnedmythumbwhilecookingonthestove.Thisfeels…“Liam?”
“Shh.”Ifeelhislipsatmytemple,warmandreassuring.“Everything’sokay,Mara.”
Somethinghotandliquidbeginstocoilatthebottomofmybelly.One
Sixmonthsago
Frankly,“Theygetonlikeahouseonfire”isthemostmisleadingsayingintheEnglishlanguage.Faultywiring?Misuseofheatingequipment?Suspectedarson?Notevocativeoftwopeoplegettingalongintheleast.Youknowwhatahouseonfirehasmepicturing?Bazookas.Flamethrowers.Sirensinthedistance.Becausenothingismoreguaranteedtostartahousefirethantwoenemiesblowtorchingeachother’smostprizedpossession.Wanttotriggeranexplosion?Beingnicetoyourroommateisnotgoingtodoit.Lightingamatchontopoftheirkerosene-soakedhandmadequilt,ontheotherhand—”
“Miss?”TheUberdriverturns,lookingguiltyaboutinterruptingmypre-apocalypticspiel.“Justaheads-up—we’reaboutfiveminutesfromyourdestination.”
IsmileanapologeticThankyouandglancebackatmyphone.Mytwobestfriends’facestakeuptheentirescreen.Then,ontheuppercornerthere’sme:morefrownythanusual(welljustified),morepastythanusual(isthatevenpossible?),moregingerthanusual(mustbethefilter,right?).
“That’satotallyfairtake,Mara,”Sadiesayswithapuzzledexpression,“andIencourageyoutosubmityour,um,veryvalidcomplaintstoMadameMerriam-Websterorwhoever’sinchargeofthesematters,but…Iliterallyonlyaskedyouhowthefuneralwent.”
“Yes,Mara—how’d—funeral—go—?”ThequalityonHannah’sendofthecallispitiful,butthat’sbusinessasusual.
This,Isuppose,iswhathappenswhenyoumeetyourbestfriendsingradschool:Oneminuteyou’rehappyasaclam,clutchingyourshinybrand-newengineeringdiploma,gigglingyourwaythroughafifthroundofMidorisours.Thenextyou’reintears,becauseyou’reallgoingseparateways.FaceTimebecomesasnecessaryasoxygen.Therearezeroneon-greencocktailsinsight.Yourslightlyderangedmonologuesdon’thappenintheprivacyoftheapartmentyoushare,butinthesemipublicbackseatofanUber,whileyou’reonyourwaytohaveavery,veryweirdconversation.
See,that’sthethingIhatethemostaboutadulting:atsomepoint,onehastostartdoingit.Sadieisdesigningfancyeco-sustainablebuildingsinNewYorkCity.HannahisfreezingherbuttoffatsomeArcticresearchstationNASAputupinNorway.Andasforme..
I’mhere.MovingtoD.C.tostartmydreamjob—scientistattheEnvironmentalProtectionAgency.Onpaper,Ishouldbeoverthemoon.Butpaperburnssofast.Asfastashousesonfire.
“Helena’sfuneralwas…interesting.”Ileanbackagainsttheseat.“Iguessthat’stheupsideofknowingthatyou’reabouttodie.Yougettobullypeopleabit.Tellthemthatiftheydon’tplay‘KarmaChameleon’whileloweringyourcasketyourghostwillhaunttheirprogenyforgenerations.”
“I’mjustgladyouwereabletobewithherinthelastfewdays,”Sadiesays.
Ismilewistfully.“Shewastheworsttilltheveryend.Shecheatedinourlastchessgame.Asifshewouldn’thavebeatenmeanyway.”Imissher.Aninordinateamount.HelenaHarding,myPh.D.advisorandmentorforthepasteightyears,wasfamilyinawaymycold,distantbloodrelativesnevercaredtobe.Butshewasalsoelderly,inalotofpain,and,asshelikedtoputit,eagertomoveontobiggerprojects
“ItwassolovelyofhertoleaveyouherD.C.house,”Hannahsays.Shemusthavemovedtoabetterfjord,becauseIcanactuallymakeoutherwords.“Nowyou’llhaveaplacetobe,nomatterwhat.”
It’strue.It’salltrue,andIamimmenselygrateful.Helena’sgiftwasasgenerousasitwasunexpected,easilythekindestthinganyonehaseverdoneforme.Butthereadingofthewillwasaweekago,andthere’ssomethingIhaven’thadachancetotellmyfriends.Somethingcloselyrelatedtohousesonfire.“Aboutthat…”
“Uh-oh.”Twosetsofbrowsfurrow.“Whathappened?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Ilovecomplicated,”Sadiesays.“Isitalsodramatic?Letmegogettissues.”
“Notsureyet.”Itakeafortifyingbreath.“ThehouseHelenaleftme,asitturnsout,shedidn’treally…ownit.”
“What?”Sadieabortsthetissuemissiontofrownatme.
“Well,shedidownit.Butonlyalittle.Only…half.”
“Andwhoownstheotherhalf?”TrustHannahtozoominonthecruxoftheproblem.
“Originally,Helena’sbrother,whodiedandleftittohiskids.Thentheyoungestsonboughtouttheothers,andnowhe’sthesoleowner.Well,withme.”Iclearmythroat.“HisnameisLiam.LiamHarding.He’salawyerinhisearlythirties.Andhecurrentlylivesinthehouse.Alone.”
Sadie’seyeswiden.“Holyshit.DidHelenaknow?”
“Ihavenoclue.You’dassume,buttheHardingsaresuchaweirdfamily.”Ishrug.“Oldmoney.Lotsofit.ThinkVanderbilts.Kennedys.Whatevengoesoninrichpeople’sbrains?”
“Probablymonocles,”Hannahsays.
Inod.“Ortopiarygardens.”
“Cocaine.”
“Polotournaments.”
“Cufflinks.”
“Hangon,”Sadieinterruptsus.“WhatdidLiamVanderbiltKennedyHardingsayaboutthisatthefuneral?”
“Excellentquestion,but:hewasn’tthere.”
“Hedidn’tshowuptohisaunt’sfuneral?”
“Hedoesn’treallykeepintouchwithhisfamily.Lotsofdrama,Isuspect.”Itapmychin.“Maybethey’relessVanderbilts,moreKardashians?”
“Areyousayingthathedoesn’tknowthatyouowntheotherhalfofhishouse?”
“SomeonegavemehisnumberandItoldhimI’dbecomingaround.”Ipausebeforeadding,“Viatext.Wehaven’ttalkedyet.”Anotherpause.“Andhedidn’treally…reply.”
“Idon’tlikethis,”SadieandHannahsayinunison.AnyothertimeI’dlaughabouttheirhivemind,butthere’ssomethingelseIstillhaven’ttoldthem.Somethingthey’lllikeevenless.
“FunfactaboutLiamHarding…YouknowhowHelenawas,like,theOprahofenvironmentalscience?”Ichewonmylowerlip.“Andshealwaysjokedthatherentirefamilywasmostlyliberal-leaningacademicsouttosavetheworldfromtheclutchesofbigcorporations?”
“Yeah?”
“HernephewisacorporatelawyerforFGPCorp.”Justsayingthewordsmakesmewanttogarglewithmouthwash.Andfloss.Mydentistwillbethrilled.
“FGPCorp—thefossilfuelspeople?”AdeeplineappearsinthemiddleofSadie’sbrow.“Bigoil?Supermajors?”
“Yep.”
“OhmyGod.Doesheknowyou’reanenvironmentalscientist?”
“Well,Ididgivehimmyname.AndmyLinkedInprofileisjustaGooglesearchaway.DorichpeopleuseLinkedIn,youthink?”
“NooneusesLinkedIn,Mara.”Sadierubshertemple.“JesusChrist,thisisreallybad.”
“It’snotthatbad.”
“Youcan’tgomeetwithhimalone.”
“I’llbefine.”
“He’llkillyou.You’llkillhim.You’llkilleachother.”
“I…maybe?”Iclosemyeyesandleanbackagainsttheseat.I’vebeentalkingmyselfoutofpanickingforseventy-twohours—withmixedresults.Ican’tcracknow.“Believeme,he’sthelastpersonIwanttoco-ownahousewith.ButHelenadidleavehalfofittome,andIkindofneedit?Ioweabillioninstudentloans,andD.C.iscrazyexpensive.MaybeIcanstaythereforabit?Saveonrent.It’safiscallyresponsibledecision,no?”
Sadieface-palmsjustasHannahsayscombatively,“Mara,youwereagradstudentuntiltenminutesago.You’rebarelyabovethepovertyline.Donotlethimkickyououtofthathouse.”
“Maybehewon’tevenmind!I’mactuallyverysurprisedhelivesthere.Don’tgetmewrong,thehouseisnice,but…”Itrailoff,thinkingaboutthepicturesI’veseen,thehoursspentonGoogleStreetViewscrollingandrescrollingthroughtheframes,tryingtogetagriponthefactthatHelenacaredaboutmeenoughtoleavemeahouse.It’sabeautifulproperty,certainly.Butmoreofafamilyresidence.NotwhatI’dexpectfromanacelawyerwhoprobablyearnsaEuropeancountry’sannualGDPperbillablehour.“Don’thigh-poweredattorneysliveinluxuryfifty-ninth-floorpenthouseswithgoldenbidetsandbrandycellarsandstatuesofthemselves?ForallIknowhebarelyspendstimeinthehouse.SoI’mjustgoingtobehonestwithhim.Explainmysituation.I’msurewecanfindsomekindofsolutionthat—”
“Hereweare,”thedrivertellsmewithasmile.Ireturnit,atadweakly.
“Ifyoudon’ttextuswithinhalfanhour,”Hannahsaysinadead-serioustone,“I’mgoingtoassumethatBigOilLiamisholdingyoucaptiveinhisbasementandcalllawenforcement.”
“Oh,don’tworryaboutthat.RememberthatkickboxingclassItookinourthirdyear?Andthattimeatthestrawberryfestival,whenIkickedthebuttoftheguywhotriedtostealyourpie?”
“Hewasaneight-year-oldboy,Mara.Andyoudidnotkickhisbutt—yougavehimyourownpieandakissontheforehead.Textinthirty,orI’mcallingthecops.”
Iglareather.“Assumingapolarbearhasn’tmuggedyouinthemeantime.”
“Sadie’sinNewYork,andshehastheD.C.policeonspeeddial.”
“Yup.”Sadienods.“Settingituprightnow.”
IstartfeelingnervousthemomentIexitthecar,anditgetsworsethefartherIdragmysuitcaseupthepath—aheavyballofanxietyslowlynestlingbehindmysternum.Istopabouthalfwaytotakeadeepbreath.IblameHannahandSadie,whoworrywaytoomuchandareapparentlycontagious.I’llbefine.Thiswillbefine.LiamHardingandIwillhaveanice,calmchatandfigureoutthebestpossiblesolutionthatissatisfactoryto…
Itakeintheearly-fallyardaroundme,andmytrailofthoughtfadesaway.
It’sasimplehouse.Large,butnotopiaryshitorrococogazebosorthosecreepygnomes.Justawell-keptlawnwiththeoccasionallandscapedcorner,ahandfuloftreesIdon’trecognize,andalargewoodenpatiofurnishedwithcomfortable-lookingpieces.Inthelate-afternoonsunlight,theredbricksgivethehouseacozy,homeyappearance.Andeverysquareinchoftheplaceseemsdustedinthewarmyellowofginkgoleaves.
Iinhalethesmellofgrass,andbark,andsun,andwhenmylungsarefullIletoutasoftlaugh.Icouldsoeasilyfallinlovewiththisplace.IsitpossiblethatIalreadyam?Myveryfirstloveatfirstsight?
MaybethisiswhyHelenaleftthehousetome,becausesheknewI’dformanimmediateconnection.Ormaybeknowingthatshewantedmeherehasmereadytoopenmyhearttoit.Eitherway,itdoesn’tmatter:thisplacefeelslikeitcouldbehome,andHelenaisonceagainbeinghermeddlingself,thistimefromtheafterlife.Afterall,shealwayswentonandonabouthowshewantedmetoreallybelong.“Youknow,Mara,Icantellyou’relonely,”she’dsaywheneverIstoppedbyherofficetochat.“Howdoyouevenknow?”“Becausepeoplewhoaren’tlonelydon’twritefanfictionforTheBachelorfranchiseintheirsparetime.”“It’snotfanfiction.Moreofametacommentaryontheepistemologicalthemesthatariseineachepisodeand—mybloghasplentyofreaders!”“Listen,you’reabrilliantyoungwoman.Andeveryonelovesredheads.Whydon’tyoujustdateoneofthenerdsinyourcohort?Ideallytheonewhodoesn’tsmelllikecompost.”“Becausethey’realldickswhokeepaskingwhenI’lldropouttogogetadegreeinhomeeconomics?”“Mmm.Thatisagoodreason.”
MaybeHelenafinallyrealizedthatanyhopeofmesettlingdownwithsomeonewasalostcause,anddecidedtochannelhereffortsintomesettlingdownsomewhere.Icanalmostpictureher,cacklinglikeasatisfiedhag,anditmakesmemissheramilliontimesharder.
Feelingmuchbetter,Ileavemysuitcasejustofftheporch(nooneisgoingtostealit,notcoveredasitisingeekykeepcalmandrecycleon,andgoodplanetsarehardtofind,andtrustme,i’manenvironmentalengineerstickers).Irunahandthroughmylongcurls,hopingthey’renottoomessy(theyprobablyare).IremindmyselfthatLiamHardingisunlikelytobeathreat—justarich,spoiledman-boywiththedepthofasurfboardwhocannotintimidateme—andliftmyarmtoringthebell.ExceptthatthedoorswingsopenbeforeIcangettoit,andIfindmyselfstandinginfrontof…
Achest.
Abroad,well-definedchestunderabutton-down.Andatie.Andadarksuitjacket.
Thechestisattachedtootherbodyparts,butit’ssowidethatforamomentit’sallIcansee.ThenImanagetoshiftmygazeandfinallynoticetherest:Long,well-muscledlegsfillingwhat’sleftofthesuit.Shouldersandarmsstretchingformiles.Asquarejawandfulllips.Shortdarkhair,andapairofeyesbarelyashadedarker.
Theyare,Irealize,fixedonme.Studyingmewiththesameavid,confusedinterestI’mexperiencing.Themanappearstobeunabletolookaway,asifspellboundatsomebase,deeplyphysicallevel.Whichisarelief,becauseIcan’tlookaway,either.Idon’twantto.
It’slikeapunchtomysolarplexus,howattractiveIfindhim.ItaddlesmybrainandmakesmeforgetthatI’mstandingrightinfrontofastranger.ThatIshouldprobablysaysomething.ThattheheatI’mfeelingisprobablyinappropriate.
Heclearshisthroat,lookingasflusteredasIfeel.
Ismile.“Hi,”Isay,alittlebreathless.
“Hi.”Hesoundstheexactsame.Hewetshislips,asthoughhismouthissuddenlydry,andwow.That’sagoodlookforhim.“CanI…CanIhelpyou?”Hisvoiceisbeautiful.Deep.Rich.Alittlehoarse.Icouldmarrythisvoice.Icouldrollaroundinthisvoice.Icouldlistentothisvoiceforeverandgiveupeveryothersound.ButmaybeIshouldfirstanswerthequestion.
“Doyou,um,livehere?”
“Ithinkso,”hesays,asthoughtoowonderstrucktoremember.Whichmakesmelaugh.
“Great.Iamherefor…”WhatamIherefor?Ah.Yes.“Iwaslookingfor,um,Liam.LiamHarding.DoyouknowwhereIcanfindhim?”
“It’sme.I’mhe.”Heclearshisthroatagain.Isheflushing?“Thatis,IamLiam.”
“Oh.”Ohno.Ohno.No,no.No.“I’mMara.MaraFloyd.The…Helena’sfriend.I’mhereaboutthehouse.”
Liam’sdemeanorchangesinstantly
Hebrieflycloseshiseyes,likeonewouldwhengivenatragic,insurmountablepieceofnews.Foramomenthelooksbetrayed,asthoughsomeonegavehimapreciousgiftonlytostealitfromhishandstheseconditwasunwrapped.Whenhesays,“It’syou,”thereisabittertingetohisbeautifulvoice.
Heturnsaroundandbeginstostalkdownthehallway.Ihesitateforamoment,wonderingwhattodo.Hedidn’tclosethedoor,sohewantsmetofollowhim.Right?Noclue.Eitherway,Ihalfownthehouse,soI’mprobablynottrespassing?Ishrugandhurryafterhim,tryingtokeepupwithhismuchlongerlegs,takinginnexttonothingofmysurroundingsuntilwereachalivingarea.
Whichisstunning.Thishouseisalllargewindowsandhardwoodfloors—ohmyGod,isthatafireplace?Iwanttomakes’moresinit.Iwanttoroastanentirepiglet.Withanappleinitsmouth.
“I’msogladwecanfinallytalkface-to-face,”ItellLiam,alittleoutofbreath.I’mfinallyrecoveringfrom…whateverhappenedatthedoor.Ifidgetwiththebraceletonmywrist,watchinghimwritesomethingonapieceofpaper.“Iamsosorryforyourloss.Yourauntwasmyfavoritepersoninthewholeworld.I’mnotsurewhyshedecidedtoleavemethehouse,andIdounderstandthatthisco-owningbusinesscomesabitoutofleftfield,but…”
Itrailoffwhenhefoldsthepaperandhandsittome.He’ssotall,Ihavetoconsciouslyliftupmychintomeethiseyes.“Whatisthis?”Idon’twaitforhisanswerandunfoldit.
There’sanumberwrittenonit.Anumberwithzeros.Lotsofthem.Ilookup,confused.“Whatdoesthismean?”
Heholdsmygaze.Thereisnotraceoftheflustered,hesitantmanwhogreetedmeafewmomentsearlier.ThisversionofLiamiscoldlyhandsomeandself-assured.“Money.”
“Money?”
Henods.
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Foryourhalfofthehouse,”hesaysimpatiently,anditsuddenlydawnsonme:heistryingtobuymeout.
Ilookdownatthepaper.ThisismoremoneythanI’veeverhadinmylife—oreverwill.Environmentalengineering?Notalucrativecareerchoice,apparently.AndIdon’tknowmuchaboutrealestate,butmyguessisthatthissumiswayabovetheactualvalueofthehouse.“I’msorry.Ithinkthere’samisunderstanding.I’mnotgoingto—Idon’t—”Itakeadeepbreath.“Idon’tthinkIwanttosell.”
Liamstares,expressionless.“Youdon’tthink?”
“Idon’t.Wanttosell,thatis.”
Henodsonce,curtly.Andthenasks,“Howmuchmore?”
“What?”
“Howmuchmoredoyouwant?”
“No,I—I’mnotinterestedinsellingthehouse,”Irepeat.“Ijustcan’t.Helena—”
“Isdoubleenough?”
“Double—howdoyoueven—doyouhavecorpsesburiedundertheflowerbeds?”
Hiseyesareblocksofice.“Howmuchmore?”
Isheevenlisteningtome?Whyishebeingsoinsistent?Wherehashiscute,boyishblushgone?Atthedoor,hejustseemedso…
Whatever.Iwasclearlywrong.“Ijustcan’tsell.I’msorry.Butmaybewecanfigureoutsomethingelseinthenextfewdays?Idon’thaveaplacetostayinD.C.,soIwasthinkingofmovinginforalittlewhile…”
Heexhalesasilentlaugh.ThenherealizesthatI’mserious,andshakeshishead.“No.”
“Well.”Itrytobereasonable.“Thehouseseemslarge,and—”
“You’renotmovingin.”
Itakeadeepbreath.“Iunderstand.Butmyfinancialsituationisveryprecarious.I’mstartingmynewjobintwodays,andit’sreallycloseby.Onfoot.Thisisaperfectplaceformetoliveforalittlewhile,untilIgetbackonmyfeet.”
“Ijusthandedyouthesolutiontoallofyourfinancialproblems.”
Iwince.“It’sreallynotthatsimple.”Ormaybeitis.Idon’tknow,becauseIjustcan’tstoprememberingtheginkgoleavessettlingonthehydrangeasandwonderingwhattheywouldlooklikeinthespring.MaybeHelenawouldhavewantedmetoseetheyardineveryseason.Ifshe’dmeantformetosell,shewouldhaveleftmeachunkofcash.Right?“TherearereasonswhyI’dprefernottosell.Butwecanworkoutasolution.Forinstance,Icould,um,temporarilyrentyoumyhalfofthehouseandusethemoneytostayinanotherplace?”Thatway,I’dstillbeholdingontoHelena’sgift.I’dbeoutofLiam’swayandabovethedestitutionthreshold.Well,slightlyabove.Andinthefuture,onceLiamgetsmarriedtohisgirlfriend(who’sprobablyaFortune500CEOwhocanlisttheDow30bymarketcapandhasafavoriteiteminthegoopnewsletter),movestoaMcMansioninPotomac,Maryland,andstartsapolitico-economicdynasty,Icouldrevisitthisplace.Movein,likeHelenaseemstohavewanted.IfbythenI’vegottenaraiseandcancoverthewaterbillonmyown,thatis.
It’safairproposal,right?Wrong.BecauseLiam’sresponseis:
“No.”Boy,helovestheword.
“Butwhy?Youclearlyhavethemoney—”
“Iwantthissettledonceandforall.Whoisyourattorney?”
I’mabouttolaughinhisfaceandcrackajokeaboutmy“legalteam”whenhisiPhonerings.HechecksthecallerIDandswearssoftlyunderhisbreath.“Ineedtotakethis.Stayput,”heorders,waytoobossyformytaste.Beforehestepsoutofthelivingroomhepinsmewithhiscold,sterneyesanddeclares,“Thisisnot,andwillneverbe,yourhouse.”
Andthat,Ibelieve,isit.
It’sthatverylastsentencethatclinchesit.Well,togetherwiththecondescending,domineering,arrogantwayhetalkedtomeinthepasttwominutes.Iwalkedintothishousefullyreadytohaveaproductiveconversation.Igavehimseveraloptions,butheshutmedownandnowI’mgettingpissed.Ihaveasmuchlegalrightashedoestobehere,andifherefusestoacknowledgeit…
Well.Toobadforhim.
Angerbubblingupmythroat,ItearthepaperLiamgavemeinfourpiecesanddropitonthecoffeetableforhimtofindlater.ThenIgobacktotheporch,retrievemysuitcase,andstartlookingforanunusedbedroom.
Guesswhat?ItextSadieandHannah.MaraFloyd,Ph.D.,justmovedintohernewhouse.Andit’smostdefinitelyonfire.Two
Fivemonths,twoweeksago
Idon’thavetimeforthis.
Iamlateforwork.Ihaveameetinginhalfanhour.Ihaveyettobrushmyteethandmyhair.
Ireallydon’thavetimeforthis.
Andyet,likethefoolthatIhavegrowntobe,Igiveintotemptation.Islamthefridgedoor,turnaroundtoleanagainstit,crossmyarmsasmenacinglyasIcan,andstareatLiamacrosstheexpanseoftheopen-conceptkitchen.
“Iknowyouhavebeenusingmycoffeecreamer.”
It’swastedenergy.BecauseLiamjuststandsonthesideoftheisland,asimpassibleasthegraniteofthecountertop,calmlyspreadingbutteronapieceoftoast.Hedoesn’tfightback.Hedoesn’tlookatme.Heproceedswithhisbuttering,unbothered,andasks,“HaveI?”
“You’renotasstealthyasyouthink,buddy.”Igivehimmybestglare.“Andifthisissomekindofintimidationtactic,it’snotworking.”
Henods.Stillunbothered.“Haveyouinformedthepolice?”
“What?”
Heshrugshisstupid,broadshoulders.Heiswearingasuit,becauseheisalwayswearingasuit.Acharcoalthree-piecethatfitshimperfectly—andyetnotatall,becausehereallydoesn’thavetheevil-corporate-businessmanphysique.MaybeduringhismandatoryKilltheEarthtrainingheinternedasanoilrigdriller?“Thisallegedtheftofcoffeecreamerappearstodistressyoualot.Haveyoutoldlawenforcement?”
Deepbreaths.Ineedtotakedeepbreaths.InD.C.,murdercanbepunishedwithuptothirtyyearsinprison.Iknow,becauseIlookeditupthedayafterImovedin.Thenagain,ajuryofmypeerswouldneverconvictme—notifIlaidoutthehorrorsI’vebeensubjectedtointhepastfewweeks.TheywouldsurelyruleLiam’sdeathasself-defenseReallytryingtomakethiswork.Doyoueverstopandwonderifmaybeyouarebeinganasshole?”
Thistimehedoeslookup.Hiseyesaresocold,myentirebodyshivers.“Ididtry.Once.AndrightwhenIwasonthevergeofabreakthroughsomeonestartedblastingtheFrozensoundtrackatfullvolume.”
Iflush.“Iwascleaningmyroom.Ihadnoideayouwerehome.”
“Mmm.”Henods,andthendoessomethingIdidnotexpect:hecomescloser.Hetakesafewleisurelysteps,makinghiswaythroughthebeautifulmixofultramodernappliancesandclassicfurnitureofthekitchenuntilhe’stoweringoverme.StaringdownasthoughI’manantproblemhethoughthe’dlonggottenridof.Hesmellslikeshampooandexpensivefabric,andhe’sstillholdingthebutterknife.Canyoustabsomeonewiththat?Idon’tknow,butLiamHardinglookslikehe’dbeabletomurdersomeone(i.e.,me)withabeachball.“Isn’tyouremotional-supportcreamerbadfortheenvironment,Mara?”heasks,voicelowanddeep.“Thinkoftheimpactofultraprocessedfoods.Thetoxicingredients.Allthatplastic.”
Heissocondescending,Icouldbitehim.InsteadIsquaremyshouldersandstepevencloser.“Idosomethingyou’veprobablyneverheardof—it’scalledrecycling.”
“Isthatso?”Hesetstheknifeonthecounterandglancesnexttome,atthebinsIinstalledafterImovedin.Theyareoverflowing,butonlybecauseI’vebeentoobusytobringthemtothecenter.Andheknowsit.
“There’snopickupintheneighborhood.ButIplantodrivetothe—Whatareyou…”Liam’shandsclosearoundmywaist,hisfingerssolong,theymeetbothonmybackandabovemybellybutton.Mybrainstutterstoastop.Whatthehellishe—?
HeliftsmeuptillI’mhoveringabovethefloor,theneffortlesslymovesmeafewinchestothesideoftherefrigerator.LikeI’maslightasanAmazondeliverybox,thegiantonesthatforsomereasonhaveonlyasinglestickofdeodorantpackedinside.IsputterasindignantlyasIcan,buthedoesn’tpayanyattentiontome.Insteadhesetsmeonmyfeet,opensthefridge,grabsajarofraspberrycompote,andmurmurs,“Thenyoubettergettoit,”withonelastlong,intenselook.
Hegoesbacktohistoast,andIgobacktonotexistinginhisuniverse.
Lovely.
Igrowlmywayoutoftheroom,halfflusteredandallhomicidal,stillfeelingtheheelsofhispalmspressingintomyskin.Inhissleep.IswearI’mgoingtokillhiminhisdamnsleep.Whenheleastexpectsit.AndthenI’llcelebratebythrowingemptybottlesofcreamerathiscorpse.
TenminuteslaterIamrage-sweating,walkingtoworkwhileonanemergencyventing-videocall(ventocall)withSadie.Therehavebeenalotoftheseinthepastfewweeks.Alot
“…hedoesn’tevendrinkcoffee.Whichmeansthathe’seitherflushingcreamerdownthetoilettospitemeorchuggingitdownlikeit’swater—andIhonestlydon’tknowwhichscenariowouldbeworse,becauseontheonehand,oneservingislikesixhundredandfortycalories,andLiamstillmanagestoonlyhavethreepercentbodyfat,butontheother,takingtimeoutofhisbusyscheduletodeprivemeofmycreamerisagestureofunprecedentedcrueltythatnooneshouldever…”ItrailoffwhenInoticeherbemusedexpression.“What?”
“Nothing.”
Isquint.“Areyoulookingatmeweird?”
“No!Nope.”Sheshakesherheademphatically.“It’sjust…”
“Just?”
“You’vebeentalkingaboutLiamnonstopfor”—sheliftsoneeyebrow—“eightminutesstraight,Mara.”
Mycheeksburn.“I’msosorry,I—”
“Don’tgetmewrong,Ilovethis.Listeningtoyoubitchismyjam,tenoutoften,wouldrecommend.IjustfeellikeI’veneverseenyoulikethis,youknow?Welivedtogetherforfiveyears.You’reusuallyallaboutcompromiseandharmonyandImagineallthepeople.”
Itrynottolivemylifeinaperennialstateofflame-throwinganger.Myparentswerethekindofpeoplewhoprobablyshouldnothavehadkids:checkedout,notaffectionate,impatientformetomoveoutsotheycouldturnmychildhoodbedroomintoashoecloset.Iknowhowtocohabitatewithothersandminimizeconflict,becauseI’vebeendoingitsinceIwasseventeen—tenyearsago.Liveandletliveisacrucialskillsetinanysharedlivingspace,andIhadtomasteritquickly.AndIstillhaveitmastered.Ireallydo.I’mjustnotsureIwanttoletLiamHardinglive.
“I’mtrying,Sadie,butI’mnottheonewhokeepsloweringthedamnthermostattofreezing.Whodoesn’tbotherturningoffthelightsbeforegoingout—ourelectricitybillisinsane.Twodaysago,Igothomeafterwork,andtheonlypersoninthehousewassomerandomguysittingonmycouchwhoofferedmemyownCheez-Its.IthoughthewasahitmanLiamhadhiredtokillme!”
“OhmyGod.Washe?”
“No.HewasCalvin—Liam’sfriend,who’stragicallyamilliontimesnicerthanhim.Thepointis,Liam’sthekindofshitroommatewhoinvitespeopleoverwhenhe’snothome,withouttellingyou.Also,whythehellcan’thesayhiwhenheseesme?Andishepsychologicallyunabletoclosethecupboards?Doeshehavesomedeep-rootedtraumathatdrovehimtodecoratethehouseexclusivelywithblack-and-whiteprintsoftrees?Isheawarethathedoesn’thavetoslamthedooreverytimehegoesout?Anddoesheabsolutelyneedtohavehisstupiddudebrofriendscomeovereveryweekendtoplayvideogamesinthe—”Ifinishcrossingthestreetandlookatthescreen.Sadieischewingonherbottomlip,pensive.“What’sgoingon?”
“Youweregoingoffanddidn’treallyseemtoneedme,soIdidathing.”
“Athing?”
“IgoogledLiam.”
“What?Why?”
“BecauseIliketoputafacetopeopleItalkaboutforseveralhoursaweek.”
“Whateveryoudo,donotclickonhispageontheFGPCorpwebsite.Donotgivethemthehits!”
“Toolate.Heactuallylooks…”
“Likeglobalwarmingandcapitalismhadalovechildwho’sgoingthroughabodybuildingphase.”
“Um…Iwasgoingtosaycute.”
Ihuff.“WhenIlookathimallIcanseeareallthecreamer-lesscupsofcoffeeI’vebeendrinkingsincethedayImovedin.”Andmaybesometimes,justsometimes,Irememberthatflustered,wonderstrucklookhegavemebeforeheknewwhoIwas.Mournitalittle.ButwhoamIkidding?Imusthavehallucinatedit.
“Hasheofferedtobuyyououtagain?”Sadieasks.
“Hedoesn’treallyacknowledgemyexistence.Well,excepttooccasionallystarelikeI’msomeroachinfestinghispristinelivingspace.Buthislawyersendsmeemailswithridiculousbuyoutofferseveryotherday.”Icanseemyworkbuilding,ahundredfeetaway.“ButIwon’t.I’llkeeptheonethingHelenaleftme.AndonceI’minabetterplacefinanciallyI’lljustmoveout.Itshouldn’ttaketoolong,afewmonthsatthemost.Andinthemeantime…”
“Blackcoffee?”
Isigh.“InthemeantimeIdrinkbitter,disgustingcoffee.”Three
Fivemonths,oneweekago
DearHelena,
Thisisweird.
Isthisweird?
Thisisprobablyweird.
Imean,you’redead.AndI’mhere,writingyoualetter.WhenI’mnotevensureIbelieveintheafterlife.Truthbetold,Istoppedponderingeschatologicalmattersinhighschoolbecausetheygotmeanxiousandmademebreakoutinhivesundermyleftarmpit(nevertheright;what’supwiththat?).Andit’snotlikeI’mevergoingtofigureoutamysterythateludedgreatthinkerslikeFoucaultorDerridaorthatunspellableGermandudewithbushysideburnsandsyphilis.
ButIdigress.
You’vebeengoneforoveramonth,andthingsaresameold,sameold.Humanityisstillintheclutchesofcapitalistcabals;wehaveyettofigureoutawaytoslowdowntheimpendingcatastrophethatisanthropogenicclimatechange;Iwearmy“SavetheBees&TaxtheRich”T-shirtwheneverIgoforarun.Theusual.IdolovetheworkI’mdoingattheEPA(thankyousomuchforthatrecletter,bytheway;I’mverygratefulyoudidn’tmentionthattimeyoubailedSadie,Hannah,andmeoutofjailafterthatanti-damprotest.TheU.S.governmentwouldnothavelikedthatone).ThereisthesmallissuethatI’mtheonlywomaninateamofsix,andthatthedudesIworkwithseemtobelievethatmysquishyfemalebrainisunabletograspsophisticatedconceptslike…thesphericityofEarth,Iguess?TheotherdaySean,myteamleader,spentthirtyminutesexplainingthecontentsofmyowndissertationtome.Ihadveryvividfantasiesaboutclockinghimintheheadandtilinghiscadaverundermybathtub,butyouprobablyalreadyknowallofthis.Youprobablyjustsitaroundonacloudalldaybeingomniscient.EatingTriscuits.Occasionallyplayingtheharp.Youlazybum.
IthinkthereasonI’mwritingthisletterthatyouwillnever,everreadisthatIwishIcouldtalktoyou.Ifmylifewereamovie,I’dtrudgetoyourtombstoneandbaremyheartwhileapublic-domainsymphonyinDminorplaysinthebackground.ButyouwereburiedinCalifornia(inconvenient,much?),whichmakesletterwritingtheonlyfeasibleoption.
Allofthisistosay:First,Imissyou.Alot.Afuckinghugelot.Howcouldyouleavemeherewithoutyou?Shame,Helena.Shame.
Second:Iamso,sogratefulyouleftmethishome.It’sthebest,coziestplaceI’veeverlivedin,handsdown.I’vebeenspendingmyweekendsreadinginthesunroom.Honestly,IneverthoughtI’dsetfootinahousewithafoyerwithoutbeingescortedoffthepremisesbysecurity.Ijust…I’veneverhadaplacethatwasminebefore.Aplacethat’sgoingtobetherenomatterwhat.Asafeharbor,ifyouwill.IfeelyourpresencewhenI’mhome,evenifthelasttimeyousetfootherewasprobablyinthe’70sonyourwaybackfromawomen’sliberationmarch.Anddon’tworry,IfondlyrememberyourhatredofcheesyandIcanalmosthearyousay,Cutthisshitout.SoIwill.
Third,andthisislessofastatementandmoreofaquestion:WouldyouminditifIkilledyournephew?BecauseIamveryclosetoit.Like—soooclose.Iambasicallystabbinghimwithapotatopeeleraswespeak.Thoughitoccurstomenowthatmaybeit’sexactlywhatyouwanted.YounevermentionedLiaminalltheyearsIknewyou,afterall.Andhedoesworkforacompanywhosemainproductisgreenhousegases,somaybeyouhatedhim?Maybeourentirefriendshipwasalongconthatyouknewwouldendinmepouringbrakefluidintheteaofyourleastfavoriterelative.Inwhichcase,welldone.AndIhateyou.
Icouldgiveacomprehensivelistofhishorribleness(IcurateoneinmyNotesapp)butIliketoinflictituponSadieandHannahviaZoom.Ijust…IguessIwishIunderstoodwhyyouputmeinthepathofoneoftheasswipiestasswipesinthecountry.Intheworld.IntheentiredamnMilkyWay.Justthewayhelooksatme—thewayhedoesn’tlookatme.Heclearlythinkshe’saboveme,and—
Thedoorbellrings.Istopmidsentenceandruntotheentrance.Whichtakesme,like,twowholeminutes,provingmypointthatthishouseisplentylargefortwopeople.
IwishIcouldsaythatLiamHardinghasshittasteinhomedecor.Thatheabusesinspirational-quotesdecals,buysplasticfruitatIkea,sticksneonbarlightseverywhere.Sadly,eitherheknowshowtoputtogetheraprettynicehouseinterior,orhisFGPCorpbloodmoneypaidtohiresomeonewhodoes.Theplaceisanelegantcombinationoftraditionalandmodernpieces;I’malmostcertainthatwhoeverfurnisheditcancorrectlyusethewordpaletteinasentence,andthatthewaythedeepreds,forestgreens,andsoftgrayscomplementthehardwoodfloorsisalittlemorethanaccidental.Andthere’sthefactthateverywherelooksso…simple.Withahomeaslargeasthisone,I’dbetemptedtostuffeveryroomwithtablesandsideboardsandrugs,butLiamsomehowlimitedhimselftobarenecessities.Couches,afewcomfortablechairs,shelvesfullofbooks.That’sit.Thehouseisairy,fulloflight,sparselydecoratedinwarmtones,andallthemorebeautifulforit.“Minimalist,”SadietoldmewhenIgaveheravideotour.“Reallywelldone,too.”Ibelievemyresponsewasasnarl.
Andthenthere’stheartonthewalls,whichisunwelcomelygrowingonme.Picturesoflakesatsunriseandwaterfallsatsunset,thickwoodsandlonetrees,frozengroundsandbloomingfields.Theoccasionalwildanimalgoingaboutitsday,alwaysinblackandwhite.Idon’tknowwhy,butI’vebeencatchingmyselfstaringatthem.Theframingissimple,thesubjectmundane,butthere’ssomethingaboutthem.Likewhoevertookthosephotosreallyconnectedwiththesettings.Liketheytriedtotrulycapturethem,totakehomeapieceofthem.
Iwonderwhothephotographeris,butIcanfindnosignature.It’sprobablysomestarvingGeorgetownMFAgrad,anyway.Theypouredtheirsoulintotheserieshopingit’dbeboughtbysomeonewhoappreciatesart,andinsteadhereitis.Ownedbyatotalass.IbetLiamdidn’tevenchoosethem.Ibettheywerejustatax-deductiblepurchaseforhim.Maybehefiguredthatinthelongrunanicecollectionisasgoodasstockdividends.
“I’llneedasignature,”theUPSguytellsmewhenIopenthedoor.He’schewingbubblegumandlooksaboutfifteen.Ifeeldecrepitinside.“You’renotWilliamK.Harding,areyou?”
WilliamK.It’salmostcute.Ihateit.“Nope.”
“Ishehome?”
“No.”Mercifully.
“Isheyourhusband?”
Ilaugh.ThenIlaughsomemore.ThenIrealizethattheUPSguyissquintingatmelikeI’mtheWickedWitchoftheWest.“Um,no.Sorry.He’smy…roommate.”
“Right.Canyousignforyourroomie?”
“Sure.”Ireachforthepen,butmyhandstillsinmidairwhenInoticetheFGPCorpinsigniaontheenvelope.
Ihatethem.EvenmorethanIhateLiam.Notonlydoeshemakememiserableathomemowingthelawnatseventhirtya.m.ontheonedayoftheweekIcansleepin,butheaddsinsulttoinjurybyworkingforoneofmyprofessionalnemeses.FGPCorpisoneofthosehugeconglomeratesthatkeeponcausingenvironmentalmesses—abunchofovereducateddudesin$7Ksuitswhodisseminatebiotoxinsaroundtheworldwithutterdisregardforthebrownpelicans(andtheentirefutureofhumanity,butI’mpersonallymoreattachedtothepelicans,whodidnothingtodeservethis).
Iglareatthethickbubblemailer.WouldLiamsignforanEPAenvelopeonmybehalf?Idoubtit.Ormaybehewould.Thenhe’dtieittoredballoonshisbuddyPennywiseprovidedandwatchitdisappearintothesunset.I’malready73percentcertainthathe’sbeenhidingmysocks.I’mdowntofourmatchingpairs,forcrisp’ssake.
“Actually.”Itakeastepback,smiling,revelinginmyownpettiness.Helena,you’dbesoproud.“Iprobablyshouldn’tsignforhim.Ibetit’safederalcrimeorsomething.”
TheUPSguyshakeshishead.“It’sreallynot.”
Ishrug.“Who’stosay?”
“Me.It’sliterallymyjob.”
“Whichyouareperformingadmirably.”Ibeam.“ButIstillwon’tsignfortheenvelope.Wouldyoulikeacupoftea?Aglassofwine?Cheez-Its?”
Hefrowns.“Yousureyouwon’t?Thisisexpressshipping.Someonepaidalotofmoneyforsame-daydelivery.It’sprobablyreallyurgentshitthatWilliamK.willneedassoonashegetshome.”
“Right.Well,thatsoundslikeaWilliamK.problem.”
Hewhistles.“That’scold.”Hesoundsadmiring.Orjustscared.“So,what’swrongwithpoorWilliamK.?Doesheleavethetoiletseatup?”
“Wehaveseparatebathrooms.”Imullitover.“ButI’msurehedoes.IntheveryremotepossibilityIendupusinghis.”
Henods.“Youknow,whenmysisterwasincollegesheusedtohavearoommateshehated.I’mtalkingwarfare.They’dyellateachothertheentiretime.SheoncewroteanentirelistofeverythingshehatedabouthimonherphoneanditcrashedherRemindersapp.Itwasthatlong.”
Uh-oh.Thatsoundsfamiliar.“Whathappenedtoher?”
Icrossmyfingersthattheanswerwon’tbeShe’sservingalifetimesentenceatanearbycorrectionalfacilityforshavingoffhishairwhilehewassleepingandtattooing“I’mabadperson”onhisscalp.Andyet,whatUPSguyendsupsayingistentimesmoredisturbing.
“They’regettingmarriednextJune.”Heshakeshisheadandturnsaroundwithawaveofhishand.“Gofigure.”
I’mdreamingofaconcert—abadone.
Morenoisethanmusic,really.Thekindof’70sGermanelectroniccrapthatLiamownsinvinylformandwillsometimesplaywhenoneofhisfriendscomesovertoplayfirst-personshootervideogames.It’sloudandobnoxiousandirritating,anditgoesonforwhatfeelslikehours.UntilIwakeupandrealizethreethings:
First,Ihaveahorribleheadache.
Second,it’sthemiddleofthenight.
Third,thenoise-musicisactuallyjustregularnoise,andit’scomingfromdownstairs.
Burglars,Ithink.Theybrokein.They’renoteventryingtobequiet—theyprobablyhaveweapons.
Ihavetogetout.Call911.IhavetowarnLiamandmakesurethathe—
Isitupwithafrown.“Liam.”Butofcourse
Iflingmyselfoutofbedandstompoutofmyroom.I’mhalfwaydownthestairswhenitoccurstome:mycurlsareallovertheplace,I’mnotwearingabra,andmyshortswerealreadytoosmallfifteenyearsago,whenmymiddleschoolissuedthemfreeofchargeaspartofmylacrosseuniform.Well.Toobad.Liam’sgoingtohavetodealwithit,andwithmy“ThereIsNoPlanetB”T-shirt.Itmightteachhimsomething.
BythetimeIreachthekitchen,Iamconsideringone-clickingonabullhorntosneakuponhimwhilehe’sasleepeverynightforthenextsixmonths.“Liam,doyouknowwhattimeitis?”Ierupt.“Whatareyoueven…”
I’mnotsurewhatIexpected.Definitelynottofindthecontentsofthefridgeclutteringeveryinchofthecounter;definitelynottoseeLiamintentonslaughteringastalkofcelerylikeitstolehisparkingspot;definitelynottoseehimnaked,verynaked,fromthewaistup.Theplaidpajamabottomshe’swearinghavealowwaist.
Verylow.
“Couldyoupleaseputsomethingon?Likeababy-sealfurcoatorsomething?”
Hedoesn’tstopchoppinghiscelery.Doesn’tlookupatme.“No.”
“No?”
“I’mnotcold.AndIlivehere.”
Ilivehere,too.AndIhaveeveryrightnottolookatthatbrickwallhecallsachestinmyownkitchen,whichissupposedtobeasoothingenvironmentwhereIcandigestfoodwithouthavingtostareatrandommalenipples.Still,Idecidetoletthemattergoandpushittothebackofmymind.BythetimeI’mreadytomoveout,I’mgoingtoneedtherapy,anyway.What’sonemoretraumatodealwith?Rightnow,Ijustwanttogobacktosleep.“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.
“Mytaxreturn.”
Iblink.“I—what?”
“WhatdoesitlooklikeI’mdoing?”
Istiffen.“Idon’tknowwhatitlookslike,butitsoundslikeyou’rejustbangingpanstogether.”
“Thenoiseisanunfortunateby-productofmemakingdinner.”Hemustbedonewiththecelery,becausehemovestoslicingatomato—isthatmytomato?—andbacktoignoringme.
“Oh,andthat’stotallynormal,isn’tit?Cookingafive-coursemealatonetwenty-seveninthemorningonaweeknight?”
Liamfinallyliftshiseyestomine,andthereissomethingunsettlingabouthisgaze.Heseemscalm.Helookscalm,butIknowhe’snot.Heisfurious,Itellmyself.Heisreally,reallyfurious.Getoutofhere.“Didyouneedanything?”Histoneisdeceptivelypolite,andmyself-preservationisclearlystillasleepinbed.
“Yes.Ineedyoutokeepitdown.Andthatbetternotbemytomato.”
Hepopshalfofitinhismouth.“Youknow,”hesaysevenlywhilechewing,managingtotalkwithhismouthfullandyetstilllooklikethearistocraticproductofseveralgenerationsofwealth,“I’musuallynotinthehabitofbeingawakeatonetwenty-eightinthemorning.”
“Whatacoincidence.NeitherwasI,beforemeetingyou.”
“Buttoday—thatis,yesterday—theentirelegalteamIrunendeduphavingtoworkpastmidnight.Becauseofsomeveryimportantmissingdocuments.”
Itense.Hecannotmean—
“Don’tworry,thedocumentswerefound.Eventually.Aftermybosstoremeandmyteamanewone.Soundslikesomethingwentwrongwhentheyweredelivered.”Ifhecouldincineratepeoplewitheyelasers,I’dbelongcremated.Clearlyheknowseverythingaboutmylittleafternoonspite-attack.
“Listen.”Itakeadeepbreath.“Itwasn’tmyproudestmoment,butI’mnotyourPA.AndIdon’tseehowitjustifiesyoubangingallthepotsinthehouseinthemiddleofthenight.Ihavealongdaytomorrow,so—”
“SodoI.Andasyoucanimagine,I’vehadalongdaytoday.AndI’mhungry.WhichmeansthatI’mnotgoingtokeepitdown.AtleastnotuntilI’vehaddinner.”
UntilabouttensecondsagoIwasangryinacool,reasonableway.Allofasudden,IamreadytowrestletheknifeoutofLiam’shandandslicehisjugular.Justatinybit.Justtomakehimbleed.Iwon’t,becauseIdon’tthinkI’dflourishinjail,butI’malsonotgoingtoletthisgo.I’vetriedtohavemeasuredresponseswhenherefusedtoletmeinstallsolarpanels,whenhethrewawaymybroccolistir-frybecauseitsmelled“swampy,”whenhelockedmeoutofthehousewhileIwasonmyrun.Butthisisthefinalstraw.I’mdone.Thebackofmycamelisbrokenintwo.“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”
Liampoursoliveoilinapan,cracksanegginit,andseemstoreverttohisdefaultstate:forgettingthatIexist
“Liam,whetheryoulikeitornot,I.Live.Here.Youcan’tdowhateverthehellyouwant!”
“Interesting.Youseemtobedoingexactlythat.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Youaremakinganomeletattwointhedamnmorning,andIamaskingyounotto.”
“True.AlthoughthereisthefactthatifyouhaddoneyourdishesthisweekIwouldn’tneedtowashthemsonoisily—”
“Oh,shutup.It’snotlikeyoudon’tleaveyourstuffaroundthehouseallthetime.”
“AtleastIdon’tstackgarbageontopofthetrashcanlikeit’saDadaistsculpture.”
Thesoundthatcomesoutofmymouth—italmostscaresme.“God.Youareimpossibletohavearound!”
“That’sjusttoobad,sinceI’mhere.”
“Thenjustmovethefuckout!”
Silencefalls.Anabsolute,heavy,veryuncomfortablesilence.Justwhatwebothneedtoreplaymywordsoverandoverinourheads.ThenLiamspeaks.Slowly.Carefully.Angryinascary,icyway.“Excuseme?”
Iregretitimmediately.WhatIsaidandhowIsaidit.Loud.Vehement.Iammanythings,butcruelisnotoneofthem.Itdoesn’tmatterthatLiamHardinghasdisplayedtheemotionalrangeofawalnut;IsaidsomethinghurtfulandIowehimanapology.NotthatIparticularlywanttoofferhimone,butIshould.Theproblemis,Ijustcan’tstopmyselffromcontinuing.“Whyareyouevenhere,Liam?Peoplelikeyouliveinmansionswithuncomfortablebeigefurnitureandsevenbathroomsandoverpricedarttheydon’tunderstand.”
“Peoplelikeme?”
“Yes.Peoplelikeyou.Peoplewithzeromoralsandwaytoomuchmoney!”
“Whyareyouhere?I’veofferedtobuyyourhalfaboutathousandtimes.”
“AndIsaidno,soyoucouldhavesparedyourselfaboutninehundredandninety-nineofthem.Liam,thereisnoreasonforyoutowanttoliveinthishouse.”
“Thisismyfamily’shouse!”
“ItwasHelena’shouseasmuchasit’syours,and—”
“Helenaisfuckingdead.”
IttakesafewmomentsforLiam’swordstofullyregister.Heabruptlyturnsoffthestoveandthenstandsthere,half-nakedinfrontofthesink,handsclenchedaroundtheedgeofthecounterandmusclesastightasguitarstrings.Ican’tstopstaringathim,this—thisviperwhojustmentionedthedeathofoneofthemostimportantpeopleinmylifewithsuchangry,dismissivecarelessness.
Iamgoingtodestroyhim.I’mgoingtoannihilatehim.Iamgoingtomakehimsuffer,tospitinhisstupidsmoothies,tobreakhisvinylsonebyone.
ExceptthatLiamdoessomethingthatchangeseverything.Hepresseshislipstogether,pincheshisnose,thenwipesalarge,exhaustedhanddownhisface.Allofasuddensomethingclicksinsidemyhead:LiamHarding,standingrightinfrontofme,istired.Andhehatesthis,allofthis,justasmuchasIdo.
OhGod.Maybemybroccolistir-fryreallydidstink,andIshouldhaveputitinaTupperware.MaybetheFrozensoundtrackcanbeatinybitannoying.MaybeIcouldhavesignedforthatstupidenvelope.MaybeIwouldn’treactwelltosomeonecomingtoliveundermyroof,either,especiallyifIdidn’thaveasayinthematter.
Ipresstheheelsofmyhandsintomyeyes.MaybeIamtheasshole.Oratleastoneofthem.God.OhGod.
“I…”Irackmybrainforsomethingtosayandfindnothing.Thensomedaminsidemebreaks,andthewordsexplodeout.“Helenawasmyfamily.Iknowyoudon’tgetonwithyourfamily,and…maybeyouhatedher,Idon’tknow.Granted,shecouldbereallygrumpyandnosy,butshe…shelovedme.AndshewastheonlyrealhomeIeverhad.”IdaretoglanceatLiam,halfexpectingasneerofderision.AsnarkycommentaboutHelenathatwillmakemewanttopunchhimagain.Buthe’sstaringatme,attentive,andIforcemyselftolookawayandcontinuebeforeIcanchangemymind.“Ithinksheknewthat.Ithinkmaybethat’swhysheleftmethishouse,sothatI’dhavesomekindof…ofsomething.Evenaftershewasgone.”Myvoicebreaksonthelastword,andnowI’mcrying.Notfull-onbawlinglikewhenIwatchTheLionKingorthefirsttenminutesofUp,butquiet,sparse,implacabletearsthatIhavenohopeofstopping.“Iknowyouprobablyseemeassome…proletarianusurperwho’scometotakeoveryourfamilyfortune,andbelieveme,Igetit.”Iwipemycheekwiththebackofmyhand.Myvoiceisrapidlylosingheat.“Butyouhavetounderstandthatwhileyou’relivingherebecauseyou’retryingtoprovesomepoint,orforsomesortofpissingcontest,thispileofbricksmeanstheworldtome,and…”
“Ididn’thateHelena.”
Ilookupinsurprise.“What?”
“Ididn’thateHelena.”Hiseyesareonhishalf-madeomelet,stillsizzlingonthestove.
“Oh.”
“Everysummershe’dleaveCaliforniaforafewweeks.Wheredidyouthinkshewent?”
“I…shejustsaidshespenthersummerswithfamily.Ialwaysassumedthat…”
“Here,Mara.Shecamehere.Sleptintheroomnexttoyours.”Liam’svoiceisclipped,buthisexpressionsoftensintosomethingI’veneverseenbefore.Afaintsmile.“Sheclaimeditwastocheckuponmyworld-pollutionplans.Mostly,shenaggedmeaboutmylifechoicesinbetweenmeetingwitholdfriends.Andshekickedmyassatchessalot.”Hescowls.“Iampositiveshecheated,butIcouldneverproveit.”
“I…”Hemustbemakingthisup.Surely.“Shenevermentionedyou.”
Hiseyebrowlifts.“Shenevermentionedyou.Andyetyouwereinherwill.”
“But…But,wait.Hangonaminute.Atthefuneral…Ithoughtyoudidn’tgetalongwithyourfamily?”
“Oh,Idon’t.They’repretentious,judgmental,performativeassholes—andI’mquotingHelena,here.Butshewasdifferent,andIgotonwithher.Icaredabouther.Alot.”Heclearshisthroat.“I’mnotsurewhereyougottheideathatIdidn’t.”
“Well,younotcomingtothefuneralfooledme.”
“KnowingHelena,doyouthinkshe’dhavecared?”
Ithinkaboutmysecondyear.TheonetimeIorganizedasmallsurprisepartyforHelena’sbirthdayinthedepartment,andshejust…left.Literally.WeyelledSurprise!anddroppedahandfulofballoons.Helenagaveusascathinglook,steppedinsidetheroom,cutasliceofherbirthdaycakewhilewestaredinsilence,andthenwenttoherofficetoeatitalone.Shelockedherselfin.“Okay.That’sagoodpoint.”
Liamnods.
“Doyouknowwhysheleftmethehouse?”
“Idonot.InitiallyIfigureditwassomekindofprank.Oneofherchaoticpowerplays.Likewhenshe’dguilt-tripyouintowatchingoldshowswithher.”
“God,shealwayspicked—”
“TheTwilightZone.Eventhoughshealreadyknewallthetwistendings.”Herollshiseyes.Thenhisexpressionchanges.“Ididn’tknowherhealthhadgottensobad.Icalledhertwodaysbeforeshedied,exactlytwodays,andshetoldme…Ishouldn’thavebelievedher.”
Myheartsinks.Iwasthere.IknowtheexactconversationLiamisreferringto,becauseIheardHelena’ssideofit.Thewayshefieldedquestionsandminimizedtheconcernsofthepersonontheothersideoftheline.Sheliedherwaythroughanhourofchatter—itwasobviousthatshewashappyaboutthecall,butshewasn’thonestabouthowbadthingshadgotten,andIfeltuncomfortableaboutthedeception.Thenagain,shedidthatwitheveryone.She’dhavedonethesamewithmeifIhadn’tbeenherridetodoctors’appointments.
“Iwishshe’dletmebethere.”Liam’stoneisimpersonal,butIcanheartheunsaid.Howpainfulitmusthavebeentobekeptinthedark.“Butshedidn’t,anditwasherdecision.Justlikeleavingyouthehousewasherdecision,and…I’mnothappyaboutit.Idon’tunderstandit.ButIacceptit.OratleastI’mtryingto.”
Forthefirsttime,IrealizewhatmyarrivalinD.C.musthavebeenlikefromLiam’sperspective:Somegirlhe’dneverevenheardabout,somegirlwho’dhadtheprivilegetobewithHelenaduringherlastfewdays,suddenlyshowingupandforciblywigglingherwayintohishome.Hislife.Whilehewastryingtocometotermswithhislossandmourntheonlyrelativehefeltcloseto.
Maybeheactedlikeanasshole.Maybehenevermademefeelwelcomeorwasn’tparticularlynice,buthewasinpain,justlikeme,and.
Whatatotalmess.WhatanobtuseidiotI’vebeen.
“I…I’msorryforwhatIsaidearlier.Ididn’tmeananyofit.Idon’tknowyouatall,and…”Itrailoff,unsurehowtocontinue.
Liamnodsstiffly.“I’msorry,too.”
Westaythere,insilence,forlongbeats.IfIgobacktomyroomnow,LiamwillorderapizzaandI’llbeabletofallasleepwithouthavingtohuntdownmystashofearplugs.Ialmostleavetodojustthat,butsomethingoccurstome:Thingscouldbebetter.Icouldbebetter.“Maybetherecouldbea…atruceofsorts?”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“Atruce.”
“Yeah.Imean…Icould…IguessIcouldstopraisingthethermostattotwenty-fivedegreesassoonasyouturnaround.Wearasweaterinstead.”
“Twenty-fivedegrees?”
“I’mascientist.Wedon’treallydoFahrenheit,sinceit’saridiculousscaleand…”He’slookingatmewithanexpressionthatIcan’tquitedecipher,soIquicklychangethetopic.“AndIguessIcouldlayoffwiththeDisneysoundtracks?”
“Couldyou?”
“Yeah.”
“EvenTheLittleMermaid?”
“Yes.”
“WhataboutMoana?”
“Liam,I’mreallytryinghere.Ifyoucouldplease—”IamreadytostormoutofthekitchenwhenIrealizethathe’sactuallysmiling.Well,sortof.Withhiseyes.OhmyGod,wasthatajoke?Hejokes?“You’renotasfunnyasyouthink.”
Henods,anddoesn’tsayanythingforamomentortwo.Then,“TheDisneysoundtracksarenotthatbad.”Hesoundspained.“AndI’lltrytobebetter,too.I’llwateryourplantswhenyou’reoutoftownandthey’reabouttodie.”Iknewhe’dletmycucumberdieonpurpose.Iknewit.“AndmaybeI’llmakeasandwichfordinner,ifIgethungrypastmidnight.”
Iliftmyeyebrow.
Liamsighs.“Pasttenp.m.?”
“Thatwouldbeperfect.”
Hecrosseshishugearmsonhisequallyhuge,stillbarechest,andthenrocksabitonhisheels.
“Okay,then.”
“Okay.”
Thesilencestretches.Suddenly,thissituationfeels…tense.Sticky.Avergeofsomesort.Aturningpoint.
Agoodtimeformetoleave.
“I’mgoingto…”Ipointtowardthestairs,wheremybedroomis.“Haveagoodnight,Liam.”
Idon’tturnaroundwhenhesays,“Goodnight,Mara.”Four
Fourmonths,threeweeksago
ThereareplentyofthingsIwouldn’texpectLiamHardingtodowhenheentersthekitchen.
Forinstance,he’sunlikelytowhipoutcastanetsandflamencohiswayaroundtheisland.TobreakintoaMichaelBoltonhitfromthe’80s.TosellmealeafblowerandrecruitmeintosomegardeningtoolsMLMventure.Theseareallveryimprobableevents,andyetnoneofthemwouldshockmeasmuchaswhatheactuallydoes.Whichistolookatmeandsay:
“It’s…niceoutsidetoday.”
It’snotthatitisn’t.Itis,infact,reallynice.Unseasonablywarm.It’sbecauseEarthisdying,ofcourse.Risingaverageglobaltemperaturesareassociatedwithwidespreadfluctuationsinweatherpatterns,andthat’swhywe’restillwearinglightweightjackets,eventhoughit’slateNovemberinD.C.andChristmastreeshavebeenpoppingupforweeksnow.Afewyearsago,Helenawroteapaperaboutthewayhumanactionisincreasingtheperiodicityandintensityofextremeweatherevents.ItgotpublishedinNatureClimateChangeandhasaboutazillioncitations.
IcouldsayallofthistoLiam.Icouldbemymostobnoxiousselfandlectureonthetopicforhours.ButIdon’t,andthereasonisthateventhroughhisclipped,hesitanttoneandhiscurrentlyloweredgaze,Icanrecognizeanolivebranchwhenitbitesmeintheass.
Which,rightnow,itabsolutelyis.Biting,thatis.
It’sbeenabouttwoweekssinceIfirstbecameawarethatLiamiscapableofhumanemotions.Andasitturnsout,beinginatrucewhilelivingtogethermeanshavingsignificantlyfewershoutingmatches,butstilldoesn’tmakefindingtopicsofconversationanyeasier.Whichisfine.Mostofthetime.It’sabighouse,afterall.Butontherareoccasionsinwhichourschedulesoverlapandweendupinthelivingroomorinthekitchentogether…
Awkward.
Asfuck.
“Yeah.”Mynodissprain-your-neckenthusiastic—overcompensating.“It’snice.Tohavegoodweather,Imean.”
Liamnods,too(stiffly,butmaybeI’mjustprojecting),andjustlikethat,we’rebacktosquareone:silence.
Ibitemythumbnail.ApparentlyIdidnotstopdoingthatwhenIturnedfourteen.Ineedsomethingtosay.WhatdoIsay?Quick,Mara.Think.“Um…So…”
Nothoughts.Headempty.
Iletmysentencedanglelikeanovercookednoodleandtemporizebyturningaroundtograba…awhat?Aspatula?Atoaster?Asnack!Yes,I’llhaveasnack.IthinkIboughtsingleservingsofCheez-Its.Tryingtocutbackandallthat.ExceptthatIcan’tfindtheminmycupboard.There’safamilybox.Another.Athirdone,incheddarflavor—Jesus,Ihaveaproblem.Butthelittlebagsarenot…Ah,theretheyare.Highestshelf,ofcourse.Irememberthrowingthemupthere,thinkingit’dbeaproblemforFutureMara.
FutureMaratries,butcannotreachthem.SoshelooksbacktoaskLiamtograboneforher,andherheartsinks.
He’sstaringatwheremyshirtrodeuponmylowerback—i.e.,myass.
Well,no.Heisn’t.WilliamK.Hardingwouldneverstoopsolow,andtheideathathe’dvoluntarilyglanceatmyscrawnyassislaughable.Butheislookingatme,there,hislipsslightlypartedandhishandforgotteninmidair,whichlikelymeansthathe’s…horrified?Bymyeight-year-oldsweatpants,Ibet.Orbytheexplosionoffrecklesonmyskin.Orby…God,whatpantiesdoIevenhaveon?Please,letitnotbetheoneswithJeffGoldblum’sfaceHannahgotmelastyear.Andhowmanyholesdo
Heclearshisthroat.“Here.”Hebravelyovercomeshisdisgustandcomestostandbehindme.Heisjustmassive.Sobigthathecompletelyblockstheoverheadlight.ForamicrosecondIfeelwarm,oddlytingly.Thenhedropsabagnexttomyhandwithoutmeevenhavingtoask,andsays,“ShouldImovethemtoalowershelfforyou?”
Hisvoiceisalittlegravelly.Maybehe’scomingdownwithacold.IhopeIdon’tgetit.“Um,thatwouldbegreat.Thanks.”Ittakeshimabouthalfasecond.Thenwe’rebothbacktoouroriginalpositions,mewithmycoffee,Liamwithhistea,andIrealizethatinthemildlymortifyingadventuresofthelastminute,IforgottothinkofadecentolivebranchtopicofconversationFantastic.
SoIblurtout:“TheNationalsaredoingwellthisseason.”Ithink?Ioverheardadudesayitonthebus.Liam’salwaysplayingvideogameswithhisdudefriends.Heprobablylikessports,too.
“Oh.That’s…good.”Liamnods.
Inod.
Moreawkwardnodding,andthensilence.Again.
Okay.Thisiswaytoouncomfortable.I’mgoingtoinstallmotionsensorsineveryroominthehousesoIcanmakesureourpathsnevercrossagain—
“Whatsportisthat,again?”
IlookupfromthecoffeeI’mfuriouslystirring.“Mmm?”
“TheNationals.Whatsport?”
“Ah…”Iglancearoundthekitchen,lookingforclues.Findagrandtotalofnone.“Ihavenoidea.”
Liamdunksateabaginhismug,agleamofamusementinhiseyes.“Me,neither.”
Weleavetheroomfromoppositedoors.Iwonderwhetherhe’sawarethatwealmostsmiledateachother.Five
Fourmonths,twoweeksago
Ilookoutthewindow,tryingtousemyengineeringdegreetoapproximatehowmanymetersofsnowfellovernight.One?Seventeen?Sadly,therewasnoBallparkHowSnowboundYouAre101inmygradschoolcurriculum,soIgiveuptoglancedownatmyphone.
There’snowayIcanmakeittowork,andmyentireteamattheEPAisinthesamesituation.Sean’scarisstuckinhisdriveway.Alec,Josh,andEvancan’tevenmakeittotheirdriveway.Tedisonhisfifthjokeaboutextremeweatherevents.TheSlackchannelpingswithafewmoremessagescursingallformsofprecipitation,andthenSeanmakesthecallthatweallshouldjustworkfromhome.AccessingthesecureserverfromourEPA-issuedlaptops.Whichformeisabitofaproblem.
SoItextSean:
Mara:Sean,Idon’thavemyEPA-issuedlaptopathomewithme.
Sean:Why?
Mara:Youhaven’tissuedmeoneyet.
Sean:Isee.
Sean:Well,youcanjusttakethedaytoansweremailsandstufflikethat,then.We’rejustgoingtotrytofixtheelectrostaticsprayerissuetoday,sowedon’treallyneedyou.
Sean:Andnexttimemakesuretoremindmethatyoudon’thavealaptopyet.
Howpassive-aggressivewoulditbetoforwardtoSeanthereminderemailIsenthimtwodaysago?Very,Iimagine.
Isigh,textaquickWilldo,andtrynottogrindmyteethoverthefactthatI’dlovetogivemyinputontheelectrostaticsprayerissue.It’sactuallycloselyrelatedtomygraduatework,butwhoamIkidding?EvenifIwerepresent,Seanwouldactlikehealwaysdoes:politelyhumatmycontributions,findatrivialreasontodiscardthem,andfifteenminuteslaterparaphraseandrestatethemashisownideas.Ted,myclosestallyintheteam,tellsmenottotakeittoopersonally,becauseSean’sajerktoprettymucheveryone.ButIknowI’mnotimaginingthathismostegregiousbehaviorisalwaysdirectedatme(“Iwonderwhy,”Imusetomyself,strokingmywoman-in-STEMchin).ButSean’stheteamleader,so.
DidIsaythatIlovemynewEPAjob?MaybeIlied.OrmaybeIdoloveit,butIhateSeanmore.Hardtotell.
IspendthedaydoingwhatworkIcanwithoutaccesstoclassifiedinformation—i.e.,verylittle.IbrieflyFaceTimewithSadie,butshe’sonadeadlineforsomehippy-dippyeco-sustainableproject(“Ihaven’tsleptinthirty-eighthours.Please,tieananviltomyneckanddropmeintheSargassoSea.”),Hannahisunreachable(probablyfrolickingwiththewalrusesonaslabofice),and…That’sit.Idon’treallyhaveanyotherfriends.
Ishouldprobablyworkonthat.
Byonep.m.Iammortallybored.Inap;IwatchaYouTubevideoontheplatearrangementofthestegosaurus;Ipaintmynailsaprettyredmattecolor;Iwriteahalf-assedpostformyBachelorblogonmyexpectationsforthenextseason;Ipracticebraidingmyhairinacrown;IwonderwhetherI’maworkaholic,decidethatIprobablyam.
Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasinsideallday.I’vealwaysbeenabitrestless,abittooantsy.Muchtooactive,myparentswouldsayastheytriedtoenrollmeineverypossibleteamsporttokeepmebusy.Theyaren’tbadpeople,butIdoubttheywantedakid,andIknowforsurethattheyweren’tfansofwhateverchangesmyarrivalbroughttotheirlifestyle.Probablythereasontheywereneverhugefans.Wetalkmaybeonceortwiceayearnow—andI’malwaystheonewhocalls.
Ohwell.
Ileanmyforeheadagainstthechillyglassofthewindow,feelinganoddsenseofisolation,asthoughI’mdisconnectedfromtheentireworld,swaddledinamuffledwhitecocoon.
Ishouldstartdatingagain.
ShouldIstartdatingagain?
Yeah.Ishould.Exceptthat…men.No,thankyou.Iamwellawarethat#NotAllMenarecondescendingshitletslikeSean,andI’vehadmyshareofperfectlyniceboyfriendswhodidn’tfeeltheneedtoActuallymewhenItriedtohaveaconversation.Butevenattheirbest,allmyromanticrelationshipsfeltlikework.InawaySadieandHannahandHelenaneverdid.Inawayactualworkneverdid.Andforwhat?Sex?Jury’sstilloutonwhetherIevencareaboutthat.
MaybeIshouldskipthedatingandjustvisitSadieinNYCassoonastheweathergetsbetter.Yeah,I’lldothat.We’llmakeaweekendoutofit.Ice-skate.Getthatfrozenhotchocolatethingshe’sbeenravingabout,theonesheinsistsisnotjustarebrandedmilkshake.Butinthemeantimeit’sstillsnowing,andI’mstillstuckinhere.Alone.
Well,notalonealone.Liam’saround.Hecamedownstairsthismorning,largehandbrushingoverthesmoothwoodenrailing,looking…notquitedisheveled.Buthedidn’tbotherwithhisusualsuit.ThefadedjeansandwornT-shirtmadehimseemyounger,amorehumanversionofhisaloof,sternself.Ormaybeitwasthehair,darkasusual,butstickingupjustabitintheback.Ifwehatedeachotheratadless,I’dhavereachedupandfixeditforhim.InsteadIwatchedhimstepintotheroomyentranceuntilitdidn’tfeelquitesoroomyanymore.NohighceilingisthathighwhensomeoneastallasLiamstandsunderit,apparently.Istaredathimhalf-mesmerizedforafewmoments—tillIrealizedthathewasstaringrightback.Oops.Thenhelookedoutthewindow,sigheddeeply,andheadedbackupstairs.Phonealreadyonhisearashegavecalm,detailedinstructionsaboutaprojectthat’sprobablyaimedatfreeingtheplanetfromtheevilclutchesofphotosynthesizingplants.
Ihaven’tseenhimsince,butIheardhim.Laughterhere.Barefootedstepsthere.Creakingwoodandthebeepofthemicrowave.Ourroomsareoneandahalfhallwaysaway.Iknowhehasahomeoffice,butI’veneverbeeninthere—abitofatacitDo-not-go-to-the-West-Wing,BeautyandtheBeastsituation.I’veconsideredsnoopingaroundwhenhewasgone,butwhatifheputlivetrapsaround?Ipicturehimcominghome,findingmewailing,myankletangledinasnare.He’dprobablyleavemetheretostarve.
Plus,hedoesn’tgooutmuch.Therearethosecoupleoffriendsofhiswhocomeovertodosurprisinglynerdystuff(whichremindsmeabittoomuchofme,Sadie,andHannahmakingbrowniesforaParksandRecmarathon—whichinturnisvaguelypainful—soIpretenditdoesn’thappen).Hisworkdaysseemtobesixteenhourslong,evenwhenI’mnotbeingapettygremlinaboutsigningforhismail,butthat’saboutit.Iwonderifhedates.IwonderifhesneaksadifferentgirlintothehouseeverynightandtellsherShh,bequiet.Mysquattinggingerroommatewillkeymyrecordplayerifwe’retooloud.IwonderifI’msimplyfailingtonoticethemaskedorgieshehasinthekitcheneveryweekendwhileI’mtuckedundermygrannyquilt,carefullycomposingmyblogposts.
IwonderwhyIwonder.
WhenIpaddownstairsfordinner,thehouseisdarkandsilent.Andcold.Honestly,howisLiamnotfreezing?Isittheseventypoundsofmuscles?Doeshecoathimselfinbaby-sealfat?IshakemyheadasIraisethethermostatandheatupmorefoodthanIneedtoeat(but,crucially:notmorefoodthanIcaneat).
Thereareafewliving/sitting/front/lounge/whatnotroomsonthefirstfloor,butmyfavoriteistheoneconnectedtothekitchen.Ithasalarge,comfortablecouchthatprobablycostmorethanmygraduateeducation,asoftarearugIliketostealthilycaresswhenI’mhomealone,andthepiècederésistance:agiantTV.Imovemy(many)foodcontainerstothewalnutcoffeetableandletmyselfplopdownonthecouch.
ForreasonsIdon’tunderstand,LiampaysforcabletelevisionandforaboutfifteendifferentstreamingservicesthatI’veneverseenhimuse.I’minnowayaboveexploitingFGPCorp’sbloodmoney,soIfindarerunofaseasontwelveepisodeofTheBachelorette.Notmyfavorite,forreasonsIexplainedatlengthonmyblog(don’tjudgeme),butdecent.Isettlein.
Tenminuteslater,anidiotwithanobvioustanning-bedaddictionisfist-fightinganidiotwhoclearlysnortsproteinpowder,allunderadelightedgirl’seyes—i.e.,thepremiseoftheshow.ButIrealizethatnotallnoisesarecomingfromtheTV.WhenImuteit,Icanhearanotherargument.Fromupstairs.InLiam’svoice.
It’snotloudenoughtomakeoutthegistofit,butIdomanagetoeavesdroptheoccasionalwords.WrongUnethicalOpposed,maybe?QuiteafewfirmNos,butthat’saboutit.Afterabriefmoment,thesoundsaremuffledagain.Anotherminute,andadoorslams;feetquicklymaketheirwaydownthesteps.
Crap.
IconsiderquicklyswitchingtoaLarsvonTriermovie,butLiamarrivesbeforeIcanfoolhimintothinkingthatI’manintellectual.Ilookupfrommyeggrollandhe’sthere,inthesliceofkitchenIcanseefromthecouch,lookinglike…murder.
Thatis:morethanusual.
Myfirstinstinctistoflattenmyselfagainstthecouch,keepwatchingmytrashyshowandeatingmyexcellentfood.Butheturns,oureyesmeet,andIhavenochoicebuttohesitantlywaveathim.Heanswerswithacurtnod,and…helooksbroodyanddark,likehejusthadaterribletenminutes,perhapsaterribleday.Evenworse,helookslikehe’sreadytotakeitoutonthefirstpersonhe’llfindinhispath—which,giventheweatherconditions,isregrettablygoingtobeme.Helookslikeheneedsadistraction,andaverystupidideapopsintomyhead.
Don’tdoit,Mara.Don’tdoit.You’regonnaregretit.
ButLiamisvisiblyclenchinghisteeth.Thewayhe’sstaringintotheopenfridgesuggeststhathe’dliketostrangleeachandeveryjaroftartarsauce(forunknowablereasons,heownsthree)Maybetheketchup,too.ThelineofhisoverbroadshouldersissotenseIcoulduseitasabubblelevel,and—
Ah.Screwit.
“So.”Iclearmythroat.“IorderedwaymorefoodthanIneed.”Iresisttheurgetocovermydiscomfortwithnervouslaughter.Hecanprobablysmellit,myabjectterror.“Wouldyou,um,likesome?”
Heslowlyclosesthefridgedoorandturnsaround.“Excuseme?”HelooksatmelikeIjustofferedtogorobabanktogether.Tobuddy–signupforaerialyoga.Tospendtherestofthenightmothwatching.
“Takeout.Chinese.Wantsome?”
Heglancesatthewindow.Yes,it’sstillsnowing.We’reofficiallytheNorthPole.“Youorderedtakeout.”Hesoundsdubious.
“Nottoday.Twodaysago.Ialwaysordertoomuch,becauseleftoverstastebetter.Especiallythelomein,itreallyneedstosoakintothesauceto…”Istop.Andflush.“Anyway,wouldyoulikesome?”
“We’reinthemiddleofasnowstorm,Mara.”WhyamIshiveringallofasudden?Ahyes.Becauseit’scold.Notbecausehesaidmyname.“Youshouldbehoardingyourfood.”
Yeah,Ishould.“It’sabouttogobad.AndI’mhappytoshare.”
IttakesLiamaninordinateamountoftimetoanswer.Tengoodsecondsofhimstaringskeptically,perhapssuspectingmetobeaderangedmurderessontheprowlforroommatestopoison.Eventuallyhesays:“Sure.”
Hesoundseverythingbutsure.Verycautious.Lookscautious,too,ashemakeshiswaytome.Heslideshishandsinthebackpocketsofhisjeansandlooksaroundmorosely,andit’sobviousthathehasnoideawhattodo—sitonthecouch,thechair,thefloor.Eatstandinginthemiddleofthelivingroom.Itoccurstomeforthefirsttimethathisentirealoof,sternpersonamighthideasmidgeofawkwardness.Couldhebeoneofthosepeoplewhoarehyperconfidentinprofessionalsettingsandthetotaloppositeintheirsociallives?Nah.Unlikely.
Ipataspotnexttomine,alreadyregrettingthis.We’veneversattogetherbefore.Sofar,everyinteractionbetweenushasbeencircumstantial.Theactofsittingnexttoeachotherimpliesintentionalityandalongerduration.Anewterritory.
Weird.
Liamissoheavyandtallthatthecushiondipswhenhesitsdown,andIhavetotensemyabsandreadjusttoavoidslidingtowardhim.Ihandhimaplateandapairofchopsticks,pretendingthere’snothingunusualaboutanyofthis.Hedoesthesameasheacceptsthemwithabriefnod,hisfingersneveraccidentallytouchingmine.
“Whatareyouwatching?”heasks.
“TheBachelorette.”Nosignofrecognition.“It’sthisstupid,amazingshow.Reality.Youdon’thavetowatchwithme.Saveyourselfwhileyoucan.”Surprisingly,Liamstaysput.Stilllooksabitlikehewouldn’tmindtrashingtheentirehouse,buthisexpressionisslightlylessbloodthirsty.Progress?“So,Sheryl,thegirlinthegreendress—theonlygirl—hasafewweekstochooseahusbandamongalltheguys.”
LiamsquintsattheTVforamoment.“Basedonwhat?Theyalllookthesame.”
“Theydo,don’tthey?”Ishrug.“Theytakeherondates.Andchat.Towardtheendtheymightevenhavesex.”
Isheflushing?No.It’sjustthelight.“On-screen?”
“Hey,it’sABC,notHBO.”Iputaspringrollonhisplate.ThenItakealookathim—hisarmsfillinghisshirt,hischest,hisgeneral…hugeness—andaddtwomore.Howmanymillioncaloriesdoesheneedaday?Ishouldfindout.Inthenameofscience.“Youseetheguywearingglassesheobviouslydoesn’tneedinthevainhopeoflookinglessimbecilic?”
“Blueshirt?”
“Yes.We’rerootingforhim.”
“Arewe.”
“Yep.Becausehe’sfromMichigan.AndIwenttoUofMforundergrad,”Iexplain,lickingadropofhoisinsauceoffmythumb.Hiseyeslingeronmylipsforatoo-longmoment,thenabruptlyslideaway.
“Isee.”
“It’sagreatplace.Everbeen?”
“Idon’tbelieveso,no.”He’sstillnotlookingatme.MaybeheholdsaprofoundandirrationalhatredforAnnArbor?
“Wheredidyougotoschool?”
HeseemsmildlysurprisedthatI’masking.Fair,sinceIhaven’texactlyexcelledatturntakingandconversationmakinginthepast.“Dartmouth.ThenHarvardLawSchool.”
“Right.”Inodknowingly.“Thatsounds…cheap.”
Hehasthedecencytolooksheepish,soItakepityonhim.“Wantsomecashewchicken?”
“Ah…Yes,please.”
“Here.Youcanfinishit,I’vealreadyeaten,like,tenpoundsofit.”
Henods.“Thanks.”
LiamHarding.Beingpolite.Wow.“You’rewelcome.”
Foracoupleofminuteswearesilent—LiamwatchingtheTV,mesneakilywatchingLiamasheeatsravenously,largequickbitesthatareyouthfullyendearing.Thenheturnstome.
“Mara.”
“Yes?”
“Youclearlyaresomekindofgenius.”
Uh?AmI?“Isthis—areyou—makingfunofme?”
Helooksdeadseriousandfaintlyoffendedattheidea.“You’rebasicallyarocketscientist.”
“Basicallybeingtheoperativeword.”
“AndHelena,whohadridiculousstandards,choseyoutoworkwithher.You’reobviouslyremarkable.”
OhGod.Isthisacompliment?AmIgoingtoblush?“Um…thanks?”
Henods.“WhatIdon’tunderstandis,whyissomeoneassmartasyouwatchingthisshit?”
Ismileintomyfriedrice.“You’llsee.”
Onehourlater,whenSherylsays,“Ithinkourrelationshiphascomealongway,butIamnotconvincedthatitcoulddevelopanyfurther…”Islammyhandonmyarmrestandyell,“Oh,comeon,Sheryl,”justasLiamslapshisarmrestandyells,“Sheryl.Whatthehell?”
Weturntoeachotherandexchangeabrief,bemusedlook.Toldya,Ithinkathimwithasmile.Hismouthtwitches,likeheheardmeloudandclear.
“…atthispoint,Ijustknowthatit’snotgonnaworkoutbetweenus.CanIwalkyouout?”
Liamshakeshishead,horrified.“That’sjustabaddecision.”
“Iknow.”
“He’sthebestofthelot.”
“Soooostupid,right?She’sgonnaregretthissobad.Iknowit,becauseI’vealreadyseentheseason.”Multipletimes.IreachforoneofthebeersLiamtookoutofthefridgeafewminutesago.“Wantanothercrabrangoon?”Iask.
Henodsandsettlesback,longlegsstretchednexttomineontopofthecoffeetable.Thesnowoutsideisstillfalling,andwewaitforthenextepisodetostart.
Heshovelssnowlikeit’shisoneandonlyvocation.
Maybeit’stheisolation-inducedinsanityspeaking,butthere’ssomethinghypnoticaboutit.Therhythmicriseandfallofhisshouldersundertheblackfleece.Theseeminglyeffortlesswayhe’sbeengoingatitforhours,occasionallystoppingtowipethesweatoffhisbrowwiththebackofhissleeve.IpressmyforeheadtothewindowandjustWouldyouliketoborrowmybirdingbinoculars?).Iblithelyignoreit.
Maybethat’swhathemajoredinatDartmouth:SnowShoveling.NicelycomplementedbyaminorinMuscles.HishonorsthesiswastitledTheImportanceofArmcepsinErgonomicExcavating.ThenhemovedtograduateschooltostudyHow-to-Make-a-Mundane-Winter-Task-Look-AttractiveLaw.AndhereIam,unabletotakemyeyesoffadecadeofoverpaid-forhighereducation.
Thisisgettingweird.It’sgivingmeflashbackstothefirsttimeIsawhim,whenhisdarkeyesandthose(franklyridiculous)shouldershitmelikeabrickinthehead.It’snotamemoryIwanttorevisit,soIlookawayandheaddownstairstomakelunch,blamingmytemporarylunacyonskippingbreakfast.ThisiswhatIgetforfallingasleeplatelastnight,halfwaythroughthefinale,inthemiddleofexplainingtoLiambetweenyawnsthatBachelorandBachelorettecontestantsgetmandatorySTDscreenings.WhatIgetforwakingupthismorningonthecouch,asoft,heavenlysmellingblanketlaidoverme.Iwonderwhereitcamefrom,anyway.Notfromthelivingroom.I’mpositivethattherewasn’tonearound.
It’snotthatLiamandIarefriendsnow.Idon’tknowhimanybetterthanIdidyesterday—except,Iguess,thathehassomesurprisinglyvalidopinionswhenitcomestorealityTV.Butforsomeunparsablereason,whenIstartworkingonmysoupIfindmyselfmakingenoughfortwo
See,thisiswhyhumansarenotmeanttobesequesteredathome.Boredomandlonelinessturntheirmindstomushyoatmeal,andtheystartimposingtheirpoorlycookedfoodonunsuspectingSnowLawyers.AndI’mapparentlyembracingmyweird,becausewhenLiamcomesin,darkhairdampandcurlingfromthemeltingsnowflakes,cheeksglowingfromtheexercise,Itellhim,“Imadelunch.”
Hestares,armsdanglingathissides,asthoughunsurehowtoanswer.SoIadd,“Forbothofus.Asathank-you.Fordoingthat.Theshoveling,Imean.”Hestaressomemore.“Ifyouwant.It’snotmandatory.”
“No.No,I…”Hedoesn’tfinish.Butwhenhenoticesmereachingtowardahighshelftothebowls,hecomesupbehindmeandsetstwoonthecounter.
“Thankyou.”
“Noproblem.”Imightbeimaginingthis,butIthinkIhearhiminhaleslowlybeforehemovesaway.Doesmyhairsmellbad?Iwashedityesterday.HasGarnierFructisfinallyfailedmeafteryearsoffaithfulservice?I’mwonderingwhetherit’stimetoswitchtoPantenebythetimewe’repolitelyeatingatthekitchentable,infrontofeachother,likewe’reayoungfamilyinaCampbell’scommercial.
Problem:withouttheTVon,it’sprettyconspicuousthatwehavenothingtotalkabout.Liamglancesatmeeveryfewseconds,asthoughmestuffingmyfaceiseithersomethinghelikestolookat,orsomethingtotallyhideous—who’stosay?Asthesilencestretches,IamonceagainregrettingeverychoiceI’veevermade.Andwhenhisphonerings,I’msorelievedIcouldfist-pump.
Exceptthathedoesn’tpickup.HecheckscallerID(FGPCorp—Mitch),rollshiseyes,andthenturnsthephonearoundinadismissivemovementthathasmechuckling.
Liamgivesmeapuzzledlook.
“Sorry.Ididn’tmeanto…Just…”Ishrug.“It’snicetoknowthatyouhateyourcolleagues,too.”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“Youhateyourcolleagues?”
“Well,no.Idon’thatethem.Imean,Isometimeshatethem,but…”Whyisthisaboutme?“Anyway,doyouthinkthesnowisoverforgood?”
“Whydoyousometimeshateyourcolleagues?”
“Idon’t.Imisspoke.It’sjust…”Liamhasstoppedeatingandislookingatmelikehe’sactuallyinterested.Ugh.“They’reallmen.Allengineers.Andmenengineerscanbe…yeah.AndI’mthenewestarrival,andthey’reallkindofchummyalready.AndI’mprettysurethatSean,myboss,thinksthatI’msomesortofpitydiversityhire.WhichI’mnot.I’mactuallyareallygoodengineer.Ihavetobe,orHelenawouldhavebutcheredmeinmysleep.”
Henodsasthoughheunderstands.“She’dhavebutcheredyouawake.”
“Right?Shewasn’texactlyforgiving.AndI’mnotcomplaining—Iowehersomuch.Shetrulyhelpedmebecomeabetterscientist,buteveryoneinmyteamtreatsmeasthoughI’msomeinfantengineerwhodoesn’tknowwhatanohmis,and—”WhyamIstilltalking?“Well,everyoneexceptforTed,butI’mnotsurewhetherheactuallyrespectsmeorisjusttryingtogetlaid,sincehe’salreadyaskedmeout,like,threetimes,whichmakesthingskindofawkward…”
Liam’sfaceinstantlyhardens.Hisspoonsetsinthebowlwithaloudclink.“Thisissexualharassment.”
“Oh,no.”
“Attheveryleast,it’shighlyinappropriate.”
“No,it’snotlikethat—”
“Icantalktohim.”
Iblink.“What?”
“What’shislastname?”Liamasks,likeit’satotallynormalquestion.“Icantalktohim.Explainthathehasmadeyouuncomfortableandheshouldstop—”
“What?”Iletoutalaugh.“Liam,I’mnotgoingtotellyouhislastname.Whatareyougonnado,pourabarrelofoilonhishouse?”
Helooksaway.Likeitwasanoption.
“No,I…IactuallylikeTed.He’snice.Imean,I’veevenconsideredsayingyes.Whynot,right?”Whynot?iswhatHelenawouldsay,butLiam’sexpressiondarkensatthat.Ormaybeit’sjustmyentiresoul,darkeningattheideaofputtingoneyelinertogooutwithaguywho’sperfectlyfineandexcitesmeasmuchasboiledspinach.“It’sjustthat…”Ishrug.HowtoexplainthatIamforeveruninspiredbythemenImeet?Iwon’tevenbother.It’snotlikehecares.“Thankyou,though,”Iadd.
Helookslikehe’dliketoinsist,butjustsays,“Letmeknowifyouchangeyourmind.”
“Um.Okay.”IguessIhaveasix-foot-threemountainofmusclesinmycornernow?It’skindanice.Ishouldmakesoupmoreoften.“So,sinceIhaveyouhere,”andtoavoiddroppingintoawkwardsilenceagain,“what’supwiththepictures?”
“Thepictures?”
“Theblack-and-whitepicturesoftreesandlakesandstuff.Hangingonliterallyeverysinglewall.”
“Ijustliketotakethem.”
“Wait.Youtookthepicturesyourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesthatmeanthatyou’veactuallybeentoallthoseplaces?”
Heswallowsaspoonfulofsoup,nodding.“It’smostlynationalparks.Afewstateones.Canada,too.”
I’malittleshocked.Notonlyarethepicturesgood,professional-levelgood,but…“Okay”—Ipointattheframebehindthetable,animageofamobiusarcinwhatlookslikeSierraNevada—“thisisnottheworkofsomeonewhohatestheenvironment.”
Hegivesmeapuzzledlook.“AndIhatetheenvironment?”
“Yes!”Iblink.“No?”
Heshrugs.“ImightnotcompostmyownfecesorholdmybreathtoavoidemittingCO2,butIdolikenature.”
I’malittledumbfounded.“Liam?CanIaskyouaquestionthatwillpossiblymakeyouwanttothrowthebowlatme?”
“Itwon’t.”
“Youhaven’theardthequestion.”
“Butthesoupisreallygood.”
Ibeam.AndthenIimmediatelyfeelself-consciousatthesurgeofwarmththatcomesfromknowinghelikesmycooking.Whocaresifhedoes?He’sarandomdude.He’sLiamHarding.Onpaper,Ihatehim.
“YousaidyoureallyrespectedHelena’swork.Andthatshewasyourfavoriteaunt.Andthatyouwereclose.ButyouworkatFGPCorp,andI’vebeenwondering…”
“HowI’mstillalive?”
Ilaugh.“Prettymuch.”
“I’mnotquitesurewhyshesparedme.”
“Abitoutofcharacter,isn’tit?”
“Ihidthesharpkniveseverytimeshevisited.ButshemostlyfocusedonsendingmedailytextsaboutalltheevilFGPCorpisdoingintheworld.Maybeshewasgoingforaslowgrind?”
“Ijust…Idon’tunderstandhowyouloveHelenaandnatureandworkingatacompanythatlobbiestoeliminatecarbontaxeslikeitsaimistoplungecivilizationintofierydarkness.”
Hehuffsoutalaugh.“YouthinkIenjoyworkingthere?”
“Iassumedyoudid.Becauseyouseemtoworkallthetime.”Iflush—okay,fine,Inoticedhishours,sueme—buthedoesn’tseemtocare.“You…don’t?”
“No.It’sashittycompanyandIhateeverythingitstandsfor.”
“Oh.Thenwhy…”Iscratchmynose.Oh.Ididnotexpectthat.“You’realawyer.Can’tyou,um,lawyerelsewhere?”
“It’scomplicated.”
“Complicated?”
Thespoonscrapesthebottomofthebowlforamoment.“Mymentorrecruitedme.”
“Yourmentor?”
“Hewasoneofmyprofessors.Iowehimalot—hehelpedmegetallmyinternshipslinedup,advisedmeduringlawschool.Whenheaskedmetotakethisjob,Ididn’tfeellikeIcouldsayno.He’smybossnow,and…”Heleansbackinhischairandrunsahandthroughhishair.Tired.Helooksverytired.“IhavealotofcomplicatedfeelingsaboutwhatFGPCorpdoes.AndIdon’tlikethecompany,oritsmission.Butintheend,it’sagoodthingthatI’maround.Ifitweren’tme,someoneelsewoulddomyjobjustaswell.AndatleastIcanbetherefortheteamIlead.Andruninterferencebetweenthemandmybosswhenit’snecessary.”
IthinkaboutthewordsIoverheardlastnight.UnethicalWrong.“Ishetheoneyouwerearguingwith?Onthephone?”Heliftsoneeyebrow,andmycheekswarm.“IpromiseIwasn’teavesdropping!”ButLiamshrugsasthoughhedoesn’tmind.SoIsmile,leaningforwardacrossthetable.“Okay,maybeIwas.Justabit.So,what’shisname?”
“Whosename?”
“Yourboss.MaybeIcantalktohimwhileyoutalktoTed?Somegoodoldreciprocalproxybullying?Mutualwarn-off?Leave-My-Friend-AloneSixty-Nine?”
Hesmilesatmethen—afull,realsmile.Hisfirstinmypresence,Ithink,anditmakesbreathingthatmuchharder,thetemperatureoftheroomthatmuchhotter.How—whyishesohandsome?Istareathim,speechless,unabletodoanythingbutnoticetheclearbrownofhiseyes,thelopsidedwayhislipsstretch,thefactthatheseemstobestudyingmewithawarm,kindexpression,and—
Oureyesdarttohisphone.Whichisringingagain.
“Work?”Iask.Myvoiceishoarse.
“No.It’s…”Hestandsfromthetableandclearshisthroat.“Excuseme.I’llberightback.”
Ashewalksout,Ihearhimchuckle.Ontheothersideofthephone,afemalevoiceissayinghisname.Six
Fourmonthsago
Itakeacarefulstepoutoftheshower,lettingmytoesdigdeepintothethick,softmat.Itturnsouttobealethallypoorchoice,becauseIdoitinthesameexactmomentLiamopensthebathroomdoortotakeastepinside.
Itleadstomejumping.Andflailing.Andyelling:
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
“Mara?What—”
“Aaah!”
“Sorry—Ididn’t—”
Myentirebodyisslipperyandfrantic—notagoodcombination.Ialmostlosemybalancetryingtowraptheshowercurtainaroundme.ThenIdolosemybalance,andI’mpositiveLiamcanseeeverything.
TheoutiebellybuttonHannahalwaysteasesmeabout.
Thesickle-shapedlacrossescarabovemyrightboob.
Saidrightboob,andtheleftone.
Forafractionofasecondwebothstandmotionless.Staringateachother.Unabletoreact.ThenIsay,“Canyou—couldyou,um,handmethattoweloverthere?”
“Ah—sure.Hereyougo.I…”
HeextendshisarmandturnstheotherwaywhileIwrapthetowel(histowel;Liam’stowel)aroundmyself.It’sfluffyandcleananditsmellsgoodand—whousesblacktowels,anyway?Whoproducesthem?Wheredoesheevenbuythem,BloodbathandBeyond?
“Mara?”Heisstandingunderthedoorframe,pointedlylookingawayfromme.
“Yes?”
“Whyareyouinmybathroom?”
Crap.“Sorry.I’msosorry.Myshowerisn’tworking,and…Ithinkthere’ssomethingwrongwithapipe,and…Idon’tknow,butIcalledBob.”
“Bob?”
“Theplumber.Well,aplumber.He’scomingouttomorrowmorning.”
“Oh.”
“ButIwentforarunearlier,andIwasallsweatyandsmelly,so…”
“Isee.”
“Sorry.Ishouldhaveaskedbefore.Youcanturnnow,bytheway.I’mdecent.”
Liamdoesturn.Butonlyafterabouttensecondsofwhatlookslikeaprettyintenseinternaldebate.Hisexpressionsarenevertheeasiesttoread,butheseemsalittleflustered.
Alot,actually.Asin,evenmorethanIam.
Whichisodd.I’mtheonewhogotboobsposed,andLiamisprobablyveryusedtobeingwithnakedwomen.Thatis,actuallynakedwomen.WaymorenakedthanIcurrentlyam.Let’sbereal—hisexislikelyaVictoria’sSecretAngelwhorecentlyquitmodelingtofinishadoctorateinarthistoryandbecomeajuniorcuratorattheSmithsonian.ShehasanimpeccablebellybuttonandknowswhatPlayStationbuttontopresstothrowagrenade.DidIsayhisex?They’restilldating,forallIknow.Havingaveryathleticsexlife.I’mtalkingroleplayandtoys.Buttaction.Lotsoforal,whichtheybothexcelat.Okay,thistrainofthoughtneedstocrashrightnow.
Maybehe’sjustembarrassedforme?Notthatheshouldbe.I’mpretty.Imean,IthinkI’mpretty.Cute,inabefreckled,wish-I-was-two-inches-taller,slightly-self-conscious-about-that-hump-on-my-noseway.Sometimes,usuallyafterSadiehasputeyelineronme,IeventhinkI’mbeautiful.ButI’llneverbeasattractiveasLiam.Isthatwhyhe’sdoingthisweirdthing—staringwhileobviouslytryinghisbestnottostare?
“I’msosorryIdidn’twarnyou.Ithoughtyouwereoutoftownorsomething.Becauseyoudidn’tcomehomelastnight,and…”IfeelabitembarrassedthatInoticed.ButhowcouldInot?Eversincethesnowstorm,we’vegottenintothisweirdrhythm.Dinnertogetheratseven.Notthatthere’sanacknowledgedagreementoranything,butIknowfrombeforethatheusedtoeatalittlelater,andIknowfrommywholelifethatIusedtoeatalittleearlier,andsomehowweconvergedonatimethatworksforbothofus…MaybeIwasclosetotextinghimlastnight.Butdecidednotto,becauseitseemedlikecrossingsomekindofunspokenline.
“No,Ijust…Ihadtobeatwork.Becauseofadeadline.Iwasgoingtowarnyou,but…”Youdidn’twanttocrosssomekindofunspokenline?Iwanttoask.Butonedoesnotspeakofunspokenthings,soIjustgowith:
“Ofcourse.”Iclearmythroat.“I’llgotomyroom.Getdressed.”
“Right.”
Imaketoleave.ExceptthatLiam’sstillstandingthere,blockingtheexit.Theonlyexit,ifonedoesn’tcountthewindow,whichIbrieflyconsiderbeforeacknowledgingthatit’snotafeasibleoption.Notinmycurrentstateofdishevelment.“Youare…”Hedoesn’tseemtounderstandwhereheis.I’dgesticulateandpointitout,butIhavetoclutchmytowelwithbothhandstoavoidflashinghim,and—
“Oh.Oh,right,I…”Hetakesalargesteptotheside.Toolarge—he’sbasicallyplasteredagainstthesinknow.
“Okay.Thanksagainforlettingmeuseyourbathroom.”
“Noproblem.”
Ireallyshouldleavenow.“AndIborrowedabitofyourshampoo.Well,stole.It’snotasifI’mevergoingtoreturnit.But,youknow.”
“It’sokay.”
“IloveOldSpice,bytheway.Solidchoice.”
“Oh.”Liamlookseverywherebutatme.“IjustgrabthefirstoneIseeatthestore.”
Iknowinthatmoment,Isimplyknow,thatOldSpiceisWilliamK.Harding’sfavoritebrandofpersonalhygieneproducts,andthathesuffersdeepshamebecauseofit.“Right.Ofcourse.”Hecanbeadorable,sometimes.“Hey,justFYI,I’mnotembarrassed.Soyoushouldn’tbe,either.”
“What?”
“Idon’tcarethatyousawmenaked.BecauseIknowyoudon’tcare.Justsaying,wedon’tneedtobeweirdaboutit.Believeme”—Ilaugh—“Iknowyou’renotgoingtouseyourannoyinggingerroomie’stinyfreckledboobsasspankbankmaterial.”
Iexpecthimtoreplywithajoke,likeheusuallydoes,buthedoesn’t.Hedoesn’treplyatall,infact.Justpresseshislipstogether,nodsonce,andallofasuddenthingsfeelevenmoreawkward.Crap.
“Anyway.Thanksagain.”
“You’rewelcome.”
Istepoutwithasmallwaveandnoticetwothings:he’sstaringhardathisfeet,andhislefthandisatightfistathisside.Seven
Threemonthsago
There’snothingwrongwiththewaveguide.That,Iknowforsure.Thetransformerandthestirrerseemfine,too,whichhasmethinkingthattheproblemisinthemagnetron.Now,I’mnotreallyanexpert,butI’mhopingthatifItinkerwiththefilamenttheassemblywillfixitselfand—
“IsthisbecauselastnightwewatchedTransformers?”
Ilookup.Liam,asoftsmileonhisface,isstandingontheothersideofthekitchenisland,takinginthemicrowaveovenpartsImeticulouslylaidoutoverthemarblecountertop.
Imighthavemadeamess.
“ItwaseitherthisorwritingOptimusPrimefanfiction.”
Henods.“Goodchoice,then.”
“Butalso,yourmicrowaveisn’tworking.I’mtryingtofixit.”
“Icanjustbuyanewone.”Hisheadtilts.Hestudiesthecomponentswithaslightfrown.“Isthissafe?”
Istiffen.“AreyouaskingbecauseI’mawomanandthereforeunabletodoanythingremotelyscientificwithoutcausingradioactivepollution?Becauseifso,I—”
“I’maskingbecauseIwouldn’tknowwheretostart,andbecauseIamsoignorantaboutanythingremotelyscientificthatyoucouldbebuildinganatomicbombandIwouldn’tbeabletotell,”hesayscalmly.Asthoughhedoesn’tevenneedtobedefensive,becausetheideathatmebeingapuny-brainedgirlneverevenenteredhismind.“Butyouclearlycan.”Apause.“Pleasedon’tbuildanatomicbomb.”
“Don’ttellmewhattodo.”
Hesighs.“I’llmakeroomfortheplutoniuminthecheesedrawer.”
Ilaugh,andrealizethatit’sthefirsttimeI’vedoneitinhours.Which,inturn,makesmesigh.“It’sjust…Seanisbeingatotaldick.Again.”
Hisexpressiondarkenswithunderstanding.“What’dhedo?”
“Theusual.ThatdecoprojectItoldyouabout?Iwasexplainingthisreallycoolideaabouthowtofixit,butheonlyletmetalkforhalfaminutebeforetellingmewhyitwouldn’twork.”Ifiddlewiththemagnetron,thenstartreassemblingtheoven.Thesecondbothmyhandsareoccupied,astrandofhairdecidestofallintomylefteye.Iblowitaway.“Thingis,I’dalreadyconsideredallofhisobjectionsandfoundsolutions.Butdidheletmecontinue?Nope.Sonowwe’regoingwithamuch-less-elegantmethod,and…”Itrailoff.Atthispoint,LiamgetstwotofourSean-relatedrantsaweekfromme.TheleastIcandoiskeepthemshort.“Anyway.Sorryforbeingdefensive.”
“Mara.Youshouldreporthim.”
“Iknow.It’sjust…thisconstantlybelittlingbehaviorissohardtoprove,and…”Ishrug—badidea,sincemyhairisnowbackinmyeyes.Ifeelalittlestuck.Alotstuck.
“So,what’sSean’slastname?”Liamasks.
“Why?”
“Justcurious.”Hetriestosoundcasual,buthe’ssobadatit.He’sclearlytheworstliarintheworld—howdidhegetthroughlawschool?Itmakesmesmileeverytime.
“Youneedtopractice,”Isay,pointingmyscrewdriverathim.
“Practice?”
“Practicetelling…”
Myvoicetrailsoff.BecauseLiamisreachinguptobrushhisfingersagainstmycheekbone,afaintsmileonhislips.Mybrainshort-circuits.What—?Didhe—?
Oh.Oh.Myhair.Mylost,waywardstrandofhair.Hetuckeditbehindmyear.He’sjustbeingniceandhelpinghisgingerklutzroommate,whointurnishavingamajorbrainfart.Classy,Mara.Veryclassy.
“Practicetellingwhat?”heasks,stillstaringattheshellofmyear.It’sprobablymisshapen,andIneverevenknewit.
“Nothing.Lies.I…”Iclearmythroat.Getittogether,Floyd.“Hey,youknowwhat?”Itrytokeepmytonelight.Changethetopic.“Thebeginningofthiscohabitationwasanabsolutenightmare,butIlikethisalot.”
“This?”
“Thisthing.”Ibegintoscrewinthebackplateofthemicrowave.“Wherewechatwithoutthrowingchairsateachotherandyouoffhandedlyaskforthelastnamesofdudeswhoaremeantomewiththeobviousideaofcommittingunsanctionedactsofvigilantejusticeagainstthem.”
“That’snotwhatI—”
Iliftmyeyebrow.Heblushesandlooksaway.
“Anyway,Ilikethismuchbetter.Beingfriends,Iguess.”
Heglaresatme.“I’mnotyourfriend.”
“Oh.”Ialmostrecoil.Almost.“Oh.I—I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantoimplythat—”
“TheothernightEileengaveBerniearose,andyousaidthatitwasagoodmove.That’snotsomethingIcanacceptfromafriend.”
Iburstoutlaughing.“Comeon,he’scute.Heisadogtrainer.HelikesK-pop!”
“See,this?Thereasonyou’remyswornenemy.”Heshakeshisheadatme,andIlaughharder,andthenmylaughterdiesdownandforasecondwe’rejustsmilingateachotherandanunfamiliarliquidwarmthspillsinsideme.
“IampositiveHelenawouldhaverootedforBernie.”
Hesnorts.“Yousayitlikeit’sanendorsement.Likeshedidn’tconstantlytrytosetmeupwithrandompeopleIcarednothingfor.”
“Shedidthesamewithme!”
“AndwhenIwasateenagershedatedthisguywhohadbeenonafour-monthshowerstrike.”
“OhGod.Why?”
“Notsure.Theenvironment?”
“No—whywasshedatinghim?”
Liamwinces.“Apparently—andIquote—‘astoundingcarnalchemistry.’?”
ImorbidlycontemplateHelena’ssexlifeuntilLiambreaksthequietandasks,“Doyoueverthinkaboutswitchingjobs?”
Ishakemyhead.“It’stheEPA.WhereIalwayswantedtobe.Seriously,fifteen-year-oldMarawouldtravelthroughtimetoshankmeifIweretoquit.”IthinkIpickeduponanoddnoteinhisquestion,though.“Whydidyouask?Doyoueverthinkaboutswitchingjobs?”
Heshakeshishead,too.“Icouldn’t,”hesays.ButI’mstartingtoknowhim,alittlebit.I’mmoreattunedtohismoods,histhoughts,thewayheturnsinwardwheneverheconsiderssomethingserious.Thereisawallofsortsthathebuildsbetweenhimselfandeveryonewhotriestoknowhim.SometimesIwishitweren’tthere.SoIpushgentlyagainstitandask,“Howarethingsatwork?”
Heissilentforawhile,handspressedwideagainsttheisland,watchingmequietlyasIfinishscrewingthepiecesbacktogether.Myhairremainssafelytuckedbehindmyear.“Heaskedmetofiresomeonetoday.”
“Oh.”Ialreadyknowwhoheis.Mitch.Liam’sboss.WhomIprivatelyhatewiththeintensityofathousandmicrowaveovens.Who’sthereasonLiamfeelslikehecannotpackuphisblack-market-organ-pricedgraduatedegreesandhisyearsofexperiencebeingacorporatemeanieandfindanotherjob.“Why?”
“Someoneonmyteammadeareallystupidmistake.Butfixable.Andstill…it’sjustamistake.Weallfuckup—IknowIdo.”Heabsentmindedlyrubsthebackofhishandagainsthislips.“IreallythoughtIcouldtalkhimoutofit.”Heshakeshishead,andIfrown.Andpressmylipstogether.AndordermyselftocounttofivebeforeIsayanything,justtoavoidbeingintrusiveoraggressive.Five,four,three—
“Honestly,yourbossisashitnuggetandhedoesn’tdeserveyouandyoushouldquitandleavehimtostirinhisshitbroth!”
Liamlooksup,surprised.Andamused,Ithink.“Ashitnugget?”
Iflush.“Avaluablebutunderratedinsult.ButLiam,really,youdeservetohaveabetterjob.Andbeforeyoupointoutthatit’shypocriticalofmetotellyoutoswitchjobswhileIwon’tdoitmyself,letmesaythatit’satotallydifferentsituation.Ilovemyjob—IjusthatethepeopleIhavetodoitwith.IncludingSean.EspeciallySean.Really,mostlySean.”Oh,howI’dlovetoboilmypost-runsocks,makesoupoutofthem,andthenfeedittoSean.
“Youcouldaskforatransfer.”
“Iplanto.Butitwon’thelp.”Ishrugandplugthemicrowavebackin.“TheEPA’sopeninganewunit.I’mapplyingtobetransferred,butSeantheAssholeis,too.”Irollmyeyes.“He’simpossibletoshakeoff.Likeaparasitictoenailfungus.”
“Soyou’llbecompetingwithhimfortheposition?”
“Well,no.He’sapplyingtolead.I’dbeamongtheplebs—alowlyteammember.”
“Youcan’tleadbecauseyoudon’thaveenoughseniority?”
“Oh,Idon’tthinkthereareseniorityrequirements.”
“Thenwhyareyounotapplyingtoleadit?”
“Because—”Isnapmymouthshutandlookdownatmyscrewdriver.Yes.Why?Whywouldn’tIapplyforaleaderposition?Whatiswrongwithme?It’snotlikeSeanissmarterthanIam.Hejustlovestoimposethesoundofhisownvoiceonunsuspectingpassersby.AndmaybeIdon’thaveenoughleadershipexperiencetoknowthatI’llbeagoodboss,butIdohaveenoughSeanexperiencetoknowthathewon’tbe.HekeepscallingmeLara,forfuck’ssake.Inemails.Thathewritestomyemailaddress,marafloyd@epa.gov.Dude,youcanliterallycopyandpaste?
Ilookup.Liamisstaringatmewithacalmexpression,asthoughpatientlywaitingformetoreachthisveryexactconclusion:IambetterthanSean.BecauseeveryoneisbetterthanSean,andthatincludesme.
Ifeelashiverofsomethingwarmrundownmyspine,asthoughI’mbeingheld.Whichisweird,sinceIhaven’thuggedsomeonein…God,months.NotsinceHelena.
“Tellyouwhat.”Iputmyhandsonmyhips,suddenlydetermined.“I’mgoingtoapplyfortheleaderposition.”
“That’sexactlywhatyoushould—”
“Ifyouleaveyourjob.”
Hepauses,thenexhalesalaugh.“IfIleavemyjob,who’llkeepyouintheexpensivemulti-plytoiletpaperlifestyleyou’reaccustomedto?”
“Youwill,sinceyou’reprobablysittingongenerationalpilesofoldNewEnglandmoney.Plus,youcouldtotallystillbealawyerforother,slightlylessdisgustingcorporations.Ifthereareany,thatis.AndifwestrikethisbloodpactandIgetthejob,there’ssomethingevenbetterinitforyou.”
“YouletmeholdSean’sheadinthetoiletbowl?”
“No.Well,yes.Butalso,ifIgetateamleaderposition,I’dbemakingmoremoney.AndI’llfinallybeabletomoveout.”Withoutneedingtosellmyhalfofthehouse
Liam’sexpressionshiftsabruptly.“Mara—”
“Thinkaboutit!You,walkingaroundnakedinapleasantlyfreezinghouse,scratchingyourbuttinfrontofafridgefulloftartarsauce,cookingtacosatthreea.m.whilelisteningtopostmodernindustrialpoponyourgramophone.Allaroundaregiantscreens,broadcastingvideogameplaythroughstwenty-four/seven.Soundsnice,huh?”
“No,”hesaysflatly.
“That’sbecauseIforgottomentionthebestpart:yourpeskyex-roommateisgone,nowheretobeseen.”Ibeam.“Now,tellmeyou’renotgoingtoloveeverysecondof—”
“Iwon’t,Mara.I—”Heturnsaway,andIcanseehisjawclenchlikeitusedtobefore,whenmypresenceinthishouseannoyedhimandheconsideredmethebaneofanythinggood.Buthishandtightensaroundtheedgeofthecounteronce,andheseemstocollecthimself.Hestudiesmeforalongmoment.
“Please,”Ipress.“Iwon’tapplyifyouwon’t.DoyoureallywanttocondemnmetoalifetimeofSean?”
Hecloseshiseyes.Thenheopensthemandnods.Once.“Iwon’tleavemyjob—”
“Oh,comeon!”
“—tillIhaveanotherlinedup.ButIwillstartlookingaround.”
Ismileslowly.“Wait—forreal?”Ididnotthinkthiswouldwork.
“Onlyifyouapplyfortheleaderposition.”
“Yes!”Iclapmyhands.“Liam,I’llhelpyou.AreyouonLinked-In?Ibetrecruiterswouldbealloveryou.”
“What’sLinkedIn?”
“Ugh.Doyouatleasthavearecentheadshot?”
Hestaresatmeblankly.
“Fine,I’lltakeapictureofyou.Inthegarden.Whenthere’sgoodnaturallight.Wearthecharcoalthree-piecesuitandthatbluebutton-down—itlooksamazingonyou.”Hecockshiseyebrow,andIinstantlyregretsayingthat,butI’mtooexcitedattheideaofthisweirdprofessional-suicidepacttoblushtoohard.“Thisisamazing.We’vegottoshakeonit.”
Ithrustoutmyhand,andhetakesitimmediately,hisownfirmandwarmandlargearoundmine,and—itmightbethefirsttimewetouchonpurpose,asopposedtoarmsbrushingwhilewe’reworkingatthestove,orfingersgrazingashesortsoutmymail.Itfeels…nice.Andright.Andnatural.Ilikeit,andIlookuptoLiam’sfacetoseewhetherhelikesit,too,and…thereareathousanddifferentexpressionspassingonhisface.Amilliondifferentemotions.
Ican’tbegintoparseevenone.
“Deal,”hesays,voicedeepandalittlehoarse.
Heuseshisfreehandtoturnonthemicrowave—which,loandbehold,isworkingagain.Eight
Onemonth,twoweeksago
Rainismyfavoritekindofweather.
Iammostpartialtosummerstorms,theirstrongwindsandhotair,thewaytheymakemefeellikeI’msittingonthehumidinsideofaballoonthat’sabouttoburst.Asakid,I’drunoutsideassoonastherainstartedjusttogetallwet—whichseemedtooutragemymothertonoend.
ButI’mnotparticular.It’sbarelyFebruary,earlyinthenight,andtheharddropsbeatingatattooontheplasticofmyumbrella,theyjustmakemehappy.IsmilewhenIunlockthefrontdoor.Hum,too.Iwalkdownthehall,listeningtotheraininsteadofwhat’shappeninginsidethehouse,andthatmustbethereasonIdon’thearthem.
Liamandagirl.No:awoman.Theyareinthekitchen.Together.He’sleaningbackagainstthecounter.She’ssittingonit,athisside,closeenoughtolayhercheekonhisshoulderwhilesheshowshimsomethingonherphonethathasbothofthemsmiling.It’sthemostrelaxedI’veseenLiamwithanyone.ClearlyaveryintimatemomentthatIshouldnotbeinterrupting,exceptthatIcan’tmakemyselfmove.Ifeelmystomachsinkandremainrootedtothefloor,unabletoretreatasthewomanshakesherheadandmurmurssomethinginLiam’searthatIcannothear,somethingthathashimchucklinginlow,deeptones,and—
Imustgasp.Ormakesomesortofnoise,becauseonemomentthey’relaughing,armspressedagainsteachother,andthenextthey’rebothlookingup.Atme
Shit.
Itryreallyhardnottoletmyeyestakeinhowcozyandcomfortablehelooks,howfamiliarandatease.It’snothinglikewhathappenswhenheandIaccidentallybumpagainsteachotherinthehallway,likethatcharged,electrictensionthatseemstocracklebetweenuswhenweforgetourselvesandourhandshappentobrushtogether.Butthat’sthepoint,right?AnyphysicalcontactbetweenmeandLiamisprobablyunwantedonhispart,whilethis…
Thisismortifying.Iwanttogetoutofthisroomandnevercomeback.Buyaninsulatedlunchbagandacampingstove,shovetheminmybedroom,andbecompletelyself-sufficient.
Thewoman,though,doesn’tseemnearlyasunsettled,orself-consciousaboutthefactthatshe’scurrentlyperchedonapieceoffurnitureinahomethat’snothers,herskirtridinguptoshowlong,tonedlegs.Shesmilesatme,andsomehow,somewhere,Ifindmyvoice.“Sorry.I’msosorry,Ididn’tmeantointerrupt…Iwantedtogetsomethingtodrink,andI…”AndI?AndIwillnowgotomyroomtoflushmyselfdownthetoilet.Good-bye,cruelworld.
“Ithoughtyou’dbe…”Liam’svoiceseemsdeeperthanusual.Iwonderiftheywereabouttotakewhateverthisistohisbedroom.OhGod.OhGod,Ijustinterruptedmyroommateandhisgirlfriend.I’msuchaloser.“Out.Ithoughtyou’dbeout.”
Oh.Right.Iwassupposedtogoonadatemyself.WithTed.SomethingIagreedtodotheotherdayundertheimpetusof:meh,whynot?ThismorningItoldLiamwhyI’dbehomelate,exceptthatIendedupcancelingbecause…Ididn’treallyfeellikegoing.
Forsomereason.
Thatisuncleartome.
“No.Imean,yes.Yes,Iwas.But…”Igesturevaguelyintheair.AsgoodanexplanationasIcancomeupwith.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.I…”Ishouldreallygotomyroomanddothatself-flushingthing.Butit’shard,withLiamstaringatmelikethat.Half-curious,half-happytoseeme,half–somethingelse.It’sthefirsttimeIfindhimwithsomeonewho’snotCalvinoranotheroneofhisdudefriendshe’sobviouslyknownsinceforever,someonewho’sclearlyShit.
“I’m…I’mgonnagonow,soyouguyscan—”
“Noneed,”avoicesays.
Avoice?Ah.Yes.Right.Thereisathirdpersonintheroom.Abeautifulwomanwithlongdarkhairwho’sstillsittingonthecounter,glancingwithcaptivatedinterestbetweenmeandLiam,and
“Iwasjustabouttoleave,”shesays.Butit’salie.Shewasdefinitelynotabouttoleave.“Right,Liam?”SheandLiamexchangeasilent,loadedlookthatI’dgivehalfakidneytobeabletodecipher.
“Oh,no.Youdon’thavetoleave,”Isayweakly.“I—”
“Bytheway,I’mgoingtointroducemyself,sinceLiamhereisclearlynotgoingto.”ShehopsdownwithgracethatI’veseenonlyinballetdancersandOlympicgymnastsbefore,andholdsoutherhand.Ihatemyselffortryingtorememberifit’sthesamehandthatwaswrappedaroundLiam’sarmwhileherheadwasonhisshoulder.“I’mEmma.YoumustbethefamousMara?”
Whyshewouldknowmynameisanabsolutemystery.UnlessEmmaandLiamareveryserious,andthenLiamwouldhavementionedhisannoyingroommateonceortwice,andwillyoulookatthat?ItappearsthatIjustcannotbearthethought.“Yes.Um…Nicetomeetyou.”
Emma’shandshakeiscoolandfirm.Shesmilesbriefly,niceandself-assured,thenturnstopickupherjacketfromastool.
“Well.Thiswasfun.Informative,too.Mara,Ihopewe’llmeetatonmoretimes.Andyou…”SheturnstoLiam.Hervoicedropslower,butIcanstillmakeoutthewords.“Cheerup,buddy.Idon’tthinkyou’reasdoomedtoalifetimeofpiningasyouthink.I’llcallyoutomorrow.”She’snotverytallandhastostandonhertiptoestokisshimonthecheek,onehandpressingagainsthisabsforbalance,andifLiammindshavingherupinhisspace,hedoesn’tshowit.Thenthereisafriendlywave,directedatmethistime,acheerful“Goodnight,”thesoundofherheelsagainsttheparquetflooringonherwaytotheentrance,andthen—
Gone.
Thatnoisewasthefrontdooropeningandclosing,whichmeansthatLiamandIarealone.
“Liam,I’msosorry.Ididn’tmeanto…”
“To?”Hescratchesthebackofhisneck,lookingconfusedbymyreaction.He’sstillleaningagainstthecounter,andIcan’tmakemyselfmoveawayfromtheentrance.Ican’tmakemyselfcontinueandapologizeforinterruptinghisdate.Iwasgoingtoleave.Ipromise.Youguyscouldhavecontinuedinyourroom,Liam.Iwouldn’thaveminded.
Really.
“Howdidthepresentationgo?”
Ilookupfrominspectingmyshoes.“What?”
“Yourpresentationtoday?Fortheleadposition?”
“Ah.”Right.Thepresentation.TheoneI’vebeencomplainingaboutfordays.TheoneIpracticedwithhimyesterday.Andthedaybefore.Theoneheprobablyknowsbyheart.“Um,verygood.Good.Well,okay.Passable.”
“It’sgettingworsebytheword.”
Iwince.“Itwas…Istumbledabit.”
“Isee.”
“ButmaybeIstilldidbetterthanSean?”
“Maybe?”
“Probably.”
Liamsmiles.“Probably?”
Ismileback.“Almostcertainly.”
“Whataspeedyimprovement.”
Ichuckle,andhepushesawayfromthecounterandcomestostandrightinfrontofme.Likehewantstobecloserforthisconversation.Closertome.
“It’sbadnewsforyou,though,”Isay.
“Isit?”
“IfIgetthisposition,you’regoingtohavetostepupandfindanewjob,too.”
“Ah.Yes.”
“Wemadeadeal.”
“Adealisadeal.”
“Also,aftertheinterviewtheygaveusinformationonthesalary.It’sabigraise.I’lldefinitelybeabletomoveout.”
Hiseyesharden,thenswitchbacktoaneutralmask.“Right.”
“What?”Iteasehim.“Youafraidyoucan’taffordtobuyyourowncreamer?”Whatdoesheevenuseitfor?Istilldon’tknow.
“JustconcernedI’llhavetowatchEileenmaketerriblelifechoicesonmyown.”
“Eileenknowswhatshe’sdoing.AsIexplainedinmylastblogpost.”
“WhichIhave,ofcourse,read.”
He’snotfunny.He’snotthatfunny.I’mnothalfinlovewithhisweirdsenseofhumor.“Ican’tbelieveyoucommented‘deleteyouraccount.’It’scyberbullying,Liam.”
Heisnowsmiling,andthereissomethingwarmunfurlinginmychestnow.Whichreallyshouldn’tbethere,because…Because.“Areyouandyourfriend…?”Iask.
“Myfriend?”
“Emma.”
“Ah.”
Silence.Iwringmyhands,realizingthatIhaven’treallyformulatedaquestion.Issheyour…No.Toodirect.Areyoutwodating?AndwhatisthishiccupinmyheartasIcontemplatethethought?MaybeLiamhasnevermentionedagirlfriend.Oranygirl.ButwhatdidIthink?Thathewaslivingincelibacy?It’snotmybusiness,anyway.We’rejustfriends.Goodfriends.Butfriends.
“What?”Hegivesmealonglook,likeIjustaskedapreposterousquestionthat’snotgroundedinreality.TherealitythatIjustwalkedinonhimPDAingher.
“Ithoughtyoutwo…?”
“No.”Heshakeshisheadonce.Thenheshakesitagain.“No,Emmais…Wewereinkindergartentogether.Andshe…No.We’refriends,goodfriends,butnothinglikethat.”
“Oh.”Oh?Really?Noway.Way?
“We’rejustfriends,”herepeatsagain.LikehewantstomakesureIknowit.Likehe’safraidthatIdon’tbelievehim.Which,tobefair,Idon’t.Lookather.Lookathim.“She’sactually…SheknowsthatI…”Hewipesahanddownhisface,likehealwaysdoeswhenhe’soverwhelmedortired.It’sagestureI’mseeingmoreoflately.BecauseLiamhasbeenlettingmeseemoreofhim.They’renotallbad,thesharpedgesanddeepgroovesofthisman’spersonality.Unexpected,butnotbadatall.
“Knowsthatyou?”
“ThatIdon’tusually…Inever…Well,almostnever,apparently…”Liamshakeshishead,asiftosayNevermind,andIremainunsureastowhathealmostneverdoes,becausehedoesn’tcontinueandI’mnotcertainthatIwanttoprobe.Plus,he’slookingatmeinawayIcan’tunderstand,andI’msuddenlyfeelinglikeit’stimetoskedaddle.“I’mgonnagotosleep,okay?”Ismile.“Ihaveanearlymorningtomorrow.”
Henods.“Okay.Sure.”ButwhenI’malmostoutoftheroom,hecallsafterme.“Mara?”
Ipause.Don’tturnaround.“Yeah?”
“I…Haveagoodnight.”
Itdoesn’tsoundlikewhatheoriginallymeanttosay.ButIanswer,“You,too,”andrunbacktomyroomanyway.Nine
Onemonthago
Ihadlotsoffuntonight.”
“Good.Thankyou.Imean…”Iclearmythroat.“SodidI.”
Tedisnothingifnotpredictable.HetookmetotheEthiopianrestaurantItoldhimI’dbeenwantingtotry(excellent);heraisedtopicsofconversationIknowenoughabouttofeelcomfortable,butnotsofamiliarthatIgotboredwithinafewminutes;andnow,nowthathe’swalkedmetomydoor,he’sgoingtoleaninandkissme,justlikeIcouldhaveanticipatedwhenhepickedmeupexactlythreehoursago.
Itis,predictably,agoodkiss.Asolidkiss.ItcouldprobablyleadintogoodsexifIdecidedtoinvitehiminsideforadrink.Solidsex.Long-time-no-havesex.We’retalkingyears,here.Helenawouldpopthechampagneandremindmetodustoffthecobwebs.
Andyet.
Ihavenointentionofaskinghimtocomein.It’strulybeenages,butthisthingwithTedisjust…no.
He’saniceguy,butthisisnotgoingtowork,foravarietyofreasons.Which,Itellmyself,havenothingtodowithhowlongLiamstaredatmeearliertoday,beforeTedpulledupourdriveway.OrwiththewayheinstantlyavertedhisgazewhenIcaughthim.Orwiththehoarsequalityofhisvoicewhenhetookinmydressandsaid,“I…Youlookbeautiful.”
Hesoundedlikehewantedtosaysomethingelse.Alittlewistful.Almostapologetic.Itmademeregretspendingthirtyminutesputtingonmakeuptogooutwithsomeoneelse,somepoorguyIdon’tevenwanttoimpressforthesimplereasonthatheisn’t…
Yeah.
“I…”ItakeadeepbreathandtakeastepbackfromTed,whoseonlyfaultis…notbeinganotherguy.IcannotpicturehimwatchingTheBachelorwithme,whichisapparentlyadealbreaker.Themoreyouknow,huh?“I’mgonnagoinsidenow.Butthanksforeverything.Ihadalovelyevening.”
IfTedisdisappointed,Ican’ttell.Tohiscredit,hehesitatesonlybriefly.ThenhesmilesandretreatstohiscarwithoutanyI’llcallyouorSeeyounexttimethatwebothknowwouldbenothingmorethanliesofpoliteness.IsilentlythanktheEPAgodsfortransferringhimtoanotherteamlastweek,andmakemywayinside.
I’msurprisedtofindLiaminthelivingroom,sittingonthecouchwithabeerinonehand,astackofpapersinanother,ridiculouslycutereadingglassesperchedonhisnose.OrmaybeI’mnot.It’sSaturdaynight,afterall.WeusuallyspendourSaturdaynightsonthatverycouch,watchingTV,talkingabouteverythingandnothing.Itmakessensethathe’shere,eventhoughIwasgone.
Forthelifeofme,Ican’trememberabetteractivitythanstayingathomeinmypj’sandhangingoutwithmyroommate.
“Whatareyoureading?”
Liamglancesupatme,takesinmyshort-but-not-too-shortdress,myloosehair,myredlips,thenimmediatelylooksbacktohispapers.“Justaguidelinedocumentforwork.”
“Howtoachieveyourveryownoilspillinteneasysteps?”
Hislipsquirkupward.“Ithinkyouonlyneedtheone.”
“Listen,we’vebeenoverthis.It’sokayifyoudon’twanttoquitjustyet,buttheveryleastyoucandoisnotworkonweekends.Comeon,Liam.Doitfortheenvironment.”
Hesighs,buthetakesoffhisglassesandputsawaythepapers.Ismileandreachforwardtograbhisbeerandtakeasipwithoutbotheringtoask.Liamstudiesmeinsilence,butdoesn’tstartreadingagain.WhenIliftoneeyebrow—what?—hecaves,andasks:“Isn’thecomingin?”
“Who?”
Liamlookstowardtheentrance.
“Ah.”Right.Othermenexist,too.Hardtoremembersometimes.“No.Ted’snot…Hewenthome.”
“Oh.”
“I’mnot…We’renot…”Howtoputit?“Wehaven’t…”
Liamnods,thoughhecannotpossiblyhavemadesenseofwhatIjustmumbled.Andthenhesaysnothing.Andthenthingsseemtogetabitweird.Thereisanoddtensionintheroom.Likewe’rebothholdingbacksomething.I’drathernotsearchinsidemyselftofigureoutwhat.
“Ishouldgotobed.”
“Okay.”Heswallows.“Goodnight.”
Itmightbethattwofuzzynavelsweretoomany,ormaybeIjustneverreallygotthehangofhighheels.ThefactremainsthatIlosemybalanceandstumblejustasItrytowalkpasthim.Hishands,largeandsolidandwarmeventhroughmydress,closearoundmyhipsuntilI’mstableagain.I’mstanding,andhe’ssittingdown,andlikethisI’mseveralinchestallerthanhim,andIt’snew,seeinghimfromthisperspective.Helooksyounger,almostsofter,andmyfirstdrunkeninstinctistocuphisface,tracethelineofhisnose,runmythumboverhislowerlip.
Istopmyself,butmyslow,misfiringbraindoesn’t.Itfeedsmeanoddimage:Liamsmilingandpullingmedownintohislap.Pushingbetweenmyknees.Hishandsskimmingupmythighs,undermydress,ticklingmyskin,makingmelaugh.Hereachesmylowerbackandhisgriptightens,longfingersslidingundertheelasticofmypanties,cuppingmyasstopressmeto…Oh.Heishard.Big.Insistent.HearrangesmeexactlyhowhewantsmeandIexhalejustashegroansinmyear,“Careful,Mara.”
Wait.What?
Iblinkoutofwhateverthehellthatwas,justasLiamletsgoofme.Hesays,“Careful,Mara,”andItakeastepbackbeforeIcanhumiliatemyselfwithsomethingmoronicandutterlyembarrassing.
“Thanks.”Oureyesholdforwhatfeelsliketoolong.Iclearmythroat.“Areyougoingtobed,too?”
“Notyet.”
“Youarenotallowedtoreadmoreoilspillstuff,Liam.”
“ThenmaybeI’lljustplayabit.”
“WithoutCalvin?”Icockmyhead.“Didn’tyousayCalvinwouldcomeover?”
“Hewassupposedto.”
“Youknowwhat?”Irunahandthroughmyhair.It’sasplit-seconddecision.“I’mactuallynotthatsleepy,either.ShouldIplaywithyou?”
Helaughs.“Really?”
“Yes.What?”Itakeoffmyshoes,grabablanket—theoneheputonmethatfirstnight,theonethat’sbeeninthisroomeversince—andletmyselffallontothecouch,rightnexttohim.Alittletooclose,maybe,butLiamdoesn’tcomplain.“IhaveaPh.D.Icanpretendtokillbadguysusinga…joystick?”
“Controller.”Heshakeshishead,buthelooks…happy,Ithink.“Haveyoueverplayedavideogame?”
“Nope.Fulldisclosure,theylookawfulandI’mnotsurewhyanobviouslysmartpersonwithabunchofIvyLeaguedegreesthatcostmorethanmyinternalorganswouldbesointothispew-pewcrap,butIrunaBachelorblog,soIhavenolegtostandon.”Ishrug.“So,whathappenedtoCalvin?”
“Couldn’tmakeit.”
“Playingwithsomeoneelse?”
“Adate.”
Ihum.“Maybeyoushouldhavejoinedhim.WasEmmabusy?”
HegivesmealookthatIcannotquitedecipher.Asthoughthere’ssomethingcatastrophicallywrongaboutwhatIsaid.“Itoldyou,Emmadoesn’twanttodatemeanymorethanIwanttodateher.”
Idoubtit.Whowouldn’t?Also,howfreakedoutwouldyoubeifItoldyouthattheothernightIdreamtofyouandEmma,sittingsidebysideinthekitchen,andIwassad?Butonlyforalittle.Becauseafterawhileitwasn’tyouandEmma.Itwasyouandmeandyouwerestandingbetweenmylegsandyouputyourhandsonmyinnerthighsandyoupushedthemopen,wider,tomakeroomforyourselfand—“Youcoulddatesomeoneelse,then,”Iblurtout.Toputahalttowhat’sgoingoninmyhead.
“Idon’tthinkIwantto,Mara.”
“Right.”Myhearthiccups.“Youwouldn’tenjoygoodfoodandpleasantconversationandgettinglaid.”
“Isthathowyourdatewent?”heaskssoftly,notlookingatmeanymore.
“Ijustmeant—”I’mflustered.“Youmightenjoydatingtherightperson.”
“StopchannelingHelena.”
Ilaugh.“Gottakeepupthehouseholdtraditionofbeingnosyaboutpeople’spersonallives.”Somethingoccurstome,andIgasp.“Youknowwhat’sreallyshocking?”
“What?”
“ThatHelenanevertriedtosetusup.Like,youandme.Together.”
“Yeah,that’s—”Liamfallssilentabruptly,asthoughsomethingoccurredtohim,too.Hestaresintothemiddledistanceforamomentandthenletsoutalow,deeplaugh.“Helena.”
“What?”Hedoesn’tanswerme.SoIrepeat,“Liam?What?”
“Ijustrealizedthat…”Heshakeshishead,amused.“Nothing,Mara.”Iwanttoinsisttillheexplainswhatrevelationheappearstohavereached,butheputsacontrollerinmyhandandsays,“Let’splay.”
“Okay.WhoamIsupposedtokill,andhowdoIdoit?”
Hesmilesatme,andamillionlittlesparkscrackledownmyspine.“Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”Ten
Threeweeksago
WhenLiamarriveshome,Icanbarelyfeelmytoes,myteetharechattering,andIammoreblanketthanhuman.Hestudiesmefromtheentranceofthelivingroomwhilepullingoffhistie,lipspressedtogetherinwhatlooksalotlikeamusement.
Asshole
Heobservesmeforlongmomentsbeforecomingcloser.Thenhecrouchesinfrontofme,widensthegapbetweenthelayersofblanketstobetterseemyeyes,andsays,“I’mafraidtoask.”
“Th-th-theheatisn’tworking.Ialreadylookedintoit—Ithinkafusehasb-blown.Icalledtheguywhofixeditlastt-time,heshouldb-behereinhalfanhour.”
Liamcockshishead.“You’reunderthreeSnuggies.Whyareyourlipsblue?”
“It’sfreezing!Ican’tgetwarm.”
“It’snotthatcold.”
“Maybeit’snotthatcoldwhenyouhavesixhundredpoundsofmusclestoinsulateyou,butI’mgonnad-d-die.”
“Areyou.”
“Ofhypothermia.”
Heisdefinitelypressinghislipstogethertoavoidsmiling.“Wouldyouliketoborrowmybaby-sealfurcoat?”
Ihesitate.“Doyoureallyhaveone?”
“Wouldyouwantit,ifIdid?”
“I’mscaredtofindout.”
Heshakeshisheadandsitsnexttomeonthecouch.“Comehere.”
“What?”
“Comehere.”
“No.Why?Areyouplanningtostealmyseat?Backoff.Ittookmeagestowarmitup—”
Idon’tgettofinishthesentence.Becausehepicksmeup,Snuggiesandall,andliftsmeacrosshislapuntilmyassisrestingonhisthighs.Which.
Oh.
Thisisnew.
Foramoment,myspinestiffensandmymusclestenseinsurprise.Butit’sverybrief,becausehe’ssodeliciouslytoasty.Waycozierthanmystupidspotonthecouch,andhisskin…itsmellsfamiliarandgood.So,sogood.“You’resowarm.”Iletmyforeheadfallagainsthischeek.“It’slikeyougenerateheat.”
“Ithinkallhumansdo.”Hisnosetouchestheicytipofmyear.“It’sphysics,orsomething.”
“Firstlawofth-thermodynamics.Energycanbeneithercreatednordestroyed.”
Hishandtravelsupmyspinetocupmynape,andthetemperatureissuddenlyfive,tendegreeshigher.Heatlicksdownmyspineandspreadsaroundmytorso.Mybreasts.Mybelly.Ialmostwhimper.“Exceptbyyou,apparently,”hesays.
“It’ssounfair.”Liam’sthumbistracingpatternsontheskinofmythroat,andIhavenochoicebuttosigh.I’malreadyfeelingbetter.I’mglowing
“Thatyouarewheretheheatgoestodie?”
“Yeah.”Iburrowcloserintohischest.“Maybemyparentsaresecretlysharkshapeshifters.Ofthecold-blooded,poikilothermicvariety.TheyforgottowarnmethatIinheritedzerothermoregulationskillsandshouldneverliveondryland.”
“It’stheonlypossibleexplanation.”Hisbreathchuffsagainstmytemples,afine,pleasantitch.
“Formypathologicalinabilitytomaintainthermalhomeostasis?”
“Forhowlittletheyappreciateyou.”He’ssuddenlyholdingmealittletighter.Alittlecloser.“Also,forhowrareyoulikeyoursteak.”
“I…Mediumrare.”Myvoiceshakes.Itellmyselfthatit’sbecauseofthecoldandnotthefactthatheremembersthethingsItoldhimaboutmyfamily.
“Please.Basicallyraw.”
“Humph.”Nopointinarguingwithhim,notwhenhe’sright.Notwhenhishandisrunningupanddownmyarm—awarming,calminggesture,eventhroughtheblankets.“Doyouthinkhe’llbeabletofixthefusetonight?”
“Ihopeso.Ifnot,I’llruntothestoreandgetyouaheater.”
“Youwoulddothat?”
Heshrugs.Thereareabouttenlayersbetweenus(LiamvastlyunderestimatedthenumberofSnuggiesIcanputonatonce),buthefeelssowarmandsolid.Afewmonthsago,Ithoughthimcold,ineverypossibleway.BackwhenIusedtobelievethatIhatedhim.“ItfeelslikelessworkthandrivingyoutotheERforfrostbitetreatment.”Hischeekcurvesagainstmybrow
“You’renotasheartlessasyouthink,Liam.”
“I’mnotasheartlessasyouthink.”
Ilaughandleanbacktotakealookathim,becauseitfeelslikehemightbesmiling,awholewidegrin,andthat’sarareandwondrousphenomenonthatIwanttosavor.He’snot,though.He’sstaringatme,too,studyingmeinthatweighty,seriouswayhesometimesdoes.Firstmyeyes,andthenmylips,andwhatisthis,thismomentofheavy,fullsilencethathasmyheartracingandmyskintingling?
“Mara.”Histhroatmovesasheswallows.“I—”
Loudknockingmakesusstartle.
“Theelectrician.”
“Oh.Yeah.”Myvoiceisbothshrillandbreathless.
“I’llgetthedoor,okay?”
Please,don’t.Stay.“Okay.”
“DoyouthinkyoucanavoidhypothermiaifIletgoofyou?”
“Yes.Probably.”No.“Maybe?”
Herollshiseyesinthatput-uponwaythatremindsmesomuchofHelena.Buthissmile,theoneIwaslookingforearlier—hereitis.Finally.“Verywell,then.”Withoutlettinggo,hestandsandcarriesmeallthewaytotheentrance.
Ihidemyfaceinhisneck,hummingwithwarmthandsomethingelse,unfamiliarandunidentifiable.Eleven
Twoweeksago
IgetthephonecallonaWednesdaynight,beforedinnerbutafterI’vereturnedfromwork.
Iamremarkablycomposedthroughout:Iohandahinalltherightplaces;Iaskpertinent,importantquestions;Ievenremembertothankthecallerforsharingthenewswithme.Butafterwebothhangup,Icompletelyloseit.
Idon’tcallSadie.Idon’ttextHannahinthehopethatshehasreceptioninthebellyofwhateverNordicspermwhaleishercurrentresidence.Irunupstairs,almosttrippingoncarpetsandfurniturethat’sbeenintheHardingfamilyforfivegenerations,andonceI’minfrontofLiam’sofficeIthrowthedooropenwithoutknocking.
Which,inhindsight,isnotmymostpolitemoment.Andneitheristhenext,whenIruntoLiam(who’stalkingonthephonebythewindow),throwmyarmsaroundhiswaistwithutterdisregardforwhateverhe’sdoing,andyell:
“Igotit!Liam—Igotthejob!”
Hedoesn’tskipabeat.“Theteamleaderposition?”
“Yes.”
Hisgrinisblinding.Thenhetells,“I’llcallyouback,”towhoeverisontheline,totallyignoresthefactthattheirreplyis“Sir,thisisatime-sensitiveissue—”andtossesthephoneonthenearestchair.
Thenhehugsmeback.Heliftsmeuplikehe’stoohappyformetoevenconsiderstoppinghimself,likethisphonecallIjusthadthatchangedmylifechangedhis,too,likehe’sbeenwantingthisasmuchandasintenselyasIhave.Andwhenhespinsmearoundtheroom,onesingle,perfectwhirlofpurehappiness,that’swhenIrealizeit.
Howincredibly,utterlygoneforthismanIam.
It’sbeenthereforweeks.Months.Whisperinginmyear,creepingatme,hittingmeinthefacelikeatrainonanirontrack.Ithasgrowntooformidableandluminousformetoignore,butthat’sokay.
Idon’twanttoignoreit.
Liamsetsmeonmyfeet.Hishandslingerovermebeforehetakesastepback—onehandtrailingdownmyarm,theotherpushingalockofhairpastmytemple,behindmyear.Whenheletsgo,Iwanttofollowhim.Iwanttobeghimnotto.
“Mara,youarefantastic.Brilliant.”
IfeelfantasticIfeelbrilliant,whenI’mwithyou.AndIwantyoutofeelthesame.“IclearlydeservetochoosewhattowatchonTVtonight.”
“YouchoosewhattowatchonTVeverynight.”
“ButtonightIactuallydeserveit.”
Helaughs,shakinghishead,holdingmyeyes.Timestretches.Heavy,sweettensionthickensbetweenus.Iwanttokisshim.Iwanttokisshimso,somuch.ShouldIaskhim?Wouldhepushmeaway?Orwouldhepushrightback,pressmeagainsthisdesk,turnmearoundandholdmedownwithahandsplayedbetweenmyshoulderbladesandwhispertomeFinally,andBestill,andLet’scelebrate,and—
No.Stop.
Igasp.“OhmyGod—whatdoyouthinkSeanisdoingrightnow?”
“Cryinginthebathroom,Ihope.”
“Hopefullyhe’stweetingouthisdespairandlisteningtoaMyChemicalRomanceplaylistonSpotify.Imustgostalkhimonsocialmedia.Berightback.”ImaketoskipoutofLiam’sofficeasfastasIranin.Hestopsme,though,withahandonmywrist.
“Mara?”
“Yes?”
Iturnaround.Hishappy,uncharacteristicallyopenfacehasmeltedawayintosomethingelse.Somethingmoresubdued.Opaque.
“Yousaid…Afewweeksago,yousaidthatifyougotthejob,you’dmoveout.”
Oh.
Oh.
Thereminderstabslikeaknifebetweenmyribs.Ididsaythat.Idid.Butit’sbeenweeks.Weeksofstealingfoodoffeachother’splatesandtextinginthemiddleofthedaytobickeraboutEileen’slovelifeandthattimehemademelaughsohardIcouldn’tbreathefortenminutes
Things…Haven’tthingschangedwithus?Betweenus?
Foramoment,Icannotspeak.Idon’tknowwhattosaytothefactthathisfirstthoughtwasthatI’dmoveout—No,that’suncharitable.Hewashappyforme.Genuinelyhappy.Hissecondthoughtwasthathe’dfinallygobacktolivingalone.
Itrytocrackajoke.“Why?Areyoukickingmeout?”
“No.No,Mara,that’snotwhatI—”Hisphonerings,interruptinghim.Liamgivesitafrustratedglance,butbythetimehiseyesareonmeagainI’vecollectedmyself.
IfLiamwantstolivealone,that’sfine.Helikesme.Hecaresaboutme.He’sagreatguy—Iknowallofthat.Butbeingfriendswithsomeonedoesn’tequatewithwantingtospendeverysinglemomentofyourlifewiththem,and…yeah.
Iguessthat’smyownproblemtosolve.SomethingtoworkononceImoveoutandthispartofmylifeisover.
“OfcourseI’mgoingtolookforanewplace.”Itrytosoundcheerful.Withpoorresults.“IcannotwaittowalkaroundnakedandgorgemyselfoncreamertocelebrateEileen’sexcellentlifechoicesand…”Ican’tmakemyselfcontinue,andmyvoicetrailsoff.
Liam’seyesremainwithdrawn.Absent,almost.Butafterawhilehesays,“Whateveryouwant,Mara,”inakind,gentletone.
Imanageonelastsmileandslipoutofhisofficeasthefirsttearhitsmycollarbone.Twelve
Onedayago
Nodimensionalplaneexistsinwhichapartmenthunting(moreprecisely:apartmenthuntingwhileheartbroken)couldeverbepleasant.Ihavetoadmit,however,thatbrowsingCraigslistonthephonewithmyfriendswhileIsipontheoverpricedredwineLiamgotfromanFGPCorpretreatdoesdullthepainoftheordeal.
Sadiejustspentanhourrecountinginwrathfuldetailhowsherecentlywentonadatewithsomeengineerwholaterturnedouttobeatotaldick—aproblem,giventhatsheactuallylikedtheguy(asinreally,reallylikedtheguy).Eventhoughshe’sbeinguncharacteristicallydodgyaboutit,Iam97percentsurethatsexhappened,98percentsurethatthesexwasexcellent,99percentsurethatthesexwasthebestofherlife.Itappearstobefuelingherplanstolacetheguy’scoffeewithtoadvenom,which,ifyouknowSadie,isprettyon-brand.
HannahisbackinHouston,whichisgoodforherInternetconnection,butbadforherpeaceofmind.ShehasbeenbuttingheadswithsomeNASAbig-shotguywhohasbeenvetoingherpetresearchprojectfornoreasonwhatsoever.Hannahis,ofcourse,readyformurder.Ican’tseeherhandsthroughFaceTime,butI’malmostpositiveshe’ssharpeningashiv.
Thereissomethingreassuringinhearingabouttheirlives.Itremindsmeofgradschool,whenwecouldn’taffordtherapyandwe’dengageinsomehealthycommunalbitchingeveryothernight,justtosurvivethemadness.Thereweresomebadmoments—itwasgradschool:therewerealotofbadmoments—butintheend,weweretogether.Intheend,everythingturnedouttobeallright.
Somaybethat’swhatwillhappenthistime,too.I’monthevergeofhomelessness,myheartfeelslikeastone,andIwanttobewithsomeonewaymorethanthatsomeonewantstobewithme.ButSadieandHannahare(moreorless)here,andthereforethingswillturnouttobe(moreorless)allright.
“Menwereamistake,”Sadiesays.
“Bigmistake,”Hannahadds.
“Huge.”Isinkdeeperintothelivingroomcouch,wonderingifLiam,mypersonalmistake,willcomehometonight.It’salreadypastnine.Maybehe’soutfordinner.Maybe,ifhehassomethingtocelebrate,he’llsleepelsewhere.AtEmma’s,perhaps.
“Sometimesthey’reuseful,”Sadiepointsout.“LikethatguywithaKornT-shirtwhohelpedmeopenajarofpickledradishesin2018.”
“Ohyeah.”Inod.“Irememberthat.”
“Handsdownmymostprofoundexperiencewithaman.”
“Inhindsight,youshouldhaveaskedhimtomarryyou.”
“Amissedopportunity.”
“Coulditbethatwe’vejustbeenexceptionallyunlucky?”ThereissomenoiseonHannah’ssideoftheline.Maybesheissharpeningashiv.“Coulditbethatthetideswillturnandwe’llfinallymeetdudeswhodon’tdeservetobefedabowlofthumbtacks?”
“Itcouldbe,”Isay.Bepositive,Helenausedtotellme.Negativityisforoldfartslikeme.“Really,everythingcouldbe.Itcouldbethatwe’llberandomlyselectedforalifetimesupplyofNutella.”
Sadiesnorts.“ItcouldbethatthesurrealistslampoemIwroteinthirdgradewillwinmetheNobelPrizeforliterature.”
“Thatmycactuswillactuallybloomthisyear.”
“Thatthey’llstartproducingTwizzlersicecream.”
“ThatFireflywillgetthefinalseasonitdeserves.”
Noonetalksforafewseconds.UntilHannahsays:“Mara,youbroketheflow.Comeupwithsomethingdelightfulandyetunobtainable.”
“Oh,right.Uhm,itcouldbethatLiamwillcomehome,andaskmenottomoveout,andthenhe’llbendmeoverthenearestpieceoffurnitureandfuckmehardandfast.”BythetimeI’vefinishedthesentence,SadieislaughingandHannahiswhistling.
“Hardandfast,huh?”
“Yup.”Ishakemyhead.“Absolutelypreposterous,though.”
“Nah.Well,nomorethanmyslampoem,”Sadieconcedes.“So,howgoestheunrequitedcrush?”
“It’snotreallyacrush.”Plentyunrequited,though.
“Ithoughtwehadagreedthatfantasizingaboutbeingbentoverthekitchensinkdoes,infact,constituteacrush?”
Ihuff.“Fine.It’s…good.Barelythere,really.Idon’treallydaydreamabouthavingsexwithhimthatoften.”Liar.Whataliar.“Stillinthelarvalstage.”It’shittingitsteenageyearsandisstrongasanox.“Ithinkthatsomedistancewillbegood.Ihavealeadonacheap-ishapartmentdowntown.”I’llmissthisplace.I’llmissfeelingclosetoHelena.I’llmissthewayLiammakesfunofmeforbeingunabletolearnthebuttonsofthestupidPlayStationcontrollers.So,somuch.
“Andyou’resureLiam’sokaywithyouleaving?”
“It’swhathewants.”Thingshavebeenalittleweirdinthepastweek.Awkward.Abitofastepbackforus,but…I’llbefine.It’llbefine.“Ithinkit’llgoaway.Thecrush.”
“Right,”Sadieagrees,withoutlookingmuchlikeshedoesagree.
“Verysoon,”Iadd.
“I’msure.”
“Ijustneedhimto…neverfindoutaboutthefurniturefantasies,”Iexplain.
“Hm.”
“Becauseitwouldmakethingsweirdforus,”Iexplain.“Forhim.”
“Yeah.”
“Andhedoesn’tdeserveit.”
“No.”
“He’sagoodfriend.Also,he’sinthemiddleofmakinglotsoflifechanges.Iwanttobesupportive.AndIlikehangingoutwithhim.”
“Yup.”
“Basically,Idon’twanthimtofeeluncomfortablearoundme.”
“Nope.”
“Anyway.”Mycheeksfeelwarm.Itmustbeallthewine.“Weshouldtalkaboutsomethingelse.”
“Okay.”
“Like.Literallyanythingelse.”
“Fine.”
“Oneofyoushouldproposeatopic.”
Iftheywerehereinperson,SadieandHannahwouldexchangealong,loadedlook.Asitis,theyaresilentforafewmoments.ThenHannahsays,“CanItellyouastory?”
“Sure.”
“It’saboutafriendofmine.”
Ifrown.“Whichfriend?”
“Ah…Sarah.”
“Sarah?”
“Sarah.”
“Idon’tthinkIknowher.SincewhendoyouhavefriendsIdon’tknowabout?”
“Notimportant.So,acoupleofyearsagomyfriendSarahmovedinwiththisguy,um…Will.Andinitiallytheyreallyhatedeachother,butthentheyfiguredoutthattheyweremoresimilarthantheythought,andshestartedtalkingabouthimmoreandmore,inincreasinglypositiveterms.SoSadieandI—Sadieknowsher,too—well,wewerelike,Jeez,isshefallingforthisdude?Andthenonenightmyfriendconfessedtomethatshehadveryfilthy,veryelaborate-soundingfantasiesaboutWillbendingheroverthekitchentableand—”
“Bye,Hannah.”
“Wait,”Sadiesays,“wehaven’theardtheending!”
“YouguysareshitfriendsandI’mnotsurewhyIloveyousomuch.”Ihanguponthem,laughingdespitemyself.Itossmyphoneawayandgetuptorefillmyglassofwine,thinkingthatwhenHannahandSadiefallforsomeoneI’llteasethemmercilesslyandmakeupfakestoriesaboutfakepeople,andthenthey’llknowhowitfeels,tobe—
“Mara.”
Liamisstandingintheentranceofthelivingroom,necktieinonehand,lookingtiredandhandsomeandtalland—
Ohshit.“Liam?”
“Hi.”
“W-whendidyougethere?”
“Justnow.”
“Oh.”Thankfuck.“Howwasyour…Theinterview,howdiditgo?”
“Good,Ithink.”
“Oh.Good.”
Hejustgothere,hesaid.Hecan’thavepossiblyoverheardme.Ihaven’tsaidanythingcompromisinginthepastfewseconds.AndHannah’sknockofffairytaleuseddifferentnames.
Whyishestaringatmelikethat,then?
“Whenwillyouknowifyougotthejob?”
Heshrugs.“Afewdays,Iassume.”Hecuthishairlastweek.Nottooshort,butshorterthaniteverwas.Sometimes—often—I’llseehiminacertainlight,orI’llcatchhimmakingoneofthosefacesthatI’msurehedoesn’tletanyoneelsesee,andmybreathwillhitchfromthewonderofit.
“Areyouhungry?Imadeastir-fry.There’sleftovers.”
Hestudiesmeandsaysnothing.
“Nocarrots.Ipromise.”WhatwillIdowithallthisknowledgeIhaveofhislikesanddislikes?Thisknowledgeofhim?Wherewillitgooncehe’snotinmylifeanymore?
“I’mnothungry,butthanks.”
“Okay.”Iwalkaroundthecouch,lookingforsomethingtodowithmyself,andleanagainstthedoorjamb.Justafewfeetawayfromhim.“IthinkI’vefoundaplace.Tomove,Imean.”
“Youhave?”Unreadable,hisexpression.
“Yeah.ButIwon’tknowtillafewdaysfromnow.”
Silence.Andalong,thoughtfulstare.
“Istillwon’tsellmyhalf.Sorry,Iknowyouwanttobuymeout,but—”
“Idon’t.”
Ifrown.“Whatdoyoumean,youdon’t?”
“Idon’t.”
Ilaugh.“Liam,you’vebeenofferingtobuymeoutforamillionyears.”
Hismouthquirks.“Amillionyearsagothehousedidn’texistandthisplacewasaswamp,butit’snotasifyou’reanenvironmentalscientistandcouldpossiblyknow—”
“Oh,shutup.AllI’msayingis,foralongtime…”Though,nowthatIthinkaboutit,hislawyerhasn’temailedmein…weeks.Months,maybe?“OhmyGod.Liam,areyoubroke?”Ileanforward.“Isitthestockmarket?Haveyougambledawayallyourmoney?HaveyoubettheentiretyofyoursavingsontheU.S.malesoccerteamwinningtheWorldCupandonlybelatedlyrealizedthattheydidn’tevenqualify?HaveyoubecomeinvolvedinaLuLaRoepyramidschemeandcan’tstopbuyingnewleggings—”
“Areyoudrunk?”
“No.Well,Ihadsomeofyourwine.Alot.Why?”
“Yougetannoyingwhenyou’redrunk.”There’sahintofasmileinhiseyes.“Butcute.”
Istickmytongueout.“You’reannoyingallthetime.”Andcute,too.
Liam’ssmilewidensalittle,andhelooksdownathisfeet.Then:“Goodnight,Mara.”Heturnsaroundandheadsforhisroom.Theyellowlightofthelampcastsawarm,goldenglowoverthebreadthofhisshoulders.
“Bytheway,”Icallafterhim,“Iboughtanewcreamer.It’scinnamon.You’llhateit!”
Liamdoesn’tansweranddoesn’tpauseonhiswayout.Idon’tseehimuntilthefollowingnight,andthat…
That’swhenithappens.Thirteen
Present
Theweirdestpartishowquicklyeverythingchanges.
Oneminute,I’minthemiddleofcleaningupthekitchen,wonderingwhetherthesmoothieblenderisdishwashersafe,thinkingaboutmyongoingpiningandmyupcomingmove,abouthowmuchI’llmissthis—cominghomeafterwork,findingtwelveforksandacolanderinthesink,wonderinghowmanyofthemareLiam’s.
Thenext,heisstandingbehindme.LiamHardingisstandingrightbehindme,onpurpose,andpressingmeintothecounter.Asthoughhewantstobehere,close,touchingme,asmuchasIwanthimtobe.Iamtoostupefiedtodoanythingaboutthewaterrunninginthekitchen,butheleansforwardtoturnitoff,andallofasuddentheroomissilent.
Hishandclosesaroundmyhip,andIcannotthink.Icannotcomprehendwhatishappening.I’mbreathing.He’sbreathing.We’rebreathingtogether—samerhythm,sameair—andforamomentIjustfeelit.This.It’snice.It’sgood.It’swhatI’vebeenwanting.
Thenheshiftsmyhairbehindmyshoulder;uncoversthebaseofmythroat.Ifeelsomething—teeth,maybe?—grazingatmyskin.
“Liam?”Ihalfmoan.
“It’sme.”Heiskissingme.There.“Isthisokay?”
I’mnodding—Yes—towhat,Idon’tknow.Yes,you’reLiam.Yes,thisisokay.Yes,I’mabouttomelttothefloor.
“Yousmellsogood,Mara.”
ThankGodforthekitchensinktoholdonto,becausemykneesareabouttogiveout.ThankGodforLiam’shands,too.Exceptthatoneisslidingundermyshirt.I’veneverthoughtofmyselfasdainty,butitsomehowmanagestocovermyentiretorso,andhisthumb..
It’sbrushingagainsttheundersideofmybreast,and—
Oh
Helicksthepulseinthedipofmythroat,andI’mmortifiedtohearmyselfwhimper.
“Youaresosoft.”Hisbreathishotinmyear,andIshiver.Exactlyonce.“IthinkIimaginedyouwouldn’tbe.You’realwaysrunning,workingout.Youalwayslooksostrong,but…”
Heletsgoofmeforafractionofasecond,andeverysinglecellinmybodyrevoltsatonce.
No.
Wait.
Stay.
Buthe’sonlyadjustingme.Hishandpressesonmylowerback,anglingmejustso:slightlybentforward,like…God,likehe’saboutto—
He’sbackonmeimmediately.Beginstoundothezipperofmyjeans,thecatchofitlikeadruminthesilence.Airrushesoutofmylungsinasharpexhale.
“Okay?”heasksagain,soft,deafening,anditisokay.Evenifmyjeansareslidingdownmythighs,andIhavenever,everfeltlessincontrol.Ithinkwe’reabouttohavesex,butsexisnotlikethis.Sexisawkwardlypullingoffclothes,andnegotiatingpositions,andhoursofforeplaypepperedwithAreyousureyoushouldn’tbeontop?andWait,that’smyelbow.Sexisnotgoingfromzerotoamillionthisway.Notforme.It’snotgrippingtheedgeofthesinktostopmyselffrommoaning,orneedingtogrindagainstsomething—anything—orfeelingmykneesweakentojelly.
“Isthiswhatyouwanted,Mara?”Heslidesafingerundermypantiesandpartsmyfolds.Onesinglefinger.“Whatyou—Oh.”
Foramoment,Ipanic.Icannotpossiblybewet,notyet.ButthenIrealizethatIam,andIcanfeelitandhearit,theslickslideofskinagainstskin,myownbodyalreadybeginningtoflutter.
AndLiammakesitclearthathelikesit.“You,”hegruntsintomyear.“Youwouldn’tbelieveit,thethingsI’vethoughtaboutdoing.”
“The…?”
“Isthishowyouwantedit?”
“Wanted…what?”
“Yousaidyouwantedtobefucked.Hardandfast.”DidIsaythat?Ican’trecall.Ican’tremembermyownname,andthenthingsgetevenworse:behindme,hegoesonhisknees.Whatishe—?“Off.”Liamtugsatmyjeansandpantiesuntilthey’repoolingaroundmyankles,thentossesthemontheothersideoftheroomonceI’vesteppedoutofthem.“Goodgirl.”
Igasp.Didhejustsaythat?Tome?ButIcan’taskhimtorepeathimself,sinceheclearlygotalittledistractedonhiswayup.Hishandtravelsalongmyinnerthigh,longfingersgripthesoftskinofmybackside.ItoccurstomeinthatmomentthatIamnowbare.CompletelynakedexceptforaflimsyT-shirtandanevenflimsierbra.AndthatthispersonsoftlybitingintothefleshofmyassasthoughIamapieceofripefruit,thispersonisLiamHarding.
Liam.Harding.Whotouchesmeasthoughhealreadyknowsmybody.WhospreadsmeapartlikeI’malawschoolbookandburieshisfaceintome.Whogroansintomyfleshandmutters,“Sorry.”Hemanagestosoundgenuinelyapologeticashepullsbacktolickandsucktheskinofmyrightbuttock.“Iknowyouwantithardandfast.Just,Ithinkaboutthisalot.Aboutyou.”Aheartbeat,andhe’sonhisfeetagain,chestpressedagainstmyback.Onehandtightenssweetlyaroundmyhip,andhepushesakneebetweenmylegs,untilmostofmyweightisrestingonhisthigh.Ihearvaguelyobscenesounds:somethingclinking,somethingfumbling,somethingbeingshovedaside.Thenit’shotfleshpushingagainstmineandamurmured,“Okay?”thatImusthavenoddedto,because—
Friction
Myvisionblursaroundtheedges.Liamisinsideme.Barely.Justthetip.He’salsoenormous—noroom,noroom—relentless,lovely,magnificent.Deep
“Fuck,Mara.Thisisunreal.”
There’salotofharshbreathing,and“Justabitmore,”andtightmusclesclenchingandreleasing,buthebottomsout,andit’sjustthissideoftoomuch.Itwouldbetoomuch,butithelpsthatLiamholdsontomelikelettinggowouldkillhim,andthathisfingersareunsteadyashepushesmyhairawayfrommyshoulder.Butmybodyseemstobeintothis,unused,hiddenspacesstuffedfull,flutteringaround…God.
AroundLiam’scock.
“Ican’tthinkwhenyou’rearound.”Hisvoiceisrough.Heholdsstillinsideme,asthoughhe’sinnohurrytostart,butIcanfeelhimvibratewithtension.Theheelofhispalmslidesdowntorestagainstmyclit.“Ican’tthinkwhenyou’renotaround.It’sbeenaproblem.IfeellikeIhaven’tformulatedacoherentthoughtinmonths.Ifeellikeyouwon’tstopbeinginmyhead,and—”
Justlikethat,it’sallover.Liamhasn’tevenmovedyet,butmymindgoesblank.TheworldrecedesandIstartcomingwithoutwarning,archingagainsthim,bitingintomyliptosilenceascream.Pleasuresinksintome,andI’mhelplesstostopit.
Idon’tknowhowlongpassesbeforeI’mbacktomyself,hisbreathsharpinmyear.“Didyoujust—?”Liamsoundsinpain.“Didyoureallycome,justfromme…”
I’mdazed.Mynerveendingsarestilltingling.Ishutmyeyestightandnodmyembarrassmentjustashisteethclosearoundthefleshypartofmyshoulder.Hegruntslikeananimal,likehe’sdesperatetokeepwhatevercontrolhecan.
“Fuck,Mara,you…canItakeyoutobed?”
HistoneisunlikeanythingI’veeverheardfromhim,pleadingandalittleraw.He’sstilltwitchinginsideme;everyfewsecondsorsoheseemstolosewhatevergriphehasonhimselfandrollshiships.Itdoesn’thelpmyfocus.Orhisfocus.Ourfocus.
Whichwemaybeshouldkeep.Thisshouldstoprightnow,maybe.Asgoodasit’sbeen—andithasjustredefinedsexforme—I’mnotquitesurewhyLiamwantsthis,andifit’sjustsomeimpromptufuckingthatmeansnothingtohimbuthaslotsofheartbreakinstoreforme…Maybeweshouldstophere?
“I’lltrytokeepitfast.”He’slickingawaythestingofhisearlierbite.“Butletmetakeyoutobed.”
Thethingis,Idon’twanttostop.I’vecomeoncealready,justfromhimslidingintomeandstretchingmetootight,fromthefeelofhishandclutchingmyhipbone—asmallmiracleinandofitself,becauseitusuallytakesmeforever.ButifIlethimtakemetobed,he’sgoingtowreckme.Heisgoingtoruinmeforanyoneelse.Heisgoingtodestroymeineachandeverypossibleway
“Please,”hemurmurs.
Idon’treallyhaveachoice:Iwanttosayyes,soInod.Whateveryouwant,youcanhave,Liam.
It’snotpretty,whenhepullsout.Hegaspsabreathofpurefrustrationandit’sclearthathehatesit.Ihateit,too,andI’mtheonewhojusthadalife-alteringorgasm.Liam’stheonewhogaveittomeandtookverylittleforhimself—whichdoesn’tevencomeasasurprise.
Iwouldn’thavefallenforanunkindman.
Hetakesmytopandbraoff,andI’mtoostupidwithaftershocksofpleasuretodoanythingbutstandthereandlethim,watchhimstarehisfillwithdark,unreadableeyes,eventhoughI’mcompletelynakedandmybellybuttonisstillanoutieandthelacrossescaristhere,gleamingwhiteinthedimlightsoftheroom.
“Comehere.Mara,you…Fuck.Comehere.”Hisjawistenseashepicksmeupandcarriesmetohisroom.Myfirsttimehere,butIknowthisplace—becauseIknowLiam.Darkcolors.Framedpicturesofsemihostilenaturefromthetripshetoldmeabout.Sparsefurniture.Astackofbooksonhisbedsidetable.Readingglasses,theonesIteasehimabout,unfoldedinthemiddleofhisdesk.Iwanttoexploreeverycorner,butthere’snotime.Themattressbouncesunderneathmyback,andthenhe’stakingupmyentirefieldofview.
“CanIkissyou?”Hismouthishoveringafewinchesabovemine,soIpressmyhandsdownhisnapeandarchintohim,kissinghimmyself.
It’sslow,andwarm,andachinglycareful.Hewasfuckingmelessthanaminuteago.HewassodeepinsidemethatIfeltdeliciouslysplitintwo.Butnowthere’sthisgentleslidingoflipsandtongues,Liamnibblingonme,holdingfirstmychin,thenthebackofmyhead,andmyheartsingsforhim.
Iamcatastrophically,ruinouslyinlovewithyou.
“Ilovekissingyou,”Isighintohismouth.
“Mara.”Hislips.Hisvoice.“Iwanttokissyoueverywhere.”Hemovesback,asifsomethingoccurstohimjustthen.“CanIgodownonyou?”
Ifeelmycheeksheat.Doeshereallywantto?
“Justforaminute,”headds,andthen…Incredible,howhe’swaitingformyanswer.Hejustbentmeoverthekitchensinkandslidintomeandmademecomeonhiscock,buthe’saskingforpermissiontoeatmeoutlikeI’dbedoinghimafavor.
“Areyousure?”
“Thirtyseconds.Please.”
“Yes.Imean,if…ifyou’resurethatyou—Oh.”
He’sverygoodatit.Not…Maybenotdeftlyskilled,butheiscompletelylosttoit,sothorough,sonoisyinhisutter,amazedenjoymentoftheact,ofme.Myhipsarchandhehastoholdmedown,carrymethroughthepleasure.Itlastsmorethanthirtyseconds.Itlastsmorethanthreeminutes,maybemorethanten—butmythighsaretremblingandmypussyspasmsandIstarttocomelikeanoceanwave,andwhenIthinkthepleasureisfinallysubsidingheslidestwofingersinsidemeandmyhipsbuckup,becauseit’snotover.Myentireworldisspinning.I’veofficiallyhadmoreorgasmsinthepasttwentyminutesthaninthelastyear.
Fingersstillinsideme,helooksup,eyessoftandearnestandswallowedbyhispupils.“Thankyou.”
Oh.“Ithink…”Iclearmythroat.Myvoiceremainsscratchy.“MaybeIshouldbetheonethankingyou.”
Heshakeshisheadandliftshimselfoverme,balancedononearm,andmyeyeswiden.Hestrokeshimselfwiththeotherhandwhilestaringdownatmybreastswithanawestruckexpression.“Thisissogood,Mara.Youaresogood.Whydoyouwantittobefast?”Heleansforwardtokissmeagain,lickingtheinsideofmymouth,nibblingdownmythroat.“Ijustwanttomakeitlast,”heraspsagainstmyskin.
Ihavenoideawhathe’sreferringto.Idon’twantthistobefast.I’veneversaidIdid,buthekeepstellingmethat…
ExceptthatIdidsayit.Shit,Ididsayit.Justnottohim.“Youheardme.”
Liamispreoccupied.Lickingoneofmynipples.Bitinggently.Lickingagain.Doingafantasticjob.
“Youheardme,”Irepeat.Itwinemyfingerinhishairtoslowhimdown.“Onthephone.”
Hestops,butdoesn’tlifthishead.Hisbreath,warmagainstmybreast,hasmeshivering.“RememberwhenIfoundyouinmybathroom?Ihaven’tstoppedthinkingaboutyourtitseversince—”
“Liam,youheardmetellmyfriendsabout…”He’scurrentlybusysuckingontheundersideofmybreast,butforsomereasonIcannotbringmyselftorepeatthewords.“AboutwhatIwantedyoutodo.Youheardme.”
Helooksup.He’sflushed,turnedon,andmorebeautifulthanever.“Icandoit,Mara.Icandoitforyou.Whatyouwant.”
“Idon’t—”Thisismortifying.Ipushhimaway,buthebarelybudges.“Ifthisissomekindofcharity,Idon’tneedapityfuck.Iamperfectlycapableof—”
Hetakesmypalmanddragsitdownhischest,pasthisabdomen,untilhiscockishotinmyhand.Heismassive,andalmostautomaticallymyfingersclosearoundhim.Liamgrimaces,bitinghislowerlip,andIhavethesuddenrealizationthathe’sbeentouchingmeinallsortsofmanners,butIhaven’ttouchedhimyet,notatall.Itseemssad,andunfair,andunbearablystupid.Somethingtoremedy.
“DoesthisfeellikeI’mgivingyouapityfuck?”
No.No,itdefinitelydoesnot.But.“Idon’tknow.”
Ofitsownfreewill,myhandstartsmovingupanddownhislength,simplestrokesthathavehimgaspingandshuttinghiseyes.HislipspartasIcirclearoundthedampheadwithmythumb.Thearmhe’sleaningonshakes.Visibly.
“Comeon,Mara.”Hishipsarethrustingnow.Inandoutofmyfist.He’sgettingcloser.Closertosomething.“Youmustknow.”
“Knowwhat?”
“Howhardit’sbeen,to—fuck—tokeepmyhandsoffyou.HowmuchI’vewantedthis,almostsincetheverybeginning.”
Oh.
OhGod
Hiseyesareglazed,musclestaut.Heisonthevergeofcoming,thatmuchisobvious.SoobviousthatI’mshockedwhenhisfingerswraparoundmywristtostopme.
“Please,letmefuckyou.Letmegiveyouwhatyouneed.Letmetry,atleast.”Hekissesaspotundermyjaw.“Hardandfast.”
I’mnotabouttotellhimno.I’mnotabouttotellmyselfno.InsteadIsmileandpullhimontopofme,armstwinedaroundhisneckasIsilentlymouthagainstthefleshofhisshoulderhowmuchIlikehim,howmuchIlovethis,andLiamadjustsusandangleshimselfuntilhe’salmostinsideagain,hotandwetand…themostannoyingthoughtoccurstome.Shit
“Condom!Weneed—doyou—?”
Liamgroans.“Fuck.”Hisbicepsareshaking,fingerswhiteastheyfistinthesheets.Thenhetakesadeepbreathandshifts,rearranginguntilhecanslideonefinger—two—deepinsideme,curlingthemupwardsothatheisthrummingexactlywhereIneedhim.
“Whatareyou—?”God,thisfeelsinsanelygood.
“Idon’thaveanycondoms.”Hiswordsareabitslurred.“I’mjustgoingtomakeyoucomelikethisandthengetmyselfoff.”Hesoundslikehe’sdoingthesinglehardestthinginhislife,andyetit’sclearthathe’sabsolutelyfinewithit.Which…No.No,no,no,no
“Liam,areyou—Ah—areyouclean?”Histhumbbrushesmyclit.Imoan.“BecauseI’monthepill,and…”
“Ihavenoidea.”
Howdoeshenotknow?Ireachdowntoholdhisforearmstill.Problemis,hecanstillcurvehisfingers.Hislong,beautifulfingers.
“Haveyoubeentested,sincethelasttimeyou…?”
Ibraceforallsortsofhorrifyinganswers,rangingfromWhy,ofcoursenot,mylastone-nightstandwasyesterday,toEveryonehasHPVanyway.Butwhatcomesis,“I’vehadabunchofyearlyphysicalsforwork.I—Mara,itdoesn’tmatter.”Hekissesmeonthecheek,andaclevertwistofhiswristmakesmybraingoblank.“IthinkIcanmakeyoucomewithmyfingers.That’ssafe.Andyoudon’thavetobearoundlater,whenI…”
Yearlyphysicals?Plural?“Whenwasthelasttimeyouhadsex?Canyou—ah,please,pleasestopthat.”
“Ihavenoidea.”Liampullsouthisfingers.Forasecond,thefrictionisdistracting.Thenmypussyclenchesinprotest.“Idon’thavesex,Mara.”
“You…Youwhat?”
Helooksaway.Wearebothbreathingtoohard.“Idon’tlikesex.”
Ilookdown.Heissohard.Hiscockissoheavyonmythigh.Thereispre-comeonmyskin.“Youseemto…um,youseemtolikeitfine.”
“Yeah.ButIreallydon’t.It’sjust…”Heholdsmyeyes.Hisareadark,beautifulbrown.“Ilikeyouverymuch,Mara.Iliketalkingtoyou.Ilikewatchingyoudoyoga.Ilikethewayyoualwayssmelllikesunscreen.Ilikehowyoumanagetosayprettymuchwhateveryouwantwhilestillbeingunbelievablykind.Ilikebeinginthishousewithyou,andeverythingwedoinhere.”Histhroatbobs.“Idon’tthinkit’sasurprisethatIreally,reallyliketheideaoffuckingyou.”
OhmyGod.OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod—
“ButIdon’tneedto…I’menjoyingthis”—hegrimaces,asifappalledbytheunderstatement—“maybetoomuch,sinceIalmostlostit…anumberoftimes,justbybeingnearyou,soI’llbemorethanfineifyoujustletmetakecareofyouand—”
No
Ipushathisshoulder,hischest,andthenkeeppushingthroughhisfirstresigned,thenconfused,thenshockedexpression.Oncehisbackisonthemattress,heletsmestraddlehishipsandgroans.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Ileanoverandwhisperinhisear,“Hardandfast,Liam.”
Thereisalongmomentinwhichhejuststaresupatme,disoriented.Thenhemustrealize:weareperfectlylinedup.I’mworkingtotakehiminside,strugglingalittle,becausehe’ssobigthisway.ButI’mmovingnow,balancingmypalmsonhischest,upanddownandupagain,andafewminuteslater,onthedownstroke,he’scompletelywedgedinsideme.
Theangleissodeep,myvisionspots.Liam’sgripdigsalmostpainfullyaroundmywaist.
“Mara.”Heispanting.“I’mnotgoingtobeabletopullout.”
“It’sfine.”It’sperfect.“Justdowhatfeelsgood.”
Everythingdoes,anyway.Theslideofflesh,thewetfriction—evenwithintheclumsymessofourmovements,asheslipsoutandhastonudgehimselfbackin,thisfeelslikeperfection.Thewayhestaresatmyface,mybreasts,theriseandfallofmyhips,lookingstunned;thewet,filthysoundsofusmovingtogether;thethingshesaysabouthowbeautifulIam,howprecious,aboutallthetimeshehasimagineddoingthis—andtherearesomany.
Ifeelmypulsespike,andIsmileathimasIleanforward.Iloveyou,Ithink.AndIsuspectthatyouloveme,too.AndIcannotwaitforustoadmitittoeachother.Icannotwaittoseewhathappensnext.
“Ithink,”hegruntsagainstmythroat.“Mara,IthinkI’mgoingtocomenow.”
Inod,tooclosetospeak,andlethimrollusover.
Well.Thatwascertainlyfast.”Liamhasn’tcaughthisbreathyet.Histoneismildlyself-deprecating.
“Yup.”Delicious.Itwasdelicious
“Icandobetter,”hesays.I’mprettysurehehasnocluethatthiswasbetter.Best.Ever.“Ithink.Maybewithpractice.”
I’mnotevensureit’soveryet.Mynerveendingsarestilltwitching.Myentirebodyisfloodedwithanelectricsortofpleasure,wrenchedoutofmeandthenpouredbackinagain.“Itwasn’tthatfast,”Isay.
Liamburieshisfaceinmyneckandcurlsaroundme,dwarfingme.Yeah.Itwasfast.
“Imean,”Imumbleagainsthischest,“thatitwasn’ttoofast.Itwas…”Extraordinary.Spectacular.Transcendent.“Good.Verygood.”Hepressesakisstomythroat,andIadd,“Butitwasn’tthathard,either.”
Hetenses.“I’msorry.Doyou—”
“Thatistosay,weshoulddoitagain.”Hepullsbacktomeetmyeyes.Helooksvery,veryserious.I’mfeelingconsiderablylessso.“Andagain.Andagain.Untilwegetitright.Perfectlyhard,andperfectlyfast.Youknow?”
Hissmileunfurlsslowly.“Yeah?”Hopefulandhappy,helooksyoungerthanever.Igrinandpullhiminforakiss.
“Yeah,Liam.”Epilogue
Sixmonthslater
Whoputscoffeecreamerintheirsmoothies,anyway?”
“People.”
“Noway.”
“Plentyofpeople.”
“Nameone.”
“Me.”
Irollmyeyes.“Nametwo.”
Silence.
“See?”
Liamsighs.“Itdoesn’tmeananything,Mara.Normalpeopledon’thaveconversationsaboutcoffeecreamer.”
“YouandIcertainlydo.Hazelnutorvanilla?”
“Vanilla.”
Iputtwobottlesinthecart.ThenIpushuponmytoesandplantakissonLiam’smouth,shortandhard.LiamfollowsmeforabitwhenIstepback,asifreluctanttoletmego.
“Okay.”Ismile.Lately,I’malwayssmiling.“Whatelse?”
LiambrowsesthelistIwroteearliertoday,sittingbetweenhisthighswhilehewasbusykillingbadguysonthePlayStation.Hesquintsalittleatmyterriblehandwriting,andItrynottolaugh.“Ithinkwe’redone.Unlessyouneedafewmorefamily-sizeCheez-Itboxes?”
Istickmytongueoutathim.Myhandfallstomyside,untilit’sbrushingagainsthis.Hestartspushingtheshoppingcartandtwinesourfingerstogether.“Readytogo?”heasks.
“Yeah.”Ibeam.“Let’sgohome.”StuckwithYou
ForMarie,myfaveElizabethSwannOne
Present
Myworldcomestoanendat10:43onaFridaynight,whentheelevatorlurchestoastopbetweentheeighthandseventhfloorsofthebuildingthathousestheengineeringfirmwhereIwork.Theceilinglightsflicker.Thengooffcompletely.Then,afterastretchthatlastsaboutfivesecondsbutfeelslikeseveraldecades,comebackwiththeslightlyyellowertingeoftheemergencybulb.
Crap.
Funfact:Thisisactuallythesecondtimemyworldcametoanendtonight.Thefirstwaslessthanaminuteago.WhentheelevatorI’mridingstoppedonthethirteenthfloor,andErikNowak,thelastpersonIeverwantedtosee,appearedinallhisblond,massive,Viking-likeglory.Hestudiedmeforwhatfeltliketoolong,tookastepinside,andthenstudiedmesomemorewhileIavidlyinspectedthetipsofmyshoes.
Re-crap.
It’saslightlycomplicatedsituation.IworkinNewYorkCity,andmycompany,GreenFrame,rentsasmallofficeontheeighteenthfloorofaManhattanbuilding.Verysmall.Ithastobeverysmall,becausewe’reababyfirm,stillestablishingourselvesinaprettycutthroatmarket,andwedon’talwaysmakeatonofmoney.Iguessthat’swhathappenswhenyouvaluethingslikesustainability,environmentalprotection,economicviabilityandefficiency,renewabilityratherthandepletion,minimizationofexposuretopotentialhazardssuchastoxicmaterials,and…well,Iwon’tboreyouwiththeWikipediaentryongreenengineering.Sufficeittosay,myboss,Gianna(whocoincidentallyistheonlyotherengineerworkingfull-timeatthefirm),foundedGreenFramewiththeaimofcreatinggreatstructuresthatactuallymakesensewithintheirenvironment,andisdelightfully,crunchilyhard-coreaboutit.Unfortunately,thatdoesn’talwayspayverywell.Orwell.
Oratall.
So,yeah.LikeIsaid,aslightlycomplicatedsituation,especiallywhencomparedwithmoretraditionalengineeringcompaniesthatdon’tfocusasmuchonconservationandpollutioncontrol.LikeProBld.ThegiantfirmwhereErikNowakworks.Theonethattakesupthewholethirteenthfloor.Andthetwelfth.Maybetheeleventh,too?Ilosttrack.
Sowhentheelevatorbegantoslowdownaroundthefourteenthfloor,Ifeltasurgeofapprehension,whichInaivelydiscardedasmereparanoia.Youhavenothingtoworryabout,Sadie,Itoldmyself.ProBldhastonsofoffices.They’realwaysexpanding.Orchestrating“mergers”andeatingupsmallerfirms.LiketheBlob.Theyaretrulythecorrosivealienamoeboidentityofthebusiness,whichtranslatestohundredsofpeopleworkingforthem,whichinturnmeansthatanyoneoutofthosehundredsofpeoplecouldbecallingtheelevator.Anyone.There’snowayit’sErikNowak.
Yeah.No.
ItwasErikNowak,allright.Withhismassive,colossalpresence.ErikNowak,whospenttheentiretyofourfive-floorridestaringatmewiththoseruthlessicy-blueeyesofhis.ErikNowak,who’scurrentlylookingupattheemergencylightwithaslightfrown.
“Thepower’sout,”hesays,anobviousstatement,withthatstupidlydeepvoiceofhis.Ithasn’tchangedonewhitsincethelasttimewetalked.NorsincethatstringofmessagesheleftonmyphonebeforeIblockedhisnumber.TheonesthatIneverbotheredansweringbutalsocouldn’tquitebringmyselftodelete.TheonesIcouldnotstopmyselffromlisteningto,overandover.
Andover.
It’sstillastupidvoice.Stupidandinsidious,richandpreciseandclippedandlow,withacousticpropertiesallitsown.“ImovedherefromDenmarkwhenIwasfourteen,”hetoldmeatdinnerwhenIaskedhimabouthisaccent,slight,hardtodetect,butdefinitelythere.“Myyoungerbrothersgotridofit,butInevermanaged.”Hisfacewasassternasusual,butIcouldseehismouthsoften,aslightuptickonthecornerthatfeltlikeasmile.“Asyoucanimagine,therewaslotsofteasinggrowingup.”
Afterthenightwespenttogether,afterallthathappenedbetweenus,IfeltasifIcouldn’tgetthewayhepronouncedwordsoutofmyhead.FordaysIconstantlysquirmed,turningaroundbecauseIthoughtI’dheardhimsomewhereinmyproximity.Thoughtthatmaybehewasnearby,eventhoughIwasjoggingatthepark,aloneintheoffice,inlineatthegrocerystore.Itjuststucktome,coatedtheshellofmyearsandtheinsideofmy—
“Sadie?”Erik’sinfamousvoicecutsthroughmythoughts.Ithasthattone,theoneofsomeonewho’srepeatinghimself,andmaybenotjustforthefirsttime.“Doesit?”
“Does…what?”Iglanceup,findinghimnexttothecontrolpanel.Inthestarkshadowsoftheemergencylighthe’sstillso…God.Lookingathishandsomefaceisamistake.Heisamistake.“I’msorry,I…Whatdidyousay?”
“Doesyourphonework?”heasksagain,patient.Kind.
Whyishesokind?Hewasneversupposedtobekind.Afterwhathappenedbetweenus,Idecidedtotorturemyselfbyaskingaroundabouthim,andthewordkindnevercameup.Notonce.OneofNewYork’stopengineers,peoplewouldoftensay.Knownforbeingasgoodathisjobasheissurly.No-nonsense,aloof,standoffish.Thoughhewasneveranyofthesethingswithme.Untilhewas,ofcourse.
“Um.”Ifishmyphoneoutofthebackpocketofmyblacktailoredpantsandpressthehomebutton.“Noservice.ButthisisaFaradaycage,”Ithinkoutloud,“andtheelevatorshaftissteel.NoRFsignalisgoingtobeabletomakealoopand…”InoticethewayErikisstaringatmeandabruptlyshutup.Right.He’sanengineer,too.Healreadyknowsallofthis.Iclearmythroat.“Nosignal,no.”
Eriknods.“Wi-Fishouldwork,butitdoesn’t.Somaybethisis—”
“—abuilding-widepoweroutage?”
“Maybeeventhewholeblock.”
Shit.
Shit,shit,shit.Shit.
Erikseemstobereadingmymind,becausehestudiesmeforamomentandsaysreassuringly,“Itmightbeforthebest.Someoneisboundtochecktheelevatorsiftheyknowthatthepower’sgone.”Hepausesbeforeadding,“Althoughitmighttakeawhile.”Painfullyhonest.Asusual.
“Howlong?”
Heshrugs.“Afewhours?”
Afewwhat?Afewhours?Inanelevatorthatissmallerthanmyalready-minusculebathroom?WithErikNowak,thebroodiestofScandinavianmountains?ErikNowak,themanwhoI…
No.Noway.
“Theremustbesomethingwecando,”Isay,tryingtosoundcollected.IswearI’mnotpanicking.Nomorethanalot.
“NothingthatIcanthinkof.”
“But…whatdowedonow,then?”Iask,hatinghowwhinymyvoiceis.
Erikletshismessengerbagdroptothefloorwithathump.Heleansagainstthewalloppositemine,whichshouldtheoreticallygivemesomeroomtobreathe,eventhoughforsomephysics-defyingreasonhestillfeelstooclose.Iwatchhimslidehisphoneinthefrontpocketofhisjeansandcrosshisarmsonhischest.Hiseyesarecold,unreadable,butthereisafaintgleaminthemthathasashiverrunningdownmyspine.
“Now,”hesays,gazelockedwithmine,“wewait.”
It’s10:45onaFridaynight.Andforthethirdtimeinlessthantenminutes,myworldcrashestoanend.Two
Threeweeksago
Thereareworsethingsintheworld.
Thereare,withoutasingledoubt,giantheapsofworsethingsintheworld.Wetsocks.PMS.TheStarWarsprequels.Oatmealraisincookiesthatmasqueradeaschocolatechip,slowWi-Fi,climatechangeandincomeinequality,dandruff,traffic,thefinaleofGameofThrones,tarantulas,food-scentedsoap,peoplewhohatesoccer,daylightsavingtime(whenitmovesonehourahead,notbehind),toxicmasculinity,theunjustlyshortlifespanofguineapigs—allofthese,justtonameasmallhandful,aretrulyterrible,dreadful,horrificthings.Becausesuchisthewayoftheuniverse:it’sfullofbad,sad,upsetting,unfair,enragingcircumstances,andIshouldknowbetterthantopoutlikeaten-year-oldwho’shalfaninchtooshortfortherollercoasterwhenFayetellsmefrombehindthecounterofhersmallcoffeeshop:
“Sorry,honey,we’realloutofcroissants.”
Tobeclear:Idon’tevenwantacroissant.WhichIknowsoundsweird(everybodyshouldalwayswantacroissant;it’salawofphysics,liketheFermiparadoxorEinstein’sfieldequation),butthetruthis,Iwouldgladlydowithoutthisspecificcroissant—ifthiswerearegularTuesdaymorning.
Unfortunately,todayispitchday.WhichmeansthatI’mmeetingwithpotentialfutureGreenFrameclients.Italktothem,tellthemthehundredsoflittlethingsIcandotohelpthemmanagelarge-scalesustainablebuildingprojects,andhopethey’lldecidetohireus.It’swhatI’vebeendoingforabouteightmonths,eversinceIfinishedmyPh.D.:Itrytobringinnewclients;Itrytokeeptheoneswealreadyhave;ItrytoeaseGianna’sworkload,sinceshejusthadherfirstbaby—who,incidentally,isthreebabies.Apparently,tripletsdohappen.Andthey’readorable,buttheyalsowakeoneanotherupinthemiddleofthenightinanever-endingspiralofsleeplessnessandexhaustion.Whowouldhavethought?Butbacktotheclients:GreenFramehasbeenventuringdangerouslyclosetonot-quite-in-the-blackterritory,andtoday’spitchmeetingiscriticaltokeeptheredatbay.
Enterthecroissants.AndthatotherlittleproblemIhappentohave:Iamalittlesuperstitious.Justatad.Justalittlestitious.Ihavedevelopedacomplexsystemofritualsandapotropaicgesturesthatneedtobeperformedtoensurethatmypitchmeetingswillgoasplanned.Ihavemoreyearsofscienceeducationthananyoneeverneeded,andshouldprobablyknowbetterthantobelievethatthecolorofmysocksisinanywaypredictiveofmyprofessionalsuccess.ButdoI?
Nope.
Backincollege,itwasexactlythreebraidsinmyhairforeverysinglesoccergame(plustwocoatsofL’Oréalmascaraifwewereplayingaway),andIhadtolistento“DancingQueen”and“MyImmortal”beforeeachandeveryfinal—strictlyinthatorder.ThankGodImanagedtograduateontime,becausetheemotionalwhiplashwasstartingtogrindatme.
NotthatthisissueofmineissomethingIliketoadmitwidely.MostlyjusttoMaraandHannah,mysupposedbestfriends.WemetduringthefirstyearofourPh.D.’sandhavebeenlumberingtogetherthroughthetribulationsofSTEMacademiaeversince.Forthemostpart,havingtheminmylifehasbeenmyonetruejoy,buttherehavebeenless-than-outstandingaspectsofit.Forinstance,thefactthatduringthefouryearswelivedtogethertheyoscillatedbetweenstaginganti-superstitioninterventionsandprankingmebyinvitingstrayblackcatsintoourapartmentoneveryFridaythe13th.(Weevenendedupadoptingoneforafewmonths,JimBob,tillwenoticedthatthekittyintheMissingflyersallovertheneighborhoodsuspiciouslyresembledhim;JimBobwas,infact,Mrs.Fluffpuff,andwereturnedherquietly,inthemiddleofthenight.She’sbeendearlymissedeversince.)Anyway,yes:Ihavehorrible,amazing,superstition-unsupportiveBFFs.Butwedon’tlivetogetheranymore.Wedon’tevenliveinthesamecity:MaraisinD.C.attheEPA,andHannahhasbeenworkingforNASAandcommutingbetweenTexasandNorway.Icanthrowsaltovermyshoulderandfranticallylookaroundforwoodtoknockontomyheart’scontent.
Why,whyamIlikethis?Ihavenoclue.Let’sjustblamemyaggressivelyItalianmother.
ButbacktothisTuesdaymorning:thecruxofmyproblem,yousee,isthatbackinthewinter,beforemymostsuccessfulclientpitchtodate,Igotabitpeckish.SoIpoppedintoFaye’shole-in-the-wallcoffeeshop,andinsteadofjustaskingfortheusual—punishinglyblackcoffee:nosugar,nocream,justthebitteroblivionofdarkness—Itackedacroissantontomyorder.Itwasjustasgoodasthecoffee(i.e.,simultaneouslystaleandundercooked;tastehoveringbetweenstarchandsalmonella)and,tomyeternaldismay,waspromptlyfollowedbymebaggingthemostlucrativecontractGreenFramehadseeninitsyounghistory.
Giannawasoverthemoon.AndsowasI,untilmyhalf-Italianbrainstartedformingamillionlittleconnectionsbetweenthecroissantfromhellandmybigprofessionalwin.Youknowwherethisisgoing:yes,InowdesperatelyfeelthatImusteatoneofFaye’scroissantsbeforeeverysinglepitchmeeting,otherwisetheunthinkablewillhappen.Andno,Ihavenoideahowtoreacttoherkindbutdefinitive,“Sorry,honey,we’realloutofcroissants.”
DidIsaythatthereareworsethingsintheworld?Ilied.Thisisadisaster.Mycareerisover.Arethosesirensinthedistance?
“Isee.”Ibiteintomylowerlip,orderittoun-poutitself,andforcemyselftosmile.Afterall,it’snotFaye’sfaultifmymomdrilledintomybabyneuronsthatwalkingunderthestairsisasurefirewaytoalifetimeofdespair.Igototherapyforthat.OrIwill.Atsomepoint.“Areyou,um,makingmore?”
Shelooksatthedisplaycase.“I’vegotmuffinsleft.Blueberry.Lemonglaze.”
Oh.Thatactuallysoundsgood.But.“Nocroissants,though?”
“AndIcanmakeyouabagel.Cinnamon?Blueberry?Plain?”
“Isthatanoonthecroissants?”
Fayecocksherheadwithapleasedexpression.“Youreallylikemycroissants,don’tyou?”
DoI?“They’reso,um.”Iclutchthestrapofmyfake-leathermessengerbag.“Unique.”
“Well,unfortunatelyIjustgavethelastonetoErikoverthere.”Fayepointstoherleft,towardtheveryendofthecounter,butIbarelyglanceatErik-over-there—tallman,broadshoulders,wearssuit,boring—toobusycursingmyowntiming.IshouldnothavespenttwentyminutesticklingthemajesticbeautyofOzzy’slittleguineapigtush.Iamnowrightfullypayingformymistakes,andFayeisgivingmeanassessingstare.“I’lltoastyouabagel.You’retooskinnytoskipbreakfast.Eatmoreandyoumightgrowalittletaller,too.”
IdoubtI’llmanagetofinallypushpastfivefeetattheripeoldageoftwenty-seven,butwho’stosay.“Justtorecap,”Isay,inonelastpleading,whinyattemptatsalvagingmyprofessionalfuture,“you’renotmakingmorecroissantstoday?”
Faye’seyesnarrow.“Honey,youmightlikemycroissantsalittletoomuch—”
“Here.”
Thevoice—notFaye’s—isdeepandpitchedlow,comingfromsomewhereabovemyhead.ButIbarelypayitanyattentionbecauseI’mtoobusystaringatthecroissantthathasmiraculouslyappearedinfrontofmyeyes.It’sstillwhole,setontopofanapkin,afewstrayflakesofdoughslowlycrumblingoffitstop.I’vehadFaye’scroissantsbefore,andIknowthatwhattheylackintastetheymakeupforinsize.Theyarevery,verylarge.
Evenwhendeliveredbyavery,verylargehand.
Iblinkatitforseveralseconds,wonderingifthisisasuperstition-inducedmirage.ThenIslowlyturnaroundtolookatthemanwhodepositedthecroissantonthecounter.
He’salreadygone.Halfoutofthedoor,andallIgetisabriefimpressionofbroadshouldersandlighthair.
“What—?”IblinkatFaye,pointingattheman.“What…?”
“IguessErikdecidedyoushouldhavethelastcroissant.”
“Why?”
Sheshrugs.“Wouldn’tlookagiftcroissantinthemouthifIwereyou.”
Giftcroissant.
Ishrugmyselfoutofmystupor,tossafive-dollarbillinthetipjar,andrunoutofthecafé.“Hey!”Icall.Themanisabouttwentystepsaheadofme.Well,twentystepswithmytinylegs.Mightbelessthanfivewithhisown.“Hey,couldyouwaita…?”
Hedoesn’tstop,soIclutchmycroissantandhurryafterhim.IchannelmybestFormerSoccerScholarshipKidselfanddodgealadywalkingherdog,thenherdog,thentwoteenagersmakingoutonthesidewalk.Icatchuprightaroundthecorner,whenIcometoahaltinfrontofhim.
“Hey.”Igrinup.Andupandupandup.He’stallerthanIcalculated.AndI’mmorewindedthanI’dlike.Ineedtoworkoutmore.“Thankyousomuch!Youreallydidn’thaveto…”Ifallsilent.Fornorealreasonotherthanbecauseofhowstrikinghelooks.Heisjustso…
Scandinavian,maybe.Viking-like.Norse.LikehisancestorsfrolickedbelowtheauroraborealisontheirwaytofundingIkea.Heisasbigasayeti,withclearblueeyesandshort,pale-blondhair,andIwouldbetmygiftcroissantthathisnamecontainsoneofthosecoolNordicletters.Theaandtheesmushedtogether;thatweirdoslashedthroughthemiddle;thebigbthat’sactuallytwos’sstackedontopofeachother.SomethingthatrequiresalotofHTMLknowledgetobetyped.
Ittakesmebysurprise,that’sall,andforamomentI’mnotsurewhattosayandjuststareup.Thestrongjaw.Thedeep-seteyes.Thewaytheangularpartsofhisfacecometogetherintosomethingvery,veryhandsome.
ThenIrealizethathe’sstaringback,andinstantlybecomeself-conscious.Iknowexactlywhathe’sseeing:thebluebutton-downItuckedintomychinos;thebangsIreallyneedtotrim;thebrown,shoulder-lengthhairIalsoneedtotrim;andthen,ofcourse,thecroissant.
Thecroissant!“Thankyousomuch!”Ismile.“Ididn’tmeantostealyourfood.”
Noreply.
“Icouldpayyouback.”
Stillnoreply.JustthatsevereNorthGermanicstare.
“OrIcouldbuyyouamuffin.Orabagel.Ireallydidn’tmeantointerferewithyourbreakfast.”
Numberofreplies:zero.Intensityofstare:manymillions.DoesheevenunderstandwhatI’m—Oh.
Ooooh
“ThankYou,”Isay,very,veryslowly,likewhenmymom’ssideofthefamily,theonethatneverimmigratedtotheU.S.,attemptstospeakItalianwithme.“For”—Iliftthecroissantinfrontofmyface—“this.Thank”—IpointattheViking—“you.Youarevery”—Itiltmyheadandscrunchmynosehappily—“nice.”Hestaresevenlonger,pensive.Idon’tthinkhegotit.“Youdon’tunderstand,doyou?”Imurmurtomyselfdejectedly.“Well,thankyouagain.Youreallydidmeasolidthere.”Iliftthecroissantonelasttime,likeI’mtoastinghim.ThenIturnaroundandbegintowalkaway.
“You’rewelcome.Althoughyou’llfindthatthecroissantleavesmuchtobedesired.”
Iwhirlbacktohim.BlondietheVikingislookingatmewithanindecipherableexpression.“D-didyoujustspeak?”
“Idid.”
“InEnglish?”
“Ibelieveso,yes.”
Ifeelmysoulcrawloutsidemybodytoastralprojectitselfintotheburningflamesofhelloutofpure,sheerembarrassment.“You…youweren’tsayinganything.Before.”
Heshrugs.Hiseyesarecalmandserious.ThespanofhisshoulderscouldeasilymoonlightasaplateauinEurasia.“Youdidn’taskaquestion.”HisgrammarisbetterthanmineandIamwitheringinside.
“Ithought…Itseemed…I…”Iclosemyeyes,rememberingthewayImimickedthewordniceforhim.IthinkIwanttodie.Iwantthistobeover.Yes,mytimehascome.“Iamverygrateful.”
“Youprobablywon’tbe,onceyoutrythecroissant.”
“No,I…”Iwince.“Iknowit’snotgood.”
“Youdo?”Hecrosseshisarmsonhischestandgivesmeacuriouslook.He’swearingasuit,like99percentofthemenwhoworkonthisblock.ExceptthathelooksunlikeanyothermanI’veeverseen.HelookslikeacorporateversionofThor.LikePlatinumRagnarok.Iwishhe’dsmileatme,insteadofjustobservingme.I’dfeellessintimidated.“Couldhavefooledme.”
“I—Thethingis,Idon’treallywanttoeatit.Ijustneeditfora…forathing.”
Hiseyebrowlifts.“Athing?”
“It’salongstory.”Iscratchmynose.“Kindofembarrassing,actually.”
“Isee.”Hepresseshislipstogetherandnodsthoughtfully.“MoreorlessembarrassingthanyouassumingIdon’tspeakEnglish?”
TheswiftandviolentdeathIwastalkingaboutearlier?Ineeditnow.“Iamso,sosorryaboutthat.Ireallydidn’t—”
“Watchout.”
Ilookaroundtoseewhathemeansrightassomeguyalmostrunsmeoverwithhisskateboard.It’saclosecall:betweenthepreciouscroissantIclearlyfeelambivalentaboutandmybag,Inearlylosemybalance,andthat’swhereCorporateThorintervenes.HemoveswayquickerthananyonehissizeshouldbeabletoandslidesbetweenmeandSkateboardGuy,straighteningmewithahandaroundmybiceps.
Iglanceupathim,nearlyoutofbreath.He’sastoweringasaGreenlandicmountainrange,pressingmeabitagainstthewindowofthecornerbarbershop,andIthinkhe’ssavedmylife.Myprofessionallife,ofcourse.Andnowalsomylifelife.
Ohshit.“Whatevenisthismorning?”Imuttertonoone.
“Youokay?”
“Yeah.Imean,I’mclearlyonadownwardspiralofstruggleandmortification,but…”
Hekeepshiseyesandtheanglesofhishandsome,aggressive,unusualfaceonme.Hisexpressionisgrave,unsmiling,butforafractionofasecondathoughtrunsthroughmyhead.
He’samused.Hefindsmefunny.
It’safleetingimpression.Itlingersabriefmomentanddissolvestheinstantheletsgoofmybiceps.ButIdon’tthinkIimaginedit.I’malmostsureIdidn’t,becauseofwhathappensnext.
“Ithink,”hesays,hisvoicemoredeliciousthanFaye’scroissantscouldeverhopetobe,“thatI’dliketohearthatlong,embarrassingstoryofyours.”Three
Present
I’malmostpositivethattheelevatorisshrinking.
Nothingdramatic,really.ButIestimatethateveryminutewespendinhere,thecargetsacoupleofmillimeterssmaller.I’vetuckedmyselfintoacorner,armsaroundmylegsandforeheadonmyknees.LastIglancedup,Erikwasintheoppositecorner,lookingfairlyrelaxed.Mile-longlegsstretchedoutinfrontofhim,sequoia-widebicepscrossedonhischest.
And,ofcourse,thewallsareloomingoverme.Pushinguscloserandclosertogether.Ishiverandcursepoweroutages.Thewalls.Erik.
Myself.
“Areyoucold?”heasks.
Iliftmyhead.I’mwearingmyusualworkoutfitofchinosandaniceblouse.Solid,neutralcolors.Professionalenoughtobetakenseriously;modestenoughtoconvincethedudesImeetthroughworkthatmypresenceatanygivenmeetingistoassesstheefficacyofthebiofiltrationsystemdesignandnottoprovidethemwith“somethingcutetolookat.”Beingawomaninengineeringcanbetonsandtonsoffun.
Erik,though…Eriklooksabitdifferent.He’swearingjeansandadark,softsweaterthatstretchesaroundhischest,anditseemsunusual,giventhatinthepastI’veonlyeverseenhiminasuit.Thenagain,I’veonlyeverseenEriktwicebefore,technicallyonthesameday.
(Thatis,ifonedoesn’tcountthetimesinthepastmonththatIglimpsedhimaroundthebuildingandpromptlyturnedawaytochangedirection.WhichIverymuchdon’t.)
Still,Icannothelpbutwonderifthereasonhelooksuncharacteristicallyinformalisthatearliertodayhewasworkingon-site.Supervising.Consulting.MaybehewascalledintogiverecommendationsontheMiltonproject,and…Yeah.Notgoingthere.
Istraightenandsquaremyshoulders.MyresentmentforErikNowak,thefeelingI’vebeencradlinginmypocketlikealittlemouseforthepastthreeweeks,theoneI’vebeenfeedingbileandscraps,stirsawake.Andhonestly,itfeelsnice.Familiar.ItremindsmethatErikdoesn’treallycarewhetherI’mcold.Ibethehasulteriormotivesforasking.Maybehewantstosellmyorgans.Orhe’splanningonestablishingapeecorneronmyrottingcorpse.
“I’mfine,”Isay.
“Yousure?Icangiveyoumysweater.”
Ibrieflypicturehimtakingitoffandhandingittome.I’veseenhimdoitbeforeinfleshandblood,whichmeansthatIwouldn’tevenneedtogetcreative.Irememberwellthewayhegrabbedthecollarandpulleditupoverhishead,hismusclesflexingandcontracting,thesuddenexpanseofpaleflesh.
He’dholdthesweaterouttome,andit’dstillbewarm.Maybeevensmelllikehisskin,orlikehissheets.
Wow.Wow,wow,wow.Whatwasthat?I’vebeeninthiselevatorforapproximatelynineminutesandmybrainisalreadydevelopingSwisscheese–styleholes.Holdingonstrong,SadieGranthamCongratsonyouremotionalfortitude.Waytobehornyforatrulyhorribleperson.
“Noneed,”Isay,shakingmyheadalittletooeagerly.“Areyousureweshouldjustwait?”Iask.“Just—donothingandwait?”
Henodscalmly,clearlybroadcastingthatit’snothardforhimtobeagoodsportaboutthissituation,thattheideaofbeingstuckwithmedoesn’tbotherhimonebit,andthat,unlikesomeofus,he’snottemptedtoburyhisfaceinhishandsandcry.Show-off.
“Whatifwescream?”Iask.
“Scream?”
“Yes—whatifwescream?Thisisagiantbuilding.Someoneisboundtohearus,right?”
“AtelevenonaFridaynight?”Hisreplyismuchkinderthanmyidioticquestiondeserves.“Whiletheelevatorisstuckbetweenfloors?Thiselevator?”
Ilookawaybecausehe’sright.Frustratinglyright.Thiscursedelevatorwe’reonisinthedeepestpartofthebuilding,nexttoahallwaynoonewouldwalkbyatnight.Atruetragedy,overshadowedonlybythefactthatitalsohasthenarrowestcarI’veeverseen.Guestsandclientsrarelyuseit,whichiswhyithastheadvantageofbeingquicker—andthedisadvantageofbeingsmall.
Asin:minuscule.Iknewitwastiny,butthere’snothinglikerealizingthatthismightbetheplacewhereIdietoregisterhowtiny.IfIstretchmyarms,I’llbumpintoErik.IfIstretchmylegs,I’llbumpintoErik.IfIthrasharoundonthefloorlikeIsodesperatelywantto,I’llalsobumpintoErik.Whataquandary.
“Areyouokay?”heaskssoftly.Hiseyeslooksoft,too.AballofsomethingIcannotquitedefineknotsinmychest.
“Yeah.”
“Here.”Herummagesinhisbagforamoment.Thenholdssomethingouttome.“Havesomewater.”
Idon’tknowwhyIaccepthis2019NYCAmateurSoccerLeaguewaterbottle.Idon’tknowwhymyfingersbrushagainsthisforthebriefestofmoments.AndIdon’tknowwhy,asIdrinksmallsips,hestudiesmewithsomethingthatresemblesconcern.
He’snotreallyconcerned,becauseErikNowakisjustnotthatkindofguy.Thekindofguyheactuallyis?Abackstabber.Aliar.AsentienthumanMcMansionwhovaluesonlyhisownprofessionalsuccess.AnF.C.Copenhagensupporter—which,itpleasesmetosay,isamediocresoccerteamatbest.Yes,IsaidwhatIsaid.
“Better?”
“Itoldyou,I’mfine.I’mtotallygreat.”
“Youlookpale.”Hisheadtilts,asiftoobservemebetter.“Areyouclaustrophobic?”
“No.Idon’tthinkso.”AmI,though?Itwouldexplainalot.Thewallsclosingin.Thisgreasy,barfyfeelinginmystomach.ThewayI’dlovetoclawatthisplacebecauseit’ssosmallandEriktakesupsomuchroominsidemyheadandIcansmellhissoapandIjustwanttoforgeteverythingabouthimandmaybeIthoughtIhadbutnowhe’shereandit’sallcomingbackandI—
“Sadie.”Erikislookingatmelikeheknowsexactlywhatkindofspiraliscurrentlyunfoldinginmybrain.“Takeadeepbreath.”
“Iknow.Iam.Takingdeepbreaths,thatis.”OrmaybeIwasn’t.Becausenow,withsomeairinmylungs,mybrainisgettingatadquieter.
“Isityourfirsttime?”
Iblinkathim.“Breathing?”
Hesmilesfaintly.Likehedoesn’tmindthatwe’regoingtodieinhere.“Beingstuckinanelevator.”
“Oh.Yes.”Ithinkaboutitforamoment.“Wait,isitnotyours?”
“Third.”
“Third?”
Henods.
“Areyou…cursedorsomething?”
“Iseeyoursuperstitionsaregoingstrong,”hesays,clearlyteasing,andtheideathathethinksheknowsme,thefactthataftereverythingthathappenedhe’dfeelallowedtojokewithme…
Istiffen.
Andjudgingbyhisexpression,Eriknotices.“Sadie—”
“I’mfine,”Iinterrupthim.“Ipromise.Butcouldwepleasejustbequiet?Foralittlebit?”Ihatehowweakmyvoicesounds.
Isetdownthewaterbottleandhidemyfacebackinmyknees.Ilistentohissharpexhale,tothetense,uncomfortablesilencethatfallsbetweenus,andtrynottothinkaboutthelasttimeIwaswithhim.
WhenIneverwantedtostoptalking,notevenforasecond.Four
Threeweeksago
Ihavemypitchmeetinginonehour,alittlemountainofgigabytesoffilestoreview,andI’mprettysurethatmyinternsarecurrentlyeighteenfloorsabove,tryingtodecidewhetherIabandonedthemtojoinacultorhavebeenabductedbyanurbanSasquatch.ButIcannothelpstaringatCorporateThor’smouthashetellsme,matter-of-factly:
“Moneylaunderingfront.”
“Noway!”
Heshrugs.Wearesittingrightnexttoeachotheronabenchinapocketparkthat,asitturnsout,isjustbehindmybuilding.Thesunisshining,thebirdsarechirping,I’vespottedatleastthreebutterflies,andyetIremainvaguelyintimidatedbyhissize.Andhischeekbones.“It’stheonlypossibleexplanation.”
Ibitemylip,tryingtothinkitthrough.“Couldn’tFayejustbe,youknow…areallybadbaker?”
“Shecertainlyis.Hercoffeeisalsoquestionable.”
“Itisveryreminiscentofbrakefluid,”Iconcede.
“Ialwaysthoughtofplasmacoolant.Pointis,shewasheretenyearsago,whenIstartedworkinginthatbuilding,andshe’llbeherelongafteryouandIaregone.Despitethat.”HepointsatthecroissantI’mstillclutching.Honestly,Ishouldjustbitethebulletandchokeitdown.Myhandsweatisnotgoingtomakeitanytastier.“Thereisnovalidentrepreneurialreasonforhertostillbeinbusiness.”
Inodthoughtfully.Hemighthaveapoint.“Asidefrommoneylaunderingoperationsandtiestoorganizedcrime?”
“Precisely.”Okay,hisgrammarmightbeperfect,butI’mstartingtopickupavagueforeignaccent.Iwanttoaskamillionandtenquestionsaboutit—awishindirectcompetitionwithmydesiretonotcomeacrossasaweirdo.Aloftygoal,asIam,infact,aweirdo.
“Iseeyourtheory.But.Hearmeout.”Iblowmybangsoutofmyeyes.Erik’sexpressiondoesn’tmoveananometer,butIknowhe’slistening.Thereissomethingabouthim,likehisattentionissomethingphysicallytangible,likehe’sgoodatseeingandhearingandknowing.“So,rememberhowItalkedaboutmy…problem?”
“Themagical-thinkingone?Whereyoubelievethatyourprofessionalsuccessrelatestotheitemsyouateforbreakfast?”
IcannotbelieveIadmittedtoit.God,healreadyknowsI’maweirdo.Though,tohiscredit,heseemstobetakingitinstride.“Okay,listen,IknowitsoundslikeI’mfoolishlyclutchingtheatavisticremnantsofancienttimes.”
“Sounds?”Hiseyebrowlifts.
Imightbeflushing.“Iliketothinkofitas…moreofawaytobindmyselfandcelebratethetraditionsofmyprevioussuccesses,youknow?Andlessasestablishinganempiricalcausalconnectionbetweenthecolorofmyunderwearandfutureevents.”
“Isee.”Thecornerofhismouthtwitchesupward.Justbarely,though—stillnotasmile.Maybehe’snotcapable.Maybehehasadebilitatingmedicalcondition.Smilopathy:nowwithitsveryownICD-10code.“So,what’stheluckycolor?”
“What?”
“Ofunderwear.”
“Oh.Um…lavender.”
Heseemsbrieflystumped.“Purple?”
“Kindof,yeah.”Iforgotthatmostmencan’tnamemorethanfivecolors.“Alittlelighter.Betweenpurpleandpink.Pastel-like.”
Henodsslowly,likehe’stryingtopictureit.“Cute,”hesays,andhistoneisassimpleandstraightforwardasit’sbeeninthelastfewminutes.Thereisabsolutelynocreepylasciviousness,asthoughhe’scomplimentingaflowerorapuppy.Myheartskipsabeatnonetheless.
Wouldhe…?Ifhesawmewearingmy…wouldhestillthinkthat…?
OhmyGod.Whatiswrongwithme?Thispoormanjustgavemehiscroissant
“Anyway,”Ihastentoadd,“maybethere’realotofpeoplebuyinggoodluckcroissants,becauseI’mnotaloneinmy…magicalthinking—nicewaytoputit,bytheway.Forexample,myfriendHannahworksatNASA,andshesaysthattheengineerstherehavehadwholecomplexroutinesinvolvingPlanterspeanutsandmissionlaunchesforthepast,like,fiftyyears.AndI’manengineer.Basically,I’mprofessionallyrequiredto—”
“You’reanengineer?”Hiseyeswideninsurprise.
Myheartsinkswithdisappointment.OhGod.He’soneofthose.Ican’tbelievehe’soneofthose.
Iscowlandstandfromthebench,lookingdownathimwithafrown.“FYI,intheU.S.,fifteenpercentoftheengineeringworkforceismadeupofwomen.Andthatnumberhasbeensteadilyincreasing,sothereisnoneedtobesoshockedthat—”
“I’mnot.”
Myfrowndeepens.“Yousurelookedlike—”
“I’manengineermyself,anditseemedlikeacoincidenceofsorts.”Hismouthtwitchesagain.“Ithoughtyourmagicalthinkingmightbetickled.”
“Oh.”Mycheeksburn.“Oh.”Wow.AmItheAsshole,Reddit?Why,youkindofare,Sadie.“Sorry,Ididn’tmeantoimply—”
“Wheredidyoustudy?”heasks,unruffled,pullingatmywristtillIsitagain.IendupalittleclosertohimthanIwasbefore,butit’sfine.It’sokay.Siri,howmanytimescanIutterlyhumiliatemyselfinthespanofthirtyminutes?Infinite,yousay?Thankyou,that’swhatIfigured.
“Um,Caltech.IfinishedmyPh.D.lastyear.You?”
“NYU.Gotmymaster’s…ten,elevenyearsago?”
Westareateachother,mecalculatinghisage,him…Idon’tknow.Maybehe’scalculating,too.Hemustbesixorsevenyearsolderthanme.Notthatit’sinanywayrelevant.We’rejustchatting.We’regoingourseparatewaysintwelveseconds.
“Wheredoyouwork?”heasks.
“GreenFrame.You?”
“ProBld.”
Iscrunchmynose,instantlyrecognizingthename—fromboththeplaquesinthelobbyofmyofficebuildingandtheNewYorkengineeringgrapevine.Therearelotsoffirmsinthisarea,andheworksatmyleastfavorite.Thebigjellyfishthatkeepsexpandingbyeatingthesmallerjellyfish.Notthatthey’reterrible—they’refine.Butthey’reold-schoolanddon’tfocusonsustainabilitynearlyasmuchaswedo.Buttheydohaveasolidrep,andsomeofourpotentialclientsevenchoosethemoverusbecauseofthat.Which:bleh.
“DidyoujustmakearepulsedfacewhenImentionedmycompany?”
“No.No!Imean,yeah.Alittle.ButIdidn’tmeanitinanoffensiveway.Theyjustdon’tseemtoadoptawhole-systemsapproachtoproblem-solvingwhendealingwithenvironmentalchallenges…”Hiseyesshine.Isheteasingme?DoesCorporateThortease?“Imean,Iamnowovertwentyminuteslateforwork.Realistically,I’llprobablybefiredandendupbeggingyouguysforajob.”
Henods,lipspressedtogether.“Good.Ihaveaninwiththepartners.”
“Isthatso?”
“I’msurethey’dlovetohaveyouonboard.Todevelopawhole-systemsapproachtoproblem-solvingwhendealingwithenvironmentalchallenges.”Istickoutmytongue,whichheignores.“WhatnameshouldIgivewhenIrecommendyou?”
“Oh.SadieGrantham.”Iholdoutmynon-croissanthand.Helooksatitforalongmoment,andIamsuddenly,inexplicably,tsunaminglyafraid.OhmyGod.Whatifhewon’ttakeit?
Yeah,Sadie?Awise,mean,pragmaticvoicewhispersinmyear.Whatifastrangerwon’ttakeyourhand?Howwillyoudealwiththezero-point-zeroimpactit’llhaveonyourlife?Butthevoiceismoot,becausehedoestakeit,andmyheartgallopsathownicehisskinfeels,solidandalittlerough.Hishandswallowsmyfingers,warmingmyfleshandthecheap,cuteringsIputonthismorning.
“Nicetomeetyou,Dr.Grantham.”Mybreathhitches.Myheartmelts.I’vehadmyPh.D.forlessthanayear,soIstillrelishbeingcalleddoctor.Especiallybecausenooneeverdoes.“ErikNowak.”
Well.NooneeverdoesexceptforErikNowak.
ErikNowak.“CanIaskyousomethingkindofinappropriate?”
Heshakeshishead,slowly,gravely.“Unfortunately,Iamnotwearingpurpleunderwear.”
Ilaugh.“No,it’s…whenyouwriteyourlastname,aretherecool,fancylettersinit?”Iblurtthequestionoutandinstantlyregretit.I’mnotevensurewhatI’masking.I’lljustrollwithit,Iguess?
“Ithasann.Andaw.Aretheyconsideredfancy?”
Notreally.Prettyboring.“Sure.”
Henods.“Whataboutthek?It’smyfavoriteletter.”
“Er,yeah.That’sfancy,too.”Stillboring.
“Butsurelynotthea?”
“Uh,well,Iguesstheais…”
Hismouthistwitching.Again.He’steasingme.Again.Ihatehim.
“Damnyou,”Isaywithoutheat.
He’salmostsmiling.“Noumlauts.Nodiacritics.NoM?ller.OrKi?rskou.OrAdelsk?ld.ThoughIdidgotoschoolwiththem.”Inod,vaguelydisappointed.Tillheasks:“Disappointed?”andthenIcan’thelphidingbehindmycroissantandlaughing.WhenI’mdonehe’sdefinitelysmiling,andhesays,“Youshouldreallyeatthat.Oryou’llloseyourclientandNASA’snextrocketwillexplode.”
“Right,yes.”Itearapieceaway.Holditouttohim.“Wouldyoulikeabite?Idon’tmindsharing.”
“Really?Youdon’tmindsharingmyownfamouslydisgustingcroissantwithme?”
“WhatcanIsay?”Igrin.“I’mageneroussoul.”
Heshakeshishead.Andthenadds,asthoughitjustoccurredtohim,“IknowareallygoodFrenchbistro.”
Myentirebodyperksup.“Oh?”
“Theyhaveabakery,too.”
Mybodyperksupandtingles.“Yeah?”
“Theymakeexcellentcroissants.Igothereoften.”
Thesunisstillshining,thebirdsarestillchirping,I’venowspottedfivebutterflies,and…thenoiseinthebackgroundslowlyrecedes.IlookatErik,studythewaytheshadefromthetreesfallsacrosshisface,studyhimascloselyashe’sstudyingme.
Inmylife,I’vebeenaskedoutfordrinksbyenoughrandomacquaintancesthatIthinkmaybe,justmaybe,Imightknowwhathe’stryingtogetat.Andinmylife,I’vewantedtosaynotodrinkswitheverysingleoneofthoserandomacquaintances,whichiswhyIhavelearnedtopreventthequestionfromevenbeingasked.Iamgoodatbroadcastingdisinterestandunavailability.Very,verygood.
Andyet,hereIam.
OnaNewYorkbench.
Clutchingacroissant.
Holdingmybreathand…hoping?
Askme,Ithinkathim.BecauseIwanttotrythatFrenchbistrothatyouknow.Withyou.Andtalkmoreaboutmoneylaunderingandawhole-systemsapproachtoenvironmentalengineeringandpurpleunderwearthatisactuallylavender.
Askme,ErikNowak.Askme,askme,askme.Askme.
Therearecarsinthedistance,andpeoplelaughing,andemailspilingupinmyinbox,eighteenfloorsaboveus.ButmyeyesholdErik’sforalong,stretched-outmoment,andwhenhesmilesatme,Inoticethathiseyesarejustasblueasthesky.Five
Present
Accordingtotheplaqueabovethefloor-selectionconsole(which,bytheway,doesnotincludeanemergencybutton;Iammentallycomposingastronglywordedemailthatwilllikelynevergetsent),theelevatorhasa1,400-poundcapacity.Theinside,I’destimate,isaboutfifteensquarefeet,fourteenofwhichareinconvenientlytakenupbyErik.(Asusual:thankyou,Erik.)Astainlesssteelhandrailisinstalledintheinnermostside,andthewallsareactuallyquitepretty,whitebakedenamelorsomesimilarmaterialthatmaybedatesthecarabit,buthey,it’sbetterthanmirrors.Ihatemirrorsinelevators,andI’dhatethemthemostinthiselevator.They’dmakeavoidingglimpsesofErikaboutthreetimesharderthanitalreadyis.
Ontheceiling,betweenthetwoenergy-efficient(Ihope?)recessedlightsthatarecurrentlyoff,Inoticedonelargemetalpane.Andthat’swhatI’vebeenstaringatforthepastminuteorso.Iamnoelevatorexpert,butI’malmostpositivethat’stheemergencyexit.
Frommyfive-feetvantagepoint,Erikissomewherebetweensix-threeandsix-six.Basedonthat,Iapproximatethatthecarisaboutsevenfeettall.Toohighformetoreachonmyown,andtoooffsetfromthewallformetousethehandrailasaclimbingpoint.But.But,IamsurethatErikcouldeasilyliftmeup.Imean,he’sdoneitbefore.Onseveraloccasions,inthespanofthetwenty-fourhourswespenttogether.Likewhenwegothungryhalfwaythroughthenight:hepickedmeuplikeIwasafour-poundkitten,depositedmeonhiskitchencounterwhileIgaspedinaweathisbeautiful,overfullfridge,andthenproceededtoinspectanextensiveseriesofChineseleftoversbeforesharingthemwithme.Nottomentionthatothertime,whenwewereinhisshowerandheputonehandundermyasstopushmeagainstthewalland…
Thepointis:hecouldhelpmereachthepanel.Icoulddislodgeit,climboutofthecar,andifwe’recloseenoughtotheupperfloor,Imightbeabletoprythedoorsopenandhoistmyselfout.Atthatpoint,Iwouldbefree.FreetogohomeandfeedOzzy,who’snodoubtcurrentlywhistlinghislittleheartoutlikehealwaysdoeswhenhehasn’teateninmorethantwohours.He’dlookatmelikeI’mahorriblerodentmother,butthenhe’dbegrudginglyacceptmycarrotstickandsnuggleinmylap.Andofcourse,whenmyphonehasreception,I’dcallforhelpsothatsomeonecancometakecareofErik.ButIwouldn’tstickaroundtoseehimout,becauseI’vealreadyhadplentyof—
“No.”
IstartleandlookatErik.Heisstillinthecorneroppositemine,givingmeaflatstare.“No,what?”
“It’snotgoingtohappen.”
“Youdon’tevenknowwhat—”
“You’renotgoingtoclimboutoftheemergencyexit.”
Inearlyrecoil,becausedespitemymagical-thinkingtendenciesIamawarethatmindreadingisnotreallyathingthatexists.Thenagain,IamalsoawarethatthisisnotthefirsttimeErikseemstoknowexactlywhat’sgoingoninmyhead.Hewasprettygoodatitduringourdinnertogether.Andthenlater,ofcourse.Inbed.
Butinthishouse(i.e.,mybrain)wedonotacknowledgethat.
“Well,”Isay,“you’rewaybiggerandwayheavier.Soyoucan’tdoit.”Plus,I’mnotsureItrusthimnottoleavemehere.I’vetrustedhimbeforeandheavilyregrettedit.
“Neithercanyou,becauseI’mnotgoingtoletyou.”
Ifrown.“Imightbeabletoreachtheexitbymyself.Inwhichcaseyoutechnicallydon’thavetoletme.”
“Ifthathappens,I’mgoingtophysicallypreventyoufromdoingit.”
Ihatehim.Somuch.“Listen,whatifwe’restuckinherefordays?Whatifmeclimbingoutisouronlychance?”
“Thereisnothingtosuggestthattheelevatorwon’tstartupagainthesecondthepoweroutageisresolved.We’vebeeninhereforaboutthirtyminutes,whichisnothing,consideringthattherepaircrewisprobablyworkingonthegridtofixablock-wideoutage.Nottomentionhowincrediblydangerouswhatyouareproposingwouldbe.”
He’sright.I’mbeingimpatientandirrational.Whichflustersme.“I—onlyforme.”
Hisfaceturnsintostone.“Onlyforyou?”
“You’dbesafeinhere.You’djustneedtowaitformetocallforhelp,and—”
“YouthinkIwouldbeokaywithyouputtingyourselfindanger?”Atbaseline,Erikisnotexactlyawarm,convivialguy,butIhadnoideahecouldsoundlikethis.Deceptivelycalm,butfuriously,icilylivid.Heleansforwardasiftobetterglareatme,andhishandreachesuptoclosearoundthehandrail,knucklesstretchedwhite.Ihaveabriefvisionofhimsnappingitintwo.
Hisanger,ofcourse,givesmeangerFOMOandmakesmejustasangry.SoIleanforward,too.“Idon’tseewhynot.”
“Really,Sadie?Youdon’t?Youdon’tfuckingseewhyIwouldn’tbeokaylettingyou,outofallpeople—”Helooksawayabruptly,jawtense,amuscletickinginhischeek.Hishair,Inotice,isshorterthanwhenItouchedit.AndIthinkhemighthavelostabitofweight.AndIcannot,Itrulycannotbearhowhandsomeheis.“Wouldyoureallyratherdosomethingthatidioticandrecklessthanbeinherewithmeforafewmoreminutes?”heasks,turningbacktome,voiceicyandcalmagain.
Ofcoursenot,Ialmostblurtout.I’mnotsomehorrormovienot-quite-finalgirlwhofollowsthedeaththiswaysignonlytobeflabbergastedwhenanaxmurdererchopsoffherleg.I’musuallyaresponsible,levelheadedperson—usuallybeingthekeyword,becauserightnowI’mkindoftemptedtorunintotheloving,ax-wieldingbosomofaserialkiller.RationallyIknowthatErikisright:wewon’tbestuckinhereforlong,andsomeoneisboundtocomegetus.ButthenIrememberhowbetrayedanddisappointedIfeltinthedaysafterhedidwhathedid.IremembercryingonthephonewithMara.CryingonthephonewithHannah.CryingonthephonewithMaraandHannah.
Beingherewithhimseemsjustasrecklessasanythingelse,honestly.WhichishowIfindmyselfshruggingandsaying,“Kindof,yeah.”
IexpectEriktogetangryagain.TotellmethatI’mbeingfoolish.Tomakeoneofthosedryjokesofhisthatmademelaugheverytime.Insteadhetakesmebysurprise:Helooksawayguiltily.Thenhepresseshisthumbandforefingerinhiseyes,likehe’ssuddenly,overwhelminglyexhausted,andmurmursquietly,“Fuck,Sadie.I’msorry.”Six
Threeweeksago
Ihaveagrandtotalofzerosuperstitiousritualscenteredarounddating.
AndIpromiseI’mnotsayingthistobrag.ThereisasimplereasonIhaven’tconvincedmyselfthatIneedtochugdownaCapriSunordosevenjumpingjacksbeforegoingoutwithsomeone,whichis:Idonotdate.Ever.Iusedto,ofcourse.Onceuponatime.WithOscar,theLoveofMyLife.
LikeHannahoftenpointsout,it’salittlemisleadingformetorefertotheguywhometanotherwomanatadatasciencecorporatebondingretreatandtwoweekslatercalledmeintearstotellmethathewasfallingforherastheLoveofMyLife.AndIswear,Idogettheirony.ButOscarandIgowayback.Hegavememyfirstkiss(withtongue)whenweweresophomoresinhighschool.Hewasmydatetotheseniorprom,thefirstnonfamilypersonIwentonvacationwith,theonewhoseshoulderIbawledonwhenhegotacceptedtohisdreamschoolintheMidwest,exactlysevenstatesawayfromme
Weactuallymadeitworkprettywellduringfouryearsoflongdistanceforcollege.Andwedidgettospendsummerstogether,exceptwhenIwasoninternships,whichwas…well,yes,everysummerbutjunioryear,andIhadthatcodingbootcampatUCSBthen,so…yup,everysummer.Somaybetherewerenosummerstogether,butIdidendupwithakillerCV,andthatwasnice.Better,even.
Whenwegraduatedcollege,OscarwasofferedajobinPortland,andIwasgoingtofollowhimandfindsomethingthere,butIgotintoCaltech’sPh.D.program,whichwastoogoodanopportunitytopassup.Ireallythoughtwecoulddofivemoreyearsoflongdistance,becauseOscarwasagreatguyandso,sopatientandunderstanding—tillthebeginningofmythirdyear.TillthedayheFaceTimedme,cryingbecausehe’dmetsomeoneelseandhadnochoicebuttobreakupwithme.
Iwept.IstalkedhisnewgirlfriendonInstagram.IatemyweightinTalentigelato(saltedcarameltruffle,blackraspberryvanillaparfait,and,onaparticularlyshamefulnight,mangosherbetmeltedintoapotofMidorisour;Iamfilledwithregrets).Icutmyhairshort,towhatmyhairdresserdubbedthelongestbobinthehistoryofbobs.Icouldn’tbeartobealone,soIsleptinMara’sbedforaweek,becauseHannahtossesaroundwaytoomuchandI’mprettysureshechangedthesheetstwiceinthefiveyearswelivedtogether.ForabouttendaysIwasutterly,soul-smashinglyheartbroken.Andthen.
ThenIwasmoreorlessfine.
Seriously,consideringthatOscarandIhadbeentogetherforalmostadecade,myreactiontobeingone-sidedlybrokenupwithwasnothingshortofmiraculous.Iacedallmyclassesandmylabwork,spentthesummertouringEuropebytrainwithMaraandHannah,andacoupleofmonthslaterfoundmyselfshockedtorealizethatIhadn’tcheckedOscar’sgirlfriend’sTwitterinweeks.Huh.
“Coulditbethatitwasn’treallove?”IfoundmyselfaskingmyfriendsoverMidorisours(sansmangosherbet;Ihadregainedmydignitybythen).
“Ithinkthattherearelotsofkindsoflove,”Hannahsaid.ShewasnestlednexttomeatourfavoriteboothatJoe’s,thegradstudentbarclosesttoourapartment.“MaybeyourswithOscarwasclosertothesiblingvarietythantoanythingresemblingapassionateaffairbetweensoulmates?Andyou’restillintouch.Youknowthatyoustillloveeachotherasfriends,soyourbrainknowsthatthere’snoneedtomournhim.”
“ButinitiallyIwasreally,reallydevastated.”
“Well,Idon’twanttoarmchair-psychologizeyou…”
“Youtotallywanttoarmchair-psychologizeme.”
Hannahsmiled,pleased.“Okay,ifyouinsist.Iwonderifmaybeyouweremoredevastatedattheideaoflosingyoursafeharbor—thepersonwhowasthereforyousinceyouwerekidsandpromisedtobethereforyouforever—thanattheideaoflosingOscarhimself.Coulditbethathewasacrutchofsorts?”
“Idon’tknow.”Ipokedatmygarnishcherry.“Ilikedbeinghisgirlfriend.Hewasso…there,youknow?AndwhenwewereapartImissedhim,butnottoomuch.Itwas…easy,Iguess.”
“Coulditbethatitwastooeasy?”Maraaskedbeforestealingmylime.
I’vebeenponderingherquestioneversince.
Buttherehasn’tbeenanyoneafterOscar.WhichmeansthathestilltechnicallyretainsthetitleofLoveofMyLife,eveniftwomonthsagoIgotaninvitetohiswedding—prettyglaringcluethatI’mnottheLoveofHis.Icouldhavegottenoutmore,Iguess,especiallyingradschool.Icouldhavetriedharder.“Whenonedoorshuts,anotheropens,”HannahandMarawouldsay.“Nowyoucandatearound.Youmissedoutonsomanyhotdudesinthepastfewyears—remembertheguywemetinTucson?Ortheonewhoalwaysasksyououtatconferences?OhmyGod,theguyinfluiddynamicswhowasclearlyinlovewithyou?Youshouldhithimup!”
Ofcourse,wheneverthetopicofmylovelifecomesup,andbecausedraggingisasacrosanctpartofthecovenantoffriendship,IneverhesitatetopointoutthateventhoughbothHannahandMarahavebeenmostlysingleeversincestartinggradschool,theybarelytakeadvantageoftheiramazingdatingopportunities.ItusuallyendswithMaradefensivelymutteringthatshe’sbusy,andHannahrebuttingthatshe’sonabreakfromhookingupwithpeople,becauseherlasttwofuckbuddieswereCanIJizzinYourHairandHumanSkullontheNightstandGirl,andtheywouldputanyoneoffsex.Itusuallyendswithuscollectivelydecidingthatnorelationshipcouldevercompetewithourjobs,guineapigs,or…Netflix,maybe?Iftheideaofstaringatblueprintsismoreappealingtomethanhittingtheclub(whateverthatevenmeans;whatevenisaclub,really?)thenmaybeIshouldjusthangoutwiththeblueprints.Notthatthingscannotchange,sinceMaraisnowembarrassingly,fantasticallyinlovewithherFormerlyAssholeRoommate.
MaybetheblueprintsandIwillcommon-lawtietheknot.Who’stosay?
Anyhoo.Allofthistosay:Ihaven’treallydatedawholelot,whichisthesolereasonIhaven’tdevelopedweird,ritualistichabitsaroundtheprocess.OrIhadn’t.Tillrightnow.
BecauseIamaboutfifteenminutesintothenight,andI’mthinkingthatI’llhavetokeeptheseblackjeansfortherestofmylife.ThelightweightgreensweaterIputon?Can’tthrowitaway.Ever.Thisisnowmylucky-dateoutfit.BecausethesecondIsitdownatthebistro,whereeverythingsmellsdeliciousandournarrowwindowtablehasthecutestlittlesucculentinitscenter,Erik’sphonepings.
“Sorry.I’llmuteit.”Hedoes,butnotbeforerollinghiseyes.Whichissuchafarcryfromhisusualstoic,nonplussedvibe,Icannothelpbutburstintolaughter.“Please,donotmockmypain,”hedeadpans,takingtheseatacrossfrommine.I’mnotsurehow,butIknowthathe’sjoking.MaybeI’mdevelopingtelepathicpowers.
“Work?”Iask.
“Iwish.”Heshakeshishead,resigned.“Waymoreimportantstuff.”
Oh.Maybehewasn’tjoking.“Iseverythingokay?”
“No.”Heslideshisphoneinhispocketandleansbackinhisseat.“Mybrothertextedthatmyfootballteamjusttradedoneofourbestplayers.We’renevergoingtowinagameagain.”
Ismileintomywater.IneverreallygotintoAmericanfootball.Itseemskindofboring—abunchofovergrowndudesstandingaroundin’80sshoulderpadsandbashingtheirheadstowardchronictraumaticencephalopathy—butI’mwaytoosoccermadtojudgefansofothersports.MaybeErikusedtoplay.He’sbigenough,Iguess.“Thentheyshouldreallyinvestinluckyunderwear.”
Hegivesmealingeringlook.“Purple.”
“Lavender.”
“Right.Yes.”Heglancesaway,andIthinkthatthisisnice.I’msittingacrossfromsomeonewho’snotOscar,andI’mnotfeelingtoonervous,ortoomuchweirderthanusual.Forallthathe’sablondsteelymountainofmuscles,Erikissurprisinglyeasytobearound.
“What’syourteam?Giants?Jets?”
Heshakeshishead.“It’snotthatkindoffootball.”
Icockmyhead.“Isit,like,aminorleague?”
“No,it’sEuropeanfootball.Soccer,you’dcallit.Butwedon’tneedtotalkabout—”
Inearlydoaspittake.“Youfollowsoccer?”
“Anintervention-worthyamount,accordingtomyfamilyandfriends.Butdon’tworry,Idohaveothertopicsofconversation.Likepastries.Orthepracticalimplementationofsmartfactorytechnology.Or…that’saboutit.”
“No!No,I—”Idon’tevenknowwheretostart.“Ilovesoccer.Like,lovelove.IstayuptillridiculoushourstowatchgamesinEurope.Myparentsalwaysgetmefancyjerseysformybirthdaybecausethat’sliterallymyonlyinterest.Iwenttocollegeonasoccerscholarship.”
Hefrowns.“SodidI.”
“Noway.”Westareateachotherforalongmoment,amillionandonewordsrunningthroughtheeyecontact.Impossible.Amazing.Really?Really,forreal?“Youusedtoplay?”
“Istillplay.Tuesdaynightsandweekends,mostly.Therearelotsofamateurclubshere.”
“Iknow!OnWednesdaysIgotothisgymnearmyplace,and…Soccerwasmyfirstcareerchoice.TheengineeringPh.D.wasdefinitelymyplanB.Ireally,reallywantedtogopro.”
“But?”
“Iwasn’tquitegoodenough.”
Henods.“I’dhavelovedtogopro,too.”
“Whatstoppedyou?”
Hechuckles.Itsoundslikeahug.“Iwasn’tnearlygoodenough.”
Ilaugh.“So,what’syourteamandwhodidtheytrade?”
“F.C.Copenhagen.Andtheygotridof—”
“Don’tsayHalvorsen.”
Hecloseshiseyes.“Halvorsen.”
Iwince.“Yeah,you’renevergonnawinanothergame,notforallthepurpleunderwearintheworld.Butyouweren’tgonnawinmuchwithhim,anyway.Youneedabettercoach,honestly.Nooffense.”
“Plentyofoffense.”He’sglaring.
“Youfollowwomen’ssoccer,too?”Iask.
Henods.“ProudOLReignsupportersince2012.”
“Me,too!”Ibeam.“Soyoudon’talwayshaveterribletaste.”
“What’syourmen’steam?”Acute,charmingverticallinehasappearedbetweenhisbrows.
Irestmychinonmyhands.“Guess.I’llgiveyouthreetries.”
“Honestly,IcanacceptanyclubexceptforRealMadrid.”
Icontinuewithmychinhands,unperturbed.
“It’sRealMadrid,isn’tit?”
“Yup.”
“Outrageous.”
“You’rejustjellybecausewecanaffordtobuydecentplayers.”
“Right.”HesighsandhandsmeoneofthemenusIneverevennoticedthewaiterdroppedoff.“I’mgoingtoneedfoodforthisconversation.Andsowillyou.”
Wespendtherestofthenightarguing,andit’s…fantastic.Thebest.Isuspectthefoodisasgoodashepromised,butIdon’tpayverymuchattention,becauseErikhasincrediblyincorrectopinionsonthewayOrlandoPrideisusingAlexMorganandonthePremierLeaguetrajectoryofLiverpool,andImustdedicateallmyeffortstotalkinghimoutofthem.
Ifail.Hestandsbyhiswrongideasandsystematicallymakeshiswaythroughthebread,thenanappetizer,thenanentrée,likeamanwhoisusedtocomfortablyconsumingsevenlargemealsaday.Attheend,whenourplatesarecleanandI’mtoofulltobickerwithhimovertheoffside-sanctionsrules,webothleanbackinourchairsandaresilentforamoment.
I’msmiling.He’s…notsmiling,butclose,anditmakesmesmileevenmore.
IthinkthismighthavebeenthemostfunI’vehadinyears.Okay,false:Iknowitis.
“Howdiditgo,bytheway?”heasksquietly.
“What?”
“Yourpitch.”
“Oh.Good,Ithink.”
“ThankstoFaye’scroissant?”
Igrin.“Undoubtedly.Andmylavenderunderwear.”
Helowershiseyesandclearshisthroat.“Who’stheclient?”
“Acooperative.They’rebuildingareccenterbasedinNewJerseyandareshoppingaroundforconsultants.It’sasecondlocationforthem,sotheyboughtanoldgrocerystoretoturnintoagymofsorts.They’relookingforsomeonewho’llhelpthemdesignit.”
“You?”
“Andmyboss,yes.Thoughtwoofherkidshavebeencolicky,sofornowmostlyme.”
“Whatdidyoutellthem?”
“Italkedthemthroughmyplansforenergyindependence,greenbuildingstandards,smartwatermanagement,minimizingoff-gaschemicals…thatstuff.Theyweregoingforagreenedge,theysaid.”
“Andwhatareyourplans?”
Ihesitate.Ireallydon’twanttoboreErik,andI’vegottenfeedbackfrom…literallyeveryonethatwhenIstarttalkingaboutengineeringstuff,Igoonforwaytoolong.ButErikseemsmorethanalittleinterested,andeventhoughIblabberaboutrawmaterialsandfederallimitsandlife-cycleassessmentforovertenminutes,hisattentionneverseemstowaver.Hejustnodspensively,likehe’sfilingawaytheinformation,andaskslotsofcleverquestions.
“Soyougottheproject?”
Ishrug.“They’remeetingwithsomeoneelsetomorrow,soIdon’tknowyet.Buttheysaidwe’retheirfirstchoicesofar,soI’moptimistic.”
Erikdoesn’treply.Insteadhejuststudiesme,serious,intent,likeI’maparticularlyintriguingblueprint.Doesitmakemeuncomfortable?Idon’tknow.Itshould.I’moutwithaguy.Forthefirsttimeinamillionyears.Andhe’sstaring.Yikes,right?But…Ikindofdon’tmind.
Mostly,I’mwonderingwhetherhelikeswhathesees,whichisabitdifferent.Ifeel,sometimes,likeI’velostthehabittowonderwhetherI’mprettyinfavorofagonizingoverotherqualities.DoIlookprofessional?Smart?Organized?Someonewhoshouldbetakenseriously,whateverthehellthatmeans?Igenerallyfindtheideaofmencommentingonmyattractiveness,favorablyorotherwise,repulsive.Buttonight,rightnow…thepossibilitythatErikmightfindmebeautifuluncurlswarmlyatthebaseofmystomach.
AndthenfreezeswhenIconsiderthathemightbestaringfortheoppositereason.Couldhebestaringfortheoppositereason?Okay.Thisis—no.Ineedtostopwiththeruminating.“Whatareyouthinking?”Iask.
Hehuffsalaugh.“Justwonderingsomething.”
“What?”
Hedrumshisfingersonthetable.“Whetheryouwantajob.”
“Oh,Istillhaveone.Despitemyeffortsthismorning,Ididn’tactuallygetfired.”
“Iknow.Andthisisveryinappropriate,Iamaware.ButI’dlovetopoachyou.”
“Ah.I…”Suddenly,I’mfeelinghotandweirdlytingly.“Ilikemyjob.Itpaysokay.Andmybossisgreat.”
“I’llpayyoumore.Nameafigure.”
“I…what?”
“Andifthere’sanythingyoudon’tenjoyaboutyourcurrentjob,I’dbehappytocometoanagreementaboutyourduties.I’mveryopentonegotiating.”
“Wait—you?”
“ProBld,”heamends.
Ifrown.HetalksaboutProBldlikehehasalotofsayintheiradministrativechoices,andIwonderifhehasamanagerialposition.Itwouldexplainthesuit.Andthefactthatheclearlycametodinnerdirectlyfromwork,eventhoughwemetateight.He’swearingthesameclothesasthismorning,albeitwithouthistieandjacket,andwiththesleevesofhisbutton-downrolleduptohisforearms.Whichlookstrongandoddlymale,andI’vebeentryinghardnottoogle.I’mabouttoaskwhatexactlyhisjobdescriptionis,butIgetdistractedwhenthewaiterbringsthecheckandhandsittoErik.Whoreadilyacceptsit
Ishepaying?Iguesshe’spaying.ShouldIpolitelyinsistthatwesplitit?ShouldIrudelyinsistthatwesplitit?ShouldIoffertopayforbothofus?Hedidbuythecroissantthismorning.Howdoesonedineoutwithcompany?Ihavenoclue.
“Thankyou,”thewaitersaysbeforeleaving.“Alwaysnicetoseeyou,Erik.”
“Youdocomeherealot,”Itellhim.
Heshrugs,slippinghiscreditcardinsidethebook.Okay.Thepayingshiphassailed.Crap.“Withbigclients,mostly.”
“Soit’snotyourdefaultdateplace?”ThequestioncomesoutbeforeIcanturnthewordsinmyhead.WhichmeansthatIdon’trealizeitsimplicationsuntilwellafterit’slingeringbetweenus.Erikisstaring,again,andI’msuddenlyflustered.“Idon’tknowif…ifyoudon’t…Ididn’tmeantosaythatthisisadate.”
Hiseyebrowlifts.
“Imean—maybeyoujustwantedto…asfriends,and…”
Theeyebrowliftshigher.
Iclearmythroat.“I…Isthisadate?”Iask,myvoicesmall,suddenlyinsecure.
“Idon’tknow,”hesayscarefully,aftermullingitoverforasecond.
“Maybeitisn’t.I…”Ididn’twanttomakeitweird.MaybeyoujustthinkI’manicegirlandwantedsomeonetohavedinnerwithandItotallymisreadthesituationandI’mso,sosorry.It’sjust,IthinkIlikeyoualot?MorethanIcanrememberlikinganyone?It’spossiblethatIprojectedand—
Thewaitercomestopickupthecheck,whichinterruptsmyspiralingandgivesmeachancetotakeadeepbreath.It’sallgood.Somaybeitwasn’tadate.It’sfine.Itwasfun,anyway.Goodfood.Goodsoccertalk.Imadeafriend.
“CanIaskyouaquestion?”
Ilookupfromthehand-wringingcurrentlygoingoninmylap.IsitwhetherI’maneedy,dangerousstalker?“Uh,sure.”
“Idon’tknowifthisisadate,”hesays,serious,“butifitisn’t,willyougoononewithme?”
Ismilesowide,mycheeksnearlyhurt.
ThepistachiogelatomeltsdownmyconewhileIexplainwhyNeuerisamuchbettergoalkeeperthanhe’smadeouttobe.WewalkaroundTribecasidebysidewithouttouchingevenonce,blockafterblockafterblock,thenightairbalmyandthelightsfuzzy.Myshoesarenotnew,butIcanfeelanastyblisterslowlyformingonmyheel.Itdoesn’tmatter,becauseIdon’twanttostop.
NeitherdoesErik,Idon’tthink.EveryfewwordsIbendmynecktolookupathim,andheissohandsomeinhisshirtsleevesandslacks,sohandsomewhenheshakeshisheadatsomethingIsaid,sohandsomewhenhegestureswithhislargehandstodescribeaplay,sohandsomewhenhealmostsmilesandlittlewrinklesappearatthecornersofhiseyes,sohandsomethatsometimesIfeelit,physically,viscerally.MypulsequickensandIcannotbreatheandI’mstartingtothinkaboutunnervingthings.Thingslikeafter.IlistentohimexplainwhyNeuerisanincrediblyoverratedgoalkeeperandlaugh,genuinelylovingeveryminuteofit.
Attheicecreamplace,hedidn’torderanything.Because,hesays,“Idon’tliketoeatcoldthings.”
“Wow.Thatmightbethemostun-DanishthingIhaveeverheard.”
Itmustbeasorespot,becausehiseyesnarrow.“Remindmetoneverintroduceyoutomybrothers.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’twantyoutoformanyalliances.”
“Ha.SoyouareanotoriouslybadDane.DoyoualsohateABBA?”
Helooksbrieflyconfused.Thenhisexpressionclears.“They’reSwedish.”
“Whatabouttulips—doyouhatetulips?”
“ThatwouldbetheNetherlands.”
“Damn.”
“Soclose,though.Wanttotryagain?Thirdtime’sthecharm.”
Iglare,lickingwhat’sleftofthestickypistachiooffmyfingers.Helooksatmymouthandthenaway,downtohisfeet.Iwanttoaskhimwhat’swrong,buttheownerofthecoffeeshoponthecornercomesouttoretrievehissidewalksignandIrealizesomething.
It’slate.
Verylate.Reallylate.End-of-the-nightlate.We’restandinginfrontofeachotheronasidewalk,overtwelvehoursaftermeetingforthefirsttimeon…anothersidewalk;Erikprobablywantstogohome.AndIprobablywanttobewithhimalittlelonger.
“Whattraindoyoutake?”Iask.
“Iactuallydrove.”
Ishakemyhead,disapproving.“WhoevendrivesinNewYork?”
“Peoplewhohavetovisitconstructionsitesalloverthetristate.I’lltakeyouhome,”heoffers,andIbeam.
“Geniuses.Kind,ride-givinggeniuses.Whereareyouparked?”
HepointssomewherebehindmeandInod,knowingIshouldturnaroundandbegintowalkbyhissideagain.Butweseemtobealittlestuckinthishereandthisnow.Standinginfrontofeachother.Rootedtotheground.
“Ihadfuntonight,”Isay.
Hedoesn’tanswer.
“Eventhoughweforgottogetcroissantsatthebistro.”
Stillnoanswer.
“AndIamseriouslytemptedtobuyyoualife-sizecardboardcutoutofNeuerand—Erik,areyoustilldoingthatthingwhereyoudon’ttalkbecauseI’mtechnicallynotaskingyouaquestion?”
Helaughssilentlyandmybreathhitcheshighinmychest.“Wheredoyoulive?”heaskssoftly.
“FarthestreachesofStatenIsland,”Ilie.
It’ssupposedtobemyrevenge,buthejustsays,“Good.”
“Good?”
“Good.”
Ifrown.“It’satollofseventeendollars,myfriend.”
Heshrugs.
“One-way,Erik.”
“It’sfine.”
“Howisitfine?”
Heshrugsagain.“Atleastit’lltakeawhiletogetthere.”
Myheartskipsabeat.Andthenanother.Andthentheyallcatchupatonce,amessofoverlappingthumps,asmallwildanimalcagedinmychest,tryingtoescape.
IhavenoideawhatI’mdoinghere.Notaclue.ButErikisstandingrightinfrontofme,thestreetlightasoftglowbehindhishead,thewarmspringbreezeblowingsoftlybetweenus,andsomethingclickswithinme.
Yes.Okay.
“Actually,”Isay,andeventhoughmycheeksareburning,eventhoughIcannotlookhimintheeye,eventhoughI’mshiftingonmytoesandcontemplatingrunningaway,thisisthebravestmomentofmylife.BraverthanmovingherewithoutMaraandHannah.BraverthanthetimeImeggedthatmidfielderfromtheUCLA.Justbrave.“Actually,ifyoudon’tmind,I’dratherskipStatenIslandandjustgotoyourplace.”
Hestudiesmeforalongmoment,andIwonderifmaybehecannotquitebelievewhatIjustsaid,ifhisbrainisalsostrugglingtocatchup,ifmaybethisfeelsasextraordinarytohimasitdoestome.Thenhenodsonce,decided.“Verywell,”hesays.
Beforewestarttowalk,Iseehisthroatbob.Seven
Present
Onpaper,Ishouldbepleased.
Afterweeksofsometimes-murderous,often-mopey,intenserage,IfinallytoldErikthatI’drathertakemychancesandfalldownanelevatorshaft—ReturnoftheJediEmperorPalpatinestyle—thanspendonemoreminutewithhim.Itoldhim,andfromthewayhislipspressedtogether,hereallyhatedhearingit.Nowhiseyesareclosedandhe’sleaninghisheadbackagainstthewall.Which,givenhisreservedNordicgenes,islikelytheequivalentofaregularpersongoingonhiskneesandbellowinginpain.
Good.Istareatthelineofhisjawandthecolumnofhisthroat,forbidmyselffromrememberinghowfunitwastobiteintohisscratchy,unshavenskin,andthink,alittlesavagely,Good.It’sgoodthathefeelsbadaboutwhathedid,becausewhathedidwasbad.
Really,Ishouldbepleased.AndIam,exceptforthisheavy,twistedfeelingatthebottomofmystomach,whichIdon’timmediatelyrecognizebuthasmethinkingbacktosomethingMarasaidtometheeveningaftermynightatErik’s.Hannah’sendofthecallhadgonedark,presumablywhenafallingicicleseveredwhateverInternetcableconnectsNorwaytotherestoftheworld,anditwasjustthetwoofusontheline.
“Hetriedtocallme,”Isaid.“Andhetextedmeaskingifwecouldgetdinnertonight.Likenothinghappened.LikeI’mtoostupidtorealizewhathedid.”
“Thefuckingaudacity.”Marawasincensed,hercheeksredwithanger,almostasbrightasherhair.“Doyouwanttotalktohim?”
“I…”Iwipedthetearsoffwiththebackofmyhand.“No.Idon’tknow.”
“Youcouldyellathim.Riphimanewasshole.Threatenhimwithalawsuit,maybe?Iswhathedidillegal?Ifso,Liam’salawyer.He’llrepresentyouforfree.”
“Doesn’thedoweirdtaxcorporationstuff?”
“Eh.I’msurethelaw’sthelaw.”
Ilaughedwetly.“Shouldn’tyouaskhimfirst?”
“Don’tworry,heseemstobephysicallyincapableofsayingnotome.Lastweekheletmehangupwindchimesontheporch.Thequestionis,doyouwanttotalkwithErik?Orwouldyouratherforgetabouthimandpretendheneverexisted?”
“I…”Ithoughtaboutbeingwithhimthepreviousnight.Andthen,later,aboutdiscoveringwhathe’ddone.CouldIforget?CouldIpretend?“IwanttotalkwiththeErikIhaddinnerwith.Andbreakfast.BeforeIknewwhathewascapableof.”
Maranodded,sad.“Youcouldpickupnexttimehecalls.Andconfronthim.Demandanexplanation.”
“WhatifhelaughsitoffassomethingthatIshouldhaveexpected?”
“It’spossiblethathe’stryingtocallyoutoownwhathedidandapologize,”shesaid,pensive.“Butmaybethatwouldbeevenworse.Becausethenyou’dknowthatheknewexactlytheharmhewasdoingbutwentaheadwithitanyway.”
Ithinkthat’sexactlyit.Ithinkthat’swhyIhatedErik’sI’msorry,andwhyIhatethathehasn’tlookedatmeinseveralminutes.Itmakesmewonderifhe’sawarethatheruinedsomethingthatcouldhavebeengreatoutofgreed.Andifthat’sthecase,thenIdidn’timagineit:thenightwespenttogetherwasasspecialasIremember,andhestillthrewitintothegarbagechute—ANewHopePrincessLeiastyle.
“IsawDenmarkwonagainstGermany,”Isay,becauseit’spreferabletothealternative.Thesilence,andmyveryloudthoughts.
Heturnstomeandexhalesoutalaugh.“Really,Sadie?”
“Yeah.Two—no,threenightsago.”Ilookdownatmyhand,chippingatwhatlittleisleftoflastweek’snailpolish.“Two-one.SomaybeyoudidhaveapointaboutNeuer—”
“Really?”herepeats,harsherthistime.Iignorehim.
“Though,ifyouremember,whenwehadgelatoIdidconcedethathisleftfootiskindofweak.”
“Idoremember,”hesays,alittleimpatient.
God.Thesenailsofminearejustembarrassing.“Eventhen,itprobablyhadmoretodowithDenmarkplayingexceptionallywell—”
“Sadie.”
“Andifyouguyscansustainthislevelofplayforawhile,then…”
Thereissomerustlingfromhiscorneroftheelevator.IlookupjustintimetoseeEriksquatinfrontofme,kneesbrushingagainstmylegs,eyespaleandserious.Myheartsomersaults.Hedoeslookthinner.Andmaybeabitlikehehasn’tbeenhavingthebestsleepofhislifeinthepastfewweeks.Hishairgleamsgoldenintheemergencylight,andabriefmemoryresurfaces,ofpullingatitwhenhe—
“Sadie.”
What?Iwanttoscream.Whatmoredoyouwant?InsteadIjustlookbackathim,feelingliketheelevatorhasshrunkagain,thistimetothepocketbetweenmyeyesandhis.
“It’sbeenweeks,and…”Heshakeshishead.“Canwepleasetalk?”
“Wearetalking.”
“Sadie.”
“I’msayingstuff.Andyou’resayingstuff.”
“Sadie—”
“Okay,fine:youwererightaboutNeuer.Happy?”
“Notparticularly,no.”Helooksatmeinsilenceforseveralseconds.Thenhesays,calmandearnest:“I’msorry.”
It’sthewrongthing.Ifeelasurgeofangertravelupmyspine,biggereventhanwhenIlearnedabouthisbetrayal.ThereisabitteracidflavorinmymouthwhenIleanforwardandhiss,“Ihateyou.”
Hebrieflycloseshiseyes,resigned.“Iknow.”
“Howcouldyoudothat,Erik?”
Heswallows.“Ihadnoidea.”
Ilaughonce.“Seriously?How—howdareyou?”
“Itakefullresponsibilityforwhathappened.Itwasmyfault.I…Ilikedit,Sadie.Alot.SomuchsothatIcompletelymisreadyoursignalsanddidn’trealizethatyoudidn’t.”
“Well,whatyoudidwas—”Istopabruptly.MybrainscreechestoahaltandfinallycomputesErik’swords.Likedit?Misread?Whatdoesthatevenmean?“Whatsignals?”
“Thatnight,I…”Hebitestheinsideofhischeekandseemstoturninward.“Itwasgood.Ithink…Imusthavelostcontrol.”
Ifreeze.Somethingaboutthisconversationisn’tquiteright.“Whenyousaidyouweresorryaminuteago,whatwereyoureferringto?”
Heblinkstwice.“ThethingsIdidtoyou.Inmyapartment.”
“No.No,that’snot…”Mycheeksarehotandmyhead’sspinning.“Erik,whydoyouthinkIstoppedpickingupyourcalls?”
“BecauseofthewayIhadsexwithyou.Iwasonyouallnight.Askedfortoomuch.Youdidn’tenjoyit.”Suddenly,helooksasconfusedasIfeel.Likewe’rebothinthemiddleofastorythatdoesn’tquitemakenarrativesense.“Sadie.Isn’tthatthereason?”
Hiseyesboreintomine.Ipressmypalmagainstmymouthandslowlyshakemyhead.Eight
Threeweeksago
Wehaven’ttouchedallnight.
Notattherestaurant.Notinthecar.NotevenintheelevatoruptohisBrooklynHeightsapartment,whichislargerthanminebutdoesn’tlookitbecauseErikisstandinginit.We’vebeenchattinglikewedidoverdinner,whichisfunandgreatandkindofhilarious,butI’mstartingtowonderwhetherwhenIfooledmyselfintobelievingthatIwasbravelyhittingonErik,heactuallythoughtthatIwasinvitingmyselfovertoplaytheFIFAvideogame.He’sgoingtosayCome,Iwanttoshowyousomething.I’llfollowhimdownthehallwayjelly-kneed,andonceI’mattheendhe’llopenthedooroftheXboxroomandI’llquietlydie.
IstandintheentrancewhileEriklocksthedoorbehindme,shiftingawkwardlyonmyfeet,contemplatingmyownmortalityandthepossibilityofmakingarunforit,whenInoticethecat.PerchedonErik’sspotlesslivingroomtable(whichappearsnottobearepositoryformailpilesandtake-outflyers;huh).It’sorange,round,andgloweringatus.
“Hithere.”Itakeafewsteps,cautiouslyholdingoutmyhand.Thecatglowersharder.“Aren’tyouanicelittlekitten?”
“Heisn’t.”Erikistakingoffhisshoesandhanginghisjacketbehindme.“Nice,thatis.”
“What’shisname?”
“Cat.”
“Cat?Like…?”
“Cat,”hesays,final.Idecidenottopresshim.
“I’mnotsurewhy,butIpeggedyouformoreofadogperson.”
“Iam.”
Iturnandgivehimapuzzledlook.“Butyouhaveacat?”
“Mybrotherdoes.”
“Whichone?”Hehasfour.Allyounger.Andit’sclearfromthewayhetalksaboutthem,oftenandwiththathalf-gruff,half-amusedtone,thatthey’rethickasthieves.Myonly-child,“HavethiscoloringbookwhileMommyandDaddywatchTheWestWing”selfburnswithenvy.
“Anders.Theyoungest.Hegraduatedcollegeandisnow…somewhere.Wales,Ibelieve.Discoveringhimself.”Erikcomestostandnexttome.HeandCatglareateachother.“WhileItemporarilywatchhiscat.”
“What’stemporarily?”
Hepresseshislipstogether.“Sofar,oneyearandsevenmonths.”Itrytokeepastraightface,Ireallydo,butIendupsmilingintomyhand,andErik’seyesnarrowatme.“Thebeginningofour…relationshipwasrough,butweareslowlystartingtocometoanagreement,”hesays,justasCatjumpsoffthetableandpausestohissatErikonhiswaytothekitchen.Eriksnapsbackwithsomethingthatsoundsveryharshandconsonantbased,thenlooksatmeagain.“Slowly.”
“Veryslowly.”
“Yeah.”
“Doyoulockyourbedroomdooratnight?”
“Religiously.”
“Good.”
Ismile,hedoesn’t,andweslipintoalullofnot-quite-comfortablesilence.IfillitbylookingaroundandpretendingthatI’mfascinatedwiththemapofCopenhagenthathangsonthewall.Erikdoesitbystandingnexttomeandasking,“Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?IthinkIhavebeer.And…”Apause.“Milk,probably.”
Ilaughsoftly.“Twopercent?”
“Whole.Andchocolate,”headmits,alittlebashful.Whichhasmechucklingsomemore,Erikfinallysmiling,andthen…moresilence.
We’reidlingbetweentheentranceandthelivingroom,facingeachother,himstudyingme,mestudyinghimstudyingme,andsomethingheavyknotsinmythroat.I’mnotsurewhat’sgoingon.I’mnotsurewhatIexpected,buttheentirenightwassoeasy,andthisisnot.“DidI…DidImisunderstand?”
Hedoesn’tpretendnottoknowexactlywhatImean.“Youdidn’t.”Heseems…notinsecure,butcautious.Likehe’sascientistabouttomixtwoveryvolatilesubstancestogether.Theproductmightbegreat,buthe’dbetterbeextrasure.Wearprotectiveequipment.Taketime.“Idon’twanttoassumeanything.”
Theknottightens.“Ifyouhavechangedyour—”
“That’snotit.”
Ibiteintomylip.“Iwasgoingtosay,ifyoudon’twantto—”
“It’stheopposite,Sadie,”hesaysquietly.“Theexactopposite.Ineedtotreadcarefully.”
Right,then.Okay.Imakeasplit-seconddecision,mysecondactofbraveryoftheevening:Istepclosertohim,tillourfeettouchthroughoursocks,andpushuptothetipsofmytoes.
Thefirstthingthathitsmeishowgoodhesmells.Clean,masculine,warm.All-arounddelicious.Thesecond:hiscollarboneisthefarthestIcanreach,whichwouldbekindofamusingifmyabilitytobreatheweren’tshotallofasudden.IfIwantthiskisstohappen,I’llneedhiscooperation.Orrock-climbingequipment.
“Willyou…”Ilaughhelplesslyagainstthecollarofhisshirt.“Please?”
Hewon’t.Hedoesn’t.Notforthelongesttime,insteadchoosingtowraphishandaroundmyjaw,cupmyface,staredownatme.“Ithinkthisisit,”hemurmurs,thumbswipingovermycheekbone,eyespensive,likehe’sprocessingamomentouspieceofinformation.Mypulseraces.I’mdizzy.
“I…What?”
“This.”Hiseyesareonmylips.“Idon’tthinkI’mgoinganywherefromthis.”
“I’mnotsureI…”
HemovessoquicklyIcanbarelykeeptrack.Hishandsclosearoundmywaist,liftmeup,andasecondlaterI’msittingontheshelfintheentrance.Theheightdifferencebetweenusismuchlessdramaticand…
It’sthebestkissofmylife.No:it’sthebestkissintheworld.Becauseofthewayhepressesahandintomyshoulderbladetoarchmeintohim.Becauseofthescratchofhisstubbleagainstmycheeks.Becauseitstartsslow,justhismouthonmine,andstayslikethatforalongtime.EvenwhenIloopmyarmsaroundhisneck,evenwhenheleansintomeandpushesmythighsopentomakespaceforhimself,evenwhenwe’reflushagainsteachother,myheartbeatinglikeadrumagainsthischest,it’sjusthislipsandmine.Close,brushing,sharingairandwarmth.Achinglycareful.
AndthenIopenmymouth,anditbecomessomethingelseentirely.Thesoftpressofourtongues.Hisgrunt.Mymoan.It’snew,butalsoright.Thescentofhim.Thewayheholdsmyheadinhishand.Thedeliciousliquidheatspreadinginmybelly,risingupmynerveendings.Good.It’sgood,andI’mtrembling,andit’sreally,reallygood.
“If…”Istartwhenhecomesupforair,butimmediatelystopwhenheburieshisfaceinmythroat.
“Thisokay?”heasksbeforeinhalingdeeplyagainstmyskin,asthoughmyTargetbodywashissomekindofmind-addlingdrug.
My“Yeah”isfaint,breathless.Whenhebitesmycollarbone,Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisshouldersandmylegsaroundhiswaist,andthepleasureofbeingsocloseslicesthroughmelikethesharpestblade.
Heishard.Icanfeelexactlyhowhard.Hewantsmetofeelit,Ithink,becausehishandslidesdowntomyassandpullsmeintohim.Isquirm,twistingmyhipsexperimentally,andhegroansruggedlyintomymouth.“Begood,”hechides,stern,alittlerough.Hegripsmetight,holdsmestillagainsthim,andIunexpectedlyshiveratthecommandinhiswords.
Itescalatesquickly.Forme,atleast.Thereisastretchofseconds,maybeminutes,inwhichwejustkissandkissandkiss,Erikleaningevencloserandmefollowinghislead,liquidheatfloodinginsideme.AndthenIstartnoticingthem:thesoftgroans.Thesharphissashiscockrubsagainstmyinnerthigh.Thewayhisfingersdighungrilyintomyhips,thenapeofmyneck,thesmallofmyback.Healternatesbetweenclutchingmetohisbodyastightashecanandavoidingtouchingmeatall,handswhite-knuckledagainsttheedgeoftheshelfasheputssomedistancebetweenus.Ithinkhemightbetryingtoslowthisdown.Pacehimself,maybe.
Ithinkhe’snotmanagingto,notverywell.
Ipullaway,andhiseyesslowlyblinkopen.They’reglassy,unfocused,anearlyblackbluefixedonmylips.Whenhetriestoleandownforanotherkiss,Istophimwithahandonhischest.“Bedroom?”Igasp,becausehelookslikehecouldjustfuckmeinthehallway,andI’mafraidthatI’dgladlylethim.“Orifyouwant…hereis
Hecupsahandundermyassandcarriesmeallthewaydownthehallway,likeI’mnoheavierthanhiscat.Whenheflipsthelightswitchon,thebedishugeandunmade,andtheroomsmellssomuchlikehim,Ihavetobrieflyclosemyeyes.Hesetsmeonmyfeet,andI’mabouttoaskhimifthisisnecessary,ifwecouldpleasedothisinthesemi-dark,buthe’salreadyunbuttoninghisshirt,eyesfixedonme.Mymouthgoesdry.Onsecondthought,light’sfine.Probably.
Erikisamountain.Agiantdomeoffleshandmuscles—notGQ-cut,ridiculouslydefinedones,butsolid,oak-treebig,andImighthavegottenabsorbedintostaringandcatastrophicallylosttrackoftimebecause:
“Takeoffyourclothes,”hesays,no,orders,andIshiveragain.There’ssomethingabouthim.Somethingcommanding.Likehisfirstinstinctistotakecharge.“Sadie,”herepeats.“Takethemoff.”
Inod,shrugoutofmyjeansfirst,thenmysweater.I’mfranticallylookingforthecouragetocontinuewhenIhearalow,hoarse,“Notpurple.”
Ilookup.Erikstandsinfrontofme,naked,tall,big,andlike…likeaminordeityfromsomeNorsepantheon,areservedonewholikestokeeptohimselfbutwouldstillgetacoupleofBalticSeaislandsnamedafterhim.Heisgloriouslyunself-consciousabouthisnudity.I,ontheotherhand,amapparentlytooembarrassedtotakeoffmywhitetanktoportoglanceanylowerthanhisbellybutton.
Notthatheseemstonotice.Hiseyesareglassyagain,staringatthewaymyblackpantiesstretcharoundmyhipslikehe’dlikethemburnedintohisretinas.Iamtemptedtoputmyjeansbackon.“What?”
“They’renotpurple.”
“Idon’t…Oh.Iwenthomeandchanged.And…isthisconsideredapitchmeeting?”Istillshouldhavewornsomethingnicer.Maybeamatchingbra.Problemis,iffivehoursagosomeonehadtoldmeI’dendupinErikNowak’sbedroombytheendoftheday,I’dhaveblamedafeverdreamandhandedthemsomeAdvil.“Andit’snotpurple,it’s—”
“Lavender,”hesayswiththebaretwitchofasmile,andthenIdon’thavetothinkmuchanymorebecauseoneofhisthighsslidesbetweenmineandhe’swalkingmebackwardtohisbed.Thereisadowncomforterundermyback,andaprettyintimidatingerectionIstillcannotbringmyselftolookatagainstmystomach,andhundredsofpoundsofDanishnessaboveme.Erikiseager,anddetermined,andclearlyexperienced.Hegroansintomyneck,thenmysternum,mutteringsomethingthatcouldbefuck,orperfect,ormyname.Thewayhe’sbeenthinkingaboutthisalldayduringmeetings,allfuckingday.Hishandsslideundermytopandtravelup:softkneading,moregroansandafewsoftfuck,Sadie,fuck,alightpinchonmynippleandgreedybitethroughthefabric,anditfeelsperfect,scary,exhilarating,new,filthy,right,good,wet,embarrassing,exciting,fast—allthesethings,allatonce.
Then,inthenextbreath,theyalldissolve.Exceptforone:scary
Erikhashookedhisfingersintheelasticofmypanties,takenthemoff.He’skissingdownmyhipbones,fulllipspressedintomyabdomen,andIknowexactlywhathe’splanningtodo,butIcannotstopthinkingthathe’s…
Heisreallyverybig.Andhisforearmislaidoutacrossmystomach,pinningmetothebed,andImethim—shit,Imetthisguythismorning,andeventhoughIdidbrieflygooglehimtomakesurehisrealnamewasn’tMaxMcMurderer,Idon’tknowanythingabouthimandheismuchlargerandstrongerthanIamandamIevengoodatthis?andhecoulddowhateverhewantedwithmehecouldmakemeandIfeelhotIfeelcoldIcannotbreatheand—
“Stop!Stopstopstop—”
Erikstops.Instantly.AndIinstantlysquirmoutfromunderneathhim,draggingmyselftotheheadboard,legsdrawnupandarmsaroundthem.Hiseyesareonme,onceagainlightblue,onceagainseeing.Whatishegoingtodo?Whatishe—
“Hey,”hesays,pullingbackonhiskneesasiftogivemeevenmorespace.Histoneisgentle,likehe’sapproachingskittish,injuredwildlife.Agoodchunkofmypanicmelts,and…OhmyGod.Whatiswrongwithme?Wewerehavingagoodtime,hewasbeingperfectlyfine,andIhadtogoandbeafuckingweirdo.
“I’msorry.Ijust…Idon’tknowwhyI’mfreakingout.You’rejustsobig,andIbarelyever—I’mnotusedtothis.Sorry.”
“Hey,”Eriksaysagain.Hishandreachesouttotouchme.Hoversabovemyknee.Thenheseemstothinkbetterofitandpullsitback,whichmakesmewanttocry.Iruinedthis.Iruinedit.“It’sokay,Sadie.”
“No.No,it’snot.I…IthinktheproblemisthatIhaveonlyeverdonethiswithmyex,andI…”
“Isee.”Hisfaceturnsstonyinanimpersonal,scaryway.“Didhehurtyou?”
“No!No,Oscarwouldnever.Itwasgood.It’sjusthewas…different.Fromyou.”Ilaughnervously.IhopeIdon’tburstintotears.“Notthatit’sbad.Imean,everybody’sdifferent.It’sjustthat…”
Henods,andIthinkhegetsit,becausehisexpressionclearsup.Whichinturnhelpsmefeelalittlelessanxious.LikeIdon’tneedtobehuddledawayfromhimasthoughhe’sacontagiousrabidanimal.Itakeadeepbreathandscootupcloser,towardthecenterofthebed.
“I’msorry,”Isay.
“Whyareyousorry?”Heseemsgenuinelypuzzled.
“Ijustdidn’tthinkthiswouldfeel…scary.IfiguredI’dbewaycooler.Smoother,Iguess.”
“Sadie,you…”Heexhalesandreachesformeagain.Thistimehedoesn’tstopandpushesbackmyhair,tuckingitbehindmyearlikehewantstoseemyfaceinfull.Likehewantsmetoseehim.“Youdon’thavetobeanyway.Ididn’tbringyouheresoyoucouldperformforme.”
Iswallowagainstthelumpinmythroat.“Right.YoubroughtmeherebecauseIpropositionedyou,andthen—”
“IbroughtyouherebecauseIwantedtobewithyou.I’dhavekeptonwalkingaroundthecitytilldawnifthatwaswhatyouwanted.So,here’sthedeal:wecanspendthenightfucking,andIwon’tlie,I’dgreatlyenjoythat,butwecouldalsoplayGuessWho?,oryoucouldhelpmegivemybrother’scathisfleamedication,sinceit’satwo-,maybethree-personjob.Anyoftheaboveworks.”
Ireally,reallydon’twanttotearup.InsteadIletmyselffallbackontothebed,myheadonhisonepillow.“WhatifIwantedtoplaytheFIFAvideogame?”
“Iwouldaskyoutoleave.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIdonotownanygamingconsole.”
Ilaugh,alittlewatery.“Iknewyouweretoogoodtobetrue.”
“IusedtohaveaGameBoyinthe’90s,”heoffers.“Maybemydadkeptit.”
“Partialredemption.”We’rebothsmilingnow,andmyfearofhimliquefies,likesnowinthesun.Onlytoicealloveragaininanotherform:fearofnothavinghim.“DidIfuckthisup?”
“Fuckwhatup?”
Igesticulateinhisdirection,theninmine.Us,Iwanttosay,butitseemspremature.“This…thisthing.”
Heliesdownnexttome,facingme.Hepurposefullyleftafewinchesbetweenus,butoftheirownvolition,likevinestwiningaroundtreetrunks,mylegstravelacrossthesheetsandtanglelooselywithhis.Thistimethecontactisnotscary,onlyrightandnatural.He’sstillbiganddifferentandalittleawe-inducing,buthe’snotontopofme,andIfeelmoreincontrol.LikeIcouldstepawaywhenever.AndIknownowthathe’dletme.“MaybeIcanunfuckitup?”Iaskhopefully.
Hesighs.“Sadie,Iwanttotellyousomething,butI’mafraidyouwon’tlikeit.”
Ohno.“Whatisit?”
Apause.“YouareabrilliantengineerwhoknowsthePremierLeaguestatsofthepastthreedecadesoffthetopofyourhead.Physically,youaretheuncannycombinationofeverysinglefeatureI’veeverfoundattractive—no,Iwillnotexpandonthat.AndyousavedmeonyourphoneasCorporateThor,evenafterIgaveyoumyfullname.”
“Iwasn’tsureaboutthespellingand—yousawthat?”
“Yup.”Hishandcomesuptocupmycheek.“Thisisit,Sadie.Idon’tthinkthere’sanyfuckingthisup.”
Amillionhopefulfireworksexplodeinmyhead.Myheartsqueezesinmychest,heavyandsweet.Okay.Okay.“SoIhavenotturnedyouoffsexforever?”
Hehuffsoutalaugh.“Idoubtmenotwantingtohavesexwithyouissomethingwe’lleverneedtoworryabout,Sadie.”
“EvenifI’mbadatit?”
“You’renot.”
“Ididn’tthinkso.IthoughtIwasokay.Imean,average.Butmaybe—”
“Sadie.”Withahandonmywaisthepullsmealittlecloser.Justenoughforhiseyestomeetmineandformyentireworldtonarrowtohim.“Let’stakeitslowly.We’llgetthere,”hetellsme,likeheknows,hejustknowsthatthisisthefirstnightofmany.
“Areyousure?”
“Strongsuspicion.WouldyoufeelbetterifIputmyclothesbackon?”
Ishakemyhead,andthen,onanimpulse,closethedistancebetweenus.Theotherkissesheled,whichIloved,butwiththisoneI’mincharge,andit’sexactlywhatIneed.Hedoesn’ttrytodeepenittillIdo.Doesn’tcomeclosertillIshifttowardhim.Doesn’ttrytotouchmetillItakehishandandsetitonmyhip,andeventhenit’sgentle,fingersskimmingupanddownmythigh,tracingmyribcageridgebyridge,myspineknobbyknob.
Ifeelmyselfrelax.Driftaway.Expandandcontractandforget.Becomewetandpliant,abeautiful,deliciousheatspreadingintomystomach.WhenmythighaccidentallybrushesagainstErik’serection,mybreathhitchesandhemakesanoise,deepandlowinthebackofhisthroat.
“Sorry,”herasps,startingtoarrangemesothatI’mturnedaway.
Istophimwithahandonhisbiceps.“Ilikethis,actually.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah.You?”
Heexhales.“Youhavenoidea,doyou?”
“Ofwhat?”
Hedoesn’telaborate.“I’mhappytodothisuntilsunrise.”
“Really?”Iletoutalaugh.“You’dbehappychannelingyourbesthighschoolselfandmakingout?”
Heshrugs.“I’mprobablygoingtocomeatsomepoint.ButIcanwarnyou.Youdon’thavetobepartofit,andthere’sabathroomacrossthehallway.”
“No!No,I’m—”dyingofembarrassment.“I’dliketo.Bepartofit,thatis.”Iclearmythroat.“Ithinkweshouldtryagain.WhatweweredoingbeforeIfreaked.”
Iseeitplayoutonhisface:asplitsecondofeagerness,thenamaskofblandskepticism.“Ithinkweshouldwaitforthat.Takeitslow.GooutafewmoretimesuntilyougetusedtothefactthatI’m…sobig,apparently.”
Iflush.“ButIwasthinking…whatifIgoontop?ThatwayIwon’tfeeltrapped?”
Erikgoesstill.Foramoment,hestopsbreathing.Thenheasks,“Areyousure?”Hispupilsaredilated.
“Ithinkso.Wouldyouliketo?”
“Thatwouldbe…”Heswallows.Hisfingersaregrippingmyhipslikehesimplycannotletgo.“Yeah.I’dlikethat.Ifthat’seventhewordforit.”
Idon’timmediatelyrealizethemisunderstanding.MaybebecauseI’mbusy,firstshiftingonthemattressandclimbingoverhiships,thenbaskinginthefactthatI’montopofhim.Idofeelmuchbetterthisway.Okay,Ithink.Yes.Icandothisafterall.Ilovethis,actually.IlovestraddlingErik,lookingdownathispaleskin,tracinghismuscles.Ilovehiseyesonthespotswheremynipplespushagainstmytop.Ilovethefeelingofmythighsbeingsplitwidebyhistorso,thehairsofhishappytrailagainstmyfolds.Icanhavesexwithhimafterall.Iwanttohavesexwithhim.ImightdieifIdon’thavesexwithhim,becauserightnowIwantustobeascloseaswehumanlycan.
Butthenhishandsclosearoundmywaist,andheshiftsmeup.Andup.Andup.Untilmykneesarepressingintothemattressoneachsideofhisneck,andIrememberwhatexactlyhe’dbeenabouttodowhenwestopped.Biglightbulbenergy.OhmyGod.HethinksIwanthimto—
“Erik,I—”
Hestartswithalongswipeacrossmycore,partingmewithhistongue.Imakeanembarrassinganimalsoundthat’shalfgasp,halfwhimper,andfallforward,catchingmyselfontheheadboard.Mycoreflutters.Myentirebodyshakes,electric.
“Fuck,Sadie,”hesaysgutturallyrightbeforelickingintomeagain,thoroughandimpatientinawaythatredefinesthewordenthusiasm.Histongueplayswithmyentrance,pushingpastsqueezingmuscles.Thethumbofthehandthat’snotcagingmyasscomesuptodrawcirclesaroundmyclit.I’mtrembling.Spasming.Clenching.AllofasuddenI’magonizinglyempty.
“OhmyGod,”Iwhisperintothebackofmyhand.ThenIbiteit,becauseifIdon’t,Iwillscream.MaybeI’llscreamanyway,becausehegruntsandarcheshisthroattolickupintome,pressingmypelvisagainsthismouth,andthenoiseshemakes—thenoiseswemake—arewetandfilthyandobscene.“OhmyGod.I—”I’moutofcontrol.Mythighsarestartingtotremble.IhavenoideawhatI’mdoing,butIcannotstoprocking,rubbingmyselfagainsthismouth,hisnose,andhisface,squirmingformorecontact,morepressure,morefriction,wantingtobefull—
“You’redoingsowell,Sadie,”hemurmursintomycore,andthewordsvibrateallthewayupmyspine.Hisfingersgripmyassbruisinglytightandhe’sruthless,keepingmestill,anglingmebetter,lettingmeknowthatheknowswhatIneed—formetolethimdohisjob.Thenhestartsusinghisteethonme,andIbreakdown.
Iscream.
“Can’tbelieveyouthoughtyouwerebadatthis,”hetellsme,laughing,andIfeeleachandeverysyllabletravelthroughmelikeaknife.Iforcemyselftobreathedeep,tostayupright,tolookdownathim.Andthat’swhenhiseyesmeetmineandhestartssuckinghardonmyclit.
Icomesohard,it’snearlypainful.I’vealwaysbeenquiet,silentinbed,butthepleasureislikeadambursting,cuttingandsearingandsoviolent,mybodyhasnohopetocontainit.Isobandwhimperintothebackofmyhand,powerless,confused.AllthroughmyorgasmErikisthere,holdingmyhips,murmuringpraisesandgroansagainstmyswollenfolds,lickingatmeuntilit’sjustontheothersideoftoomuch.
Thenhiskissesbecomelighter.Gentle.Heturnstosuckontheinsideofmyleftthigh,andIwonderifit’senoughtoleaveamark.ErikNowakwashere.“I’vebeenthinkingabouteatingyououtallday,”hesaysagainstmyskin,whichisstickyanddrenchedand—Icannotbelievethisishappening.Icannotbelievethisissex.“All.Fucking.Day.”
Somehow,heseemstoknowthatI’mtoobonelesstomove.Heslidesmebackdownhisbody,andmaybeI’mimagining,butIthinkhe’sbreathingasheavilyasIam,andIthinkhishandsaretrembling.Iwanttoinvestigate,buthewrapshisarmsaroundmytorsoandholdsmetohischesttillwe’reascloseaswecanbe.Theracingbeatofhisheartreverberatesthroughmyskin,andthis,this,thismomentcouldn’tbeanymoreperfect.
Untilhekissesme.Andkissesme.Hekissesmymouthwiththesamesingle-mindednessheusedformycore,andasmyheartbeatquietsdown,asmylimbsslowlystoptwitchingwithpleasure,Ibegintosmileintohislips.
“Erik?”
“Yeah?”Hishandcurvesaroundmyass
“Whydidyoubuyit?”
“Buywhat?”
“Faye’scroissant.Ifyouknewitwassogross,whydidyoubuyit?”
Hesmilesintothelineofmyshoulder.“I’mpartofit.”
“Ofwhat?”
“Themoneylaunderingscheme.”
Igiggleandhughimtighterwhileitswellsinsideme,asurgeofhappinessandadorationandsomethinghazy,somethinghopefulandyoungthatIcannotquitedefineyet.Hiscocktwitchesagainstmyinnerthigh.Heshiftsmehighertopretenditdidn’thappenandpullsmeinforanotherlazykiss.Hmm.
Itrytowiggleandreachbetweenus,buthestopsmyhandbytwininghisfingersagainstmine.
“Doyounot—?”
“Ignoreit,”hesays,nuzzlinghisfaceagainstmythroat.Hebitesme,firm,playful,almostdistracting.Almost.
“Butyou—”
“Shhh.It’sfine,Sadie.Weshouldquitwhilewe’reahead.”
Ifrown,proppingmyselfuptolookathim.“We’renotahead.Iamahead.It’safirmonetonothing.”Probablymoreliketwelve-blending-into-onetonothing.But.
Helaughssoftly.“Believeme,itdidnotfeellikenothing—”
Hecloseshismouthsoabruptly,Icanhearhisjawclick.BecauseI’mslidingback,andhiserectionisnestledagainstme.First,thecurveofmyass.Then,rightundermycore.
Heinhales,harsh.Fingersdigintomywaist.“Sadie—”
“IthoughtyousaidIcouldbeincharge,”Iteasehim,rockingonhiscocklikeIdidonhismouth.Thelipsofmycoresurroundhisshaft,plumpandpuffy.Welookdownatthesceneatthesametime.Thesoundheletsoutisferal
“Weneedtostop,”hegruntsout,buthishandsplaysonmylowerbackandhepressesdowntogetbetterfriction.
“Why?”
“Because—”Theheadofhiscockhitsmyswollenclit,asharpstabofpleasureupmyspine.Erikarchesup,hugsmetightertohim,andcloseshiseyes.“Fuck.Oh,fuck,”heslurs.“I’mgoingtofuckyou,amInot?”Hisbreathcatches,andwe’realmostaligned.Thenwearealigned,himhardagainstmyentrance,andIbeardownbecauseIwantto,Iwanttofeelthisdelicious,immensepressurethatwillsplitmeattheseams,anditfeelsgood,sogood,floodingly,druggingly,overwhelminglygood—
“Condom,”hegaspsinmymouth.“Ifwe’re—weneedacondom.”
Istill.Shit.“I—”Itrytoscrambleoffhim,butErikholdsmerightthere.He’sstillkindofinsideme.Justthetip.“Doyou…Doyouhaveone?”
“Ithinkso.Somewhere.”
Somewhereisrightinthedrawerofhisbedsidetable,underneathabottleofallergypills,aphonecharger,andtwobooksinwhatIpresumeisDanish.HeholdsthecondomouttomeandIacceptitwithoutthinking.
Thefoilisgolden.Trojan,itsays.Andunderneath:Magnum.Whichmaybeexplainsalot.
“ShouldI…?”
Henods.We’rebothflushedandclumsyandoutofbreath,andIhavenoideahowtoputonacondom.ButIdon’twanttosay,Please,doityourself,becausemyschooldidn’treallydothebananapartofsexed,andmymomputmeonbirthcontrolonmythirddatewithOscar.Erikisstaringeagerlyatthefoilinmyhand,likeit’sagiftofmyrrhforthenewbornking,andIthinkhe’smorethanalittleintotheideaofmedoingthisforhim.
Igrin.IhaveaPh.D.inengineering:ifIcanbuildsophisticatedmachinery,Icanfigureouthowtoputonadamncondom.Andthere’ssometrialanderror,butErikdoesn’tseemtomind,spellboundbythewaymysmallfingersworkonhim.WhenI’mdone,hisbreathingisshorter.Morestilted.
“Comebackhere.”Hepullsmedowntohim.
“I—Doyouwanttobeontopthistime?”
“No.”
“Areyousure?IthinkI’mokaywith—”
“Sadie.Iwanttofuckyou,andIneedyoutolikemefuckingyou.Soyou’reontopfornow.”
Ihavenocluewhattheparametersforthemagnumsizeare,butIdogetwhyheneedsit.I’masrelaxedandturnedonasI’veeverbeen,butitstilltakesawhiletoworkhimin,withsmallincrementsandfalsestartsandlotsofcarefulmaneuvering.Bythetimehe’sinasfarashe’llgo,I’msweating,andErikisdrenched.Hesmellsdelicious,likesaltandsoapandhisintenseskin.SoIlicktheplaceonhisjawwherethedropshavebeencollecting.
“Canyou…?”Hearchesexperimentallyintome.Webothletoutagroan.
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwanttofeelyourtits.”
“Oh.”I’dforgottenaboutmytop.Istraightentotakeitoff,whichinvolvessometwistingandgrindingthathasErikgaspingandtryingtostillmyhipsagain.They’renotmuch,Ialmostwarnhim.ButIremembersomethinghesaidearlier.UncannycombinationofeverysinglefeatureI’veeverfoundattractive.“Didyoumeanit?WhenyousaidI’myourtype,physically?”
Hispupilstracktheprogressofmyhands,blownwide.“Inoticedyou.”
“Noticedme?”Iundotheclaspofmybra.Hetwitchesinsideme.Hisjawtickswithrestraint.
“Inthebuilding.Thelobby.”Hecloseshiseyes.Thenopensthem.“Onceintheelevator.”
Itakeoffmybra,feelingstupidtohavebeenworried.He’sstaringatmybodylikeit’ssomewherebetweenholyandutterly,deliciouslypornographic.“Whatdidyounotice?”
“Sadie.”Histhroatbobs.“Alot.”
“And…”Ipushdownonmykneesandcirclemyhipstwice,workinghimalittledeeper.Afractionofaninch,butthefriction,thesenseoffullness—myeyesrollbackinmyhead.Ididn’tknowanythingcouldbesofarinsidemeandfeelsogood.Couldn’thaveimagined.“Andwhatdidyouthink?”
“Oh,fuck.”AdesperatesoundcomesoutofErik’sthroat.“This.This,andmore.”Heswallows.“Lotsofotherthings,and—Sadie,you’regoingtohavetogivemeaminutetoadjustorI’mgoingto—”EriksoundsjustasastonishedbythisasIfeel.Hiseyesarescrewedshut,andhishandsgripmesohard,andhisteethsinkintomyshoulder.“Sadie,I’maboutto—”
“Don’tworry,”Ipantagainsthisear,flutteringlikeI’mabouttogounder.“You’redoingsowell,Erik.”
Icomelikeanavalanche,andthenhedoes,andwhenIsqueezemyarmsaroundhisneck,Idon’tevermeantoletgo.
Inthemorning,IwatchhimshaveinfrontofthemirrorjustbecauseIcan.
HeusesarazorthatlooksliketheonesIbuyformylegs(i.e.,cheapestatthesupermarket).Ifhemindsthebleary-eyedgirlwhohadlessthantwohoursofsleepandiscurrentlysittingwrappedinatowelonhisbathroomcounter,hehidesitwell.ButI’malmostsurehedoesn’t.Mostlybecausehe’stheonewhoputmehere.
“You’resotall,”Isay,alittletired,alittlestupid,leaningbackagainstthemirror.
Hismouthtwitches.“Youaren’t.”
“Iknow.That’swhatIblametheendofmysoccercareeron.”
“Isn’tCrystalDunnprettyshort?”heasks,rinsinghisrazor.Hedrieshishandsonhispajamabottoms,whichhangdeliciouslylowonhiships.“MeghanKlingenberg,too.And—”
“Shutup,”Isaymildly,whichonlyamuseshimfurther.Hemovescloser,handsslippinginsidemytowelandcomingtorestagainstthesmallofmyback,warmandinstinctiveandimpossiblyfamiliar.Likeit’ssomethinghe’sbeendoingeverydayforhisentirelife.Likeit’ssomethingheplanstodoeverydayforwhat’sleftofit.
Ilovethis.Thewayhepullsmeintohim.Thewayhegrowshardbutseemstobecontentwiththisnotgoinganywhere.Thewayhisfacenuzzlesintomythroat.Ilovethis.But.
“Ijustthinkyoumightbetootall,”Isayintohisclavicle.“Iforeseeneckproblemsforbothofus.”
“Hmm.We’llprobablyneedsurgeryafewyearsdowntheline.”Hissmiletravelsthroughmyskin.“How’syourinsurance?”
“Meh.”
“Mine’sgood.Youshouldgoonitwhen…”Hetrailsoff.Picksupagainwith,“Havelunchwithmetoday.”
“Idon’tusuallyhavelunch,”Itellhim.“I’mmoreofa‘bigbreakfast,thenfortysnacksscatteredthroughouttheday’kindofperson.”
“Haveabigbreakfastandfortysnackswithme,then.”
Ilaugh.Yes.Yes.Yes.“What’stheclosestsubwaystop?”
“I’lldriveyouintowork.”
“Ineedtogohomefirst.FeedOzzy.Remindhimofmyunyieldingloveforhim.”
“I’lldriveyouhome,andthenI’lldriveyouintowork.Youcanintroducemetothehamster.”
“Guineapig.”
“Prettysurethey’rethesamething.”
Ilaughagain,exhaustedanddrowsyandoverthemoon,andIcannothelpbutwonderhowdifferentthismorningwouldbeifErikhadn’tbeentheonetobuyFaye’scroissant.
Icannothelpbutwonderifthisisthefirstdayoftherestofmylife.Nine
Present
Idon’t…It’snotthat…Itisn’teven…Ifyou…”I’msputteringlikeanidiot,which…great.Fantastic.Empowering.I’marolemodelforalljiltedwomenintheworld.
Erikisstillcrouchinginfrontofme,likehe’sfullyplanningtoseethisconversationthrough.Isitup,straighteningagainstthewalloftheelevator,andtakeadeepbreath.Collectmyself.
I’mgoingtospeakmymind.I’mgoingtotellhimexactlyhowmuchofadickheadheis.I’mgoingtounleashthreeweeks’worthofshower-cryingonhim.I’mgoingtochewhimoutforruiningpistachiogelatoandorangecatsforme.I’mgoingtoannihilatehim.
Butapparently,onlyafterIaskhimthestupidestquestioninthehistoryofstupidquestions.“Didyoureallythinkthesexwasn’tgood?”
Wow,Sadie.Waytoletthepointofthisentirechatflyoveryourhead.
Hesnorts.“Iobviouslydidn’t.”
“Thenwhywouldyousaythat—”
“Sadie.”Hestudiesmeforamoment.“Areyouforreal?”
Iblush.“You’retheonewhobroughtitup.”
“Seriously?Youknowwhat—okay.Right.Well.”Histhroatworks.Helooks…notquiteupset,butdefinitelythemostupsetI’veeverseenhim.Danish-upset,maybe.“AboutthreeweeksagoI’mhavingmyusual,fairlydisgustingbreakfast,andImeetthisreallybeautiful,amazingwoman.Iblowoffmymorningmeetingsandignoremyphone—myteamisthisclosetosendingoutasearchparty—becauseallIcanthinkofishowfunitwouldbetositwithheronaparkbenchcoveredinbirdshitandtalkabout…Idon’tevenknow.Itdoesn’tevenmatter.That’showgooditiswithher.Andbecauseit’sapparentlymyluckyday,Imanagetoconvincehertocomeouttodinnerwithme,andshe’snotonlylovelyandsmartandfunny,italsofeelslikethetwoofushavemorethingsincommonthanIthoughtpossible,and…well,it’safirstforme.I’mnorelationshipexpert,butIrecognizehowrarethisis.Howutterlyoneofakind.Iwanttotakeitslowbecausetheideaofscrewingthisupterrifiesme,butsheaskstocomeover.”Heexhalesasingle,bitterlaugh
“Ishouldputonthebrakes,butIhavezeroself-controlwhenitcomestoher,soIsayyes.Wespendanighttogether,andwefuck,alot,andyes,Sadie,it’sreallyfuckingphenomenalinalife-alteringwayIneverthoughtI’dneedtoelaborateon.It’sobviousthatshedoesn’tdothisoften,there’ssomehiccups,but…yeah.Youwerethere.Youknow.”Hepresseshislipstogetherandlooksaway.“ShefallsasleepandIwatchherandthink,Thisislikenothingelse.Scary,almost.
“Butthenit’smorningandshe’sstillthere.AndwhenIsaygood-byetohersheactuallyrunsafterme,andwe’reatwork,there’speoplearound—wecan’treallykissordoanythinglikethat,butshereachesoutandtakesmyhandandsqueezesithard.AndIthinkthatmaybeIdon’tneedtobescared.It’sgoingtobeallright.She’snotgoinganywhere.”Heturnsbacktome.Hiseyesarecoldnow,darkintheyellowlights.“Andthennightcomes.Thefollowingday.Theoneafter.AndIdon’thearfromher.Neveragain.”
IstareatErikforlongmoments,absorbingeverysingleword,everylittlepause,everyunspokenmeaning.ThenIleanforward,andthroughgrittedteethIsay:
“Idespiseyou.”
“Why?”Heisicily,quietlyfurious,butI’mnotafraidofhim.Ijustwanthimtohurt.Tohurtasmuchashehurtme.
“Becauseyouarealiar.”
“AmI?”
“Oftheworstkind.”
“Right.Ofcourse.”Ourfacesareaboutaninchapart.Icansmellhisscent,andIhatehimevenmore.“AndwhatdidIlieabout?”
“Comeon,Erik.Youknowexactlywhatyoudid.”
“IthoughtIdid,butapparentlyIdon’t.Whydon’tyouspellitoutforme?”
“Sure.”Iabruptlypullaway,leaningbackagainstthewallandcrossingmyarmsonmychest.“Fine.Let’stalkabouthowyouusedmetostealclientsfromGreenFrame.”Ten
Twoweeks,sixdaysago
DidIjustseeyouwithErikNowak?”
Gianna’svoicestartlesmeoutofthesemi-comatosestateI’vebeeninforthepastfiveminutes,whichmostlyinvolvesstaringattheMeganRapinoeFunkoPop!onmydeskand…mooning.
Ifeeldruggedinasweet,deliciousway.Fromlackofsleep,Iassume.Andthefluffy,syrupywaffleErikboughtmeatthedinernearmyapartment.Andthehilariousstoryhetoldmewhilesippinghiscoffee,ofhowtwoweeksagohefellasleeponhiscouchandwokeuptoCatlickinghisarmpit.
Iwanttotexthim.Iwanttocallhim.Iwanttotaketheelevatorandgodownstairstosmellhim.ButI’mnotgoingto.I’mnotthatweird.Overtly,atleast.
“Gladtoseeyou’reback.”IsmileupatGianna,who’sleaningagainstmydesk.ShemusthavecomeintomyofficewhileIwasmooning.“How’sPresley?”
“Better.ButnowEvanandRileyhavesomekindofbugthatinvolvesasuperfunamountofdiarrhea.ButIsawyouinthelobbywithatallguy—washeErikNowak?”
“Oh.Um…”IthinkmaybeI’mflushing.Idon’treallyhaveareasonto—Giannaiscoolandverymuchnotthejudgmentaltype—butwhathappenedlastnightfeelsso…private.Andfledgling.Ihaven’teventoldHannahandMara(ifonedoesn’tcounttheeggplantandheartemojisIsentinresponsetotheseventyHowdiditgo?textsIfoundthismorningonmyphone).Itfeelsweirdtotalkaboutitwithmyboss.Thoughlyingaboutitwouldbeevenweirder,right?“Yes.Youknowhim?”
“ThatErikNowak?ProBld’sErikNowak?”
Icockmyhead.Arethereanyothers?“Yeah?”
“Areyouguysfriends?”
“Weonlyjustmet.”
“Soyou’renot,like,buddies.”Sheseemsrelieved.“Okay.Good.Youwerelaughingtogether,soIjustwantedtomakesure.”
“Why…Woulditbeaproblemifwewere?”
“Notquite,no.Imean,Iwouldn’tdreamoftellingyouwhoyoushouldandshouldn’thangoutwith.Butthetwoofyouseemedabit…chummy,andIjustwantedtomakesure…youknow.”Shewavesahanddismissively.“Ifyouwerefriendsandtalkedregularly,I’dwanttoremindyoutobesafeandvery,verydiscreetwhentalkingshopwithhim.Butsinceyou’rejustcasualacquaintances,then—”
“WhywouldI…”Ifrown,swivelingmychairtobetterfaceher.Thisconversationisveryodd,andI’mwonderingifIshouldchugdownanothercoffeebeforeitcontinues.“Whatdoyoumeanbysafeanddiscreet?”
Sheopenshermouth.Thenclosesit,looksaroundtomakesurethatnoneoftheinternsarehere,andopensitagain.“AwhileagoProBldmademeanoffer.Basically,theywantedtobuyGreenFrameanditsclientportfolio,andsortofincorporateitasadivisionoftheircompany.”
“Oh.”Iblink.Erikdidn’tmentionitlastnight.Thenagain,neitherhasGianna,ever.“Ihadnoidea.”
“Well,itwasbeforeIhiredyou.Two,threeyearsago?Beforethekids.Andtobehonest,itwasn’tthefirstnorthelastofferIgot.”
“Right.IknewInnovusoffered.”
“AndJKC.Yeah.ButProBldwaskindof…insistent.”Sherollshereyes.“Thereasontheywantedusonboardisthatthey’retryingreallyhardtoexpandintotheecologicallysustainablemarket,buttheyhaven’thadmuchsuccessluringinreallyqualifiedpeoplelike…well,likeyou.Sincemostofthemwouldrathergotomorespecializedfirms.Don’tgetmewrong,they’vebeenhiringsomepromisingengineers,buttheydon’thavetheexpertisetheyneedyet.Sotheymademeareallygoodoffer,Isaidno,thankyou,Iwouldratherbemyownboss,andforafewmonthsitlookedlikeeverythingwasgoingtocontinueasusual.”Shepauses.“Thenitstarted.”
Ishakemyhead,confused.“Whatstarted?”
“Abunchofshittylittlethings.TheworstofwhichwastargetingsomeofourclientstogetthemtoswitchtoProBld.Iheardthatsomeoftheirpeopleweresniffingaroundoursites,too.Notexactlyupstandingstuff.”
Istiffen.Thissounds…bad.Realbad.“Gianna,justtobeclear.”Itakeadeepbreath.“LastnightIwentoutwithErikfordinner.Sowe…Iguesswearechummy.Buthe’sgreat,andhewouldn’tdoanythinglikewhatyoumentioned.”IsayitwithmorecertaintythanIshouldprobablyfeel,giventhatIfirstmethimexactlytwenty-fourhoursago.Butit’sErik.Itrusthim.“Idon’tknowwhatthepartnersandthehigher-upsaredoingatProBld,butI’msurehe’dnevercondoneanythinglikethat.”
“Well,heisapartner.”
Iblink.“He…Excuseme?”
“Erikisoneofthepartners.”
AllofasuddenI’mfeelingcold.Andvery,verynauseous.“Heisa—Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Yousaidyouwenttodinnerwithhim.Areyoutellingmehedidn’tmentionthathe’soneofthefoundingpartners?”Shemustreadtheansweronmyface,becauseherexpressionshiftstosomethingthatlooksalotlikepity.“HestartedProBldrightoutofschoolwithtwoofhisbuddies.Andtherestishistory.”
“I’dlovetopoachyou…I’llpayyoumore.Nameafigure…I’mveryopentonegotiating.”
“Wait—you?”
“ProBld.”
“Doesheknowyou’reanengineer?”Giannaisasking.
Iclearmythroat.“Yes.ItoldhimIworkedforGreenFrame.”
“Beforeorafterheaskedyouout?”
“I…”Thatwasn’tthereason.Itwasn’t.Can’thavebeen.“Before.”
“Oh,Sadie.”Sametoneasbefore—nowwithmorepity.“Butyoudidn’ttellhimanythingspecificaboutourprojectsorstrategiesorclients,right?”
“I…”Imassagemyforehead,whichsuddenlyfeelslikeit’saboutasecondfromexploding.“Idon’tthinkso.”
“Didheaskaboutanything?”
“No,he…”
Yes.Yes,hedid.
Icanclearlyseehim,sittingacrossfrommeattherestaurant.Hisalmost-smile.Hisneat,voraciouswayofeating.
Howdiditgo,bytheway?…Yourpitch.
Who’stheclient?
Soyougottheproject?
“Sadie?Areyouokay?”
No.No.Nope.“Ithink…I’mafraidImentionedsomething.AbouttheMiltonproject.Itcameupinconversation,andI…IknewhewasanengineersoIwentintomoredetailthanIshouldhave,and…”Giannacovershereyeswithherhand,andIwantthefloortoswallowmewhole.Theaddled,blissed-outfeelingfromthismorninghasdissolved,replacedwithdreadandastrongdesiretopukemywafflealloverthefloor.“Gianna,Iknowitseemssketchy,butIdon’tthinkErikwouldeverdoanythinglikewhatyoumentioned.Wereallyhititofflastnight,and…”Myvoicediesdown,whichisjustaswell.Icannotbeartohearmyselftalkinganymore.
Hedidn’tsayhewasapartner.Whydidn’the?WhydoIfeeldizzy?
“Ihopeyou’reright,”Giannasays,evenmoreofthatunsettlingcompassioninhereyes.Shepushesawayfrommydesk,highheelsclickingintoheroffice,anddoesn’tlookback.
IfeellikeIcouldcry.AndIalsofeellikethisisastupid,nonsensicalmisunderstandingI’mgoingtolaughabout.Ihavenoideawhichoneistherightthingtodo,soItrytofocusonwork,butI’mtootired,orpreoccupied,orhorrifiedtoconcentrate.Attwop.m.Eriktextsme:Inmeetingsuntil7.CanItakeyououtafter?andIthinkaboutourdinnerlastnight,inarestaurantwhereheusuallybringsclients.AmIworktohim?
Twominuteslaterheadds,OrIcouldcookforyou.
Andthen:Beforeyouask:no,notherring.
Istareatthemessagesforalongtime,andthenIstandtotakealookatthecopymachine,whichhasbeenbeepingbecauseofitsusualpaperjam.Iballuptheoffendingsheetandthrowitintherecyclingbin,notquiteseeingwhat’sinfrontofme.
Iansweremails.Icallonearchitect.Ismileattheinternsandhavethemhelpmewithresearch.Iwaitfor…Idon’tknowwhatI’mwaitingfor.Asign.Forthisweird,apocalypticconfusiontodissipate.Comeon,Erikdidn’tgooutwithmeasacoverforsomesortof…corporateespionagebullshit,orwhatever.ThisisnotaJohnGrishambook,andwhatItoldGiannastands:myguttellsmethathewouldnever,everdoanythinglikeit.Unfortunately,I’mnotpositivemygutisn’tlyingtome.Ithinkitmightjustwanttomakeoutwiththemostattractivemanintheworldduringthehalftimeofsoccergames.
Thecopymachinebeepsthreetimes,andthenthreemore.Apparently,Ifixedabsolutelynothing.
AtfivethirtyIhearGianna’sphonering,andtenminuteslatershewalksgingerlyoutofheroffice,comingtostandinfrontofmydesk.Theinternsaregone.It’sjustherandmeintheoffice.
Myinsidesareicedover.Mystomachplummets.
“Guesswhatprojectwedidn’tget,”shesays.Hertoneissoft.Gentle.Tohercredit,notatraceofIToldYouSo.“Andguesswhatotherfirmtheydecidedtogowith.”
Iclosemyeyes.Icannotbelievethis.Idon’twanttobelievethis.
“TheMiltonpeoplesaidtheygotanotherpitchtoday.Similarsustainability.Lowercosts,though,sinceit’sabiggerfirm.TheyaskedmeifIcouldmatchtheiroffer,andItoldthemIcouldn’t.”
Myeyesstayclosed.Idon’topenthemforalong,longtime.Everythingisspinning.I’mjusttryingtostaystill.“I…Ifuckedup,”Isay,barelyawhisper.I’mcrying.OfcourseI’mcrying.I’mfuckingstupidandmyfuckingheartisbrokenandoffuckingcourseI’mfuckingcrying.
“Youcouldn’thaveknown,Sadie.”
Thecopymachinebeepsagain,sixtimesinarow.InodatGianna,watchherwalkaway,andthinkaboutbrokenthings,brokenthingsthatsometimescannotbefixed.Eleven
Present
Irackmybrain,tryingtorememberwhetherduringourdinnerErikevermentionedtakingactingclasses.Iwanttosayno,andlet’sbehonest,itwouldseematinybitoutofcharacter.Andyet,ifIdidn’tknowwhathedid,Icouldalmostbuyit.Icouldalmostbelieve,fromthewayhe’sblinkingconfusedlyatme,thathehasnoideawhatI’mtalkingabout.
Nicetry.
“Comeon,Erik.”
Hisbrowfurrows.He’sstillcrouchinginfrontofme.“Whatclients?”
“Youcandropit.”
“Whatclients?”
“Webothknowthat—”
“What.Clients.”
Ipressmylipstogether.“Milton.”
Heshakeshishead,likethenametellshimnothing.IfIhadaknifehandyI’dprobablystabhim.Throughthemuscles,rightintohisheart.“ThereccenterinNewJersey.”
Ittakesasecond,butIcanseeaglimmerofrecognition.“Thepitch?TheoneyouwereatFaye’sfor?”
“Yup.”
“Yousignedthatclient,didn’tyou?”
Iclenchmyjaw.Hard.“Fuckyou,Erik.”
Hehuffsimpatiently.“Sadie,I’mreallylosthere,soifyoudon’tgivemealittlecontext—”
“Ialmostsignedthatclient.However,whentheygotapitchthatwasalmostidenticaltomine,theydecidedtogowithProBld.Ringabell?”
Itdoesn’t.Well,Iampositiveitmust.Buttheactingtalentismakingasuddencomeback,andErikreallydoeslooklikehe’scompletely,utterlyconfused.Hiseyesnarrow,andIcanalmostseehimtrytosiftthroughhismemories.
Isigh.“Thisis…justreallyexhausting,Erik.Giannatoldmeeverything.IknowthatProBldtriedtobuyGreenFrame.Idon’tknowifyouwentoutwithmeplanningtohurtthecompany,oryoutooktheopportunityonceyouwerepresentedwithit,butIdoknowthatyouusedwhatItoldyouatdinnertogiveapitchverysimilartomine,becausetheclient—yourclient—admittedittous.”
“Ididn’t.”
“Right.Sure.”
“Ireallydidn’t.”
“Ofcourse.”Irollmyeyes.
“No,I’mserious.Areyoutellingmethatthereasonyoustoppedtalkingtomeisthatwecoincidentallyendedupgettingoneofyourclients?”
“Twopitchesthatsimilararenotacoincidence—”
“Theymustbe.Ididn’tevenknowwehadthatclientuntilrightnow.”
“Howcouldyounotknowwhatprojectsaregoinginthefirmyouown?”
“BecauseIamnotajunioremployee.”Icantellfromhistonethathe’sstartingtogetfrustratedwithme.WhichisfinebecauseI’vebeenfrustratedwithhimforweeks.“Ihavealeadershippositionandmanagepeoplewhomanagepeoplewhomanagemorepeople.We’renotGreenFrame,Sadie.Ioverseedifferentteamsandspendmydaysinprettyfuckingboringmeetingswithpatentattorneysandsurveyorsandqualityassurancemanagers.Unlessit’sahigh-prioritydealoranextremelylucrativeproject,Imightnotevenbedebriefeduntilit’swellonitsway.Myjobismakingbig-picturedecisionsandgivingguidelinessothat—”
Hestopsandphysicallyrecoils.Onesecondhe’sleaningtowardme,thenexthisbackisstraightandhe’spinchingthebridgeofhisnosebetweenthumbandforefinger.Hestayslikethatforlongseconds,eyesclosed,andthenexplodesinalow,heartfelt:
“Fuck.”
It’smyturntobeconfused.“What?”
“Fuck.”
“What…Whyareyoudoingthat?”
Helooksatme,notoneounceofhispreviousexasperationinhisexpression.“You’reright.”
“About?”
“Itwasme.Itwasmyfaultyoudidn’tgettheclient.Butnotforthereasonyouthink.”
“What?”
“Thedayafterwe…”Herunsatiredhanddownhisface.“ThatmorningIhadameetingwithoneoftheengineeringmanagersIsupervise.Hetoldmethathewasrefiningapitchforaprojectthathadspecificallyaskedforsustainabilityfeatures.Hedidn’tgointodetailandIdidn’task,butsinceit’snotourfortehewantedtoknowifIhadanyresources.Isenthimanacademicarticle.”Histhroatbobs.“Itwastheoneyouwrote.”
I’mdizzy.I’msittingdown,butIthinkImightfallover.“Myarticle?Mypeer-reviewedarticleonframeworksforsustainableengineering?”
Henodsslowly.Helplessly.“Ialsosentyourthesisoutinacompany-wideemailandhighlyencouragedallteamleaderstoreadit.Thoughthatwasafewdayslater,afterI’dreaditmyself.”
“Mythesis?”Imusthavemisheardhim.SurelyI’minthethickofacerebrovascularevent.“Mydoctoraldissertation?”
Henods,lookingapologetic.I…Idon’tthinkI’mevenmadanymore.OrmaybeIam,butit’sdilutedinthetotal,uttershockofhearingthat…“Howdidyougetmythesis?Andmyarticle?”
“ThearticlewasonGoogleScholar.Forthethesis…”Hepresseshislipstogether.“IhadalibrarianfromCaltechsendmeadownloadlink.”
“Youhadalibrariansendyouadownloadlink,”Irepeatslowly.I’minhabitingaparalleldimension.Whereatomsaremadeofchaos.“When?”
“Themorningafter.WhenIgottomyoffice.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIwantedtoreadit.”
“But…why?”
HelooksatmelikeI’mabitslow.“Becauseyouwroteit.”
MaybeIamabitslow.“Soyouweretryingto…figureoutGreenFrame’spitchbasedonmypublishedwork?”
“No.”Histonedropssomeoftheguiltandisbacktothreepartsfirm,onepartindignant.“IwantedtoreadwhatyouwrotebecauseI’minterestedinthetopic,becauseatdinneritwasveryobviousthatyou’reabetterengineerthanmostpeopleatProBld—includingmyself—andbecauseaboutfiveminutesintomyworkdayIrealizedthatifIwasn’tgoingtostopthinkingaboutyou,Imightaswellbeproductiveaboutit.AndasIread,Irealizedthatyourworkisabovegood,andsharingitwitheveryoneelseseemedlikeano-brainer.Ididn’tthinkthatIwashandingyourpitchtomyentirecompany,and…Fuck.Ijustdidn’tthink.”Herubsthebackofhishandagainsthismouth.“Itwasmyfault.Itwasn’tonpurpose,butItakefullresponsibility.I’mgoingtotalkwithmyengineeringmanagerandwiththeclientand…I’llfigurethisout.We’llfindyouawaytomakesureyougetthecredityoudeserve.”
Istareathim,stupefied.Thisis…He’snotsupposedtobesayinganyofthis.He’ssupposedto…Idon’tknow.Doubledown.Defendhisownshittyactions.Makemeloathehimevenmore.
“Forthefuture,wecanprobablyworkoutanagreement.Somethingaboutnotpursuingyourpotentialclients.Idon’tknow,butI’lltalkitthroughwithGianna.”
Excuseme?“Idoubtyourpartnerswilleveragreetothat.”
“TheywillwhenIexplainthesituationtothem,”hesays,likeit’sadecidedmatter.
“Sure,becauseyou’reoneofthem.”Myangerisback.Good.Perfect.“Anotherliefromyou,bytheway.”
Thistime,he…Isheblushing?“Ididn’tlie.”
“Youjustomitted.Niceloophole.”
“That’snotit.I…”ForthefirsttimesinceImethim,thisself-possessed,severemanseemsvaguelyembarrassed,andI…Ican’tlookaway.“Iwasn’tsurewhetheryouknew.MostpeopleImeetseemtoknowalready—yes,Iknowhowthatsounds.Andthenoverdinneryoutoldmeabouthowdifferentworkingforafirmwasfromacademiclife.Howmuchyoumissedyourfriends.IfiguredmebraggingabouthowIgraduatedandgottomakethattransitionwithmyfriendscouldwaitacoupleofdays.”
“Thatsoundsreally…”Believable,actually.Kindofthoughtful,ifinanoddlymisplacedway?“Sketchy.”
Heletsoutalaugh.LikeI’mbeingridiculous.“Sketchy.”
“Ijust—”Ithrowupmyhands.“Whyareweevendoingthis,Erik?It’sobviousthatyouhadsomeulteriormotiveforaskingmeout.Youeventriedtooffermeajob!”
“OfcourseIdid,Sadie.I’ddoitagain.Iwillrightnow.Doyouwanttocomeworkforme?Becausethatofferstandsand—”
“Stop.”Iraisemypalm,putitbetweenuslikethemostuselesswallintheworld.“Please,just…stopthis.”
“Okay.”Eriktakesalong,deepbreath.Whenhetalks,hisvoiceiscalm.“Okay.Thisiswhathappened,andinterruptmeifI’mwrong:youthought,basedonwhatyouweretoldbysomeoneyoutrusted,thatIsleptwithyoutostealaclientandgetbackatGiannafornotselling,whichmaybesoundsalittlefar-fetched,but…Igetit.It’swherethecluespointed.Isthatcorrect?”
Inod,silent.Thereisaprickly,heavypressurebehindmyeyes.
“Okay,”hecontinuespatiently.“That’syoursideofwhathappened.ButI’maskingyoutoconsidermine.WhichisthateventhoughIabsolutelyfuckedupbysendingyourworktomyteam,Ididn’tknowabouttheconsequencesofituntilaboutfiveminutesago.BecauseIcalledyou,butyouneverpickedup.AndwhenIcameupstairstotalktoyou,Giannasaidthatshewassureyoudidn’twanttoseeme.AndIliketothinkthatI’mnotthekindofassholewhowouldkeepcallingawomanwhoaskedhimnotto,soIstopped.ButIalsowasn’texactlyabletoquitthinkingaboutyou,whichhadmedesperatelylookingforthereasonyoupulledback,tothepointthatI’vebeenreplayingwhathappenedbetweenusthatnighteveryday—every…single…day—forthepastthreeweeks.”
“Erik—”
“I’mnotexaggerating.”Thiswouldbesomucheasierifhistonewereaccusatory.Butno.HehastosoundreasonableandlogicalandearnestandsincereandIwanttoscream.“Itoreaparteveryminute,everysecondofeveryinteraction,andafterslicingallofitintopieces,theonlyconclusionthatIcouldreachwasthatwhateverIdidwrongmusthavehappenedafteryouaskedmetotakeyoutomyplace,whichonlyreallyleftwhatwedidthere.”
“That’snot—”
“AndI’vebeenscared,scaredlikeneverbefore,thatI’dhurtyou.”Heliftshishand.Curvesitaroundmycheek.“ThatI’dleftyouinsome—anykindofpain.ThatIcouldn’tmakeamends.Which,letmetellyou,isnofunwhenyouknowinyourlizardbrainthatyou’reaboutfiveminutesfromfallinginlovewithsomeone.”Hecloseshiseyes.“Maybepast.Can’treallytell.”
Theymakethefloorshiftandshake,Erik’swords.Theymakeitfallhardandfastfromundermyfeet,theyfloodmybrainwithablindingflashoflight,andthey…wait.
Wait
“Thepower’sback,”Isaywithagasp,realizingthattheelevatorisworkingagain.Erikmusthavenoticed,too,buthedoesn’tlooksurprised,nordoeshemakeamovetoshiftawayfromme.Hekeepsholdingmyeyes,likehe’swaitingforananswerfromme,foranacknowledgmentofwhathe’ssaid,butIcan’t,won’tgiveittohim.Iturnawayfromthehandonmyfaceandgrabmybag,slippingoutofthecornerwhereIwedgedmyself.
“Sadie.”Whenthedoorsopenonthefirstfloor,Idartoutofthecar.Erikisrightbehindme.“Sadie,canyou—”
“Erik!”someonecallsfromtheothersideofthelobby,thevoiceechoingacrossthemarble.Thereisasmallgroupofpeoplechattingwithtwomeninmaintenanceuniforms.“Youokay?”I’malmostpositive(fromhate-researchingProBldafterourfalling-out)thathe’sanotheroneofthepartners.Alate-workingbunch,clearly.
“Yeah,”Eriksayswithoutmovingintheirdirection.
“Wereyoustuckintheelevator?”
“Inthesmallerone.”ThereisanimpatientedgetoErik’stone.Itshiftstosomethingmuchsofterwhenheturnstomeandsays,“Sadie,let’s—”
“Wasitjustthetwoofyou?”themancalls.“Actually,maintenanceistryingtomakesurethatnoonefromProBldisstillstuck.Canyoucomehereforasecond?”
Erik’s“Sure,I’llberightthere”couldcutdiamonds.
Iturntoleave,buthishandclosesaroundmybiceps,andIfeelhisgriptravelthrougheverysinglenerveendingIpossess.“Stayhere,okay?Ijustneedfiveminutestotalktoyou.CanIhavefiveminutes?Please?”HeholdsmyeyesuntilInod.
Butonceheturnshisbacktome,Idon’thesitateforevenasecond.IrubthespotwherehejusttouchedmeuntilIcan’tfeelhimanymore,andthenIslipoutintothewarmnightair.Twelve
Wait.Waitwaitwaitwaitwait.Waitwaitwait.Wait.”InthecenterofmyMac’smonitor,MaraholdsupbothindexfingerstocommandHannah’sandmyattention.Despitethefactthatshealreadyhadit.“Wait.Whatyou’resayingisthatallthistimewe’vebeendoingweeklysummoningcirclestogivethisguydisfiguringgenitalwartsandtoenailfungusesandthosegiantsubcutaneouspimplespeoplegetsurgicallyremovedonYouTube…buthedidnot,infact,deserveanyofit?”
Igroan.“No.Idon’tknow.Yes.Maybe?”
“Relatedquestion:Howlongwereyouinthatelevator?”Hannahasks.
“I’mnotsure.Onehour?Less?Why?”
Sheshrugs.“JustwonderingifthiscouldbeStockholmsyndrome.”
Igroanagain,lettingmyselffallbackonmybed.Ozzyshufflesovertosniffme,justtomakesurethatIhaven’tturnedintoacucumbersincethelasttimehechecked.Thenhescurriesaway,disappointed.
“Okay,”Marasays,“let’sbacktrack.Iswhathetoldyoubelievable?”
“No.Idon’tknow.Yes.Maybe?”
“IsweartoGod,Sadie,ifyou—”
“Yes.”Istraightenup.“Yes,itdoesmakesense.Ididdetailmyframeworkforsustainabilityproposalsinmypublishedarticle,andIdetaileditevenmoreinmythesis—”
“Whichyoumaybeshouldhaveembargoed,”Hannahinterjects,playingwithherdarkhair.
“—whichIdefinitelyshouldhaveembargoed,soit’spossiblethatsomeonewhoreadmystuffcouldhaveusedittomimicmypitch.Ofcourse,whenitcomestoactuallydoingthework,theywon’thavetheexpertiseGiannaorIhave,butthat’saproblemforlater.IguessthatwhatEriksaidis…conceivable.”
“So,nogenitalfunguses?”Maraasks.“Imean,itseemsonlyfair,consideringthatyoudidpublishthatarticleandwritethatthesistoencouragepeopletoadoptyourapproach.”
“Right.Yeah.”Iclosemyeyes,wishingfortheseventeenthtimeinthepasttwohoursthatIcouldvanishintonothingness.MaybesincethelasttimeIchecked,aportaltoanotherdimensionhasappearedinmycloset.MaybeIcantraveltoNoconsequencesofmyownactionsland.“Ididn’treallyfigureitwouldbeusedbymydirectcompetitors.”
“Irealizethat,”shesays,withatonethatsuggestsastrongbut.“But,I’mnotpositivethatit’sErik’sfault,either.”
“Andhedidapologize,”Hannahadds.“Also,thefactthathereadyourdissertationiskindofcute.HowmanyoftheguysI’vesleptwithhavereadmystuff,doyouthink?”
“Noclue.Howmany?”
“Well,asyouknow,Ifirmlybelievethatsexandconversationdon’tmixwell,butI’destimate…asolidzero?”
“Soundsaboutright,”Marasays.“Plus,yousaidheofferedtofindawaytofixthesituation.Andthatjustdoesn’tseemlikesomethinghewoulddoifhedidn’tcareaboutyou.”
“Agreed.”Hannahnods.“Myvoteisfornogenitalpimples.”
“Same.Iamdissolvingthesummoningcircleaswespeak.”
“No,wait,nodissolving,I—”Iscrubmyeyeswiththeheelsofmyhands.“Whosesideareyouguysevenon?”
“Yours,Sadie.”
“Unlikeyou,”Hannahadds.
“I—Whatdoesthatevenmean?”
Theyexchangealook.Iknowwe’reonaZoomcallandit’stechnicallyimpossibleforthemtoexchangealook,buttheyareexchangingadamnlook.Icanfeelit.“Well,”Hannahsays,“here’sthedeal.Youmeetthisguy.Andyouboinkhim.Andit’sreallygoodboinking—yay.Thedayafter,youfindoutthathe’sadick,whichsendsyouonathree-weekdownwardcurlicueoftearsandTalentigelatothat’sabouttwelvetimesmoreintensethanthetimeyoubrokeupwithadudeyou’dbeendatingforyears.Butthenyoufindoutthatitwasallamisunderstanding,thatthingsmightbefixable,and…youleave?Yousaidhewantedtotalkmore,andit’sobviousthatyou’reinterestedinhearingwhathe’ssaying.Sowhydidyouleave,Sadie?”
IstareatHannah’simplacable,matter-of-fact,kindeyes,whichgoverywellwithherimplacable,matter-of-fact,kindvoice,andmutter:“IlikeditbetterwhenyouwereinLapland.”
Shegrins.“Idid,too,whichiswhyI’mtryingtogetbackthere—butletusreturntodiscussingyourterriblecommunicationskills.”
“They’renotthatbad.”
“Eh.Theykindofare,”Marasays.
IglareatMara,too.I’manequal-opportunityglarer.“Youknowwhat?Iwillacceptthatmycommunicationskillsarepoor,butIrefusetobeshamedbysomeonewho’sonthevergeofgoingringshoppingwiththedudesheoncenearlycalledthecopsonbecauseheleftaCVSreceiptinthedryer.”
“Pfft,they’renotgoingringshopping.”Hannahwavesherhanddismissively.“Ibetshe’sgoingtogetsomekindoffamilyheirloom.”
“Doesn’thehaveolderbrothers?”Iask.“Theyprobablyalreadyranoutofheirloomsfourweddingsago.”
“Ohyeah.Maybetherewillbesomeshopping.Youthinkhe’sgoingtocallusfromsomeD.C.mall’sClaire’saskinguswhichringMarawouldprefer?”
“OhmyGod,youknowwhat?LastweekIreadsomewherethatCostcosellsengagementrings—Oh,hi,Liam.”
Mara’sboyfriendentersthescreenandcomestostandrightbehindher.Inthepastfewweekshe’sbecomeasortofinformalfourthinourcalls—anoccasionalgueststar,ifyouwill,whominesforembarrassinggradschoolstoriesaboutMaraandkindlyofferstomurderourassholemalecolleagueswhenwecomplain.ConsideringthatourfirstintroductiontohimwasMaraplottingtobooby-traphisbathroom,it’ssurprisinglyfuntohavehimaround.
“Really,guys?”heasks,allfrownyanddarkandcross-armed.“Claire’s?Costco?”
HannahandIbothgasp.“Costcoisamazing.”
“Yeah,Liam.WhatdoyouhaveagainstCostco?”
Heshakeshisheadatus,pressesakissonthecrownofMara’shead,andexitstheframe.I’mafan,Imustsay.
“Okay,”Marasays,“goingbacktoyourpoorcommunicationskills.”
Irollmyeyes.
“AreyoustillangryatErik?”Hannahasks.“Becauseyouspentweeksbeingsad,andfurious,andsadlyfurious.Evenifyounowknowthatyourreasonsweren’tasvalid,Ifeellikeitwouldstillbehardtoletgoofthat.Somaybethat’stheissuehere?”
IthinkaboutErik’shandclosingaroundmyarminthelobby.Aboutthewayhekeptlookingatmewhentheelevatorrestarted:focused,intent,liketheworldcouldspintwiceasfastasnormalandhestillwouldn’thavecared,notifIwerenearby.Idon’tletmyselfrecallthewordshesaid,butamemoryresurfaces,ofuslaughingandstandinginhiskitchenandeatingChineseleftovers,andIdon’tpushitdown.Forthefirsttimeinweeks,it’snotsoakedinresentmentandbetrayal.Justtheachy,poignantsweetnessofthenightwespenttogether.OfErikturningupthethermostatwhenIsaidIwascold,thenwrappinghislarge,warmhandsaroundthesolesofmyfeet.Thatfeelingofbeingrightthere,onthebrinkofsomething.
Idon’tthinkI’mangry,notanymore.
“It’snotthat,”Isay.
“Okay.Sotheproblemisthatyoudon’tbelievehim?”
“I…No.Ido.Idon’tthinkGiannadeliberatelyliedtome,butshedidn’thaveallthefacts.”
“Whatisit,then?”
Iswallow,tryingtoprodatthereasonmystomachfeelsleaden,thereasonI’vebeenfeelingsickwithdisappointmentandfeareversincefindingoutthetruth.Andthenithitsme.TheonethingIhavebeenactivelytryingnottoverbalizehitsmejustasIsay,“Itdoesn’tmatter,anyway.”
“Whydoesn’titmatter?”
Iclosemyeyes.Yes.That’sit.That’swhy.“BecauseIruinedit.”
“Ruinedit,how?”
NowthatIcannameitforwhatitis,thehorriblefeelinggrows,acidandbitterinmythroat.“Hewon’tbeinterestedinme.HemetmeandthoughtthatIwasfunny,thathehadtonsofthingsincommonwithme,thathereallylikedme,andthenI…Iactedlikeatotallyirrational,absurd,derangedpersonandblockedhisnumberandaccusedhimoffuckingcorporateespionageandmaybehewantstosettherecordstraight,maybehehatestheideaofmethinkingthathe’sahorribleperson,butthere’snowayhewantstopickupwhereweleftoffand—aaaargh.”Iburymyfaceinmyhands.
Ifuckedup.Ijust…Ifuckedup.AndnowIhavetolivewiththeknowledgeofit.IhavetogooninaworldinwhichnomanwillevercomparetoErikNowak.Nomanwillevermakemelaugh,andmakemybodysing,andmakemysoulabsolutelyindignantwithhisoutrageousopinionsonGalatasaray—allatonce.
“Oh,honey.”Maracocksherhead.“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“Ido.It’slikely.”
“That’snotthepoint.”HannahleansclosertothescreentillallIcanseeareherbeautifulfaceanddarkeyes.“Okay,soEriknowknowsthatyouoccasionallydisplayanappallinglackofconflict-resolutioninitiative.”
Igroan.“IreallywishIhadtheemotionalfortitudetohanguponyou.”
“Butyoudon’t.WhatI’msayingis,maybeErikwilldecidethatyou’llmakeforaterriblegirlfriendwhooverreactsandismoretroublethanyou’reworth.Maybehe’lldecidethathewantstobitchaboutyouontherelationshipsubreddit.Butifyoucuthimoutlikeyoudidthreeweeksago,you’djustbemakingthisdecisionforhim.”
Iblink,confused,suddenlyrememberingwhyIwentintoengineering.Logarithmicderivativesaresomucheasierthanthisrelationshipshit.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Sadie,Iknowyoulikethisguyalot.Iknowthatifhedoesdecidethathedoesn’twantyouinhislifeit’sgoingtohurt,andthatyou’retemptedtopreemptivelypullbacktoprotectyourself.Butifyoudon’tatleastgivehimachancetochooseyou,you’lllosehimforsure.”
Inodslowly,tryingtothinkpastthehardknotinmythroat.Lettingtheidea—goforit,justgoforit,askforwhatyouwant,bebrave—slowlyseepthroughme.RememberingErik.Rememberingthebreezehangingbetweenusonaparkbench,onadesertedsidewalk.Thewaymystomachflutteredatthefeelingsitcarried.Ofpossibilities.Ofmaybe
Thisismynewhappyplace,Erikmurmuredintotheshellofmyearthesecondtimewehadsexthatnight.Andthenhepushedmysweatyhairawayfrommyforehead,andIlookedupathimandthought,Hiseyesaretheexactcoloroftheskywhenthesunshines.AndIalways,alwayslovedthesky.
“You’reright,”Isay.“You’resoright.Ishouldgotohim.”
Hannahsmiles.“Well,it’sactuallywhat,onea.m.inNewYork?Iwasthinkingmoreofaphonecalltomorrowmorning.Aroundten.”
“Yes.Ishouldgotohimrightnow.”
“That’stheexactoppositeof—”
“Igottago.Loveyou.”
Ihangupandbounceoutofbed,lookingforajacketandmyphone.IstartorderinganUber,except—shit.IknowwhereEriklives,butnothisaddress.Iruntothedoor,simultaneouslylookingformykeysandtypingtheclosestlandmarktohisapartmentthatIcanrecall.Howthehelldoyouspell—
“Sadie?”
Ilookup.Erikisstandinginmyopendoor.Erik,inallhistall,unsmiling,Corporate-Thorshipsplendor.WearingthesameclotheshehadonwhenIlefthimplusalightjacket,hishandupinmidairandclearlyabouttoknock.
“Areyougoingsomewhere?”
“No.Yes.No.I…”Itakeastepback.Another.Another.Erikstaysrightwhereheis,andmycheeksburn.AmIhallucinatinghim?IshereallyhereinAstoria?Inmyapartment?Ihearaloudthunk,andmykeysareonthelinoleumfloor.Ineedanap.Ineedaseven-yearnap.
“Here.”Hebendsdowntopickupthekeys,pausesforasecondtostudymysoccerballkeychain,andholdsthemouttome.“CanIcomeinforfiveminutes?Justtotalk.Ifyoufeeluncomfortable,thehallway’sokay,too—”
“No.No,I…”Iclearmythroat.“Youcancomein.”
Abriefhesitation.Thenanodashestepsinandclosesthedoorbehindhim.Buthedoesn’tmoveanyfartherinside,stoppingintheentranceandsimplysaying,“Thankyou.”
Iwascomingtoyou,Iopenmymouthtosay.Iwasonmywaytotellyoumany,manyconfusingthings.Butthesurpriseofseeinghimherehasfrozenmybravery,andinsteadoffloodinghimwiththeimpassionedspeechIwouldhavetypedonmyNotesappintheUber,Ijuststare.Silent.
Forfuck’ssake,whatiswrongwithme—
“Here,”hesays,holdingoutaphone.Hisphone.
Uh?“Whyareyougivingthistome?”
“BecauseIwantyoutolookthroughit.Thepasscodeis1111.”
Iglanceathisface.“1111?Areyoujoking?”
“Yeah,Iknow.Justignoreit.”
Isnort.“Youcan’taskmethat.”
Hesighs.“Fine.Youareallowedonecomment.”
“Howaboutoneoneoneonecomments—”
“That’sit.Yourcomment,youuseditup.Now—”
“Comeon,Ihavewaymoreto—”
“—willyoupleaseunlockthephone?”
Ipoutbutdoashesays.Mostlyoutofsheerbewilderment.“Done.”
Henods.“Ifyouclickonmyemailapp,you’llfindmyworkcorrespondence.Mostofthosemessagesarehighlyconfidential,soI’mgoingtoaskyounottoreadthem.ButIwantyoutosearchforyourlastname.”
“WhywouldIdothat?”
“Becauseit’sallthere.Theemails.Merequestingyourthesis.MecirculatingittoProBldlikeanasshole.Acoupleofinstancesofmegenerallydiscussingyourwriting.ThetimelineshouldconfirmwhatIalreadytoldyou.”Istareathim.Speechless.Thenhecontinues,anditgetsworse.“ThisisallIcanthinkof,butifthere’sanythingelseIcanshowyouthatwillhelpyoubelievethatGiannamisinterpretedthings,letmeknow.I’mhappytoleavemyphonehere.Takehoweverlongyouwanttogothroughit.Ifsomeonecallsortexts,ignorethem.”
It’sthecalm,earnestwayhe’slookingatmethatdoesit.Itsnapswhat’sleftofmyterrorofbeingrejected,andI’mabruptlydonewithwhateverfearfulbullshitmybrainistryingtofeedme.
Anewknowledgeuncurlsinsideme,andIinstantlyknowwhattodo.Iknowhowtodoit.Anditstartswithclutchinghisphonetight,steppingcloser,andslidingitintothepocketofhisjacket.Iletmyhandlingerinsideforasecond,feelingthewarmthfromErik’sbody.Thecleancotton.NolintorcandywrappersoremptyChapSticktubes.
Iadoreit.Iloveit.Myhandwantstoslipinsidethispocketonrainyfallafternoonsandchillyspringmornings.Myhandwantstomoveinandjustlivehere,rightnexttoErik’s.
Butfornow,there’ssomethingelseIneedtodo.Whichisholdingoutmyownphonetohim.Helooksatitskeptically,untilIsay,“Mypasscodeis1930.”
Hismouthtwitches.“YearofthefirstFIFAWorldCup?”
Ilaugh,because…yeah.Outofeveryone,hewouldknow.AndthenIfeelmyselfstartingtocry,becauseofcourse,outofeveryoneintheentireworld,hewouldknow.
“Unlockit,please,”Isaybetweensniffles.Erikiswide-eyed,alarmedbythetears,tryingtocomecloserandtopullmetohim,butIdon’tlethim.“Unlockmyphone,Erik.Please.”
Hequicklypunchesinthenumbers.“Done.Sadie,areyou—”
“Gotomycontacts.Findyours.It’s…Ichangedit.Toyouractualname.”It’shardtosustainhighandprolongedlevelsofhatredforsomeonewho’ssavedonyourphonewithacutesynickname,Idon’tadd,butthethoughthasmechuckling,wet,watery.
“Done.”Hesoundsimpatient.“CanI—”
“Okay.”Itakeadeepbreath.“Now,please,unblockyournumber.”
Apause.Then:“What?”
“Iblockedyournumber.BecauseI…”Iwipemycheekwiththebackofmyhand,butthere’remoretearscoming.“BecauseIcouldn’tbearto…Because.ButIthinkyoushouldunblockit.”Isniffleagain.Loudly.“Soifyoudecidedthatyoudon’tmindthefactthatsometimesIcanbeatotallunatic,andifyouwanttogivemeacallandgivethe…thethingweweredoinganotherchance,thenI’dbehappytopickupand—”
Ifindmyselfpulledintohisbody,huggedtightagainsthischest,andIshouldprobablyinsistonapologizingproperlyandofferanin-depthdebriefingofeverythingthathasoccurred,butIjustletmyselfsinkintohim.Smellhisfamiliarscent.Whenhesmoothsmyhairback,Iburymyfaceintohisshirtandmelt,soakinginthesilenceandtherelief.
“IthinkIjustreallysuckatone-nightstands,”Isay,muffledintothesoftfabric.
“Wedidn’thaveaone-nightstand,Sadie.”
“Okay.Imean,Idon’tknow.I’venever…”
“I’vehadenoughforbothofus,andthensome.”Hepullsbacktolookatme,andrepeats,“Wedidnothaveaone-nightstand.”
Idon’tmaketheconsciousdecisiontokisshim.Itjusthappens.Onesecondwe’relookingateachother,thenextwe’renot.Eriktasteslikehimselfandalate-springnightinNewYork.Heholdsmyheadinhispalm,pressesmeintohim;hegroans,bendsdowntopushmeintothewall,andlickstheinsideofmymouth.
“Sowe’regood?”heasks,comingupforair.Iwanttonod,butIforgetwhenhebendsdownforanotherkiss,justasdeepastheonethatcamebefore.Thenheremembershisquestionandrepeats,“Sadie?Arewegood?”
Iclosemyeyesandbiteintohisbottomlip.It’ssoft,andplump,andIrememberthepatientwayheworkedbetweenmylegs.Iremembercomingoverandover,thepleasuresostrongIcouldn’tcomprehendit—
“Sadie.”He’snotbreathingnormally.Hetakesastepback,likeheneedsamomenttogethimselfundercontrol.“Arewegood?Becauseifyouthinkthisisaone-nightstand,then—”
“No.I…”Ireachuptohisface.Thistime,whenIbringhismouthdowntomine,mykississlowandgentle.“No.We’regood.”
“Promise?”heasksagainstmylips.
Inod.Andthen,becauseitseemsimportant:“Ipromise.”
It’slikeflippingaswitch.Onemomenthe’slookingatmequestioningly,thenextourhandsareoneachother,meunzippinghisjeans,himunbuttoningmyblouse.Thereisaheatgrowingbetweenus,aheatthathasusworkfrenziedly,clumsyandtooeager.WhenItugdownhisjeansandbriefs,hiscockspringsout,strainingandleakingandsohard,ithastohurt.Iwrapmyhandaroundhim,pumpupanddownacoupleoftimes,andhegroans,asoft,gutturalsound.Thenhepullsmeaway,pinsmywristtothewall,andattacksmypants.
Hisfingersbrushundertheelasticofmyunderwear,andwhenhisknucklesgrazethedampclothofmypantiesit’sallIcandonottospreadmylegsasfarasthey’llgo.“Purple,”heraspsoutwhenmyslacksarepooledaroundmyankles.“Finally.”
“Pitchtoday.Yesterday,”Iamend,helpinghimgetridofmytop.
“Bytheway,”hesays,voicescratchy,“lasttimeyouleftyourbraatmyplace.”HetracesthelineoftheoneIhaveonbutdoesn’ttakeitoff.Instead,helowersthelacecups,tucksthemunderthecurveofmybreasts.Whenmyexposednippleshardentopoints,webothmakechoked,breathynoises.
“Y-youcankeepit.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
Histhumbmovesbackandforthacrossmynipple.“It’snotexactlyina…pristinestate.”
Ilaugh,breathless.“Why?Haveyoubeenusingit?”
Hedoesn’treply.Insteadheliftsmeupuntilmylegsarewrappedaroundhiships,pinningmeagainstthewallnexttothedooreventhoughthere’sabed,acouch,adozenpiecesoffurniturejustahandfuloffeetaway—andthenstopsabruptly.“Doyou—Areyoufeelingtrapped?Isthis—”
“No,it’sgood.Perfect.Please,just—”
Hehookshisfingersinthecrotchofmypanties,haphazardlyshovesthemtotheside,andhetriesone,twoanglesthatcan’tpossiblywork,butthenheadjustsme,hetiltsmelikeI’mnolargerthanadoll,andonthethirdtryhejust…
Slipsinside.Thepressureisenormous,stretchingandburningandfamiliarandinexorableandlovely,andallIcanthinkofishowmuchImissedthis,thesharpfeelingofsomethingtoobigthat’ssomehowmeanttofitinsideme,thewayhemutterssorry,please,more,almostthere
“Imissedyou,”hebreathesagainstmytemplewhenhe’sreachedafullseat,soundinglikehe’sundergreatstrain.“Ionlyknewyoufortwenty-fourhours,butI’venevermissedanyonesomuch.”
Imoan.Anembarrassing,mewlingsoundthatcannotpossiblycomefrommymouth.“Fortherecord.”Ifeelsofull,Icanbarelyspeak.“Ithoughtthesexwasgood.”It’sanunderstatement.It’sasmuchasIamphysicallyabletosayrightnow.
“Yeah?”Hebitesmeonthefleshbetweenmyneckandmyshoulder—nothardenoughtobreakmyskin,enoughtosuggestthathe’snotfullyincontrol.Itremindsmeofournighttogether,thewayhekeptmestillforhisthrusts,thewayhemademefeelatoncepowerfulandpowerless.“That’sgood.BecauseIcan’tthinkofanythingelse.”Hemovesinsideme.Once,twice.Oncemore,alittletooforceful,butperfect.Myforeheadleansagainsthis,andhepantsintomymouth.“Threeweeks,andIcouldonlythinkofyou.”
Itlastslessthanadozenthrusts.HismouthisbymyearashetellsmehowbeautifulIam,howhewantstofeelallofme,howhecouldfuckmeeverysecondofeveryhourofeveryday.Thespasmsbloominsideme,drivememindless,andIclingtohisshouldersasmyorgasmexplodesthroughmybody,wipingmymindclean.Erik,Imouthagainsthishair.Erik,Erik,Erik.HestaysstillwhileIrideitout,anear-silentgrowlinhisthroat,thetensioninhisarmsnearlyvibrating.Then,whenI’malmostdone,heasks,
“ShouldI—Fuck,shouldIpullout?”
“No,”Iexhale.“I’m—we’regood.Pill.”
HecomesinsidemebeforeI’mdonetalking,buryingthesoundsofhispleasureintotheskinofmythroat.
Westaylikethat,after.Heholdsmeup,likeheknowsthatIwouldwobbleonmylegsifheweretoletgoofme,andkissesmeforlongmoments.Chastepeckswhereverhecanreach,longlicksupmysweatyneck,softhickeysthathavemesquirmingandgigglinginhisarms.Inever,everwantthismomenttoend.Iwanttopaintitandframeitandhangitonthewall—thiswall—andtreasureitandmakeamillionmoreand—
“Sadie?”Erik’svoiceisevendeeperthanusual.Iamhappyandpliantandrelaxed.
“Yeah?”
“Doyoustillhaveyourhamster?”
“Guineapig.”
“Samething.Doyoustillhaveit?”
“Yeah.”Ipause.“Why?”
“Justmakingsurethatagiantratisn’ttryingtoeatmyjeans.”
Ilookdownoverhisshoulderandburstintolaughterforthefirsttimeinweeks.Epilogue
Onemonthlater
Okay,”Isay,determined.Istarefirstatmymasterpieceandattheremnantsofmyhardwork,andthenIrepeat,louder,“Okay,I’mready!Preparetobeblownaway!”
Erikappearsattheentranceofhiskitchenaboutfivesecondslater,lookingsleepyandrelaxedandhandsomeinhisHanesT-shirtandplaidpajamapants.“Youhavedoughonyournose,”hesays,beforeleaningforwardtokissitaway.Thenhesitsacrossfromme,ontheothersideoftheisland.
“Okay.Momentoftruth.”Islideasmallporcelainplatetowardhim.Ontopthereisacroissant—thefruitofmymany,manylabors.
So.Many.Labors.
“Looksgood.”
“Thankyou.”Ibeam.“Madefromscratch.”
“Icantell.”Withasmallsmile,heglancesathowthreequartersofhiskitcheniscoatedinflour.
“Myculinarygeniusisapparentlyabitchaotic.Comeon,tryit.”
Hepicksupthecroissantinhishugehandsandtakesabite.Hechewsforone,two,three,four,fiveseconds,andIshouldprobablygivehimalittlemoretime,butIjustcan’twaittoask,“Youlikeit?Isitgood?”
Hechewssomemore.
“Amazing?Fantastic?Delicious?”
Morechewing.
“Edible?”
Thechewingstops.Eriksetsthecroissantbackonthetableandswallowsonce.Withnoticeabledifficulty.Thenwashesitalldownwithasipofcoffee.
“Well?”Iask.
“It’s…”
“Itcannotbebad.”
Silence.
“Right?”
Hetiltshishead,pensive.“Isitpossiblethatyoumixedupsaltandsugar?”
“No!I…IsitworsethanFaye’s?”Hethinksaboutit.WhichisalltheanswerIneed.“Ihateyou.”
“Thereisabitofa…vinegaryaftertaste?Didyoumaybeaddthatinsteadofwater?”
“What?”Iscowl.“Ithinkyouaretheproblem.Ithinkyoujustdon’tlikecroissants.”
Heshrugs.“Yeah,maybeit’sme.”
Catjumpsontheisland.HegingerlysidestepsourmugsandwithacuriousexpressionsniffsErik’scroissant.“Oh,buddy,no,”Erikwhispers.“Youdon’twanttodothat.”Cattakesadelicatelick.Thenheturnstometostarewithahorrified,betrayedexpression.
Erikdoesn’teventrynottolaugh.
“Ihateyou.”Iclosemyeyes,quietlyplanningmurderandmayhemandlotsoftruculentrevengescenarios.Iwilldefacehisjerseys.Iwillpoursoysauceinhischocolatemilk.Iwillhoardthedowncomforterforthenexttennights.“Ihateyou,”Irepeat.“Ihateyouso,somuch.”
“Nah.”WhenIopenmyeyes,Erik’ssmileiswarmandsoft.“Idon’tthinkyoudo,Sadie.”BelowZero
ForShepandCelia.
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.One
JohnsonSpaceCenter,Houston,Texas
Oneyearago
OnmyveryfirstdayatNASA,atsomepointbetweentheHRintakeandatouroftheElectromagneticComplianceStudiesbuilding,someoverzealousnewlyhiredengineerturnstotherestofusandasks,“Don’tyoufeellikeyourentirelifehasledyoutothismoment?Likeyouweremeanttobehere?”
AsidefromEagerBeaver,therearefourteenofusstartingtoday.Fourteenofusfreshoutoftop-fivegraduateprograms,andprestigiousinternships,andCV-beefingindustryjobsacceptedexclusivelytolookmoreattractiveduringNASA’snextroundofrecruitment.There’refourteenofus,andthethirteenthataren’tmeareallnoddingenthusiastically.
“AlwaysknewI’dendupatNASA,eversinceIwas,like,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.Andtheoneslikeme:whatwewant—oftentimeswhatwe’vewantedsinceourfrontallobeswerestillundevelopedenoughtohaveusthinkingthattoeshoesareagoodfashionstatement—istoknowaboutspace.Atthebeginningit’ssimplestuff:What’sitmadeof?Wheredoesitend?Whydothestarsnotfallandcrashontoourheads?Then,oncewe’vereadenough,thebigtopicscomein:Darkmatter.Multiverse.Blackholes.That’swhenwerealizehowlittleweunderstandaboutthisgiantthingwe’repartof.Whenwestartthinkingaboutwhetherwecanhelpproducesomenewknowledge.
Andthat’showweendupatNASA.
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.Two
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.AndIhadtohavemyevilgreat-auntDelphinapromisetoblackmailhimintosayingyesonceyoureachouttoaskforameeting.Soyoubetterusethatnumber,andyoubetterplaytheMegaMillions.”
“Ifyouwin,”Sadieadded,“wesplitthreeways.”
“Ofcourse.”Ihidemysmileinmyglass.“What’shelike,anyway?”
“Who?”
“Thecousin-or-something.Ian,yousaid?”
“Yup.IanFloyd.”Marathinksaboutitforasecond.“Can’treallysay,becauseI’vemethimat,like,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,butalsobecauseofthedark-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.Hewaitsformetotakeaseatacrossfromhimbeforefoldingbackintohischair.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,Ilookathimovermyshoulder.“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?”
“ThepointingoftheantennarelativetoEarth,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’mintoextrovertswholovebanterandareeasytotalkto,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?Chillingwithyourspacebroswhiletheylandedtheirremote-controlroveronMars?”
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’sthework-aroundtofixthetwo-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…”Heglancesoutthewindow,atamapletreeontheJPLcampus.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.“AmIthatbadatit?”
“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,muddyobstaclecourses,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,andoutofthecornerofmyeyeIseeonlyred,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,andIcouldcrywithhappiness,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.
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.
Acoupledayslater,whenIgetanemailfromIanFloyd@nasa.gov,myheartstumblesalloveritself.Butit’sjustanemptyemail,notext,notevenanautomaticsignature.JustanattachmentwithhisNASAapplicationfromafewyearsago,togetherwithahandfulofotherpeople’s.Morerecentonesthathemusthavegottenfromhisfriendsandcolleagues,afewmoreexamplestosendme.
Well.
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.Three
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.”Four
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,asthoughtheideaofhavingfansbefuddleshim.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…savingEarth.”
“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,waslookingforsomeonewithexperienceingaschromatography–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.ImaginedIanaskingthewomantodinner.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.NotthatInowgooutfordates—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.Five
SvalbardIslands,Norway
Present
Thenexttimemysatphonevibrates,thewindshavepickedupevenmore.It’ssnowing,too.I’vesomehowmanagedtonestlemyselfinasmallnookinthewallofmycrevasse,butlargeflurriesarestartingtohappilysticktothemini-roverIbroughtwithme.
Whichis,Imustadmit,ironicinacosmickindofway.TheveryreasonIventuredoutherewastotesthowthemini-roverIdesignedwouldworkinhighlystressful,low-sunlight,low-command-inputsituations.Ofcourse,itwasnotsupposedtostorm.Iwasgoingtodropoffthegearandthenimmediatelyreturntoheadquarters,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?”Six
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,consideringmyloveforicedtea.
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.Ormaybethrowsomethingoutthewindow,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’mnottooshockedthatIanistheonedoingit.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.Seven
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,aninexplicablephenomenonthatshouldbetheobjectofseveralresearchstudies.MaybeI’llapplyforagranttoinvestigateit.ThenIanwillvetome,andwe’llbebacktoMutualHatesquareone.“ThewindsaremoreseverethanI’dlike,butonboardisstillasaferoptionthanashore.We’reanchored,butthewavesmightgetnasty.There’santi-seasicknessmedsnexttoyourbunk,and—”
“Ian.”
Hefallsquiet.
“WhyareyounotwearingaNASAsurvivalsuit?”
Hedoesn’tlookatme.Insteadhedropstohiskneesinfrontofmeandbeginstoworkonmybrace.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’sasthoughtherewasaspotreadyformeallalong.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.Eight
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.Imuststillbeshakenup.
Weleavethefollowingday.I’vedonewhatIcametoAMASEfor(surprisinglysuccessfully),andIanneedstobeatJPLinthreedays.ThefirstplanerideisfromSvalbardtoOslo,ononeofthoseminusculeaircraftthattakeofffromminusculeairportswiththeirminusculeseatsandminusculecomplimentarysnacks.IanandIdon’tgettositnexttoeachother,nordowefromOslotoFrankfurt.IpassthetimestaringoutthewindowandwatchingJAGrerunswithNorwegiansubtitles.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’tinterested,andwewentourseparateways.”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,howphysicallydemanding,itmusthavebeentocomeextractmefromtheidioticsituationIputmyselfinto—nomatterthathedidn’tsomuchasrollhiseyesattheburdenofit.
Idon’tliketheworddating.Idon’tliketheideaofit.ButwithIan…Idon’tknow.Itseemsdifferentwithhim.
“Iguesswe’llsee.I’mnotsurehewouldwanttodate,”Isay,staringatSadie’sFrootLoops.Theensuingsilencedragsonsolong,I’mforcedtolookup.SheandMaraarestaringatmelikeIjustannouncedthatI’mquittingmyjobtotakeupmacraméfull-time.“What?”
“Didshereallyjustusetheworddate?”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.Nine
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.Andthisnewbraceiseasytowalkon.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.”
Ilaughalittleandlookoutthewindow.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,butIalsowantyoutocometomewhenyouneedhelpwithyourtaxesandmovingyourfurniture.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,hestartskissingmeagain,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…”
Hehasundonemybrace.Hesetsitaside,nexttothepajamabottomsthatIthrewonthefloorthismorning,thenhelpsmewiggleoutofmyjeans.“Red?Andspotty?”
Ilaughalittleharder.“Yup.”
“That’swhatI—”
Ipresshimdowntillhe’slyingonthebed.ThenIstraddlehimandpeeloffmytop,ignoringtheslightstinginmyankle.Thisshouldbefamiliargroundforme:bodiesagainstbodies,fleshagainstflesh.Justseeingwhatfeelsgoodandthendoingmoreofit.Itshouldbefamiliar,butI’mnotsureitis.BeingherewithIanismorelikehearingasongI’velistenedtomillionsoftimes,thistimewithanewarrangement
“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’sneckandpullhishugeshouldersintomybody,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,ourkissisonthefrontpageoftheNewYorkTimesBonusChapter
Sometimelater
LIAM
IfLiamwereaskedtocompilealistofthemostmomentousdaysofhislife—theonesthat’llsurelyflashbeforehiseyeswhenhe’sdeathadjacent,eventhoughinthemeantimehe’llhavetostashtheminacornerofhisheart,hiddenandsecure,becausedwellingonthefeelingstheyelicitisoverwhelming,unmanageable,andjustplaindangerous—todaywouldmakeittotheverytop.
Notnumberfive,likethatTuesdaytwoyearsagowhenhetriedtoproposeandMaradidn’tquitelethim,burstingoutwitha“Yes,yes,yes!”afterhebarelymanageda“Willyoum—”(Itallowedhimtospendthefollowingweekpretendingthathe’donlywantedtoaskhertomailoutthecensusform:amusingforhim;lesssoforher.)
Andnotnumberthree,likethedayMaraannouncedthatshewasplanningtomoveintohisbedroom,andtoconvertherownintoa“TheBachelorbloggingstudio.”Approximatelytwentyminuteslater,Liam’swallswerefullofpicturesoftwogirlshe’dneverevenmetinpersonyet,andhisserviceablegraycomforterhadbeenreplacedwithachevronrainbowquiltthatshouldhavegivenhimaheadachebutinsteadhadhimcravingcakepopsforthefirsttimeinhislife.
Today…todayisnumberone.Themostperfectdayofhislife.Marainhisarms,thewordsshejustsaidintheairbetweenthem,andthepromiseofwhat’stocome.
Itcouldbeaboy.Oragirl.Orboth,orneither.Itdoesn’tmatter.Liamcouldn’tcareless.Allhehopesforiscarrot-red,curlyhairandfreckles.ThebabyshouldhaveMara’slooks.Andherunderstandingofnumbers.Andhertemperament.Herloveforbroccoli,herabilitytofixthings,andLiam’s..
Okay.Ideally,thebabywilltakeexclusivelyafterMara.Liamwouldbeperfectlyokayifnoneofhisallelesmadeitintoitskaryotype.Liamistaller,whichisusefulwhenitcomestoreachingforhighershelves,butlegroomonplanesisabitchandahalf,andhereallywouldn’twishthecrampsonanyone,letalonehisprogeny—
“Hannahwasright.”
HepullsbacktolookatMara.Herlegsarewrappedaroundhiswaist,becausehepickedherupthesecondhegothomeandsheusedthep-word.There’ssomethinglodgedinLiam’sfist—ah,yes.Thetest.
Sheshowedhimthesecondhegothome,waggingitunderhisnose.There’sprobablypeeonit,andheshouldprobablyfinditdisgusting,but…
Yeah.No.
“Hannah?Aboutwhat?”
“Aboutyourreaction.”MarapressesakisstoLiam’scheek,thengrins,thendisentanglesherselffromhisarms.Asteady,nimbledescent.“ShesaidyouweregoingtobufferforfifteenminutesonceItoldyou.”
“Whenyoutoldme…?”
“Aboutthis.”Herfingerssplayagainstherabdomen,andforasplitsecondhisbrainshort-circuitsinthebestpossibleway.It’shappening.Thisisgoingtohappen.Thisishislife.Hedoesn’tdeserveit,butsomehowthisishislife,and—
“Wait.”Heshakeshishead,chasingtheother,lesspleasanttrainofthought.“HowcanHannahknowaboutthebaby?”
“Itoldher,ofcourse.”Marasmilesagainandgrabshishand,pullinghimintothekitchen.Shealsotakesthetestfromhimanddropsitintothehallwaytrashbin.It’snotsomethingLiam’sreadyfor,sayinggood-byetotheonepieceofevidencethatyes,thisishappening,sohemakesamentalnotetoretrieveitlater.Inthemeantime…
“Whendidyoutellher?”
“Earlierthismorning.WhenIfoundout.”
Earlierthis…
Liamfrowns.Thenhescowls.Thenasoundcomesoutofhim,andMarastopsinhertrackstolookbackathim.She’sbeautifulandstillhappy-looking,butalsonarroweyedallofasudden.
“Didyoujust…growl?”sheasks.
“No.”Yes.“Didyoutellyourfriendsaboutthebabybeforetellingme?”
“Yeah.”Sheshrugs.“Ihadtotellsomeone.”
“Didyouconsider…me?”
“Youwereincourt.Allday.”
“Youcouldhavecalledme.”
“Icouldn’ttellyouonthephone.”Herhandscometoherhips—usuallyLiam’scuetoletgoofanargument.
Hedoesnotletgo.“Youtoldyourfriendsonthephone.”Hesoundssullen.
“It’stotallydifferent.Andanyway,HannahandSadiehavebeenaskingforupdateseverydaysinceItoldthemwe’dbeentrying,so.”
“Theyknewwe—”Thesoundchokessomewhereinhistrachea.Liamclearshisthroat.Twice.“Theyknewweweretrying?”
“Yeah.”Marablushesalittle,andLiamtakesastepcloser.
Thistime,it’shishandsonhiships.“Whatdidyoutellthem?”
“Just…youknow…”Thewayshehand-wavesisverysuspiciousandrevealssomething:
Herfriendsknoweverythingabouttheirsexlivesforthelasttwomonths.
Every.Single.Thing.
“WhataboutIanandErik?DotheyknowI’mhavingababy?”
“I’mnotsure,”Marasays,evasive.
Tooevasive.
“Mara.”
“Well,Eriksentovercelebratorycroissants.Theywerereallygood.Ileftyouone,bytheway.Well,half.AndIantextedmetoaskifwe’regoingtocallthebabyX?A-Xii.It’sanElonMuskjoke.AndElonMuskisanengineer,soit’skindafunny—”
“IknowwhoElonMuskis.”
Formaybehalfasecond,Maralookscontrite.Itallmeltswhenherarmsslideintotheloopsofhisandshehugsherselftohischest.“They’rereallyhappyforus,”shemurmursagainsthisshirt.“I’mreallyhappyforus.”
Okay.Fine.Whocares?Soeveryoneknowsabouttheirsexschedule.Bigdeal.What’ssomereproductivelifetalkamongfriends,afterall?
“I’mhappier,”hemurmursagainstthecrownofherhair.“I’mhappiest.”
ButwhileMarabringshimdinner(halfacroissantthatlooksmorelikeonethird),hecheckshisphone,scrollspastthegroupchatheshareswithMara’sfriendsandtheirpartners,andzeroesinonthetextthreadwithIanandErik.Itwaspingingtodaywhilehewasbusyincourt.Ian,tryingtoconvinceEriktobuyaPS5toplaytheFIFA22game.Asif.
Firstofall,youassholescouldhavementionedI’mhavingababy.
Liam’sjusttoohappytobemad.
Butmoreimportantly:FIFA19isamilliontimesbetter.
ERIK
ThephonebuzzesinErik’spocket,buthedoesn’tcheckwhatfor.
Hedoesn’tmove.Doesn’ttakehiseyesoffSadie.Doesn’tstepawayfromhisstrategicposition—leaningagainstthefridge—whichallowshimafullviewofthekitchen,and,aboveall,ofhiswife.
It’snotbecauseshe’spretty,ormesmerizing,orhishappyplace—eventhoughsheisallofthesethings.It’snotbecausehe’sinlovewithher,orinterestedinwhatshe’sdoing,orenthralledbythewayshemoves—eventhoughheisallofthesethings.
Thereasonhewon’tlookawayfromhisbelovedspouseonthisbeautifulAprilnightisabitmorebasic,andvaguelyembarrassing:
Abjectfear.
NotquiteofSadie,butofwhatshemightdotohisbrother.Hispoor,unsuspecting,clearlyterrifiedbrother.
Andershasbeen“findinghimself”allovertheworldforthepastseveralyears,andhasthereforenevermetErik’swifebeforetoday.Maybeifhe’dshoweduptotheirweddinginCopenhagen…buthewastoobusypickingplumsinAustralia.WhichmeansthathisknowledgeofSadieisundoubtedlysecondhand,mostlikelythroughErik’sparents.And,oh,Erikcanjustimaginehismom’sreview.Whatakind,radiant,lovelybride.Abrilliant,gentleyoungwoman.Abitsuperstitious—sheforbadeanyonetogiftknivesandsheputsixpenniesinhershoe,whichfelloutwhileshewaswalkingtothealtar—butsolovely.Thefootball-shapedweddingcakesheinsistedon—unusual,butdelightful.She’sperfectforyourbrother.
Yup.Erikcanjustimagine.JustlikehecanimagineAndersshittinghimselfasSadieleansoverthekitchentabletohissathim:“Whothehelldoyouthinkyouare?”
“I’m—I—”HepointsatErik.Tonoone’ssurprise,hisfingerisshaking.“Hisyoungerbrother—”
“Iknowwhoyouare.”Sadie’seyesnarrow.“WhatIaskedis:Whodoyouthinkyouare,tocomeintomyhouseandstealmycat?”
“Um,technically,Garfieldismy—”
“HisnameisCat.”
Andersblinks.“PrettysureInamedhimGarfield.”
“YounamedhimGarfield.Pasttense.ThenEriktookhiminbecauseyouwereEatPrayLovingyourwaythroughEurope.Erikopenedhishomeandhisheart,andrenamedhimCat.AndCatlikesitmuchbetterthanGarfield.Don’tyou,babe?”
Onthewindowsill,Catlickshisorangepawinwhatalmostlookslikeanod.Mmm.
“KnowingErik,Iseriouslydoubtheopenedhisheartto—”
“Thingshavechangedaroundhere,Anders.”Sadie’stoneissosharp,Erik’ssix-foot-something,two-hundred-poundbrotherpresseshimselfdeeperintohischair.Yeah,Erikthinks,watchinglittlewispsofhaircomeundonefromherbunandframeherface.She’sterrifying.Andcute.“EspeciallybetweenErikandCat.Theyarebondednow.”
Theyarenot.CathatesErik,andErikhatesCat,especiallyafterwatchinghimscoothisassholeagainstErik’stoothbrushlessthantwelvehoursago.However,theyarebothveryfondofSadie,andhavethereforeestablishedatruceofsorts.
Tofacilitatepeacefulcohabitation,Erikhasdisseminateddecoytoothbrushesallaroundthehouse.
“Okay,listen…”Andersscratcheshisneck.“Don’tyouguyshaveabuddingengineeringfirmtorun?DoyouevenhavetimetotakecareofGarf—Cat?”
“Wehavenothingbuttime,”Sadiecutsin,asthoughGrantham&Nowakisnotgrowingexponentially,asthoughtheyhaven’tbeenbusierthanever.ErikfondlyremembershowanxiousSadiewaswhentheybothlefttheirpreviousjobs.Whatif,withworkingandlivingtogether,yougettiredofme?Itsoundedsounlikely,hecouldonlylaugh.“Andasyouknow,thehousewe’rebuildingupstateisalmostfinished.Catcouldcomeupwithusonweekends.Infact,we’vebeenthinkingaboutgettingadog—andIthinkwecanallagreethatCatwouldlovetotormentapuppy.Wouldn’tyou,Cat?”
“Meow.”
Erik’sphonebuzzesagain.ThistimehetakeshiseyesoffSadietocheckhistexts.
Clearly,MaratoldLiamaboutthebaby.Clearly,shetoldhimlast.
Erik:Congrats,man.
Erik:Unrelatedquestion:Areyouguyseverscaredofyourwives?
Therepliesareinstantaneous.
Liam:100%.
Ian:Hannah’sstillnotmywife,butyeah.Shitless.
Eriksighs,slideshisphonebackintohispocket,anddecidestointervene.HegoestoSadie,wrappinghisarmaroundhershoulders.Herslightweightsettlesintohisside.Sorry,Eriktellshisbrotherwithalook.Butshe’sverycuteandveryterrifying.“Whataboutjointcustody?”heproposes.
Andersglaresathim,andthennods,defeated.
Sadiesmiles,triumphant.
Catisnowheretobeseen.Mustbeinthebathroom,Erikthinks.Lookingfortoothbrushes.
IAN
ThewordscomeoutofIan’smouthbeforehe’sfullyprocessedthem.BythetimehenoticesHannah’sraisedeyebrowsandherdubiousexpression,it’sjusttoolatetotakethemback.
Shestopsinthemiddleofthehallway.
Ianstops,too.
Shelooksathim,skeptical.
Iantriesnottoaverthiseyes.
It’snoteasy:TheJetPropulsionLabiscrawlingwithinterns,students,engineers.They’reallattheendoftheirworkday,andthey’realltryingtoexitthebuildingfromthatdooroverthere.Theonethat’smaybetenfeetaway.
And,apparently,IanandHannahareabouttohavethisconversationrightinfrontofit.Perfect.
“Excuseme?”
“Nothing.”Heshakeshishead.“Let’sjustgohome.ForgetthatI—”
“Didyoujustaskmewhywearenotmarried?”
“No.Well,yes,but…”
“InresponsetomeaskingyouifweshouldgetThaitonight?”
Ianscratcheshistempleandlooksathisfeet.“Perhapsnotmybestsegue.”Hishandliftstoherback,andhetriestonudgehertowardtheparkinglot.“Let’sgohome.”
Hannahstaysput.“Where’sthiscomingfrom?”sheasks,justasNASA’sdeputyadministratorstrollsinandoutofIan’sfieldofview,wavingcheerfully.Hannah’seyesfallonthephoneinhishand.“Aah.”
“Aah?”
“Aah.”Shenodsknowingly.“You’vebeentalkingwithErikandLiam.”
Ianfrowns.“Whatdoesthathavetodowithit?”
“Yougetlikethiswhenyoutalktothem.”Shegrinsandgrabshissleeve,pullinghimintotheparkinglot.
“Igetlikewhat?”
“Homey.Marriagey.”
“Idon’t.”
“Yeah,youdo.”
“I’mprettysureI’venevermentionedmarriagebefore.”Infact,he’sbeenverycarefulnottomentionanythingthat’sevenremotelyconnected.EveryoneknowsthatIanandHannaharetogether,butwhenIan’smanageraskedhimifhe’dbetakinghis“wife”toherbarbecue—Dr.Arroyo,right,wholeadstheA&PEteam?—hemadesuretosay,Yes,I’llbringmypartnerWhenSadiepushedherbridalbouquetofDanishliliesintoHannah’sveryunreceptive,mostlyslackhands,hemadesuretonodwhileHannahlistedthereasonsmarriageisanarchaicinstitutiongroundedinacapitalisticlandscape.
It’snotthathedoesn’twanttogetmarried.It’smorethatheknowsher,andherissueswithcommitment.She’salreadycomesofar,andit’snotlikeIandoesn’tfeelhowmuchsheloveshimeveryminuteofeveryday.Whichmeansthathecanacceptthewaysheis,andthefactthatshe’dlaughinhisfaceifheboughtaring,wentononeknee,andproposed.
“Younevermentionedmarriage,andyethereyouare.”Hannah’seyesareinscrutableastheywalktohiscar.“Thinkingofproposingbecausemybestfriendishavingalittlegingerbaby.”
“Thebabymightnotbeginger—”
“Itwillbe.”
“Okay,itwillbe.Butitwasanunrelatedquestion.Iwasjustwonderingif…”
“If?”Ian’scaris…well,Ian’scar.ButHannahplucksthekeysfromhisfingersandslidesinonthedriver’sside.
“Hypothetically,”hecontinues,settlingforthepassengerseat.
“Hypothetically?”
Helooksstraightahead.Swallows.Swallowsagain.“IfIweretoask.Hypothetically.Whatwouldyousay?”
Thereisathick,suspicioussilenceonthedriver’ssideofthecar.Notatallauspicious.AndwhenitpullshisgazeinHannah’sdirection,herexpressionisn’tserious,orannoyed,oranythingelsethathecandiscern.
“Iguessyou’llhavetotryandsee,”isallshesays.
Ianpresseshislipstogetherandsmiles.“IguessI’llhavetotryandsee.”
Butherfreehandslidesintohisimmediatelyastheydriveaway,andhethinksthatmaybe,maybe,heknowswhattheanswerwillbe.Andmaybe,maybe,heshouldasksoon.
SotheypickupThaithatnight.AndIandoesn’tlookathisphoneagain.AcknowledgmentsLike99.9percentofmywritingoutput,thesenovellasoriginatedasfanfiction,andtheirjourneytowhattheyhavebecomeinvolvedapproximately999wonderfulpeople.Firstofall,eachnovellastartedoutasagiftforafriend:thankyoutoBeccafortheperfectroommatesprompt,toMarieforlikingsmallspaces,andtoCeliaandSheppyforbeinginto…polarbears?Yes,polarbears.Also,infinitethankstoCelia,Kate,andJenforbetareadingtheoriginalfics—andtoJenforslogging