Love, Theoretically

PRAISEFORALIHAZELWOOD
“Aliterarybreakthrough….TheLoveHypothesisisaself-assureddebut,andwehypothesizeit’sjustthefirstbitofgreatnesswe’llseefromanauthorwhosomehowhastheaudacitytobebothanacademicpowerhouseand[a]divinelytalentednovelist.”
—EntertainmentWeekly
“Contemporaryromance’sunicorn:theelusivemarriageofdeeplybrainyanddelightfullyescapist….TheLoveHypothesishaswildcommercialappeal,butthequietersecretisthatthereisaspecificaudience,madeupofalltheOlivesintheworld,whohavedeeply,ardentlywaitedforthisexactbook.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorChristinaLauren
“Withhersophomorenovel,AliHazelwoodprovesthatsheistheperfectwritertoshowthatscienceissexyashell,andthatlovecan‘STEM’fromthemostunlikelyplaces.She’smynewestmust-buyauthor.”
—JodiPicoult,#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofWishYouWereHere
“Funny,sexy,andsmart.AliHazelwooddidaterrificjobwithTheLoveHypothesis.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorMarianaZapata
“Gloriouslynerdyandsexy,withon-pointcommentaryaboutwomeninSTEM.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorHelenHoangonLoveontheBrain
“STEMinists,assemble.Yourworldisabouttoberocked.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorElenaArmasonLoveontheBrain
“Thistacklesoneofmyfavoritetropes—GrumpymeetsSunshine—inafunandutterlyendearingway….Ilovedthenodstowardfandomandromancenovels,andIcouldn’tputitdown.Highlyrecommended!”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorJessicaClareonTheLoveHypothesis
“Pureslow-burninggoldwithlotsofchemistry.”
—PopSugar
“Abeautifullywrittenromanticcomedywithaheroineyouwillinstantlyfallinlovewith,TheLoveHypothesisisdestinedtoearnaplaceonyourkeepershelf.”
—ElizabethEverett,authorofALady’sFormulaforLove
“Smart,wittydialogueandadiversecastoflikablesecondarycharacters….Arealistic,amusingnovelthatreaderswon’tbeabletoputdown.”
—LibraryJournal(starredreview)
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“Withwhip-smartandendearingcharacters,snappyprose,andaquirkytakeonafavoritetrope,Hazelwoodconvincinglynavigatesthefraughtshoalsofacademia.”
—PublishersWeeklyTITLESBYALIHAZELWOOD
TheLoveHypothesis
LoveontheBrain
Love,Theoretically
LOATHETOLOVEYOU
UnderOneRoof
StuckwithYou
BelowZeroBERKLEYROMANCE
PublishedbyBerkley
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Copyright?2023byAliHazelwood
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Hazelwood,Ali,author.
Title:Love,theoretically/AliHazelwood.
Description:NewYork:BerkleyRomance,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2022046963(print)|LCCN2022046964(ebook)|ISBN9780593336861(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593336878(ebook)
Classification:LCCPS3608.A98845L752023(print)|LCCPS3608.A98845(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022046963
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022046964
FirstEdition:June2023
Coverillustrationbylilithsaur
CoverdesignbyVikkiChu
BookdesignbyDanielBrount,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_143790368_c0_r0CONTENTS
Cover
PraiseforAliHazelwood
TitlesbyAliHazelwood
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter1:WavesandParticles
Chapter2:NuclearFission
Chapter3:ChainReaction
Chapter4:Entropy
Chapter5:GravitationalConstant
Chapter6:AnodeandCathode
Chapter7:ElectricalResistance
Chapter8:Friction
Chapter9:EscapeVelocity
Chapter10:Inertia
Chapter11:CentripetalForce
Chapter12:Collision(Inelastic)
Chapter13:Annihilation
Chapter14:Center-of-MomentumFrame
Chapter15:HeatTransfer
Chapter16:FundamentalForces
Chapter17:Displacement
Chapter18:Flux
Chapter19:Impedance
Chapter20:FallingBodies
Chapter21:ComplexHarmonicMotion
Chapter22:CriticalMass
Chapter23:FreezingPoint
Chapter24:Electromagnetism
Chapter25:Ductility
Chapter26:LiquidCrystals
Epilogue
Author’sNote
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
_143790368_Toallmyreaders,fromtheAO3daystowherewearenow.TheAdamandOlivecameoisforyou.PROLOGUE
InmylifeIhaveexperiencedregret,embarrassment,maybeevenatouchofagony.Butnothing,absolutelynothingpreparedmefortheignominyoffindingmyselfinabathroomstall,pressedagainstthearrogantolderbrotheroftheguyI’vebeenpretendingtodateforthepastsixmonths.
It’sanaward-winning,rock-bottominglow.EspeciallywhencoupledwiththeknowledgethatJackSmithissavingmyass.Whenhepicksmeupbythewaisttomaneuvermearoundthecrampedspace,gravity-defyinglystrong,I’mnotsurewhat’sworse:thefactthathishandsareallthatpreventmefromcrumplinglikeascrunchie,orthemortifyingamountofgratitudeIfeeltowardhim.
“Settledown,Elsie,”hesaysagainsttheskinofmycheek,terseasusual,butalsoincongruouslysoothing.He’sclose—tooclose.I’mclose—tooclose.Notnearlycloseenough?Thesweetoblivionofdeath.“Andstopfidgeting.”
“I’mnotfidgeting,Jack,”Isay,fidgeting.
ButafterasecondIjustgivein.Iclosemyeyes.Relaxintohischest.Feelthescentofhiminmynostrils,anchoringmetosanity.Andwonderwhichone,outofmymillionsofasininelifechoices,ledmetothismoment.1WAVESANDPARTICLES
Twenty-fourhoursearlier
Allthroughoutmiddleschool,myHalloweencostumewasthedualityoflight.
Imadeitwithamarker,drawingabunchofcirclesandzigzaglinesalloveroneofDad’swhiteundershirtsI’drescuedfromthetrashcan.Inhindsight,theproductionvaluewassolow,noteventhephysicsteachermanagedtoguesswhatitwas.Ineverminded,though.I’dwalkaroundthehallwayshearingBillNye’svoiceinmyhead,hisbeautifulexplanationofthewayslightcouldbetwodifferentthingsatonce,dependingonwhatotherswantedtosee:aparticleandawave.
Itseemedlikeawinningidea.AndhadmewonderingifI,too,couldcontaintwo—no,awholemultitudeofElsies.Eachonewouldbecrafted,customtailored,carefullycuratedwithadifferentpersoninmind.I’dgiveeveryonethemetheywanted,needed,craved,andinexchangethey’dcareaboutme.
Easypeasy,photonssqueezy.
Funnyhowmyphysicscareerandmypeople-pleasingcareerstartedaroundthesametime.HowIcandrawastraightlinefrombaby’sfirstquantummechanicsconcepttomycurrentjob.Actually,tobothmycurrentjobs.Thedayone,inwhichIearnnexttonothingbyhatchingphysicaltheoriesthatexplainwhysmallmoleculesclustertogetherlikecliquesofmeangirlsduringlunchhour.Andtheotherone,inwhich…
Well.Theotherone,inwhichIpretendtobesomeoneelse,atleastpayswell
“UnclePaulwilltrytoropeusintoathreesome,again,”Gregtellsme,soulfulbrowneyesfullofapologies,andIdon’thesitate.Idon’tactannoyed.Idon’tshudderinrevulsionthinkingaboutUnclePaul’ssewagebreathorhisoilycomb-over,whichremindsmeofpubichair.
Okay,maybeIdoshudderalittlebit.ButIcoveritupwithasmileandaprofessional“Gotit.”
“Also,”hecontinues,runningahandthroughhismessycurls,“Dadrecentlydevelopedseverelactoseintolerancebutrefusestoeaseuponthedairy.Theremightbe…”
“Gastrointestinalevents.”Understandable.I’dresistgivingupcheese,too
“AndmycousinIzzy—she’sknowntobecomephysicallyaggressivewhenpeopledisagreewithherovertheliteraryvalueoftheTwilightSaga.”
Iperkup.“Issheprooragainst?”
“Against,”Gregsaysdarkly.
IloveTwilightevenmorethancheese,butIcanwithholdmyTEDTalkonwhyAliceandBellashouldhaveleftallthoseidiotsbehindandriddenoffintothesunset.
TeamBellice4evah.
“Understood.”
“Elsie,I’msorry.It’sGrandma’sninetieth.Thewholefamilywillbehere.”Hesighs,breathsmokywhiteinthenightairofthisicyBostonJanuary.“Mom’sgoingtobeatherworst.”
“Don’tworry.”IringthedoorbellofGreg’sgrandmother’stownhouseandoffermymostencouragingsmile.Hehiredmetobehisfakegirlfriend,andhe’llgettheElsiehewantsmetobe:reassuring,yes,butalsogentlybossy.Adominatrixwhodoesn’tliketowieldawhip—butcouldifnecessary.“Rememberourexitstrategy?”
“Pinchyourelbowtwice.”
“I’llsayI’mfeelingpoorly,andwe’llduckout.Andwhenthethreesomeoffercomes,heavilyimplythatIhavegonorrhea.”
“Thatwouldn’tdeterUnclePaul.”
“Genitalwarts?”
“Mmm.Maybe?”Hemassageshistemple.“Theonlygoodthingisthatmybrother’scoming.”
Itense.“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
Stupidquestion.Gregonlyhastheone.“Ithoughtyousaidhe’dbegone?”
“Hisworkdinnergotcanceled.”
Igroaninwardly.
“What?”
Shit,Igroanedoutwardly.“Nothing.”Igrinandsqueezehisarmthroughhiscoat.GregSmithismyfavoriteclient,andIwillseehimthroughthiseveningunscathed.“Letmehandleyourfamily,okay?It’swhatyoupaymefor,afterall.”
Itreallyis.AndI’mgratefuleverydaythatI’veneverhadtoremindhim.ManyofmyclientswondermoreorlessopenlywhatotherservicesImightoffer,eventhoughthetermsofserviceintheFauxappareprettyexplicit.Theycleartheirthroat,stroketheirchin,andask,“Whatexactlyisincludedinthis…fake-girlfriendrate?”I’moftentemptedtorollmyeyesandkneetheminthenuts,butItrytonottakeoffense,tosmilekindly,andtosay,“Notsex.”
Ialso—toanswerthestandardfollow-upquestions—don’tkiss,frot,dirtytalk,getnaked,dobuttstuff,giveBJs,HJs,TJs,andwhateverotherJsmightexistthatI’mnotawareof.Idon’tletthempeeonmeorfondlemyfeet,nordoIfacilitateand/oralloworgasmsinmygeneralvicinity.
Notthattherewouldbeanythingwrong:sexworkislegitimatework,andpeoplewhoengageinitarejustasdeservingofrespectasballerinas,orfirefighters,orhedgefundmanagers.Buttenmonthsago,whenIgraduatedwithaPh.D.intheoreticalphysicsfromNortheastern,IfiguredthatbynowI’dhaveareasonablyremuneratedacademicposition.Ididnotimaginethatattwenty-sevenI’dbepayingmywaterbillbyhelpingadultmenpretendthattheyhavedatinglives.AndyethereIam,fake-girlfriendingmywaythroughmystudentloans.
Nottokillanyone’sbuzz,butI’mstartingtosuspectthatlifemightnotalwaysturnoutthewayyouwant.Anunavoidablelossoffaith:thereareonlysomanytimesonecanbehiredtoprojecttheideathataclientisacharming,well-adjusted,emotionallyavailablehumanbeingcapableofholdingontoamedium-termrelationshipwithanequallyhigh-functioningadult,inorderto…Well,itvaries.I’veneveraskedGregwhyCarolineSmithissoobsessedwiththeideaofherthirty-year-oldsonhavingasignificantother.BasedonsnippetsofoverheardconversationswithintheSmithCinematicUniverse,Isuspectithastodowiththemassiveestatethatwillcomeintoplayoncethematriarchdies,andwiththebeliefthatifheprovidedthefirstgreat-grandchild,he’dbemorelikelytoinherit…adiamond-studdedwaterhose,Iassume?
Richpeople.They’rejustlikeus.
ButGreg’snosymomisstillmuchbetterthanhisbrother,who’sbadnewsforawholebunchofreasonsthatdonotbearcontemplating.Frankly,it’sareliefthatsheismytarget.ItmeansthatwhenthefrontdoorofSmithManoropens,Icanfocussolelyonher:thewithholding,PVC-heartedwomanwhomanagestoair-kissus,fusswithGreg’shair,andpushtwofullglassesofwineintoourhandsallatonce.
“How’slifeinfinance,Gregory?”Carolineasksherson.Hedownshalfofhisdrinkinasinglegulp—IsuspectbecauseI’veheardhimexplainthathedoesnot,infact,workinfinance.Atleastfourtimes.“Andyou,Elsie?”sheaddswithoutwaitingforareply.“Howarethingsatthelibrary?”
FollowingFaux’sguidelines,Itellmyclientsnothingaboutmyself—notmyfullname,notmydayjob,notmytrueopinionsoncilantro(excellent,ifyouenjoyeatingsoap).Andthat,inanutshell,iswhatfake-girlfriendingisabout.ItinitiallyseemedsketchythatpeoplewouldpayforafakedateintheageofTinderandPornhub,andthatthey’dpayme—unremarkableElsieHannawayofthemediumeverything.Mediumheight.Medium-brownhairandeyes.Mediumnose,butt,feet,legs,breasts.Pretty,yeah,sure,butinamedium,nondescriptway.Andyet,mymediummediumnessistheperfectblankslatetofill.Anemptycanvastopainton.Amirror,reflectingonlywhatotherscaretoproject.Aboltoffabricthatcanbecustomtailoredto—well.I’msureeveryone’strackingthemetaphor.
TheElsiethatCarolineSmithwantsissomeoneabletofitinwithpeoplewhousesummerasaverb,notflashyenoughtoattractabettercatchthanGreg,andwiththenurturinginstinctstotakecareofthesonshemightlovebutcannotbebotheredtoknow.Children’slibrarianseemedlikeagreatfakeprofession.It’sbeenfunscouringonlineforumsinsearchofcharminganecdotes.
“TodayIfoundthreeGoldfishcrackersinourbestcopyofMatilda,”Isaywithasmile.Oratleast,Reddituseriluvbigbooksdid.
“Thatishilarious,”Carolinesayswithoutlaughing,smiling,orotherwisedisplayingamusement.Thensheleanscloser,whisperingasthoughherson,who’safootaway,cannothearus.“Wearesogladthatyou’rehere,Elsie.”We,Ibelieve,includesGreg’sdad,whostandssilentlynexttoher,poppingthreecubesofcolbyjackintohismouthwiththevacantsmileofsomeonewho’sbeendissociatingsince1999.“WeweresoworriedaboutGregory.Butnowhe’swithyou,andhe’sneverbeenhappier.”Hashe,though?“Gregory,makesuretospendlotsofqualitytimewithyourgrandmothertonight.IzzyistakingpicswithherPolaroidtogiveherattheendofthenight—makesureyou’reinallofthem.”
“I’llmakesureheis,Mrs.Smith,”Ipromise,weavingmyarmthroughGreg’s.Ibreakthatpromisefifteensecondslater,attheendoftheglitzyhallway.Hedownswhat’sleftofhiswine,stealstwolargegulpsofmine,andthenstage-whispers“Seeyouintenminutes”beforelockinghimselfinsidethebathroom.
Ilaughandlethimbe.Ifeelprotectiveofhim—enoughtobreakFauxstandardprotocolandagreetorepeatfakedates,enoughtowanttodefendhimfrommuggersandpiratesandhisextendedfamily.Maybeit’sthathisfirstsentencetomewasapanicky“Mymotherwon’tstopaskingwhyIdon’tdate,”followedbyahesitant,frazzledexplanationofwhythatwasn’tgoingtohappenanytimesoon—anexplanationthathittooclosetohome.Maybeit’sthathealwayslookslikehowIfeel:tiredandoverwhelmed.Inanothertimelinewe’dbebestfriends,bondingovertheunavoidablestressulcersthatwillsoonravagetheliningsofourstomachs.
Ifindtheemptykitchen,duckinside,andwatchtheredswirldownthedrainasIpourwhat’sleftofmyglassintothesink.Awaste.Ishouldhavejustrefusedit,butthatwouldleadtoquestions,andIdon’twanttoexplainthatalcoholisadangerous,glycemicterroristandthatmystrugglingpancreasdoesnotnegotiatewith—
“Nottoyourtaste?”
Ijump.Andyelp.Andalmostdroptheglass,whichprobablycostsmorethanmygraduateeducation.
IthoughtIwasalone.Wasn’tIalone?Iwasalone.ButGreg’solderbrotherisintheroom,leaningagainstthemarblecounter,armscrossedoverhischest.Thoseuniquemulticoloredeyesofhisarestaringatmewiththeusualinscrutableexpression.I’mstandingbetweenhimandtheonlyentrance—eitherIoverlookedhim,orhebentthespace-timecontinuum.
OrImixedhimupwiththerefrigerator.Theyaresimilarlysized,afterall.
“Areyouokay?”heasks.
“I—yes.Yes,sorry.Ijust…”Iforceasmile.“Hi,Jack.”
“Hi,Elsie.”Hesaysmynamelikeit’sfamiliartohim.Thefirstwordheeverlearned.Secondnature,andnotjustabunchofvowelsandconsonantshe’sbarelyhadreasontousebefore.
Hedoesn’tsmile,ofcourse.Well,hedoessmile,butneveratme.Wheneverwe’reinthesameroom,he’sanimposing,sky-soaring,sternpresencewhosemainpastimeappearstobejudgingmeunworthyofGreg.
“Don’tlikethewine?”
“That’snotit.”Iblink,flustered.There’satattooonhisforearm,justpeekingoutoftherolled-upsleeveofhisshirt.Becauseofcoursehe’swearingjeansandaplaidshirt,eventhoughtheEvitespecificallyaskedforsemiformal.
Buthe’sJackSmith.Hecandowhateverhewants.Heprobablyhasapermitcarvedinthoseridiculousbicepsofhis.Stampedonthebluequarterofhisrighteye,theonethatsticksoutlikeasorethumbinthechestnutofhisirises.
“Thewinewasgreat,”Isay,collectingmyself.“Buttherewasaflyinit.”
“Wasthere?”
Hedoesn’tbelieveme.Idon’tknowhowIknow,butIknow.AndheknowsthatIknow.Icanseeit,no—Icanfeelit.There’satingleatthebaseofmyspine,liquidandsparklyandwarm.Careful,Elsie,itsays.He’llhaveyouarrestedforcrimesagainstgrapes.You’llspendtherestofyourlifeinfederalprison.He’llvisitonceaweektostarethroughtheplexiglassandmakeyouuncomfortable.
“Izzymustbelookingforyou,”Isay,hopingtogetridofhim.“She’supstairs.”
“Iknow,”hereplies,notheadingupstairs.Hejuststudiesme—attentive,calm,likeheknowssomethingsecretaboutme.ThatIflossonceaweek,tops.ThatIcan’tfigureoutwhattheDowJonesis,evenafterreadingtheWikipediaentry.Other,scarier,darkerthings.
“Isyourgirlfriendhere?”Iasktofillthesilence.Heoncebroughtsomeonetoafamilything.Ageologist.ThemostbeautifulwomanI’veeverseen.Nice.Funny,too.IwishIcouldsayshewasoutofhisleague.
“No.”
Silence,again.Morestaring.IsmiletohidehowaggressivelyI’mgrindingmyteeth.“It’sbeenawhile.”
“SinceLaborDay.”
“Oh,right.Iforgot.”
Ididnotforget.Beforetoday,I’vemetJacktwice,asintwotimes,oneandthenanother,andthey’rebothstubbornlywedgedinmybrain,aspleasantasspinachleavesstuckbetweenmolars.
ThefirstwasGreg’sbirthdaydinner,whenJackandIshookhandsandhenoddedbackatmetightly,whenhespentthenightgivingmelong,searchingglances,whenIoverheardhimaskGreg,“Wheredidyoumeether?”and“Howlonghasitbeen?”and“Howseriousisthis?”withaninquisitive,deceptivelycasualtonethatsentanoddshiverdownmyspine.
SoJackSmithwasn’tafan.Okay.Fine.Whatever.
Andthentherewasthesecond.Lateinthesummer,attheSmiths’LaborDaypoolparty,whereIdidn’tswim.Becausethere’snowaytohidemypodinabikini.
I’mnotembarrassedtobediabetic.I’vehadnearlytwodecadestomakepeacewithmyoveractiveimmunesystem,whichhaswaytoomuchfundestroyingnecessarycells.Butpeople’sreactionstotheknowledgethatImustpumpinsulinintomybodyontheregcanbeunpredictable.WhenIwasdiagnosed(atten,afteraseizureintheschoolgymthatearnedmethecruelbutuncreativenicknameofShakyElsie),Ioverheardmyparentschat,lowwhispersbehindthehospitalroom’sdividercurtains.
“Notthis,too.”Momsoundedexhausted.
“Iknow.”Dadsoundedthesame.“It’sgottabeonus.Lanceisflunkingoutofhighschool.Lucasisgoingtobearrestedforfist-fightingintheWalmartparkinglotanydaynow.Ofcoursetheoneeasygoingkidwegotturnsouttohavesomething.”
“It’snotherfault.”
“No.”
“Butit’sgoingtobeexpensive.”
“Yeah.”
Idon’tblamemyparents:mybrotherLancedideventuallyflunkoutofschool(andnowmakesanexcellentlivingasanelectrician),justlikeLucasdidendupbeingarrested(albeitbehindaShakeShack,andforpossessionofdrugsthatarenowlegal).MomandDadweretired,overwhelmed.Alittlepoor.They’dhopedforabreak,somethingeasyforonce,andIwastrulysorryIwasn’tit.Tomakeituptothem,I’vetriedtomakemyhealthissues—andanyothersubsequentissues—asignorableaspossible.
Ifindthatpeoplelikemebetteriftheydon’thavetoexpendemotionalenergyonme.
That’swhyIdidn’tswimattheSmithLaborDayparty,optingtositonablanketandeatasliceofcake,anartfullyarrangedsmileonmyface.WhyImiscalculatedthecarbsIateandtheinsulinI’dneed.AndwhyIstumbledacrossthelawnoftheSmiths’Manchester-by-the-Seavacationhomehighonglucose,visionblurry,headpounding,tryingtorememberwhereI’dputmyphonesothatIcouldadjustmybolus,and—
IwalkedrightintoJack.
Literally.Ididn’tseehimandsteppedintohischestlikeitwasasupermassiveblackhole.Whichitwasn’t.Ablackhole,thatis.Plentysupermassive,though.
“Elsie?”Ugh.Hisvoice.“Youokay?”
“Yeah.Yeah,I…”Amgoingtopuke.
Hecuppedmycheek,scanningmyface.“ShouldIcallGreg?”
“Nonee—”Painknifedthroughmyhead.
“I’mcallingGreg.”
“No—don’tcallGreg,please.”
Hescowled.“Why?”
“Because—”Becausegoodfakegirlfriendsarelowmaintenance.Theysmile,don’thavestrongopinionsoncilantro,andnever,everdragyouawayfromapoolparty.“Canyou—Ineedtogototherestroomand—myphone—”
AmomentlaterIwasinabathroomthatlookedlikealuxuryspa,purseinmylap.AndI’dlovetosaythatIdon’trememberhowIgotthere,butthere’safloatingmemoryinmyhead,amemoryofstrongarmspickingmeup;ofbeingcarried,buoyantasabird;ofwarmbreathonmytemple,murmuringwordsIcannotrecall.
Andthat,unfortunately,wasthat.WasJackkindandhelpful?Yup.DidhebelievethestoryIlatermadeupaboutnotwantingtobotherGregwithmymigraines?Doubtful,consideringhisskeptical,cold,insistentlook.MaybehesuspectsI’mondrugs.Maybehe’safraidI’lltainttheSmithlinewithmyweakheadachegenes.Surelyhebelieveshisbrothercandobetter.
Butitdoesn’tmatter.Jack’snotmytarget—hismotheris.Whichisgood,becauseIdon’thavethefaintestideawhotheElsiethatJackwantsis.
It’sunprecedented.I’maproatpickingupcues,butJack—hegivesmenothing.Idon’tknowwhattoampup,whattotonedown;whattohideandwhattofake;whatpersonalitytosacrificeathisaltar.It’slikehe’stryingtopuzzlemeoutwithoutchangingme—andthat’simpossible.That’snothowpeopleare,notwithme.
Sowhenheasks“Howhaveyoubeen,Elsie?”withatonethatfeelsjustatouchtooinquisitive,Ismileasneutrallyaspossible.
“Theusual.Fantastic.”Notabouttocollapseonyou,foronce.“You?Howarethingsatwork?”He’ssomekindofPEteacher,Gregmentioned.Unsurprising,sincehe’sbuiltlikesomeonewhohasaCrossFitdecalonhiscaranddrinksproteinshakeswhilereadingMen’sHealth’spowerliftingcolumn.TheotherSmithsarelithe,insubstantialbrunettes.Andthenthere’sthissandy-hairedbrickhouse,afoottallerthanhistallestrelative,allmasculinefeaturesandcuttingdeepvoice.Mytheory:overworkednurse,hospitalcribswitch-up.“Havingagoodsemester?”
Hegrunts,noncommittal.“Haven’tmurderedanyofmystudents.Yet.”
Asurprisinglyrelatablesentiment.“Soundslikeawin.”
“Nottome.”
Shit.He’smakingmesmile.“Whydoyouwanttomurderthem?”
“Theywhine.Theydon’treadthesyllabus.”SyllabiforPE?Mygymteacher’sentirecurriculumwasshame-spiralingusforfailingtoclimbtherope.Education’smakingstrides.“Theylie.”
Iswallow.“Lieaboutwhat?”
“Aboutseveralthings.”Hiseyesgleam,andhislipstwitch,andhisshouldershulkunderhisshirtand—
Iusedtothink—no,Iusedtoknowthatlight-hairedguysweren’tattractive.Middleschool?EveryonewentafterLegolas,butIwasanAragorngirl.“WhichGameofThronesHouseAreYou”BuzzFeedquiz?NeveraTargaryen.IhatethatIlookatJackSmith,withhisgoodjawandhisgooddimplesandthosegoodhands,andfindhimhandsome.
MaybeIjustwon’tlook.Yes,excellentplan.
“Excuseme,”Isaypolitely.“IbetGreg’slookingforme.”Iturnbeforehecanreply,immediatelyfeelinglikeImanagedtofreemyselffromagravitationalsingularity.
Phew.
Thelivingroom’sacoupleoftwistsandturnsaway,largebutcrowded,prettydespitetheoverabundanceofnavalpaintingsandaggressiveleatherfurniture.IspendafewminutesreassuringGreg’sauntthatwe’llconsultherbeforechoosingacatererforthewedding;pretendingnottonoticeUnclePaullickinghislipsatme;amiablychattingwithanassortmentofcousinsabouttheweather,traffic,andbadTwilighttakes.Thebirthdaygirlisopeningpresentsbythefireplace,tellingoneofherdaughters-in-law,“Acouponforamudbath?Lovely.It’llfeellikepracticeforwhenI’mloweredinmygraveandyouallfightovermymoney.”
It’sonbrand:thefirsttimeImetMillicentSmith,sheputbothhandsonmyshouldersandtoldme,“Havingkidswastheworstmistakeofmylife.”Hereldestsonwasstandingrightnexttoher.Ihaveyettoascertainwhethersheisamalevolenthagorjustunintentionallycruel.Eitherway,she’smyfavoriteSmithcharacter.
Iwanderawaywithasmile,windingupatthehalf-playedGoboardinthecorneroftheroom.It’sbeenhereeversincemyfirstvisit,thewoodensquaresandporcelainstonesincongruousamidthecoastaldecor.Gregischattingwithhisdad,andIwonderifwe’llleavesoon.Ihavethirty-threeVibrations,Waves,andOpticsessaystograde,whichneedtonailit.There’snomarginoferror,sinceit’smywayoutofspendingmynightsfakedatingandmydaysexchangingemailswithsexxxy.chad.420@hotmail.comaboutwhetherhischinchilla’sglutenallergyshouldreleasehimfromthePhysics101midterm.I’llhavetorehearseitaminimumofeleventimes—i.e.,thenumberofdimensionsaccordingtoM-theory,myfavoriteüber-stringversion—
“Doyouplay?”
Istartle.Again.Jackstandsontheothersideoftheboard,darkeyesstudyingme.Allhisrelativesarehere—whyishewastingpreciousfamilytimetopesterhisbrother’sfakegirlfriend?
“Elsie?”Myname,again.Saidliketheuniversemadethatwordforhimalone.“Iasked,doyouplay?”Hesoundsamused.Ihatehim.
“Oh.Um,abit.”Understatement.Goismindtwistingandpunishinglyintricate—therefore,manyphysicists’extracurricularactivityofchoice.“Doyou?”
Jackdoesn’tanswer.Insteadheaddsafewwhitestones.
“Oh,no.”Ishakemyhead.“It’ssomeoneelse’sgame.Wecan’t—”
“Blackokay?”
Notreally.ButIswallowandhesitantlyreachforthestonesandsetthemdown.Myprideplaysanicelittletug-of-waragainstmysurvivalinstincts:Iwon’tconcealmyGoskillsandletJackwin,butforallIknowlosingwilltransformhimintoafire-breathingbisonandhe’llincinerateaload-bearingwall.Idon’twanttodieinahousecollapse,nexttoJackSmithandhisthreesome-obsesseduncle.
“How’sGreg?”heasks.
“He’soverthere,withyourcousin,”Isayabsentmindedly,watchinghimplacemorestones.Hishandsarestupidlylarge.Butalsograceful,anditmakesnosense.Alsomakesnosense?Therearetwochairs,butwe’renotsitting.
“Buthowishe?”
Inmyhumbleexperience,siblingsatbesttolerateeachother,andatworstspitguminoneanother’shair.(Mine.Myhair.)JackandGreg,though,areclose—forundivinablereasons,giventhatGreg’salikablehumandisasterfullofSturmundDrang,whileJack…I’mnotsurewhatJack’sdealis.There’sadashofbadboythere,ahintofmystery,adollopofsmoothness.Andyetatouchofhunger,araw,unrefinedair.Mostly,helookscool.Toocooltoevenbecool.LikemaybeinhighschoolheskippedtheschooldanceforaGuggenheimfellow’sartexhibitionandsomehowstillmanagedtogetelectedpromking.
Jacklooksdistant.Uninterested.Effortlesslyconfident.Charismaticinanintriguinglyopaque,inaccessibleway.
ButhedoescareforGreg.AndGregcaresforhim.Iheardhimsay,withmyowntwoears,thatJackishis“bestfriend,”someonehe“cantrust.”AndIlistenedwithoutpointingoutthathecan’treallytrusthisbestfriendJackthatmuch,orhe’dbehonestwithhimaboutthefakedating—becauseI’masupportivefakegirlfriend.
“Greg’sgood.Whydoyouask?”
“WhenwetalkedtheotherdayhesoundedstressedaboutWoodacre.”
About…what?IsthissomethingGreg’sgirlfriendshouldknow?“Ah,yes,”Ifib.“Alittle.”
“Alittle?”
Ibusymyselfwiththestones.I’mnotwinningaseasilyasIexpected.“It’sgettingbetter.”Everythingdoeswithtime,right?
“Isit?”
“Verymuch.”Inodenthusiastically.
Henods,too.Lessenthusiastically.“Really?”
Jack’sactuallynotbadatGo.HowhaveInotwipedthefloorwithhimyet?“Really.”
“IthoughtWoodacrewasinacoupleofdays.IfiguredGreg’dbeupset.”
Itense.MaybeIshouldhaveaskedGregfortalkingpoints.“Oh,yeah,true.Nowthatyoumentionit—”
“Remindme,Elsie.”Hetakesatinystepclosertotheboard,toweringovermelikeatoweringtower.ButI’mnotshort.Irefusetofeelshort.“What’sWoodacre,again?”
Crap.“It’s”—Itryforanamusedexpression—“Woodacre,ofcourse.”
JackgivesmeaDon’tbullshitmelook.“That’snotananswer,isit?”
“It’s…”Iclearmythroat.“AthingGreg’sworkingon.”TheextentofwhatI’vebeentoldaboutGreg’sjob?Thathe’sadatascientist.“Idon’tknowthedetails.It’scomplicatedsciencestuff.”Ismileairily,asthoughIdon’tspendmylifebuildingcomplexmathematicalmodelstouncovertheoriginsoftheuniverse.Myhearthurts.
“Complicatedsciencestuff.”Jackstudiesmelikehe’speelingoffmyskinandexpectstofindabananarottinginside.
“Yeah.PeoplelikeyouandIwouldn’tunderstand.”
Hefrowns.“PeoplelikeyouandI.”
“Yeah.Imean.”Iholdhiseyesandputdownanotherstone.“Whatevenarenumbers—”
Isnapmymouthshut.Wemusthavereachedforthesamesquare.MyfingersbrushagainstJack’s,andsomethingelectricandunidentifiablelicksupmyarm.Iwaitforhimtopullaway,buthedoesn’t.Eventhoughitwasmyturn.Wasn’titmyturn?I’mprettysure—
“Well,ifitisn’tadraw.”
Iyankbackmyhand.Millicentisnexttome,staringattheboard.Ifollowhergazeandnearlygasp,because…she’sright.
Ijustnot-thrashedJackFreakingSmithatGo.
“It’sbeenalongtimesinceJackhasn’twonagame,”Millicentsayswithapleasedsmile.
It’sbeenalongtimesinceIhaven’twonagame.Whatthehell?IlookupatJack—stillstaring,stillfurrowinghisbrow,stilljudgingmesilently.Mybrainblanks.Ipanicandblurtoutthefirstthingthatcomestomind.“TherearemorelegalboardpositionsinGothantheatomsintheknownuniverse.”
Asnort.“Someone’sbeentellingmesincehewasbarelyoutofdiapers.”MillicentglancesshrewdlyatJack,whoisstillStaring.At.Me.“YouandElsiemakeforaverygoodcouple.Although,Jack,mydear,sheshouldstillsignaprenup.”
Idon’timmediatelyunderstandwhatshe’ssaying.ThenIdoandturncrimsonallover.“Oh,no.Mrs.Smith,I’m—I’mdatingGreg.Yourothergrandson.”
“Areyousure?”
What?“I—yes.Ofcourse.”
“Didn’tseemlikeit.”Sheshrugs.“ButwhatdoIknow?I’maninety-year-oldbatwhofrolicsinmud.”Iwatchhershuffletowardthecanapétable.ThenIturntoJackwithanervouslaugh
“Wow.Thatwas—”
He’sstillstaring.Atme.Stonefaced.Intent.Sectoralheterochromic.LikeI’minteresting,veryinteresting,very,veryinteresting.Iopenmymouthtoaskhimwhat’sgoingon.Todemandarematchtothedeath.Tobeghimtoquitcountingtheporesinmynose.Andthat’swhen—
“Smile,guys!”
Iwhipmyheadaround,andtheflashofIzzy’sPolaroidinstantlyblindsme.
???
“Myparents’anniversarynextmonthshouldbethelasttimeIneedtotakeyoualong.”Gregsignalsrightandpullsintomybuilding’sparkinglot.“After,I’lltellMomyoubrokeupwithme.Ibeggedyounotto.Serenadedyou.Boughtyoumyweightinplushies—allinvain.”
Inodsympathetically.“You’reheartbroken.Tooinconsolabletodatesomeoneelse.”
“ImightneedtofindsolaceinaSpotifyplaylist.”
“Orfrostyourtips.”
Hegrimaces.Ilaugh,andoncethecarstopsIleanagainstthepassengerdoortostudyhishandsomeprofileintheyellowlights.“TellherthatIcheatedonyouwiththeGrubhubdeliveryguy.It’llbuyyoulongermopingrights.”
“Brilliant.”
We’resilentwhileIthinkaboutGreg’ssituation.Thereasonheevenneedsafakegirlfriend.Whathefeltcomfortabletellingme,astranger,andnothisownfamily.Howsimilarweare.“Afterthisisdone,ifyouneed…ifyouwantsomeonetotalkto.Afriend.I’dloveto…”
Hissmileisgenuine.“Thanks,Elsie.”
I’mbarelyoutofthecar.IcecrinklesundertheheelofmybootasIturnaround.“Oh,Greg?”
“Yes?”
“What’stheWoodacrething?”
Hegroans.Hisnecktipsbackagainsttheheadrest.“It’sasilentmeditationretreatourbossisforcingustodo.We’releavingtomorrow—fourdaysofnocontactwiththeoutsideworld.Noemail,noTwitter.HegottheideafromaGoopnewsletter.”
Oh.“Soithasnothingtodowith…complicatedscience?”
Hegivesmeadesperatelook.“Theopposite.Why?”
“Ah…”Iclosemyeyes.Letmortificationsinkitsfangsintomybrain.“Noreason.Haveagoodnight,Greg.”
Iclosethepassengerdoor,wavehalf-heartedly,andletthefrigidairpopintomylungs.TheNorthStarblinksatmefromthesky,andIremembertomorrow’sjobinterview.
Itdoesn’tmatteriftonightImadeafoolofmyselfwithGreg’spunch-worthybrother.Becausewithjustasprinkleofluck,ImightneverhavetoseeJackSmithagain.2NUCLEARFISSION
From:sexxxy.chad.420@hotmail.com
Subject:Re:Re:Re:Mychinchilla
HeyDoctorH.,
Iunderstandyoudon’tcareaboutChewieMcChewerton’sglutenallergy,butwhataboutthefactthatlastnightIgotaDUI?DoesthatgetmeoutofthePhysics101midterm?
Sincerely,
Chad
From:McCormackE@umass.edu
Subject:can’tcometoclass
plsfindattachedapicofmyvomitthismorning
Emmett
From:Dupont.Camilla@bu.edu
Subject:MerchantofVenicereflectionpaper
DrHannaday,
IwaswonderingifyoucouldquicklygivefeedbackonwhatIwroteregardingtheimageryoftheleadcasket.Pleasefindtheworddocattached.
Sincerely,
Cam
From:michellehannaway5@gmail.com
Subject:ELSIECONTACTMEASAPYOURBROTHERSAREBEINGUNREASONABLEAGAINANDINEEDHELPITRIEDTOCALLLASTNIGHTBUTNOANSWER
[thisemailhasnobody]
From:Monica.Salt@mit.edu
Subject:MITInterview—FacultyPosition
DearDoctorHannaway,
IwantedtosayonceagainhowexcitedIamthatyou’llbeinterviewingforatenuretrackpositioninthephysicsdepartmenthereatMIT.WeareextremelyimpressedwithyourCV,andhavenarroweddownourchoicetoyouandanothercandidate.ThesearchcommitteeandIarelookingforwardtogettingtoknowyouinformallytonight,atdinneratMiel,beforeyouron-campusinterviewstartstomorrow.
Ifthat’sokaywithyou,I’dlikeforthetwoofustomeetaloneafewminutesbeforethedinneratMieltochatabit.ThereareafewthingsI’dliketoexplain.
Best,
MonicaSalt,Ph.D.
A.M.WentworthProfessorofPhysics
DepartmentofPhysics,Chair
MIT
Myheartsparkswithexcitement.
IsetmyteaonthekitchentableandclickReply,toassureMonicaSaltthatyes,absolutely,ofcourse:Iwillmeetherwheneverandwherevershewants,includingtheplainsofMordorattwofifteena.m.,becausesheholdsthekeytomyfuture.Butthesecondmyhandclosesaroundthemouse,excruciatingpainstabsmypalmandshootsupmyarm.
Iscreechandjumpoutofmychair.“Whatthefu—?”
“Wherearethey?Wherearethey?”Myroommatestaggersintothekitchen,wearingonesiepajamasandaNoamChomskysleepmaskpulleduptoherforehead.Also:swingingaplasticbaseballbatlikeamadwoman.“LeavenoworI’llcall911!Thisistrespassing!”
“Cece—”
“Amisdemeanorandafelony!Youwillbearrestedforbattery!Mycousinistakingthebarthisyear,andshewillsueyouformillionsofdollars—”
“Cece,noone’sinhere.”
“Oh.”Shewindmillsthebatafewmoretimes,blinkingowlishly.“Whyarewescreaming,then?”
“Thefactthatyourporcupinedecidedtoimpersonatemymousemightberelated.”
“Hedgehog—youknowshe’sahedgehog.”
“DoI.”
Sheyawns,tossingthebatbackintoherroom.Itmisses,bouncingemptilyacrossthechippedlinoleumfloor.“Smaller.Cuter.Quillier.Also,HedgizabethBennet?Notaporcupinename.”
“Right.Sorry.”Icradlemyhandtomychest.“Thesearingpainhadmeatadoutofsorts.”
“It’sokay.Hedgie’sakindsoul—sheforgivesyou.”Cecepicksherup.“Doyou?DoyouforgiveElsieformisspeciesingyou,baby?”
IglareatHedgie,whostaresbackwithbeady,triumphanteyes.Thatmalignantsentientpincushion.I’mgoingtofryyouupwithscallions,Imouth.
IsweartoGod,herspinespuffupalittle.
“Wherewereyoulastnight?”Ceceasks,blessedlyunawareofourinterspecieswar.Iwonderwhatitsaysofmethatmybestfriend’sbestfriendisahedgehog.“Faux?ThatGregguy?”
“Yup.”
“How’ditgo?”
“Good.”IsuddenlyrecallnotcrushingJackSmithlikeanegg.“Well,fine.Yours?”
CeceandIgotintofakedatingduringthefinancialandemotionaldarkagesofourlives:graduateschool.Iwasdowntotwopairsofnon-mismatchedsocks,livingoffcomputationalcosmologytheoremsandinstantramen.Inhindsight,Iwasperilouslyclosetodevelopingscurvy.Then,onadarkandstormynight,asIcontemplatedsellingaheartvalve,myformerfriendJ.J.textedmealinktoFaux’srecruitmentpage.Thecaptionwasalaughingemoji,theonewithtearsshootingoutoftheeyes,andasimpleCheckthisout!It’slikethatthingwedidincollege.
Ifrowned,likeIoftendowhenremindedofJ.J.’sexistence,andneverreplied.ButIdidnoticethatthehourlyrateswerehigh.AndinbetweenTA’ingMultivariableCalculus,forminganopiniononloopquantumgravity,andtryingnottopunchmyall-malefellowgradsforconstantlyassumingthatIshouldbetheonemakingtheircoffee,Ifoundmyselfmakingaprofile.Theninterviewing.Thenbeingmatchedwithmyfirstclient—adorkytwenty-year-oldwhogavemeapleadinglookandasked,“Canyoupretendtobemyage?AndCanadian?Wemetineighthgradeatsummercamp,andyournameisKlarissa,withaK.Also,ifanyoneasks,Iamnotavirgin.”
“Aretheylikelytoask?”
Heconsideredit.“Iftheydon’t,couldyoucasuallybringitup?”
Itturnedoutnottobethatbad,soIaskedCeceifshewantedtotryit,too.IswearIdon’tsecretlyhateher.ItwasjusttheonlythingIcouldthinkofuponrealizingthatwe’dbothmadethestupidestofcareerchoices(i.e.,academia).We’reovereducatedandtoopoortosurvive—asevidencedbyourcrappyapartment,fullofexposedwiringandscaryspidersthatlooklikethelovechildrenofmurderhornetsandcoconutcrabs.Ifwehadasitcom-likegroupoffriends,we’dholdanasbestos-removalparty.Sadly,it’sjustus.Andthebarelyavoidedscurvy.
“So.”Shestealsmyteamugandhopsonthecounter.Ilether:noneedforcaffeineafterthesheeragonyofathousandneedles.“Theysentmetothisguy.”
“What’shisdeal?”Meaning:Whatdeep-seated,soul-scorchingtraumadraggedthispoorsapoutoftheprimordialswampandmadehimshelloutwadsofcashtopretendhe’snotalone?
“He’soneofyours.”
“Ofmine?”
“Ascientist.”
Ceceisalinguist,finishingupherPh.D.atHarvard.Wefirstmetwhenherformerroommatemovedout:apparently,Hedgiehadchewedherwaythroughhisboxerbriefs.Alsoapparently:blasting“ImmigrantSong”whilemakingpoachedeggsonSaturdaymorningsisnotsomethingnormalpeopleputupwith.Cecewasdesperateforsomeonetohelpwithrent.IfeltasifI’djustbeenskinnedalive,andwasdesperatenottobelivingwithJ.J.Twodesperatesouls,whofoundeachotherindesperatetimesanddesperatelybonded—overthefactthatIcouldscrapetogethersevenhundreddollarsamonth,wasnotattachedtomyunderwear,andownedasetofnoise-cancelingheadphones.
Frankly,Iluckedout.Roommatefeudsareapain,whatwiththepassive-aggressivenotesandtheaggressive-aggressiveWindexpoisoning.Iwasreadytobend,twist,andcarvemypersonalityamilliondifferentwaystogetalongwithCece.Asitturnsout,theElsiethatCecewantsisconvenientlyclosetotheElsieIam:someonewho’llcompanionablypigoutoncheesewhileshecomplainsaboutacademia;who,likeher,choosestousechildren’sTylenolbecauseittasteslikegrape.Idohavetofakeanappreciationforavant-gardecinema,butit’sstillasurprisinglyrelaxingfriendship.
“Whatkindofscientistishe?”
“Istheremorethanonekind?”
Ismile.
“Chemist.Orengineer?Hewas…handsome.Funny.Hemadeajokeaboutmulch.Myfirstmulchjoke.Poppedmymulchcherry.”Hertoneisvaguelydreamy.“Hejust…seemslikesomeoneyou’dwanttodate,youknow?”
“I’dwanttodate?”
“Well”—shewavesherhand—“notyouyou.You’dratherwalkintotheseawithstonesinyourpocketsthandate—thoughthat’sbecauseofyourbasicmisconceptionthathumanromanticrelationshipscanonlysucceedifyouhideandshapeyourselfintowhatyouthinkotherswantyoutobe—”
“Notamisconception.”
“—butotherpeoplewouldnotbanKirkfromtheirchambers.”
“Kirk,huh?”
IinitiallyfearedthatCecewouldabysmallyfailatfake-girlfriending.Forone,she’swaytoobeautiful.Herwide-aparteyes,pointychin,andCupid’s-bowylipsmightbeunconventional,butshelookslikethesexiest,moststunningbugintheuniverse.Secondly:she’stheoppositeofablankslate.AthingofnaturewhopeeswiththedooropenandeatsChexMixascereal,fullofluridanecdotesaboutdeadlinguists’sexlivesdoledoutwithacharminglisp.Ibarelyletanyofmypersonalitycomethrough,butshebombardspeople.
Anditdidturnouttobeaproblem:clientslikeherwaytoomuch.
“Whatdoyoutellthemwhentheyaskyoutodateforreal?”sheaskedmeonenight.WeweresplittingabagofBabybelswhilewatchingaRussiansilentmovieineightparts.
“Notsure.”Iwonderediftheguywhoofferedmeseventybuckstohavesexinhisnearbyparkedcarqualified.Probablynot.“It’sneverhappened.”
“Wait—really?”
“Nope.”Ishrugged.“Nooneeverasksmeout,really.”
“Noway.”
Iletthecheesemeltinmymouth.On-screen,someonehadbeensobbingfortwenty-fiveminutes.“Idon’tthinkpeopleseemeasdatingmaterial.”
“They’reintimidated.Becauseyou’reagenius.Andpretty.Andnice.Hedgielovesyou,andshe’sthebestjudgeofcharacter.Also,youknowlotsabouttheTadpoleGalaxy.”
Fact-check:noneofthisistrue—exceptforthelastbit.Sadly,listingrandomfactsaboutstarclustersfourhundredmillionlight-yearsawayisnotconsideredloveinterestmaterial.
“KirktheScientistaskedifhecouldhiremeagain,”Cecesaysnow.“Nextweek.Isaidyes.”
Itrytosoundcasual.“Fauxhasaone-datepolicy.”
“Iknow.Butyoubrokeit,too,forGreg.”Sheshrugs,tryingtolookcasual.Lotsofcasualgoingon.Hmm.“Ofcourse,Imightcancel,sincebynextweekyou’llhaveyourfancyMITjob,andIshallretirefromthefake-datingscenetobecomeyourkeptBFF.”
Isitbackinmychairand—Iwantitbad,sobad,Imoan.Mywayoutoffake-girlfriending.Aboveall,mywayoutofthecrappiest,lamestcircleofacademia:theoneofadjunctprofessors.
IknowthatIsounddramatic.Iknowthatthetitleconjuresloftyimages.Professor?Hasprestige,nurturesminds,wearstweedjackets.Adjunct?Prettyword,startswiththefirstletterofthealphabet,remindsonefaintlyofasneeze.WhenItellpeoplethatI’manadjunctprofessorofphysicsatseveralBostonuniversities,theythinkthatImadeitinlife.ThatI’madulting.AndIletthem.Takemymom:shehaslotstoworryabout,betweenmyidiotbrotherandmyotheridiotbrother.It’sgoodforhertobelievethatherdaughterisafullyoperationalhumanbeingwithaccesstobasichealthcare.
Notgoodforher?ToknowthatIteachninecoursesandcommutebetweenthreedifferentuniversities,translatingintosomefivehundredstudentssendingmepicsoftheweirdrashontheircrotchtogettheirabsenceexcused.ThatImakesolittlemoney,it’salmostnomoney.ThatIhavenolong-termcontractorbenefits.
Cuemournfulviolinsonata.
It’snotthatIdon’tliketeaching.It’sjustthat…Ireallydisliketeaching.Really,really,really.I’mconstantlydrowningintheever-swallowingquicksandofstudentemails,andI’mwaytooscreweduptoshapeyoungmindsintoanythingthat’snotaberrant.Mydreamsofphysicsacademiaalwaysentailedmeasafull-timeresearcher,ablackboard,andlonghoursspentponderingthetheoriesontheequatorialsectionsofSchwarzschildwormholes
AndyethereIam.Adjunctingandfake-girlfriendingontheside.Teachingload:100percent.Despairload:incalculable.
Butthingsmightbeturningaround.Adjunctsarecheaplabor,thegigworkersofacademia,buttenure-trackpositions…oh,tenuretracks.Ishiverjustthinkingaboutthem.Ifadjunctsfloatlikebuoysintheopensea,tenuretracksareoilrigscementedintotheoceanfloor.IfadjunctsopenNickelbackconcerts,tenuretracksheadlineCoachella.IfadjunctsareLaughingCowwedges,tenuretracksarepulecheese,lovinglymadefromthemilkofSerbianBalkandonkeys.
Pointis,I’vebeenacademia’sdisposablefakegirlfriendforawhilenow,andI’mexhausted.I’malldone.I’mreadytograduatetoarealrelationship,ideallysomethinglastingwithMIT—who’llputa401(k)andaringonit.
Unlesstheychoosetheotherphysicistthey’reinterviewing.OhGod.Whatiftheychoosetheotherphysicistthey’reinterviewing?
“Elsie?Areyouthinkingaboutwhetherthey’llhiretheothercandidate?”
“Don’treadmymind,please.”
Cecelaughs.“Listen—theywon’t.You’retheshit.Allthoseyearsingradschoolspentthinkingaboutmultiversesandbinomialequationsand…protons?”Iliftmyeyebrow.“Fine,Ihavenoideawhatyoudo.Butyouforsookasociallife—andoftentimespersonalhygiene—toelevateyourselfabovetheseaofmediocrewhitementhatistheoreticalphysics.Andnow—onejobopeningthisyear,one,andoutofhundredsofapplicants,you’reinthefinalround—”
“Twojobopenings.Ididn’tgetaninterviewforDuke—”
“BecauseDuke’sanepotisticswampandthepositionwasalreadyearmarkedforthechair’scousin’sson’sgirlfriend’sllama,orwhatever.”Shehopsoffthecounterandsitsacrossfromme,reachingouttocupmyhand.“You’regoingtogetthejob.Iknowit.Justbeyourselfduringtheinterview.”Shebitesherlip.“UnlessyoucanbeStephenHawking.Isthereanywayyoucould—”
“No.”
“Thenyourselfwilldo.”Shesmiles.“Thinkofthefuture.Ofyourlivablesalary,whichwillallowustohiresomebrawnyladtocomeliftthetoppartofthecredenzaontothebottompartofthecredenza.”Shepointsatthehutchinthecornerofthelivingroom.CeceandIhitawallmid-assembly.Threeyearsago.“AndofcourseitwillkeepmeinthecheeselifestyleIamaccustomedto.”
It’seasy,withCece,tosmileandletmyselfbelieve.“Unlimitedpecorinoromano.”
“Andalltheinsulinyourworthlesspancreasdesires.”
“Concretebricks.TosquashtheRaid-resistantcrab-hornetspiders.”
“AlittleplasmaTVforHedgie’sterrarium.”
“Matching‘academiasux’tattoos.”
“Agoldentoilet.”
“Agoldenbidet.”
Wegasp.Thenlaugh.ThenIsoberup.“Ijustwanttobepaidtocontemplatecosmologicalmodelsoftheobservableuniverse,youknow?”
“Iknow.”Hersmilesoftens.“WhatdoesDr.L.sayaboutyourchances?”
Laurendeau—orDr.L.,asI’dneverdaretocallhimtohisface—wasmyPh.D.advisorandisthepersontowhomIoweeverysinglebitofmyacademicsuccess.He’sjustasinvolvedinmycareerashewasbeforeIgraduated,andI’mconstantlythankfulforit.“Optimistic.”
“Thereyougo.Howmanydaysistheinterviewgoingtobe?”
“Three.”
“Youstarttoday?”
“Yup.Informalinterviewdinnertonight.”Ithinkaboutthechairwantingtomeetmeearly.Isitpromising?Inauspicious?Weird?Noclue.“Teachingdemonstrationtomorrow.Researchtalkandafinalreceptionthedayafter.Variousmeetingswithfacultymembersscatteredthroughout.”
“Didyouprep?”
“Is‘prep’rockingmyself?Contemplatingmyownmortality?Sacrificingalivecreaturetothegodsofacademia?”IglanceatHedgie,wholooksdutifullycowed.
“Haveyoustalkedthesearchcommitteeonline?”
“Ihaven’tbeengiventheirnamesoradetaileditineraryyet.It’sjustaswell—Ineedtoansweremails.Andbuypantyhose.Andcallmymom.”
“No,no,no.”Ceceliftsherhand.“Donotcallyourmom.She’lljustdumpallherproblemsonyou.Youneedtofocus,notlistentoherbitchabouthowyourbrothersarepunchingeachotheroverthelasthotdog.”
“Woman—they’reconsideringfratricideoverawoman.”TheHannaways:primeJerrySpringermaterial.
“Doesn’tmatter.Promisemethatifyourmomcalls,you’lltellherabouttheinterview.Andthatyourchildhoodwasmediocre,atbest.”
Imullitover.“HowaboutIpromisetoavoidherforafewdays?”
Shesquints.“Fine.Soyou’regoingoutforthepantyhose?”
“Yup.”
“Canyoustopbythestoretogetmecereal?”
Idon’treallyhavetimeforthat.Butwhatdoesn’tkillyoumakesyoustronger.Ormakesyouresentyourpathologicalinabilitytosetboundaries,oneofthetwo.“Sure.Whatkind—”
“No!”Sheslapsherhandonthetable.“Elsie,youhavetolearntosayno.”
Imassagemytemple.“Willyoupleasestoptestingme?”
“I’llstopwhenyoustopputtingothers’needsinfrontofyours.”Shesetsdownher—my—emptymugandpicksupHedgie.“Gottapee.Youstillwanttoborrowmyreddressfortonight?”
Ifrown.“Ineveraskedtoborrowyour—”
“AndI’llalsodoyourmakeup,ifyouinsist.”
“Ireallydon’tneed—”
“Fine,youwin—I’llpluckyoureyebrows,too.”Cecewinks.Hedgieglares,parrot-perchedonhershoulder.Thebathroomdoorclosesafterthem.
Theclockonthewallsayssixforty-five.Isighandallowmyselfasmallindulgence:Idouble-clickontheWorddocontheupperleftcornerofmyscreen.Iscrolltothebottomofthehalf-writtenmanuscript,thenbacktothetop.Thetitle,AUnifiedTheoryofTwo-DimensionalLiquidCrystal,waveswistfullyatme.ForahandfulofsecondsIletmyimaginationruntoanearfuture,oneinwhichI’mabletosetasidetimetocompleteit.Maybeevensubmitit.
IsighdeeplyasIcloseit.ThenIself-consciouslytracemyeyebrowsandgobacktoansweringemails.
???
Academicjobinterviewsarefamouslyoptimizedtoensurethecandidate’smaximumsuffering.SoI’mnotsurprisedwhenIgettoMielandfindoutthatit’samulti-fork,Lego-portioned,MayIrecommenda1934sauvignonblanctypeofrestaurant.
Iobserveaminuteofsilencefortheexpensive,excellentcheeseI’llorderbutnotenjoywhilebusyhustlingformyfuture—bleud’Auvergne;brie;camembert(significantlydifferentfrombrie,despitewhattheheathenssay).ThenIstepintotherestaurant,newborn-calfwobblyonmyhighheels.
Therewerenopantyhoseatthestore,whichmeansthatI’mwearingthighhighs—afittingtributetotheburlesquethatismylife.I’malso56percentsurethatIshouldn’thaveletCecetalkmeintohercrimson-redsheathdressorhercardinal-redlipstickorherlava-rednailpolish.
“YoulooklikeTaylorSwiftcirca2013,”shetoldme,pleased,finishingside-curlingmyhair.
“IwasaimingmoreforAOCcirca2020.”
“Yeah.”Shesighed.“Weallwere.”
Ireachformyphone.Undertheinexplicablyvulva-shapedcracksonthescreen—theiTwat,Cececallsit—Ifindalast-minuteemailfrommyadvisor:
You’llmakeafantasticimpression.Remember:morethananyothercandidate,youareentitledtothisposition.
Histrustislikeahandonmyshoulder:reassuringlywarmanduncomfortablyheavy.Ishouldn’tbethisnervous.NotbecauseI’vegotthejobinthebag—I’vegotnothinginthebag,exceptdeath,federalstudentloansrepayment,andthree-year-oldMentoscrustedinlint.WhatIdohaveislotsofpracticeshowingpeoplethatIamwhotheywantmetobe,andthat’swhatinterviewingisallabout.Ionceconvincinglyplayedalovesickballerina,kneelinginthemiddleofacrowdedrestauranttoproposetoabaldingmiddle-agedmanwhosmelledlikefeet—justsohecouldrefusemeinfrontofhisworkarchrival.IshouldbeabletoconvinceahandfulofMITprofessorsthatI’madecentphysicist.Right?
Idon’tknow.Maybe.Ithinkso.Yeah.
I’lljustfocusonthefake-girlfriendingprotocol.APE,CeceandIcallit.(Well,IcallitAPE.Cecejustshakesherheadandasks,“What’swrongwithscientists?Wereyouall,like,bulliedinhighschool?”)First,assesstheneed:Whatisitthatthepersoninfrontofmewantstosee?Then,planaresponse:HowcanIbecomewhattheywant?Andlastly,enact—
“Dr.Hannaway?”
Iturnaround.Adark-hairedwomanstudiesmeasImentallyrehearsehowtohuman.“Dr.Salt?”
Herhandshakeisstrong.Businesslike.“Itisnicetomeetyouinperson.”
“Likewise.”
“Come—let’sgotothebar.”
Ifollowher,alittlestarstruck.Dr.MonicaSaltwrotethetextbookontheoreticalphysics—literally.TheSalthasbeensittingtightonmyshelfforoveradecade.Ninehundredpagesofexcellentcontent.Bonus:itsquashesthehornet-crabspiderslikeadream.
“Dr.Hannaway?”Shesoundsassertive.Charismatic.Badass.LikeIwishIfelt.
“Elsie,please.”
“Monica,then.I’mhappyyouappliedfortheposition.WhenIsawyourCV,Ithoughtforsuresomeotheruniversitywouldhavesnatchedyouupbynow.”
Ismile,noncommittal.Yep,that’sme.Beatingoffjobofferswithastick.
“Yourdissertationonliquidcrystals’staticdistortionsinbiaxialnematicswasbrilliant,Elsie.”
Ifeelmyselfflush.Sexdoesnothingforme,butmaybethisismykink:beingcomplimentedbyleadingscholarsinmyfield.Hot,huh?“You’retookind.”
“Icanhardlybelievehowmuchyourworkhasalreadyaffectedourunderstandingofnon-equilibriumsystemsandmacroscopiccoherentmotion.Liquidcrystalsareahottopicintheoreticalphysics,andyou’vepositionedyourselfasanexpert.”
Iamthoroughlyflattered.Well,almostthoroughly:thereissomethinginhertonethathasmeonedge.Somethingodd.Nudging.
“Yourdiscoveriesaregoingtohavelong-rangingimpactonmanyfields,fromdisplaystoopticalimagingtodrugdelivery.Trulyimpressive.”
Likemaybethere’sabut?
“IcannotoverstatehowimpressedIamwiththescientificoutputyou’veproducedinsuchashortperiod.”
There’sdefinitelyabut
“You’llbeanassettowhateverinstitutionyouchoose,andMITwouldbetheperfecthomeforyou.IwanttobehonestandadmitthatbasedonwhatIhaveseen,youshouldbethepersonwehire.”
…But?
“But.”
Iknewit.Iknewit.Iknewit,butmyheartdropstothebottomofmystomachanyway.
“Elsie,IaskedyoutomeetalonebecauseIfeelthatitwouldbebetterifyouknewaboutthe…politicsthatarecurrentlyatplay.”
“Politics?”Ishouldn’tbesurprised.STEMacademiais98percentpoliticsand1percentscience(therest,Isuspect,“IShouldBeWriting”memes).“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Youmighthaveseveraljoboffers,andIwanttomakesurethatyouchooseusdespite…whatevermighthappenduringyourinterview.”
Ifrown.“Whatevermighthappen?”
Shesighs.“Asyouknow,inthepastfewyearstherehasbeensome…someacrimony,betweentheoreticalandexperimentalphysicists.”
Iholdbackasnort.Acrimonyisaniceten-dollarwordtosaythatifthePurgewereannouncedatthisverymoment,three-quartersoftheworld’sexperimentalistswouldringthetheorists’doorbellswiththeirfreshlysharpenedmachetes.Ofcourseitwouldallbeinvain:they’dfindthetheoristslonggone,alreadyswingingtheirscimitarsintheexperimentalists’frontyards
Yes,inthismuch-visitedscenarioofmine,wetheoristshavethecoolerweapons.
We’rejustdifferentbreeds.Applesandoranges.Dwarvesandelves.Coolscientistsandless-coolscientists.Wetheoristsusemath,constructmodels,explainthewhysandhowsofnature.Wearethinkers.Experimentalists…well,theyliketofuckaroundandfindout.Buildthingsandgettheirhandsdirty.Likeengineers.Orthree-year-oldsatthesandbox.
Theoriststhinkthey’resmarter(spoileralert:weare),andexperimentaliststhinkthey’remoreuseful(re-spoilerre-alert:theyarenot).Itmakesforsome…Yeah.Acrimony.
Monica,thanktheuniverseandthesubatomicparticlesit’smadeof,isatheorist.Weexchangealong,loaded,understandinglook.“Iamaware,”Isay.
“Good.AndyoumighthaveheardthatJonathanSmith-TurnerhasrecentlyjoinedMIT?”
Istiffen.“Ihadnot.”
“ButyouarefamiliarwithJonathanSmith-Turner.Andwithhis…article.”
It’snotaquestion.Monicaiswiseandfullyawarethatthereisnodimension,noparalleluniverse,nohypotheticalself-containedplaneofexistenceinwhichatheoreticalphysicistwouldn’tknowwhoheis.
BecauseJonathanSmith-Turnerisanexperimentalist—no,theexperimentalist.Andseveralyearsago,whenIwasinmiddleschoolandhewasprobablyagrown-assmanwhoshouldhaveknownbetter,hedidsomethinghorrible.Somethingunforgivable.Somethingabominable.
Hemadetheoreticalphysicistslookdumb.
DrivenbywhatIcanonlyassumewasbitterness,anoverabundanceoffreetime,andinvoluntarycelibacy,hesetouttoprovetotheworldthat…actually,Idon’tknowwhathewantedtoprove.Buthewroteascientificarticleonquantummechanicsthatwasjustfullenoughofjargonandmathtosoundlikeitwaswrittenbyatheorist.
Exceptthatthearticlewascompletelymadeup.Bogus.Aparody,ifyouwill.ThatturnedintoaprankwhenhesubmittedittoAnnalsofTheoreticalPhysics,ourmostprestigiousjournal,andwaited.Rubbinghishandstogetherevilly,onecanonlyassume.
Andthat’swherethingswentwrong.Becausedespiteundergoingsupposedlyrigorouspeerreview,thearticlewasaccepted.Andpublished.Anditstayedpublishedforseveralweeks,oratleastuntilshithitthefan—intheformofablogpostbysomeonelikelyaffiliatedwithSmith-Turner,backintheoldentimeswhenbloggingwasathing.
“IsTheoreticalPhysicsPseudoscience?”hadbeenthetitle.Thepost,whichdetailedhowSmith-Turnerhadgottenabunchofnonsensepublishedinthemostrespectedtheoryjournal,wasevenworse.“Hasthefieldofphysicslostitsway?…Isitallmadeup?”Andmypersonalfavorite:“Iftheoreticalphysicsisgibberish,isitfairtocompensatetheoristswithfederaltaxmoney?”
I’mnotbeingneedlesslydramaticwhenIsaythatitwasawholething.OnFacebook.Onthenews,including60Minutes.EvenOprahtalkedaboutit—theJonathanSmith-TurnerAffair,theTheoreticalHoax,thePhysicsScandal.Einsteinrolledinhisgrave.Newtonpukeduphisapple.Feynmanquietlysteppedinatankofliquidhelium.YoungElsie,whoinherearlyteensalreadyknewwhatshewantedtobewhenshegrewup,seethedandgrowledandboycottedallcoverageofthetopic,declaringabanonallmediaintheHannawayhousehold.(Thebanwasunheeded,astheHannawayhouseholdtendedtoforgetyoungElsieexisted;herparentswereprobablytoobusytryingtostopherbrothersfromeggingtheneighbor’sshed.)
Mainstreaminterestblewoversoonenough.AnnalsofTheoreticalPhysicspulledthearticleandapologizedfortheoversight,abunchoftheoristsinimprobablesweatersandspray-onhairtooktoYouTubetodefendtheirhonor,andJonathanSmith-Turnerneverspokepubliclyonthematter.Thankfully,theamountofmentalenergynormiesliketoexpendonphysicsislimited.
Butthehoaxwasahumiliating,devastatingblow,andthefieldneverquiterecovered—allbecauseofastupidprank.Overadecadelater,theoreticalphysicsfundinghasbeenslashed.Theoryjobopeningsaredecimated.Therunningjokeisstillthattheoreticalphysicsisakintocreativewriting,bookshavebeenwrittenonhowtheoristsareexploitativewackjobs,andGoogle’smainautofillsfortheoreticalphysicsare:NotrealscienceNonsenseDead
(Slanderous.GoogleisslanderousandweshouldallswitchtoBing.)
Andyetitgetsevenworse—fortworeasonsthatmakeallofthispersonaltome.First,oneofthemajordownfallsofthearticlewasthatthetheoreticalphysicscommunity,needingtosaveface,quicklyfoundascapegoat:theyformallycensuredthechiefeditorofAnnals—theacademicversionofpushingsomeoneintoapaddlecactusbedandleavingthemfordead.
ThateditorwasChristopheLaurendeau—mymentor.
Yup.
Thesecondreasonisthat,regrettably,Smith-TurnerandIoperateinthesamesubfieldofphysics.Ourworkonliquidcrystalspartiallyoverlaps,andIoccasionallywonderifthat’sreasonenoughformetoswitchtosomeothertopic.Blackholes?Lattices?Quantumsupremacy?I’mstilldebating.Inthemeantime,I’vebeenonaboycott.ForyearsI’verefusedtocareaboutwhatJonathanSmith-Turnerisdoing—I’verefusedtoreadhispapers,toacknowledgehisexistence,toevenmentionhisname.
Inhindsight,Iprobablyshouldhavekepttabs.
“Naturally,”Monicaissaying,“Jonathanisatalentedexperimentalistandanassettothedepartment.Hejoineduslastyear—movedfromCaltechwithsizablegrantstoleadtheMITPhysicsInstitute.We’reluckytohavehim.”Herexpressionmakesitabundantlyclearshebelievesnosuchthing.“Thepositionyou’reinterviewingforisajointone.Halfofyoursalarywillbepaidbymydepartment,halffromthePhysicsInstitute.WhichisheadedbyJonathan.Who,inturn,stronglyfavorstheothercandidateweareinterviewing.”Monicasighs.“Icannottellyouwhotheothercandidateis,forobviousreasons.”
Myfingerstightenaroundtheglass.“Theothercandidateisanexperimentalist,Iassume.”
“Yes.AndapreviouscollaboratorofJonathan’s.”
Iclosemyeyes,anditsinksintomethat—shit
Thisinterview,it’sapissingcontest.Theoristsvs.experimentalists.PhysicsDepartmentvs.PhysicsInstitute.Monicavs.Jonathan.
HiringCommittee:CivilWar.
“IfIgetthejob,wouldJonathanSmith-Turnerbemysuperior?”TheremaybealimittowhatI’mwillingtocompromiseforprotectedresearchtime,healthinsurance,andbottomlesscheese-purchasingpower.
Monicashakesherheadenergetically.“Notinanymeaningfulway.”
“Isee.”Reliefwarmsmybelly.Verywell.“Thankyouforbeingstraightforwardwithme.I’llbeequallystraightforward:IsthereanythingIcandotobechosenovertheothercandidate?”
Shestudiesme,seriousforamoment.Thenherfacebreaksintoafiercegrin,andthat—thatismytell.That’showIknowwhothemeMonicawantsis:achampion.HertributetotheHungerGamesofphysics.AgladiatortotakeonJonathanSmith-Turner,theentitledSTEMlordshedespises.
Well,Icandothat.BecauseIhappentodespisetheverysameguy.
“Thisiswhatyouneedtoknow,Elsie:mostofthefacultymembersyou’llmeetduringtheinterview—includingJonathan—havealreadydecidedwhichcandidatethey’llrecommendforhire,basedonwhethertheypreferatheoristoranexperimentalist.Theyalreadyknowwhetherthey’llvoteforyouorforGeorge,andthereisn’tmuchwecandotochangetheirminds.”
MyeyebrowarchesbeforeIcanyankitdown.Idon’tthinkMonicameanttoletslipthatJonathanSmith-Turner’scandidate’snameisGeorge,butI’mthediametricaloppositeofsurprised.Ofcoursehe’dwanttohireaman.
“But,”shecontinues,“thereareahandfulofprofessorswhostraddlethelinebetweentheoreticalandexperimental.Drs.Ikagawa,Alvarez,Voight.They’repartofVolkov’sresearchteamandfollowwhereheleads.WhichmeansthatVolkovisgoingtobethedecidingvote.Myadviceis,talktohimduringthedeadtimesofyourinterview.Ifpossible,tailoryourpresentationstosuithisinterests.And…Idon’tknowthatJonathanmighttrytogivehiscandidateanadvantageandmakeyoulookbad,but…bewaryofhim.Beverycareful.”
Inodslowly.AndthenInodagain,inhalingdeeply,untanglingmyoverwhelmedthoughts.
Yes,academicinterviewsareoptimizedtoensurethecandidate’smaximumsuffering—butthisissituation-room-levelpoliticking,morethanIpreparedfor.I’masimplegirl.Withsimpleneeds.AllIwantistospendmydayssolvinghydrodynamicequationstocalculatethelarge-scalespatiotemporalchaosexhibitedbydryactivenematics.Andmaybe,ifpossible,buylife-compatiblelevelsofpancreatichormonesatreasonableprices.
But—Ibitemylowerlip,thinkingquickly—maybeIcandothis.I’magreatphysicist,aproatgivingotherswhattheywant,andonceIgetthisjob,it’llbejustmeandmyscience.AndbeingselectedoverSmith-Turner’scandidate?It’dbelikeavengingDr.L.andtheoreticalphysics,evenjustalittle.Whatalovely,heartwarmingthought.
“Okay,”ItellMonica.Imetheralloftenminutesago,butwe’relookingateachotherlikelifelongallies.Thatacceleratedcamaraderiethatcomesfromplottingamurdertogether.JonathanSmith-Turner’s,ofcourse.“Icandothat.”
She’spleased.“Iknowthisisunorthodox.Butyou’retheidealcandidate.What’sbestforthedepartment.”
“Thankyou.”Ismile,projectingself-assuranceIdon’tquitefeel.“Iwon’tletyoudown.”
Shesmilesback,atoncewarmandsteely.“Verywell.Let’sgo.Therestofthesearchcommitteeshouldbehere.”Ifollowhertotheentrance,headspinningwithnewinformation,tryingnottowalklikeaT.rex.“Ah,theretheyallare.”
Thepeoplenestledinthewaitingareaare,itpainsmetosay,embarrassinglyeasytoidentifyasphysicists.It’snotthecargopantsorthesweatervestsorthewidespreaduncombablehairsyndrome.Nottheeyeglasschains,wornunironically.It’snoteventhatthey’reallmen,inlinewiththehyperabundanceofdudesinmyfield.
It’sthatthey’rehavingaphysicspun-off.
“What’sthebestbookonquantumgravity?”anelderlygentlemanintransitionlensesisasking.HelookslikeabenignversionofthePenguinfromBatman.“Theonethat’simpossibletoputdown!Getit?”
Thelaughterthatfollowssoundsgenuine.Ah,mypeople.
“Everyone.”Monicaclearsherthroat.“ThisisDr.ElsieHannaway.Sopleasedthatshe’sjoiningustonight.”
Ismilewarmly,feelinglikeI’mauditioningforarealityshow.Academia’sGotTalentDancingwiththeProfs.TheBachelor(ofScience).I’mgreetedbythehesitant,awkwardhandshakesofthosewhofeelmoreathomestaringatawhiteboardthanexchangingphysicalcontact,butIdon’tholditagainstthem.I’mthesame;I’vejustlearnedtohideitabitbetter.
Severalfacultymembersarefamiliartome,boththeoristsandexperimentalists,somejustbyname,othersfromconferencesandguestlectures.PenguinturnsouttobeSashaVolkov,andhegetsawidersmilethantheothers.“Iamafanofyourarticlesondarkmatter,”Isay.It’snotalie—Volkov’sabigdeal.I’mfamiliarenoughwithhisworktokisshisassabit.“I’dlovetochatabout—”
“Dr.Hannaway,”heinterruptsme,allsharpconsonantsandroundbelly,“Ihaveaveryimportantquestion.”
Oh?“Ofcourse.”
“Doyouknowwhattheformulaforavelociraptoris?”
Iscowl.Thewhat,now?Ishequizzingmeonsomething?Theformulaforthe—oh
Oh,right.
Iclearmythroat.“Isit,byanychance,um,adistanceraptordividedbyatimeraptor?”
Heregardsmeicilyforasecond.Thenhebreaksintoaslow,pleased,belly-deeplaugh.“Thisone”—hepointsatme,glancingatMonica—“Ilikethisone.Goodsenseofhumor!”
Clearly,theElsiethatVolkovwantsdolesoutphysicsdadjokes.I’llhavetobuildarepertoire.
“Ithinkwe’reallhere.Weshouldheadforthetable—oh.”Monicastops,staringatsomeplacehighbehindmyshoulder.Herexpressionhardens.“ThereareJonathanandAndrea.Betterlatethannever.”
Itakeadeepbreath,bracingmyselfforthismeeting.IcanbenicetoJonathanSmith-Turner.Icanbepolitetothiswasteofacademicspace.AndIcanmakehimcrybygettingthisjob.
MyeyesholdMonica’sforafractionofasecond,asilentpromise,andthenIturnaround,readytobeperfectlypleasant,readytoshaketheasswipe’shandwithoutsayingYikesorIhateyouorThankyouforruiningphysicsforus,dick
AndthenIstop.
Becausethepersonwhojustcamein—
Thepersonstandingintheentranceoftherestaurant,snowflakesmeltinginhislighthair—
ThepersonunbuttoninghisNorthFacecoat—
—isnoneotherthanJackSmith.3CHAINREACTION
Iblinkstupidly—one,two,seventimes
ThenIblinkagain,forgoodmeasure.
WhyisJackhere,brushingsnowoffhisparka,shrinkingtheentrancetohalfitssizewithhisovergrownshoulders?IsitketonightatMiel?Didhegetlostonhiswaytoacalisthenicsconvention?
I’mdebatingwhethertoignorehimorbrieflywaveathimwhenMonicasays,“You’relate.”Shesoundschiding.Andshelooksalotlikeshe’stalkingtoJack,whocheckshiswristwatch(awristwatch,inthisyearofourlord)andcalmlyreplies,“Iwasinthelab.Musthavelosttrackoftime.”
“Ihadtopryhimofftheopticaltweezers,”theblondenexttohim—Andrea?—buttsin.
Monicaallbutrollshereyes.Iglancebackandforthbetweenthem,disoriented.DoesJackknowMonica?AretheySoulCyclebuddies?What’shelatefor?
“Sinceyou’refinallygracinguswithyourpresence,thisisDr.ElsieHannaway,oneofthecandidatesforthefacultyposition.Elsie,thisisDr.AndreaAlbritton,anassociateprofessorinthedepartment.AndDr.JonathanSmith-Turner,theheadoftheMITPhysicsInstitute.”
Ialmostlookaround.IalmostscantherestaurantinsearchoftheelusiveJonathanSmith-Turner.ButthenIdon’t,becauseJackisstaringdownatme,lookingexactlyhowIfeel.
Confused.Puzzled.ConcernedforMonica’smentalhealth.
“You’vegotitwrong,”hetellsherwiththatgoodvoicehehas,shakinghishead,amused.“Elsie’snota…”
Hetrailsoff,andhisdemeanorswitches:theamusementdissolves.Somethingtwitchesinhisridiculoussuperherojaw.ThefrownbetweenhiseyesdeepensintoaW—forWhattheeverlovingfuck?Icanonlyassume.
JackSmith’salwaysstubbornly,peculiarlyunreadable,butrightnowIcansafelyguessthathe’spissed.Hewantstocurseme.Slaughterme.Feastonthetendermarrowofmybones.
Thoughhedoesnoneofthat.Hisexpressionswitchesagain,thistimetoapoliteblankasheoffershishand.Ihavenochoicebuttoshakeit.
“Dr.Hannaway,”hesays,voicerichanddisturbinglyfamiliar.HisskinisBoston-in-January-with-no-glovescold.Calloused.Scary.“ThankyouforyourinterestinMIT.”
“Dr.Turner,”Imanagearoundthecatchinmythroat.
“Smith-Turner.”Thecorrectionisapunchinthesternum.Thiscan’tbe.JackSmithandJonathanSmith-Turnercannotbe—
“ButcallmeJack.”
—thesameperson.
“Dr.HannawaygoesbyElsie,Jonathan,”Monicasaysarchly.
Jackignoreshertone.“Elsie,”hesays,likehe’stryingitoutforthefirsttime.Likehedidn’tusemynamejustlastnight,overthesolegameofGoIhaven’twoninyears.
Shit.
Iwaitforoneofustoacknowledgethatwealreadyknoweachother—invain.Mymouthremainsclosed.His,too.Browneyesstayonmine,andIfeelaspinnedasanexoticdragonfly.
Thisiswrong.JackSmithisaPEteacher.Gregtoldmesowhenwemetatthatcoffeeshoptoplanourbackstory.Right?
“AndIhaveabrother.Older.Threeyears,”Gregsays,settingdownhismug.“Iwon’ttellhimthatIhiredyou,buthe’sgreat,unlike…well,myotherrelatives.”
Inod,typingBrotherinmyNotesapp.Close,Iadd.“MayIhavehisnameandsomethingabouthim?”
“SomethingaboutJack?”
“ThatIcanbringupwhenwemeet?Somethinglike‘Gregtalksaboutyouallthetime.You’reahippotherapist,right?Andyoulovesoapcarving!HowlovelythatyoumetyourspousewhileclimbingMachuPicchu.’?”
Gregshakeshishead.“Jack’snotmarried.”
“Anypartners?”
“No.Hedoesn’treallydate.”
MyeyebrowliftsatGreg,whoimmediatelyshakeshishead.
“Notlikeme.He…hasfriends,womenthathe…Buthe’sveryclearaboutnotbeinginterestedinrelationships.”
Inod.TypeStud?Yikes.“Yourmotherdoesn’thoundhimaboutsettlingdownlikeshedoesyou?”
“It’scomplicated.”Greg’sexpressionisalmostguilty.“Butno.Momdoesn’treallycarewhathedoes.Let’ssee,somethingaboutJack.”Hedrumshisfingers.“Hecomesacrossasabitrougharoundtheedges,likehedoesn’tcareaboutanythingbuthisjob,but—he’snice.Kind.Forinstance,hewastheonlypersonwhoshowedupformyJesusChristSuperstarrecitalbackinhighschool.”Hesighs.“IplayedPeter.”
“Theonlypersoninyourfamily?”
“Theonlypersonintheaudience.Didlotsofclapping.”Gregshrugs.“Andhe’sfreakishlysmart.Likesboardgames.RecentlymovedbacktoBostonfromCalifornia.”
“What’shisjob?”
“Heteaches.Phys—”
Aloudsoundfromanearbytablemakesusstart.Atoddler,slammingherfistonthetable,yellingathermom,“Notbanana—cookie!”
“Sweetie,you’vebeensick.”
“I’mnotsick.I—”Suddenly,there’sapuddleofvomitonthefrontofhershirt.
GregandIexchangealookbeforehecontinues,“Also,um…heplayssportswithhisfriends.Stufflikethat.”
Inodandwritedown,PEteacher.Monopoly?Gymbro?Notthetarget.Nonissue.
Untilnow.
Suddenly,JonathanJackJesusChristSuperstarSmith-Turner,whoplaysboardgamesandteachessomethingthatstartswithphys-andismostdefinitelynotphysicaleducation,isabigfuckingissue.
Impossible.Insane.ImustbeonPunk’d.Generalrelativitywasright:I’vetime-traveledbacktotheearly2000s.AcameracrewandUnclePaularehidingbehindthatpretentiouspottedferninthecorner.Theinterviewwasasetup.Myentirelifeisajoke.
“Hey,Jack,”Volkovasksfrombehindme,allsharp,easternEuropeansounds,“withgreatpowercomes…?”
“Greatcurrentsquaredtimesresistance,”Jackmurmurs,eyesplantedonme.Ishiverhotandcoldwhileeveryoneelselaughs.Asusual,Jackisinaccessible;Ihavenoideawhat’shappeninginhisbrain.Asusual,Ifeellikehe’sskinningmelikeaclementine,seeingallmysquishy,secret,hiddenbits.
HowhardwillCecemurdermeifIpukealloverherdress?
“MITparty?”Thehostesssmiles.“Letmeshowyoutoyourtable.”
Iturnaroundclumsily,asifwadingthroughwater.Mybrainwon’tstopflippingitsfins.SoJack’saphysicist—bad.Anexperimentalist—bad.Theexperimentalist—bad.HewantstohiresomeGeorgedude—bad.Heknowsmeasalibrarianhisbrother’sdating—bad.Heneverlikedme—bad.HethinksImadeupmyPh.D.—badder—andamconningMITintohiringme—baddest.
“Don’tlethimgettoyou,”Monicawhispersinmyear.
“W-what?”
“ThewayJonathanwaslookingatyou,likeyou’retryingtosmuggleafullbottleofshampoothroughTSA—definitelyoneofhispowerplays.Ignorehim.”
Shit—whatifhenarcsmeouttoMonica?ToVolkov?OhGod,amIgoingtohavetoexplaintomyfuturecolleaguesaboutmysidegig?AboutFaux?Ibetfiletmignongoesgreatwithanecdotesofthatdebtcollectorwhothreatenedtoshattermykneecaps.“Okay.”Ismileweakly.I’mindeepshit—tenfeetunder,Iestimate.
No,fifteen.RapidlydiggingwhenMonicanoticesthatI’msittingfarfromVolkovandsays,“There’saterribledrafthere.Cansomeoneswitchwithme?Elsie,wouldyoumind?”
Musicalchairsensue.ShemaneuversuntilI’mbetweenherandVolkov.Excellent.Lessexcellent?Jack,rightacrossfromme.He’sfoldinghimselfinhischair,twiceasbroadastheexperimentalistrifflingthroughthemenunexttohim.Hestareslikehe’sabouttodeseedmelikeapomegranate.
Itrytothinkaboutasinglewaythisinterviewcouldhavestartedlessauspiciously,andcomeupempty-handed.MaybeifGodzillasteppedintoMielandstartedgrazingontheorchidcenterpiece.
Iglancetowardtheentrance.IsGodzillaaboutto—
“Whereareyoucurrently,Elsie?”
IwhipmyheadtoJack.Hisgazeisonmeandonlyme,likewe’realoneintherestaurant.InBoston.IntheVirgogalaxysupercluster.“I…don’tunderstandthequestion.”
“Yourworkplace.Ifyoucurrentlywork.”
Mycheeksheat.“IteachatUMassBoston,Emerson,andBostonUniversity.”
“Ah.”Hestuffsentireworldsinthatsinglesound—noneofwhichIcaretovisit.“Remindme,isUMassrankedasaResearchOneinstitution?”
Mynostrilsflare.Irememberwhatmymomalwayssays(Youlooklikeapigletwhenyoudothat)andmakeaconsciousefforttorelax.“ResearchTwo.”
Jacknodslikehedidn’talreadyknowandtakesacarefreesipofhiswater.IwonderwhatwouldhappenifIkickedhimunderthetable.
“YoureallymustmovetoaResearchOneinstitution,Dr.Hannaway.”Volkovgivesmealookoffatherlyconcern.“There’ssimplynocomparison.Moreresources.Morefunds.”
Youdon’tsay.“Yes,Dr.Volkov.”
“Andareyouontenuretrack,Elsie?”Jackasks.
“Anadjunct.”Iamtotallygoingtokickhim.Inthenuts.It’stheonlyacceptableuseofmyfoot.
“Iamsojealousofadjuncts,”Volkovmurmursdistractedly,staringattheentréepage.“Theyhavemobility.Flexibility.Keepsyouyoungatheart.”
Ipasteasmileonmyface.“Somuchflexibility.”Offeringtoforwardhimthebiweeklyop-edstheAtlanticrunsonhowwearetheunderclassofacademiaseemsrude,soIsilentlywishhimanunpassablekidneystone.
“AndwheredidyougetyourPh.D.?”Jackasks.
“Northeastern.”
“Northeastern,huh?”Henods,pensive.“Greatschool.Afriendusedtobethere.”
“Oh.InthePhysicsDepartment?”
“No.LibraryScience.”
Arushofheatsweepsoverme.Doeshemean—
“Jonathan,IemailedyouDr.Hannaway’sCVandseveralofherpublications,”Monicasayssweetly.“Didyounotreceivethem?”
“Perhapstheygotflaggedasspam.”Hedoesn’ttakehiseyesoffme.“Myapologies,Dr.Hannaway.”Hecrosseshisarmsoverhischestandleansback,preparingtostudymeathisleisure.He’swearingadark-greenhenleyinthisfancy-assrestaurant.Underdressed,again,likehisentirebrandisInstagramlumbersexualandhecan’triskbeingspottedwearingbusinesscasual.“Doyouhaveanysiblings?”
Wherethehellishegoingwiththis?“Two.”
“Sisters?”
“No.”
“Odd.Youlookuncannilysimilartosomeonemybrotherusedtodate.Ibelievehernamewas…”Hetapshisfingeronthetable.“PityIcan’trecall.”
Iflush,lookingaroundshiftily.Mostpeoplearetoobusydecidingwhattoorderwithdepartmentfundstopayattention.Iburymyfaceinthemenuandtakeadeepbreath.IgnoreJackSmith.JackTurner.JackSmith-Turner.Donotgoonarampageandstabhimwithyoursaladfork.
Actually,whatIneedistoexplaintohimthesituation.ThatI’mnotaconartist.Gethimoffmycase.Yes,Ineedto—
“Jack,how’stheferroelectricnematicexperimentgoing?”someoneasksfromtheotherendofthetable.
“Great.Sogreat,I’vebeenconsideringaleaveofabsence.”Hemakesashowoftappinghischin.“Acoupleofyearsbackpacking,maybe.”
Volkovlaughs.“Noluck,then?”
“Nope.”Hisbrowfurrows.“We’redoingsomethingwrong.Can’tfigureoutwhat,though.How’sRussiathistimeofyear,Sasha?”
Morepeoplechuckle.“Ifyoufeelyoumustleaveus,whoarewetostopyou?”Monicamutters.Iscowlintothesaladspage:Jackhasnobusinessgoingfromtotalassholetocharminglyself-deprecating.
“Thingswillturnaround,Jack.Youknowthatexperimentalphysicsis…experi-meanttobehard.”Volkovsnickersathisownjoke.“Theoreticalphysics,too.Doesn’titsometimesmakeyou…theory-eyed,Dr.Hannaway?”
Laugh,Iordermyself.Becharming.Beconvivial.Topofyourgame.“Itsuredoes.”
“Goodone,”Jacksays.“Sasha,haveyouheardtheoneaboutSchr?dinger’sgirlfriend?”
Volkovrubshishands.“No,dotell!”
“It’smyfavorite.Schr?dinger’sgirlfriendissimultaneouslyalibrarianandatheoretical—”
Isnapmymenushut,embarrassmentandangerpoundingupmyspine.AmIhavingaragestroke?Ismynosebleeding?“Excusemeforamoment.”Istand,forcingmyselftosmileatMonicaandVolkov.Ineedair.Ineedtoregroup.IneedasecondtothinkaboutthismessofasituationwithoutJackjabbingatme.“I,um,pettedadogearlier.I’llwashmyhandsandberightback.”
Volkovseemspleasedatmysuddenconcernwithhygiene.“Yes,yes,goodidea.Lathersafethansorry.”Heguffawslikehe’sonnitrousoxide.Iloveagoodpun;Ireallydo.Butnotwhenmyonechanceatfinancialfreedomisbeingsabotagedbymyfakeboyfriend’sevilbrother.
I’mseveralfeetawaywhenJack’svoicemakesmystomachtwist.“Youknow,Ipettedacat.IthinkI’lljoinDr.Hannaway.”
Therestroomsareacrosstherestaurant,attheendofalong,dimlylithallwaydecoratedwithficusandmonochromepicturesofParis.Ileftthetablefirstandshouldhaveaconsiderableadvantage,butJackcatchesupwithmeinahandfulofsteps,withouteventhegracetolookwinded.
Ibraceforhimtosaysomethingdeviousandoffensive.It’llbemyexcusetotriphim—whoneedssexwhenyoucanwatchJackSmithface-plantonthefloor?Butheremainssilent.Strollsbymyside,grosslyunconcerned,likehedoesn’thaveaworryonhismind.Oneofhispowerplays,Monicasaidearlier,andIgritmyteeth,wishingIhadsomepowertobringtotheplayground.IfIgetthisjob,I’mgoingtomakehislifeimpossible:puthisscienceequipmentinJell-O,cutmynailsonhisdesk,licktherimofhiscupwhenIhaveacold,sprinkletacksonhis—
Endofthehallway.Heopensthedoorontheleft—men’srestroom—andIheadtotheright—ladies’.Freefromthispain,finally.ExceptthatImakeacrucialmistake:Iturnaroundforonelastresentfulglance,andJack’sstandingthere.Withawaitingexpression.
Holdingtherestroom’sdooropen.
Iexhalealow,confusedlaugh.Isthisaninvitation?Tothemen’srestroom?To…towhat,sitontheurinalsforteaandhorsd’oeuvres?Ishebananas?
No.Iambananas.Becauseforreasonsthatwarrantabrainscanandcomprehensiveneuropsychologicalevaluations,Itakehimuponit.IbarelyglancearoundtomakesurethatanMITchancellorisnotcomingdownthehallway,andstepinside.
Thebathroom’sdeserted—noonearoundtowitnessmylunacy.Theplacestinks,likesomeonedippedtheirpost-gymcrotchinabucketofcitrusdisinfectant.There’sthepitter-patterofadrippingfaucet,andmyreflectioninthefull-bodymirrorisalie:theslenderwomaninthesheathdressistooflustered,toolivid,tooredtobemildElsieHannawayoftheaccommodatingways.
Iturnaround.Jacklingersbythedoor,aseverstudying,appraising,vivisectioningme.Istartamentalcountdown.Five.Four.WhenIreachone,I’mgoingtoexplainthesituation.Inacalm,dignifiedtone.Tellhimit’samisunderstanding.Three.Two.
“Congratulations,”hesays.
Uh?
“OnyourPh.D.”
“W-what?”
“Anoteworthyaccomplishment,”hecontinues,serious,calm,“giventhatlessthantwenty-fourhoursagoyouweren’tevenworkingonone.”
Iexhaledeeply.“Listen,it’snotwhatyou—”
“Willyoubeleavingyourpostatthelibrary,orareyouplanningonadualcareer?I’dbeworriedforyourschedule,butIhearthattheoreticalphysicsoftenconsistsofstaringintothevoidandjottingdowntheoccasionalmathematicalsymbol—”
“I—no.That’snotwhattheoreticalphysicsisaboutand—”Iscrewmyeyesshut.Calmdown.Bereasonable.Thiscanbefixedwithasimpleconversation.“Jack,I’mnotalibrarian.”
Hiseyeswideninplayactedsurprise.“Noway.”
“Iamaphysicist.IgotmyPh.D.aboutayearago.”
Hisexpressionhardens.Hestepscloser,andIfeellikeagardengnome.“AndIassumeGreghasnoidea.”
“Hedoes.I—”Wait.No.InevertoldGregaboutmyPh.D.—becauseitwasirrelevant.“Well,okay.Hedoesn’tknow,butthat’sonlybecause—”
“You’vebeenlyingtohim.”
I’mtakenaback.“Lying?”
“You’replayingatwistedgamewithmybrother,pretendingtobesomeoneyou’renot.Idon’tknowwhy,butifyouthinkI’mgoingtoletyoucontinue—”
“What?No.Thisisn’t…”Ican’tbelievethattheconclusionhe’scometoisthatI’mcatfishingGreg.Asif.“IcareaboutGreg.”
“Isthatwhyyouhidethingsfromhim?”
“Idon’t!”
“Whataboutwhenyoupassedoutinmyarmsandbeggedmenottotellhim?”
Iwince.“Itwasnotinyourarms,justnearyourarms,andthatwas—Ididn’twanttobotherhim!”
“Whataboutthefactthatyoudidn’tknowhewasabouttogoonatrip.”Jackisicily,uncompromisinglyfuriousattheideaofmemistreatinghisbrother.“Youdon’tseemtocarewhathisjobentails.Whathisproblemsare.Whathislifeis.”
“Neitherdoestherestofyourfamily!”
“True.”Hescowls.“Butirrelevant.”
IalmostrunahanddownmyfacebeforerememberingCece’sRuinyourmakeupandI’llskeweryoulikeashishkebab.God,I’mgoingtohavetoexplaintoJacktheconceptoffakedating.Hewon’tbelieveit’sarealthing—menwithnicebaritonesandhintsoftattoosandperfectlyscruffyfive-o’clockshadowsarejustnotthetargetdemographicofFaux.Jackprobablyhaslegionsofwomenstandinginlinefortheopportunitytopartner-stretchhamstringswithhim—letalonerealdate.Andwhatarethechanceshewon’tusemysidegigagainstmeduringtheinterview?Subzerokelvin.“Listen,IknowitlookslikeI’mlyingtoGreg,butI’mnot.Icanexplain.”
“Canyou?”
“Yes.I’ma—”Mybrainstutters,thenfreezesassomethingoccurstome:ifItoldJackaboutthefakedating,I’dbeoutingnotjustmyself,butalsoGreg.
Yes,JackandGregareclose.No,GregdidnottellJackaboutFaux,andit’snotmyplacetodoso.IcouldavoidsayingwhyGreghasdecidedtohireme,butwouldthatmatter?JackwouldknowthatGregishidingsomething.Thatthere’ssomethingtoprod,toinvestigate,and.
“It’sjust—Idon’tknowhowmyfamilywouldtakeit.”Gregrubshispalminhiseye,lookinglikehecoulduseadeep-tissuemassageandfortyhoursofsleep.“Theymightbecompleteassholesaboutitorbegreatortrytobeniceandinsteadendupbeingmassivelyinvasiveand…I’drathernottellthem,fornow.I’drathertheynotknowthatthere’ssomethingtotell.”
IcanhearGreg’swordsasIglanceup.Jack’sdarkeyesarestern.Expectant.Inflexible.
I’dratherlicktheurinalsthantellthisguyanyofmysecrets.“Actually,Ican’texplain,but—”
Twovoices—malelaughter,loaferstepsrightoutsidethebathroom.Webothwheelaroundtotheentrance.
“Someone’scoming,”Isayunnecessarily.Shit.Whatifit’ssomeonefromourparty?IshootJackapanickedlook,fullyexpectingtofindhimgloating.Insteadhisfacetakesonanurgent,calculatinglook,andthingsIdonotexpecthappen.
Hishugehandlifts.Splaysacrossthesmallofmyback.Pushesmetowardthecloseststall.Hewantstohideme?
“Whatareyou—”
“Go,”heorders.
“No!Ican’tjust—”
Imusthesitatetoolong,becauseJack’shandsclosearoundmywaist.Heliftsmeeffortlessly,likeIweighlessthanaHiggsboson,andcarriesmeinsidethestall,depositingmyfeetontherimofthetoilet.Mybrainblanks—nothoughts,headempty—andIdon’thavethefaintestideawhat’sgoingon.Whatishe—
Thestalldoorcloses.
Thebathroomdooropens.
Twomenenter,discussingquantumadvantage.“—scaletheerrorcorrectionbythenumberofqubits?”
“Youdon’t.Scaled-upsystembehavioriserratic.Howdoyouaccountforthat?”
Shit.Shit,shit—
“Calmdown,”Jackmurmursagainsttheshellofmyear,likeheknowsthatI’monthevergeofpoppingananeurysm
“They’refromtheMITtable,”Iwhisperundermybreath.
“Shh.”Hisgiantpawstightenaroundme,asiftocontainmeandmypanic.Theyspanmywaist.Oursizedifferencesitssomewherebetweenabsurdandobscene.“Settledown.”
Ifeeldizzy.“WhyamIstandingonthetoilet?”
“Ifiguredyou’dratherDr.PereiraandDr.Crowleykeeponchattingaboutsuperpolynomialspeedupsandnotseeyourheelsunderthestall.WasIwrong?”
Iclosemyeyes,mortified.Thisisnotmylife.I’madiscerningscientistwithinsightfulopinionsonspintronictech,notthisblightedcreatureclingingtoJonathanSmith-Turner’sshouldersontopofalatrine.
Oh,whoamIkidding?Thisisexactlymybrand.Improbable.Cringeworthy.Botched.
“Settledown,”Jackrepeats,grufflyreassuring.We’rewaytooclose.Iwanthisbreathtobegarlicandsauerkraut,butit’svaguelymintyandpleasantlywarm.Iwanthisskintosmellridiculous,likemangotanningmousse,butallmynosepicksuponisnice,clean,good.Iwanthisgriptobecreepyandknee-in-the-groinworthy,butit’sjustwhatIneedtoavoidslippinginthetoilet.“Stopfidgeting.”
“I’mnot—”PereiraandCrowleyarestilltalkingphysics—can’tbelieveallthefusswiththequantumHadamardtransform—withtheaddedbackgroundofastreamtrickling.OhGod,they’repeeing.I’meavesdroppingononeoftheworld’sforemostsolarneutrinosscholarspeeing.Ican’tcomebackfromthis,canI?
“Elsie.”Jack’slipsgrazemycheekbone.“Calmdown.They’llleaveassoonasthey’redone,andyoucangobacktothetable.LaughatVolkov’spunstillhevotesforyou.Tellafewmorelies.”
“I’mnotlying.”Ipullback,andoureyesareatthesamelevel.Thesliceofblueinthedeepbrownisicy,weird,beautiful.“Ican’texplain,butthisis…notthewayyouthinkitis.It’s…different.”
“Fromwhat?”
“Fromthewayyouthinkitis.”
Henods.Ournosesnearlybrushtogether.“Thatwasremarkablyarticulate.”
Irollmyeyes.
“Monicawilllovetohearaboutyoursecretlibrarianidentity—”
“No!”Ibarelykeepmyvoicedown.“Please,justcallGregbeforeyoutalktoMonica.He’llexplain.”
“Convenient,giventhatIcan’tgetintouchwithhimwhilehe’sonhisretreat,andhewon’tbebackuntilyourinterviewisover.”
Shit.I’dforgottenaboutWoodacre.“Theremustbeawaytoreachhim.Canyoutellhimit’sanemergency?That,um,helefthisporchlighton?Youneedhisalarmcodetogoturnitoff.Savetheenvironment.”
“No.”
“Please.Atleast—”
“No.”
“You’rebeingabsolutelyunreasonable.AllIaskisthatyou—”
“—doyouthinkaboutthegirl?Hannaway,right?”oneoftheurinalvoicesasks.Webothinstantlytunein.
Amistake,clearly.
“CV’srealgood.Hertwo-dimensionalliquidcrystalstheories…goodstuff.”
“Irememberreadingherpaperlastyear.Iwasveryimpressed.Hadnoideashewasthatjunior.”
“Right?Makesyouwonderhowmuchofitishermentor’s.”AvaguehumofagreementthathasmyhandstighteningaroundtheballsofJack’sshoulders.None,Iwanttoscream.Itwasmymodel.“She’syoungandbeautiful.Whichmeansthatshe’llgetpregnantinacoupleofyears,andwe’llhavetoteachhercourses.”
It’slikeapunchinthesternum,tothepointthatIalmostslipbutt-firstintothetoilet.Jackstopsmewithahandbetweenmyshoulderblades,armcontractingaroundmywaist.He’sfrowninglikehe’sasdisgustedasIam.Thoughhe’snot.Hecan’tbe,becausePereira,ormaybeCrowley,adds:
“Doesn’tmatter.I’mvotingforJack’scandidate.He’sgotinfluence,andhehatestheorists.”
“Hedoes?Oh,yeah.Can’tbelieveIforgotthatarticlehewrote.”
“Itwasbrutal,man.Andhilarious.Wouldn’twanttobeonhisbadside.”
Ahanddryergoesoff,mufflingtherest.Jack’sstillholdingme,eyesonmine,foreheadsneartouching.Mynailsdigintohischest—madeofsomegranite-Kevlarblend,engineeredbyataskforceofexperimentaliststoexudeheat.He’sasentientweightedblanket,andI—
Ihatehim.
I’veneverhatedanybody:notJ.J.NottheFilmAppreciation101professorwhonearlyfailedmeforsayingthatTwilightisanunrecognizedmasterpiece.NotevenmybrotherLucas,whohadmeconvincedthatIwasadoptedforoversixmonths.I’mmildmannered,adaptable,unobtrusive.Igetalongwithpeople:Igivethemwhattheywant,andallIaskinreturnisthattheynotactivelydislikeme.
ButJackSmith.JonathanFuckingSmithFuckingTurner.He’sbeenhostileandunpleasantandsuspicioussincethedaywemet.Hehasshatuponmyfieldanddestroyedmymentor,andnowstandsbetweenmeandmydreams.Forthat,helosttheprivilegethatIaffordeveryhumanbeing:todealwiththeElsiehewants.
TheElsiehe’sgoingtogetistheoneIcaretogivehim.Andshe’spissed.
“Iwantthisjob,Jack,”Ihissoverthehanddryer.Iactuallyneedthisjob,but—semantics.
“Iknowyoudo,Elsie.”Hisvoiceislowpitchedandrumbly.“ButIwantsomeoneelsetogetit.”
“Iknow.Jack.”
“Thenitseemslikewe’reatanimpasse.Elsie.”Hearticulatesmynameslowly,carefully.I’mgoingtoleanforwardandbitehisstupidlipsbloody.
No,Iwon’t,becauseI’mbetterthanthat.
OramI?
“Youdonotwanttocomeatme,”Ihiss.
“Oh,Elsie.”Hishandsonmeareincongruouslygentle,andyetwe’reonthevergeoftheacademicequivalentofnuclearwarfare.“Ithinkit’sexactlywhatIwant.”
Thedryerturnsoffintosilenceandsavesmefromcommittingaggravatedassault.“Theyleft,”Isay.“Letmego.”
Hismouthtwitches,buthedepositsmeonthefloorinsomeludicrousreverse–DirtyDancingmove.Hishandsonmywaistlinger,butassoonastheyleavemeI’mscamperingoutofthestall,heelsclickingonthetiles.Inearlylosemybalance.WithJack’sscentoutofmynose,thestenchoftheplacehitsmeanew.
“TalktoMonicaifyouwantto,”Ibluff,turningbacktohim.“You’llseethegooditdoesyou.”
“Oh,Iwill.”He’sclearlyabouttosmile,liketheangrierIget,themoreamusedhebecomes.Anever-endingviciouscyclethatcanendonlyinmeholdinghisheadinthetoiletbowl.
“It’smywordagainstthewordoftheguywithadecade-longagendaagainsttheorists,afterall.”
Heshrugs.“Maybe.Ormaybeit’saphysicist’swordagainstalibrarian’s.”
Iscoffandstalktotheentrance,suddenlyconfidentinmystiltshoes,determinednottobeinhispresenceasecondlonger.ButwhenIreachthedoor,somethingticksinsideme.IwhipmyheadbacktoJack,who’sstandingtherelikeK2,studyingmewithaninterestedfrown,likeI’manexoticcaterpillarabouttopupate.
God,Ihopehehasitchy,purulentassacnefortherestofhisnaturallife.“Iknowyouhavedespisedmesincetheveryfirstmomentwemet,”Ispitout
Hebitestheinsideofhischeek.“Youdo?”
“Yes.Andyouknowwhat?Itdoesn’tmatterifyouhatedmeatfirstsight,becauseI’vehatedyoulongbeforeweevermet.IhatedyouthefirsttimeIheardyourname.IhatedyouwhenIwastwelveandreadwhatyou’ddoneinScientificAmerican.I’vehatedyouharder,I’vehatedyoulonger,andI’vehatedyouforbetterreasons.”
Jackdoesn’tlooksoamusedanymore.Thisisnewtome—talkingtootherslikethemeIreallyam.It’snewanddifferentandweird,andIfreakingloveit.
“I’mreallygoodathatingyou,Jack,sohere’swhatI’mgoingtodo:notonlyamIgoingtogetthisjob,butwhenwe’recolleaguesatMIT,I’mgoingtomakesurethatyouhavetolookatmeeverydayandwishthatIwereGeorge.I’mgoingtomakeyouregreteverysinglelittlejab.AndI’mgoingtosingle-handedlymakeyourlifesohardthatyou’llregrettakingonme,andMonica,andtheoreticalphysics,untilyoucryinyourofficeeverymorningandfinallyapologizetothescientificcommunityforwhatyoudid.”
Heisreallynotamusednow.“Isthatso?”heasks.Cold.Cutting.
ThistimeI’mtheonetosmile.“Youbet,Jonathan.”
Iopenthedoor.Leavetherestroom.
AndIdon’tglanceathimfortherestoftheevening.4ENTROPY
So.Justtogetthisstraight.You,Elsie‘I’mallergictopeanutsbutIstillateMrs.Tuttle’shomemadebrittlebecauseIdidn’twanttohurtherfeelings,haveyouseenmyEpiPen?’Hannaway—youtoldJackSmith…allthat?”
I’vekickedoffthereddress,andI’mneuroticallypacinginthegloryofmythighhighs,stripedcottonunderwear,andinsulinpod.Ishouldbecold,butmyangerburnstoastyfromwithin,liketheplasmacoreofthesun.“It’saminorallergy,Mrs.Tuttleisveryelderlyandourlandlady,andyes,Idid—becauseJackdeservedit.”
“Idon’tdoubtit.”Ceceliesbackonthecouch,watchinglikemymeltdownistheapotheosisofentertainment.Hedgieloungesinherlapwithaschadenfreudey,demonicgleam,clearlygettingaserotoninboostfrommyimpendingdemise.“Thatarticlehewrotewassuchahugedeal,everyacademicfieldstilltalksaboutit.Evenlinguistics.Howdidyounotknowwhathelookedlike?”
Irubmyeyes.Myfingerscomebacksootblack.“Iwasengaginginanacademicboycott.”
“Maybenotyourmostfortunateidea.”
“Ifsomeonewroteahoaxpapersayingthatadjectivessuck,you’dboycottthem,too.”
“I’dstraightupmurderthem.AndI’mproudofyouforfinallyyellingatsomeone—amostpleasingmomentinyourcareer.Butmyquestionis,howareyougoingtodo”—shewavesherhandinchoately—“allthat?”
“Dowhat?”
“Hatchoutoftheyolkyeggofadjuncthood.Getthejob.MakeJackruethedayhewasborn.What’stheplanhere?”
“Right.Yeah.”Istoppacing.Massagemytemples.“Ihavenone.”
“Iseenoflawsinthat.”
TheonlyresponseIcanthinkofinvolveskickingthetoppartofthecredenza.Idojustthat,thenproceedtolimparoundwithaswollenpinkytoe.
“I’veneverseenyoulikethis,Elsie.”
“I’veneverfeltlikethis.”I’maLargeHadronCollider:atomicparticlessmashangrilyaboutmybody,buildinguptheenergytoburnJacktoacrisp.Oratleastcookhimwelldone.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIexperiencedsomanynegativeemotions.“Ishouldhaveknown.Ialwayshadabadfeelingabouthim,andlastnight—that’swhyhe’ssogoodatGo.Hewasaphysicistallalong,that—thatpieceofUranus—”
“Scienceinsult.Nice.”
“IbethethinksinFahrenheit—”
“Ooh,sickburn.”
“—andspendshisfreetimeflyingtoWestminsterAbbeytodanceonStephenHawking’sgrave—”
“Hawking’sdead?”
“—andwon’tevenbothercallingGregtoaskforanexplanation,becausehe’sasadistic,egotistical,ignorantblackholeofsh—”
“Elsie,babe,doyouneedushereforthis,orshouldwegotoourroomtomournStephen?”
Istoppacing.CeceandHedgiearestaring,headstiltedatthesameangle.“Sorry,”Isaysheepishly.
“Notgonnalie,it’skindafuntoseeyousoapboxitallout,geyser-style.I’msuretherearesomeserioushealthbenefitstothis.Butbeforeyoupullamacheteoutofyourbuttcrackandbegintherampage,letmepointout,thisSmith-Turnerdude?Hecannottouchyou.”
“Hemaynotbeabletokneemeinthegroinorpoisonmyteawithavialofmeasles,but—”
“Healsocannotinterferewithyourinterview.”
“IfJacktellsVolkovorMonica,I—”
“Pff.”Shewavesherhand.“Hewon’t.”
“Hewon’t?”IsquintatCece.Issheplacatingme?Iwouldn’tknow—Ineverneedplacating.
“First,admittingthatheknowsyoufromanonacademicsettingwouldcreateasizableconflictofinterest.They’dforcehimtorecusehimselffromthesearchcommittee.He’dlosetheabilitytoinfluencetheothermembers.”
“Oh.”Inod.Firstslowly,thennot.“You’reright.”
“Plus,you’renotcontrabandingcigarsororganizingillegalcockfights.Youtoldasmall,irrelevantlieaboutyourpersonallifetoapassingacquaintance.ForallJackknows,you’reinthewitnessprotectionprogram.Oryoumisspokewhenyouwerefirstintroduced.OryouandGreghavearole-playkinkyouexpandoutofthebedroom:youpretendtobealibrarianathisgrandma’sbirthday,hespanksyouwithBillytheIKEAbookcase,orgasmsarehad.Consensual,Swedish,andaboveall:private.”
“That’s…intense.”
“I’vebeenwatchingHBOwithMrs.Tuttle’spassword.Pointis,Jack’snottellinganyoneshit.CanyouimagineifhewenttoMonicaandbroughtuprandomdetailsofyourromanticrelationshipsthathethinksshouldbedisqualifying?HRwouldhaveafieldday.Don’tyouwatchtheharassment-preventionwebinars?”
“I—they’remandatory.”
Cece’seyesnarrow.“Yes,butdoyouwatchthem,ordoyouletthemplaywhileyoudointegralcalculusandbrowsecheesepornonPinterest?”Iflushandlookaway,andshesighs.“Here’sarecap:Jackcan’taskyouaboutyourpersonallife.”
“Healreadyhas.”
“Buthecan’ttellothers.Itwouldbe,asthekidssay,abadlook.And,asthelawyerssay,illegal.Plus,Monicathebadasschairwouldkickhiminthenuts.Sheseemsnicelypredisposedtonutkicking.”
Iexhale.“You’reright.”Icelebratemyreliefbyrollingdownmythighhighs.Smallmiracle:noholesyet.“Sohe’sbluffing.Posturing.JustlikeIam.”
“Yup.”Cecebitesintoherlip,suddenlypained.“Withoneminordifference.”
“Whichis?”
“Ifhisposturingdoesn’twork,he’sstillanMITprofessor.Ifyoursdoesn’t…”
Igroananddropontothelazychair.“Ifminedoesn’t,it’sonemoreyearintheadjunctpit.”Noresearchtime.StudentscallingmeMomandinsistingtheirdogsatetheircomputers.Rationedinsulin.And,ofcourse,thelongerIspendwithoutatenure-trackjob,thelessappealingacandidateI’llbe.Ihateviciouscycles,andacademiconesarethemostviciousofall.
“Hey!”Cececomestokneelnexttome,settingHedgieontopofmychest.“ClearlyJackknowsyouhaveashotatthejob,orhewouldn’ttrytointimidateyou.AndKirksaidthatscientists—”
Isitup.“Kirk?ThenewFauxguy?”
“Yeah.”Issheblushing,orisitjustthepoorlighting?Weneednewbulbs.Alsoneeded:moneyfornewbulbs.“Hesaidthatscientistsgetmeanwhentheyfeelthreatened.”
“Hmm.”WhatifJackreallydoesthinkIhaveabettershotthanGeorge?IponderthepossibilitiesuntilHedgierollsonherback,quillsstabbingmyrightboob.“I’mgoingtoboilyouandeatyoursoupwithudonnoodles,”Imurmur.
Cecefrowns.“Whatdidyousay?”
“Nothing!Just…You’reright.Thankyoufortalkingmedown.”
Shesmiles,andIfeelasurgeofaffectionforher.“See,that’sthereasonscientistsneedthehumanities.Youguyslackbigpicture.”
“Wedon’t—”
“Plus,youmoronsaretrainingthemachinestobecomeourroboticoverlords.”Shepatsmyhead.“HaveyoutoldDr.L.aboutthis?”
Igroan,onceagainsappedofmywilltolive.“Isenthimanemail.Hewantstoseemeinhisofficetomorrowmorning.”
“Beforeyourteachingdemo?Can’tyoujusthaveacall?”
“Hedoesn’tlikephones.”
“Hmm.Highmaintenance.”
He’snot.Dr.L.onlywantsthebestforme,andgiveneverythinghe’sdone,wakinguponehourearlyistheleastIcando.Ortwohours,accountingfortraffic.
ThefirstthingIdoonceI’minmyjammiesandmy“Physics:whyshitdoesstuff”SnuggieiscontactGreg.IalreadytriedfromtheUber,afterspendingdinnerdebasingmyselfbyusingmyhard-earnedphysicsPh.D.tomakeuppunsforVolkov—myserialkilleroriginstory.IwonderifJacktriedtocallhisbrother,too,andIsnortattheidea.Clearlyhe’sdecidedthatI’maftertheSmithtrustfunds,likesomeskankfromtheDynastyreboot.HeprobablyjustcalledhisnosymomandUnclePaulthePerv,andthey’reallabouttodescendonGreglikeahordeofgoblinsharks.
ButGregisunreachable.Isendhimatexthewon’tsee.IsettheiTwataside,wonderingifJack’sphoneiscracked,too.Probablynot.NexttimeIseehim,Ishouldsmashitintothesidewalkandcorrectthesituation.
Whataplan.
Withasigh,Ipulloutmy2013MacBookPro.(Decrepit,Cececallsit.Iprefervintage.Still,thenumberofhigh-performancecomputingsimulationsI’vebeenabletoruninthepastyeariszero.)Inloveandwareverything’sfair,andthisisbloodshed.SoIallowmyselfsomethingnotquitekosher:Ilookupthecompetition.
Thephysicscommunityisweirdlysized:notsosmallthatwe’reallbosomfriends,notsolargethatwecanoverlooksomeone’sexistence.EspeciallysomeonegoodenoughtomakethefinalroundofanMITinterview.Takeme:myclaimtofame,whatgotmeonMonica’sradar,ismydissertation—abunchofmathematicalformulasthatpredictthebehavioroftwo-dimensionalliquidcrystals.Theyarespecial,multitudes-containingmaterials,withpropertiesofbothliquidsandsolids,ofmobilityandstasis,ofchaosandorganization.Likeme,basically.Andmyfavoritepartaboutthemisthattheverymultitudestheycontainmayhaveledthemtoplayakeyroleintheoriginsoflife,byhelpingbuildthefirstbiomoleculesonEarth.
Riveting,Iknow.Justwaitforthemovieadaptation.
Butitdidgetsomebuzz,becausewhatMonicasaidisalsotrue:thepossibleapplicationsofmyresearcharenearlyinfinite.Formywork,IgotoneofthoseForbesSTEMawardsthatonlypeoplenotinSTEMcareabout,andIwasinterviewedonacoupleofpodcastsdownloadedbymorethanjustthehost’sextendedfamily.OneofmyNaturePhysicsarticleswasevenfeaturedonthecover.TheresearchgroupsatNortheasternstartedgivingmecovetousglancesandstoppedaskingmetomakecoffee—onlyfair,sinceIdon’tevendrinkit.Cecegotmea“Greatwomenofscience”T-shirtwithmyportraitsandwichedbetweenAliceBall’sandAdaLovelace’s.Myparents…Well,myfamilydidn’treacttoanyofit,becausetheywerebusydealingwithataxauditorsomething.ButDr.L.,who’sfamilyinanywaythatcounts,pattedmeontheback,toldmethatIwasthemostpromisingtheoristofmygeneration,andassuredmethatI’dhavemypickoftenure-trackpositionsoutofgradschool.
Andanyothertime,itmighthaveevenbeentrue.Butthesetimesareunprecedented—hiringfreezes,systematicdefundingofhighereducation,adjunctification.Andafewweeksago,whentheForbesjournalistcontactedmetodoa“wherearetheynow”follow-upstory,Ihadtotellherthatno,itwasn’tamistake:Ihadn’tpublishedinmonths,myresearchhadstalled,andIhadnotbeenabletogetacooljobatatopinstitution.Infact,Iwasluckytofindanyjob.Evenonewhosedescriptionisacademia’slittlebitch
GeorgetheChosenExperimentalist,though…Ihavenoideawhathisclaimtofameis,andhedoesn’tringanybells.SoIgooglethedevilIknow:Jack.HehasaWikipediaentry—Irefusetogiveithitsonprinciple—andaGoogleScholarpage—whichImustclickon,butdosowhilegagging.ItrynottonoticehowmuchIhavetoscrolldowntogettothebottomofhispublicationlist,mutter“Show-off,”thenstartcombingthroughhiscoauthors.
IfindaGabriel.Gayle.Giovanni.Gunner(really?).GeorginaSepulveda,aphysicssuperstarwhoseworkI’vebeenstanningforyears(IchoosetothinkshecollaboratedwithJackunderduressanddonatedallproceedingstothelocalanimalshelter).Afteraminute,IcomeacrosstheelusiveGeorge—GeorgeGreen.He’sontwolow-impactarticles—bothrecent,bothwithJack.There’snexttonoonlinetraceofhim,buthejustfinishedhispostdocatHarvardandpostsonphysicssubredditsunderhisrealname.
“Seriously?”Thisguy’sbeinginterviewed?WhateverstringsJackhadtopull,I’mgoingtocutthemonebyonewithmypoultryshears.Hismediocrelovechilddoesn’tstandachance—
Myphonerings.Ijoltandimmediatelypickup—Greg.Finally.
“Hey!I—”
“Ineedyourhelp.”
Iswallowagroan.“Hi,Mom.”I’vemadealethalmistake.
“Thesituationisdire.Youneedtoreininyourbrothers.”
AftertwoandahalfdecadesofAPE,IcansafelystatethattheElsiemymomwantsisadroid.She’spowerful,mobile,financiallysoluble.Shesuccessfullyquenchedherearthlyneedsandlivesinastateofperennialprosperity.HermainpurposeistoscoreprestigepointswhenAuntMinniebragsabouthersonwhoalmostfinishedlawschool.Hersecondarypurpose?Tointervenewhentwoidiotsdecidetoembarkonmonths-longfeudsoverstuffthat,historically,hasincluded:
whogetsthefrontseatinthecar
whodeservesthepieceofcakewiththefrostingbootieatCousinJenna’sbabyshower
who’staller(theyareidenticaltwins)
who’smorehandsome(seeabove)
whosebirthyear,accordingtotheGuinnessWorldRecordsbook,hasmorerecordedpythonattacks(seeabove!)
whogetstopickthedog’sname(weneverhadpets)
Thisisanoncomprehensivelist.Overtheyears,thefeudshavebecomemorerabid,Dadmoreabsent,Mommorereliantonmeforcleanups.“Youcan’tbeyourfamily’sjanitorialstaff,”Cecetellsmeonceaweek,butIdomybesttomakeMomhappy,eventhoughofalltheElsiespeoplewant,hersisthefakest—andtheonewithdeepestroots.Ihave,afterall,cursedmywayintoit,tirelesslyandpainstakingly.
“Howareyou,Mom—”
“Overwhelmed.LucasandLanceareatitagain.Almostcametofistsaftertheirsoccergame.”
“Overtheresult?”
“OverDana.”
Irubmytemple.“Theybothagreedtostopdatingher.”
“Theydid.ButDananeededaridesomewhere.”
“Whodidshecall?”
“Lucas.Lanceslashedhistire.Theneighborsarestartingtotalk.Youneedtostopthem.”
“Idid,Mom.Twoweeksago.Amonthago.Threemonthsago.”I’vebeenholdingaseriesofconflictmediationseminarsinmyparents’basement.Theymostlyconsistofmeremindingmybrothersthatmurderisillegal.
“Well,doitagain.Comeovertomorrow.”
Iphysicallycringe.“I’msorry.It’snotpossible.”
“Why?”
“I—”No.NoIstatements.Toopersonal.“Thisisastressful,busytime.Thesemesterjuststartedand…”DoItellher?Ishouldn’t.Butmaybeshe’llwanttoknow?“I’minterviewingforajob.”
“Youhaveajob.”
“Thisisabetterjob.”
“Yourjobisalreadyabetterjob.”
Iconsiderbringingupconceptslikerelativity,gigeconomy,andinsulinresistance.“Thisisevenbetter.”
“Let’shearit—whatisit?”
“Professor.”
“Soyou’dgofrombeingaprofessortobeingaprofessor.”
Needlesstosay,Idon’tbothertellingmyparentsaboutthependulousnatureofmyjobsituation.Or…anythingelse.“I’llcallthemtomorrowmorning,okay?”
Shegrumblesforfivemoreminutesandguiltsmeintocallingtonight,thenswitchestocomplainingaboutsomethingrelatedtotoxicdeodorantsthatshesawonFacebook.Ihanguptoanotification—notGreg,butsomeguylookingforafakegirlfriendforaValentine’sDaygroupdate.IdecideonthespottopersonallyblameFauxfortonight’sshitshowandchucktheiTwatintothelaundryhamper.
What’stheplanhere?Ceceasked.
Ihaveagrandtotalofzeroideas,whichmeansthatI’mgoingtohavetoannihilateJackShitwipeSmith-Turnertheoldway:byexcellingatmyjob.
Isighdeeply.ThenIpullmyancientMacontomylap,clickonmyteachingdemonstration,andrehearsethecrapoutofit.5GRAVITATIONALCONSTANT
Inthemajormotionpictureofmylife—alow-budgetslapsticktragicomedy—Dr.ChristopheLaurendeau’srolewouldbeplayedbyoneofthoseold-schoolFrenchactorswhooftenstarinCece’smovies.Heshouldn’tbehardtocast:along-facedmanwholooksatoncesternandwise,wearsonlyturtlenecks,andneverstopsbeinghandsome,noteveninthetailendofhissixties,whenhishairgoesashgrayandhisskinwrinklesintosandpaper.Hisofficesmellslikechamomileteaandoldbooks,andwheneverI’mhere(dailyforthefiveyearsofmyPh.D.,weeklysinceIgraduated),hedoesthesamething:unfoldshistall,razor-thinframefrombehindhisdeskandinstructs,likeit’smyfirsttimeontheNortheasterncampus,“Sitdown,please.Inthatgreenchair.”HisEnglishisneveranythingbutperfect,evenifhisaccentisstillDisneystrong.“Howareyou,Elise?”
It’ssomethingIlearnednottowinceat,thewayhealwaysusesthewrongname.InDr.L.’sdefense,hecalledmeEliseonourfirstmeeting,andIneverbotheredtocorrecthim.IdidconsideraskinghimtoswitchtoElsiewhenhetookmeoutfordinnerafterIdefendedmydissertation,butIchickenedout.
AsidefromCece,Dr.L.wastheonlyhumanbeingwhoacknowledgedmegettingmyPh.D.—amatterofcircumstances,Itellmyself.AftertheSmith-Turnerhoaxalmostkilledhiscareer,Iwashisfirstmenteeinmanyyears,whichmeantnocloselabmates.ThetheoreticalphysicsresearchgroupatNortheasternwasnotquitefondenoughofwomeninSTEMtocelebrateone.Andmyfamily…Theycouldn’tmakethetwo-hourdrivebecauseofLance’sadultleaguegame—and,likely,becauseIneverfullymanagedtoconveytothemwhatgradschoolis,thoughMomonceaskedifIwasdonewiththatpaperIhadtoturnin(i.e.,mydissertation),whichItookasawin.
SoDr.L.tookmeouttoafancyrestaurant,justthetwoofus,wherethehostessgavemeaninquisitiveDaughter,granddaughter,orsugarbaby?look.Andwhenhelookedatmeoveradinnerthatcosthalfmyrentandsaid,“Youcarriedyourselfwell,Elise.Iamproudofyou,”theraresparkofinitiativediedout.IfIhadDr.L.’sapproval,hecouldcallmewhateverheliked.
Andthat’sthestoryofmydoctoralwork:bookendedbysomeoneelse’sname.
Elise,I’vecometobelieve,istheElsiethatDr.L.wants—abrillianttheoreticalphysicistwithanillustriousjobthatwillgarnerhertheadmirationofthescientificcommunity—andwhileshemightnotbewhoIam,she’swhoIwanttobe.
Toobadthatherexistenceisantitheticaltothisotherguy’s.
“JonathanSmith-Turner.”Dr.L.’smouthisathinline.Hiseyes,hurt.“Adisgrace.”
Inod.
“Thelikesofhimtaintphysicsandacademia.”
Inodagain.
“Itisapparentwhatneedstobedone.”
Morenodding,infullagreement.
“Clearly,youmustwithdrawyourapplication.”
Hangon.Maybenotfullagreement.“Withdraw…myapplication?”
“Icannotallowyoutoworkinthesamedepartmentasthatanimal.”
“ButI…”Isquirmandleanforwardinthechair.Somuchforeleganceandpoise.“Ineedthejob.”
“Youhaveajob.”
“Icannotadjunctforonemoreyear.”
“Butyouareanadjunctprofessor.Youshouldbeproudofyourcurrentemployment.”
ThroughoutmyPh.D.,Iexpectedtograduateandthenmoveontoaresearch-onlyposition.Thosetendtocomewithbetterpaythanadjuncts,healthinsurance,andablessedlylownumberofstudentemailsclaimingthesixthgrandparent’sdeathofthesemester.Assomeonewith…whatevertheoppositeofacallingforteachingis,itseemedlikeano-brainer.Mypassion,myjoy,mytalent—theyallfitintothreesimplewords:two-dimensionalliquidcrystals.
Laurendeauwasagainstit,sayingthatresearch-onlypositionsarenotprestigiousenough.Iinitiallydisagreed(whocaresaboutprestigeifIcandowhatIloveandpurchasepancreatichormones?)andforawhileworriedthathewouldn’thelpmefindthekindofjobIwanted.Professorshipsaside,mostacademicpostingsarenotadvertisedonline,butobtainedthroughprofessionalnetworksofpeersandadvisors.Intheend,itdidn’tturnouttobeanissue:Dr.L.saidthatherespectedmywishesandreachedoutwidelytoallhiscolleaguestoletitbeknownthatIwaslookingforaresearchposition.
Notonepersonwasinterestedinhiringme.Andwhennotenure-trackprofessorshipwasavailable,either…
“Iusedmyconnectionstofindyouyourcurrentjobs,Elise,”hetellsme,eyesfullofconcern.“Areyouhavingissueswiththem?”
I’minstantlyswimminginguilt.Dr.L.pulledstrings.Hecalledupoldcolleagues—reachedouttopeoplewhoturnedtheirbackstohimaftertheSmith-Turnercensure.Swallowedhisprideforme.“No!Thecommutebetweendifferentcampusesistimeconsuming,but…”Istartbitingintomycuticles,thenrememberthatIstoppedthreeyearsago.WiththehelpofCeceandaspraybottle.“Butnice.Thevariety.”Ismile.
Hesmilesback,pleased,andIfeelaheadysenseofreliefandaffection.Dr.L.ismyoneallyintheRedRidingHoodforestofacademia.Ifitweren’tforhim,I’dneverhavegottenintogradschooltobeginwith.MyheartsqueezesasIremembersenioryearofcollege.Mylowgrades.MymediocreGREscoresblinkingonthescreen,andtheknowledgethatIcouldn’taffordtoretakeit.J.J.’scareless“Hey,what’sup?”wheneverwecrossedpaths.
IrememberthesenseofdreadIfeltcompilingmyapplicationsandsendingthemtofourteen—fourteen—schools,andthen,overthefollowingweeks,theweightsinkinginmystomach,centimeteraftercentimeter.Otherstudentswerebeingflownoutforon-campusinterviews,andmyemailpingedwithnothingbutspamandMom’srequeststhatItakecareofmybrothers.
Itwastheshortestwinterofmylife,andyetitcrawledatasnail’spacetilltheendofFebruary,whenIfinallyknewthatitjustwouldn’thappen.BecomingaphysicistwastheonlythingIeverwanted,anditwouldnevercometruebecauseofastupidmistake.
UntilChristopheLaurendeaucontactedme.
“Iwasgoingthroughsome…personalissues,”Itoldhimduringourfirstmeeting,hopingtoexplainthedipinmygrades.“Justrelationshipstuff.”
“Isee.”Heassessedme,inscrutable.“Itrustthateverythingisresolved.”
“Itis.Forgood.”Nomorerelationships,Ihopedhewouldreadbetweenthelines,andwhenhenoddedwithapleasedsmile,Ithoughtmaybehehad.
“Theoreticalphysics,ifpursuedseriously,ishardlycompatiblewith…personalissues.”
Itsoundedgoodtome.Eversincelearningthattheuniverseissubjecttorulesthatcanbedescribedandunderstood,I’dhadonedream.Oneconstant,throughouttheiterationsofElsiesIcarefullyconstructedforothers.Ifitweren’tforDr.L.,I’dbeleftwithoutit,andthat’swhyI’llforevertrusthim.
Butpayingforinsulinoutofpocketforonemoreyear…
“Elise,itismyresponsibilitytolookoutforyou,”he’ssaying,voicefullofworry.“YoudeservebetterthantoworkwithJonathanSmith-Turner—”
“He’snotinthePhysicsDepartment,”Iblurtout.Itis,technically,thetruth.
Dr.L.squints.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Ja—he’stheheadofthePhysicsInstitute.He’s…barelypartofthesearch.Imightnevermeethimagain.”Iwrapahandaroundagreenarmrest.Okay,thisone’salie.Butsmall.Alielet.
“Isee.”Henodssilently,fingersstrokinghischin.“Inthatcase…”
I’llforevertrustLaurendeauwithmycareer,buthissalaryissixfigures.Hehasn’ttakenabussincethelateeighties,andIbetthecredenzasinhishouseareallneatlyassembled.
“Donotwithdraw,then.Butbecareful.Youknowwhatthatmandid,”headmonishes.TheSmith-TurnerAffairis,surprisingly,notatabootopic.Laurendeauisnothingbutopenabouthiscontempt.“IfIhadn’tbeentenured,Iwouldhavelostmyfacultyposition.Andhenearlydestroyedmyreputation.Ifithadn’tbeenforhim,Iwouldhavebeenawardedgrantsinthepastsixteenyears.Iwouldhavehadthefundstokeepyouhere,workingwithme.”
OnemorereasontohateJack.Myjawsets.“Iknow.”
“Verywell,Elise,”Laurendeausays,holdingmyeyesalittletoointensely.“NowthatIthinkaboutit,youwinningthepositionoverhishandpickedcandidatemightbeanopportunityindisguise.”
“Anopportunity?”
Heslowlybreaksintoasmile.“Forrevenge.”6ANODEANDCATHODE
From:Bobbylicious@gmail.com
Subject:thermopaper
omgIforgottowriteitcanIturnitinlate?imsorryiwasatweddinglastweekendandgotsoooohighi’vebeenoutofitforthewholeweek.
From:kelsytromboli@umass.edu
Subject:Nofair!
AB-onmyVibrationspaper?Offensive.I’memailingtheDeanaboutthis.
Norestfortheadjunct.
Asin,contractually:adjunctscannottaketimeoff.SinceI’llbebusyinterviewing,Iprerecordedlessonsandscrambledtofindinstructorstocovermyclasses.ButIneedtoreplytostudents’messages—whilefantasizingabout“accidentally”misspellingmyemailinnextyear’ssyllabus.WhenIarriveontheMITcampus,I’mstillansweringtheoddMayIhaveanextensionemail.Theonethingadjunctinghasdoneformeishonemyteachingskills,soI’mnottoonervousabouttoday’sdemonstration.
Thatis,tillMonicameetsmeattheentranceofthephysicsbuildingandtellsmedarkly,“You’llbeevaluatedbyme,Volkov,andSmith-Turner.”
Instant.Stomach.Knot.
“Isee.”Maybeit’slikefigureskatingattheWinterOlympics,wherethehighestandlowestscoresgetautomaticallytossedout?
“Butdon’tworry.”Shedartsupthestairs,andIstruggletokeepupinmypencilskirt.(Thethighhighsareprovingsurprisinglycomfortable,if…drafty.)“I’veseenyourstudentevals—you’reanexcellentlecturer.”Shetakesarightandguidesmethroughaseriesofdoors.“You’llbeteachingagraduateclass,andthePh.D.studentswillbeaskedtoweighinandgivetheirimpressionsofyou.Keepthatinmindanddothethingwhereyoumakethemfeelimportant.Stupidquestionsdon’texist,yadayada.”Shestopsoutsideacloseddoorandbitesherlip.“There’ssomethingelse.”
“Whatisit?”I’malittlewinded.
Sheclearsherthroat.“Ireallytriedtogetyourdemonstrationtobeforanothergroupofstudents.”
Oh?“Why?”
“Becausethefacultymemberwhoteachesthisone—”
“Dr.Hannaway!”Webothturn.Volkoviswaddlingtowardus,grinninglikewegowaybackandheusedtobabysitme.“Doyouknowtheoneabouttheradiothatonlyworksinthemorning?”
Iforcemyselftosmile.God,I’mtired.“TheAMradio?”
Helaughs,delighted.Monicadiscreetlyrollshereyes,opensthedoor,andgesturesmeinside,ourcoachingsessioncutshort.
ThefirstthingInoticeisJack—whichisunsurprising.He’sagiantmountainofmuscles,afterall,andthere’sprobablyaphysicsequationthatexplainshisannoyinghabitofbecomingthecenterofmassofeveryroomheburdenswithhispresence.He’sstandingbehindthepodium,tinkeringwiththecomputer,wearingjeansandaT-shirt,asthoughtheworldoutsideisnotrelapsingintoaniceage.Thelinesofhistattoocurlaroundabicepsthatfranklynoone,noonewhodoesn’tworkoutforalivingshouldhave.Istillcan’ttellwhattheink’ssupposedtoform.
Intheory,it’sasceneIknowwell.Thefewminutesleadinguptothestartofclass:studentsenjoyingthelastfewsecondswiththeirphones,theinstructorscramblingtopullupthePowerPointagainstallITodds(missingcables,incompatibilityissues,never-endingWindows10updates).Inpractice,thereareabouttwentypairsofeyesintheroom,andthey’reallfixedonJackwithamixofadmiration,respect,andawe,likehe’sthedominantturkeyofthematingseason.
Okay.
SotheMITgradbodyfanboysoverJack.
Fantastic.
“—whetherit’strueornot,”ayoungmanwithfadedgreenhairissaying,“thatChristopherNolanusesyouasaconsultantonallhismovies?”
Jackshakeshishead,andIseethemusclescordinghisneck.Breakingnews:neckshavemuscles.“IwillnotbeblamedforTenet,Cole,”hereplies,andeveryonelaughs.
Ihatehim.Thoughthat’snotnews.Whatisnewsishowhelooksinmydirectionandpolitelysays,asthoughlastnightIdidn’tthreatentofeedhisrottingcorpsetotheearthworms,“Welcome,Dr.Hannaway.Istartedthemonitorforyou.”He’ssmiling,butthere’sanedgetoit.Achallenge.Likehe’saskingmetojumpintoapuddlethat’sactuallytwentyfeetdeep.
“Thankyou.”Ourarmsbrushtogetheronmywaytothepodium.Irememberhishands,warm,unwaveringaroundmywaist,ahushedsettledownmurmuredagainstmytemple,andIsuppressashiver.
HaveImentionedthatIhatehim?
“Goodmorning,andthankyouforhavingme,”IsayoncemyPowerPointisloaded.Theclassis(predictably)90percentmaleand(predictably)madeofstudentswhoarearoundmyage.
It’scomplicated,beingawomaninSTEM.Evenmoresowhenyou’reyoungandunproven.Andevenmoresowhenyouhaveasemi-pathologicalneedtogetalongwithothers.Astheonlyfemalegradinmydepartment,I’vehadampleopportunitytocontemplatethetightropethatthosewhoarenotwhitecishetmentreadinacademicspaces.
DoIwanttobeseenasacongenial,affablecolleague?Yes,andthankstoalifetimeofAPE,Iknowtheexactcombinationtoachievethat:charmingself-deprecation,modesty,humoroustangents,admittingtodoubtandfallibility.It’snotrocketscience(incidentally,abranchofexperimentalphysicsI’mobligedtoscoffat).Usingjokesandsimpleexamplestobeacharismatic,engagingspeakerisaprettytextbookwaytocomeacrossasalikableguy.
Guybeingtheoperativeword.Becausewhenyou’reawomantalkingaboutyourresearch,thereareanywherebetweenoneandamillionSTEMlordsreadytoexploiteverylittleweakness—everylittlesignthatyou’renotalean,meansciencemachine.Theyoupeoplewantissharp,impeccable,perfectenoughtojustifyyourintrusioninafieldthatforcenturieshasbeen“rightfully”male.Butnottooperfect,becauseapparentlyonly“stone-coldbitches”arelikethat,andtheydonotmakeforcongenial,affablecolleagues.STEMculturehasbeenaboys’clubforsolong,IoftenfeellikeIcanbeallowedtoplayonlyifIfollowtherulesmenmade.Andthoserules?Theydownrightsuck.
LikeIsaid,atightrope.Withabunchofcrocodilesthrowingtheirmawsopeninwaitforfreshmeat.
Well.Heregoes.Imakemysmileacombinationofwarmandself-assuredthatdoesn’texistinnature,andsay,“Sincethisclassdealswithcurrenttopicsinphysics,I’vepreparedalectureonWignercrystals,ahighlydiscussed—”
Agroan.
Didsomeonegroan?
Ilookaround,puzzled.Studentsstareatmeexpectantly.
Iimaginedit.
“Wignercrystallizationoccurswhenelectrongasesthatliveinaperiodiclattice—”
“Excuseme?”Cole.Ofthegreenhair.“Dr.Hannaway,areyougoingtotalkaboutthetopicofWignercrystalsfromatheoreticalperspective?”
“Greatquestion.Mostlytheory,butI’llgiveanoverviewoftheexperimentalevidence,too.”Nextslide—andperfectsegue.“Onceweachievedtheabilitytocreatelargeinter-electronicdistances,Wignercrystallization—”
“Excuseme.”Cole.Again.“Aquestion.”
Ismilepatiently.I’musedtothis.ThelasttimeIpresentedataconference,somedudewell,actually’dmebeforeIevenpulledupmyPowerPoint.“Ofcourse,goahead.”
“Myquestionis…what’sthepointofthis?”
Severalpeoplelaugh.Isighinternally.“Excuseme?”
“Isn’titabituseless,talkingabouttheoriesforhours?”Hetalksslowlybutearnestly.Likehe’sSteveJobsunveilinganewphone.“Shouldn’twefocusontheactualapplications?”
Iopenmymouthtoaskwhohurthim—DidMichioKakubullyyou,Cole?DidFeynmanstealyourlunchmoney?—butmyeyesfallonVolkov.He’sgivingmeaninterestedlook,likehe’scurioustoseehowI’lldealwiththisshitgibbon.Nexttohim,Monica’slipsareflatandresigned.Andbehindher
Jack.
Whoneverbotheredtosit.Heleansagainstthewall,armscrossedoverhischestinacasualYeah,Iworkoutway,staringatmelikeabrownreclusespideronsteroids.Hissharp,unyieldingeyesmissnothing,butwhateveremotionImanagedtosqueezefromhimlastnightisgone,andI’mbacktohavingnocluewhathe’sthinking.He’slikeaclosedbook.
No,he’slikeabookonfire.Fahrenheit451—nowordstoread,justashesandtheabyss.
Everythingclickstogether.IfillintheblanksofmyinterruptedconversationwithMonica:it’sJackwhoteachesthisclass.Jack,whohaslotsofopinionsabouttheorists.Jack,whoindoctrinatedhisstudentsintobelievingthatpeoplelikemearetheenemy.Jack,whosesexualfantasieslikelyinvolvemefailingtodefendmydisciplinetotwodozenhostiledudes.Ibethegetsofftorecordingsofmemispronouncingsyzygyattheeleventh-gradesciencefair.
Thisisasetup.TheteachingdemonstrationwasalwaysgoingtobemyTitanic—theship,notthehigh-grossingmotionpicture.
Exceptthat,no.
IholdJack’seyesandgivehimmysweetest,mostferalsmile.Youunderestimatedme,itsays,andheknowsit.Becausehehalfsmilesbackandnodsminutely—devious,ready,coiled.HaveI,Elsie?
It’son.
“Youmakeareallygoodpoint,Cole.”Isetdownmyclickerandwanderfrombehindthepodium.“Theoreticalphysicscanbeawasteoftime.”Itakeoffmysuitjacket,eventhoughit’scold.Iglancedownatmyabdomentomakesurethebumpofmypodisnotvisible.I’mbasicallyoneofyou.Two,threeyearsolder?Look,I’msittingonthetable.Let’sbefriends.“Whowouldagree?Showofhands.”IttakesafewsecondsofexchangedIsthisatrap?looks,but80percentofthehandsareupinnotime.
That’swhenIraisemyown,too.
Theylaugh.“Aren’tyouatheorist,Dr.Hannaway?”someoneasks.
“Yes,butIgetit.Andplease,callmeElsie.”I’mnotlikearegulartheorist.I’macooltheorist.Yikes.ErwinSchr?dinger,avertyoureyes.“ItisunfairthatmostofthephysicistswhowinNobelPrizesorbecomehouseholdnamesaretheorists.Newton.Einstein.Feynman.Kaku.SheldonCoopergottheseven-seasonspin-offshow,butLeonard?Nothing.”Peoplechuckle—includingVolkov.Jack’sslimsmiledoesn’twaver.“Theadvantageoftheoryisthatwetradeinideas,andideasarecheapandfast.Experimentalphysicistsneedexpensiveequipmenttotroubleshooteverystep,buttheoristscanjustsitthereandwrite”—Iaddacalculatedshrug—“sciencefanfiction.”It’sanactualinsultIgotwhenIwenttoaHarvardsocialasCece’splus-one.Fromaphilosophygradwho,afterthreebeers,decidedtomansplaintotheentirebarwhymypublicationsdidn’treallycount.
ThethingsIdoforfreefood.
“Theoristshidebehindfancymath,”Colesays.SweetsummerSTEMlord.Ipromiseyou’renotasedgyasyouthink.
“WhatIdon’tgetis…what’sthepointofbuildingabstracttheoriesthatarenotevenboundbythelawsofnature?”saystheguynexttoCole.He’swearingalong-sleevedteethatreads“PhysicsandChill”intheShrekfont.Ikindaloveit.
“Experimentsarewaymoreuseful.”Anotherdude.Inthefirstrow.
“Youonlycareaboutwhatmightbe,butnotwhatactuallyis.”Dude,ofcourse.Thistimefromthethirdrow.“Thepossibleapplicationsarealwaysanafterthought.”
Manystudentsnod.SodoI,becauseIcanreadthemlikealarge-printedition.IknowtheexactElsietheywant.
Timetobringthishome.
“Whatyouguysaresayingisthattheoreticalphysicsdoesn’talwaysendinaproduct.Andtothat,allIcansayis…Iagree.Physicsislikesex:itmayyieldpracticalresults,butoftenthat’snotwhywedoit.”Atleastthat’swhatFeynmanoncesaid.He’salsoonrecordascallingwomenworthlessbitches,butwe’llletitslidesincehisquotemadeyoulaugh.“Howmanyofyouareexperimentalists?”Almostallhandsshootup,andCole’sthehighest.I’mdepressinglyunsurprised.“Thetruthis,youguysareright.Theoristsdofocusonmathematicalmodelsandabstractconcepts.Buttheydoithopingthatexperimentalistslikeyouwillcomeacrossourtheoriesanddecidetoproveusright.”Ugh.Iwantashowerandabarofindustrial-strengthsoap.“Andthat’swhyIwanttotalkwithyouguysaboutmytheoriesonWignercrystallization.SothatIcanhearyouropinionsandimprovethroughyourfeedback.Idon’tknowwhentheoristsandexperimentalistsbecamerivals,butphysicsisnotaboutcompetition—it’saboutcollaboration.You’refreetomakeupyourmind,andI’mnotgoingtotryandconvinceyouthatyouneedmytheories.Iwillacknowledge,however,thatIneedyourexperiments.”AmIlayingitontoothick?Nope.Well,yes.Butthegradsloveit.Theynod.Theymurmur.Acoupleofthemgrinsmugly.
It’smycuetounsheathemywarmestsmile.“Doesthatansweryourquestion,Cole?”
Itdoes.Cole’sravenousegohasbeensufficientlyfedwithscrapsofmydignity.Oh,thethingsIdoforhealthcareandpensionfundsmatching.“Yes,Elsie.Thankyouforaddressingmyconcerns.”
Dickbag.“Excellent.”Ipushawayfromthetableandwalkbacktothepodium.“I’msoexcitedtotellyouaboutWignercrystallization.Feelfreetointerruptagainatanypoint,becausewhatyoutakeoutofthelecture,that’swhatmatters.”Abeat.ThenIdelivermyfinalblow.“Unlessyoumultiplyitbythespeedoflight.Inwhichcaseitenergies.”
Aaand,scene.
IliftmyeyesjustasVolkovstartswheezing.Besidehim,Monicagivesmeadelightedlook:hergladiator,makingherproud.Iallowthestudentsafewsecondstogroanatmycheesy,dorkypunthattheysecretlylovebecause—whodoesn’t?“Thankyou,I’llbehereallweek.”Groansturnintochuckles.
Andthat’swhenIletmyselflookatJack.Mychinlifts,justamillimeter.Itoldyouyou’dregrettakingmeon,Dr.Smith-Turner.
Jackstaresback,expressionless.Notsmiling.Notfrowning.Notgrittinghisteeth.Hejuststares,inwhatIreallyhopeisareassessmentofmythreattohisphysicsdominationplan.TohispreciousGeorge.It’sfleeting,andI’mprobablyimaginingit,butIcouldalmostswearthatIspotatwinkleinthebluesliceofhiseye.
Ishelveitasawinandgetstartedwithmytalk.
???
AftertheteachingdemonstrationIcoulduseanap,butmydayisbookedfull.IhaveameetingwiththedeanoftheSchoolofScience,apleasantguywhosipscoffeefromatentaclemugthathasmeponderinghispornpreferences.Thenthere’saninformallunchwithtwophysicsprofs—clearlyacouplehavingalovers’spat,whichresultsinmestaringatmysaladwhiletheybickeroversomeonenamedRaul.AfterwardIgetafive-minutebathroombreak(spentfiguringoutwhethermyinsulinpodisactinguporI’mjustadumpsterfireofparanoia)followedbyone-on-oneinterviews.
One-on-onesare,ofcourse,whatI’mbestat.It’ssimplemath:beingtheElsieonepersonwantsismucheasierthannegotiatingbetweentheElsiestwelvedifferentpeopledemand.Theseinterviewsareostensiblyformetoaskquestionsaboutthedepartmentthatwillhelpmedecidewhethertoacceptanoffer,butlet’snotforgetthat(1)mycurrentjobsituationisabukkakeofshit,and(2)carryingoutinterviewsqualifiesasacademicservice,andacademicshateservicewiththeintensityofathousandquasars.
Luckily,I’maproatmakingpeoplefeelliketimespentwithmeisnotwasted.Dr.Ikagawausesinflatableyogaballsinsteadofchairs—notidealinapencilskirt,butconducivetobondingconversationoverourcoreandupper-bodyroutines.Dr.Voighthasbeenonholdwithhisdentalinsuranceforhours,andwhenIlethimspendourfifteenminutesfightingthemonthephone,helookslikehecouldkissme.Itrapamosquitothat’sbeeninfestingAlvarez’sofficeandmakealifelongfriend.IworkshopDr.Albritton’ssyllabus;laughwithDr.Deolabouthisson’sthird-gradeteacher,whostillthinksPlutoisaplanet;nodasDr.SadersipsonaCapriSunwhileramblingaboutdarkmatterbeingnotaclumpbutasmoothlydistributedwavysuperfluid.
It’sgoingwell,Itellmyselfasaganglygradstudenttaskedwithescortingmearoundtakesmetomyseventhinterviewoftheday.Iamprojectingaffability.Collegiality.Desirabili—
“Hereitis,”shesaysinfrontofablackdoor.
Istareatthenameplaqueforasecond.Brieflyconsiderdefacingit.Resistmybaseimpulsesandtellher,“Ithinktheremightbeamistake.MyitinerarysaysthatmynextmeetingiswithDr.Pereira.”
WasIlookingforwardtoitafterwhatIoverheardlastnight?No.ButsinceIcannotreporthimorhisbuddytoHRwithoutadmittingthatIbrokeintoarestroom,Iwasfullyreadytomakehimuncomfortablewithpassive-aggressivequestionsaboutwhetherhe’dbewillingtotakeovermyclassesifIweretostartafamily.
It’snotlikeI’mevergettinghisvote,anyway.
“TherewasachangetoDr.Pereira’sslots.Jack—Imean,Dr.Smith-Turner—isgoingtobeyourlastinterview.”
MaybeIwasababy-sealclubberinapastlife.OraWallStreetCEO.Itwouldexplainmyluck.“Areyousure?”
“Yeah.”Sheclearsherthroat.“Dr.Hannaway,Iwantedtosay…you’resuchaninspiration.WhenyouwonthatForbesaward—well,hardlyanyphysicisteverdoes,nottomentionwomen.Also,Iwasinyourteachingdemonstrationtoday.Youweresopoisedandassertive.Cole’sahugeprick,and…”Sheflushes.“Anyway,itwasinspiring.”
“I—”Iflush,too.“Idon’tknowwhatto—”ShescurriesawaybeforeIcanstammertherestofthesentence.
Wasshemakingfunofme?Doessomeonereallyfindmeinspiring?EventhoughIspendmylifepretzelingmypersonalitytoavoidbeinghated?EventhoughIamthefraudiestofimpostors?
Itdoesn’tmatter.IsighandknockontheworstdoorinallofBoston.“Come,”adeepvoicesays,andIresignedlyletmyselfin.
Idon’tlookaroundJack’soffice.Irefusetocareifit’swelllit,orwallpaperedinbrocade,orapigsty—though,tragically,Idonoticethatitsmellsnice.SoapandbooksandwoodandcoffeeandJack,thescentofhimbutinintense,deconstructednotes.BecauseapparentlyIknowhisscentbynow,whichmakesmewanttotearmyolfactoryglandsoutofmynostrils.Bah.
There’safreechairinfrontofthedesk.Imakeabeelineforitashekeepstypingonhiscomputer.
Andtyping.
Andtyping.
And—waitforit—typing.
Tensecondsgoby.Thirty.Forty-five.Hehasyettoacknowledgeme,andthesameantagonistictensionfromlastnightbubblesinsideme,fillingtheoffice.Iknowexactlywhathe’sdoing—powerplays—andwhileIcannotstophim,Irefusetolethimupsetme.
Okay,Irefusetolethimknowthatheupsetsme.
Idon’tlookaround.Idon’ttapmyfoot.Idon’tshowimpatienceorannoyanceathisrudeness.InsteadItaketheiTwatoutofmypurseandstartdoingwhathedoes:mindingmyowndamnbusiness.
Dr.Hannaway,
It’sAlan,fromQuantumMechanics.Iwantedtoletyouknow:Idon’treallylikeit.QuantumMechanics,thatis.It’skindofboring.ButIdon’tblameyou,it’snotyourfault.Like,youdidn’tcomeupwithsubatomicparticles.(Ifyoudid,Iapologize).Butdon’tshootthemessenger,right?LOL.Iwaswondering,couldyoumakeyourclassesmorefun?MaybewecouldwatchafewQuantumMechanicsmovies?Justsomeadvice.
Best,
AlanfromQuantumMechanics
Mrs.Hannaway,
Whatdoyoumean,federallawprohibitsyoufromdiscussingmyson’sgradeswithme?Ipayforhistuition.Idemandtoknowwhetherhe’sdoingwell.Thisisunacceptable.
Karen
HiMs.Elsie,
IfIskipclasstobringmydogtothegroomer,doesitcountasanexcusedabsence?
Halle
PS:Iwouldn’task,buthereallyneedsahaircut.
Irollmyeyes,andthat’swhenInotice:Jack’snolongertyping.Insteadhe’sleaningbackinhischair,thosearmsthatprobablyhavetheirownWikipediaentry(topreadinalllanguages,allday,everyday)crossedoverhischest.Histattooremainsanobscuremystery,andhestaresatmesilently,ascloudyandimpenetrableasusual.Howfitting.
Iglanceattheclockonthewallandinadvertentlytakeinabouthalfoftheoffice,whichislargeandsunnyandtastefullyfurnished.There’sacactusbythewindow.Hmph.I’vebeenhereforthreeminutes.
“Areyoubored?”heasks,withhisstupid,beautifulvoice.
“No.”Ismile,murderouslypleasant.“You?”
Hedoesn’tanswer.“Ibelievewe’remeanttousethistimetointerview.”
“Youseemedbusy.Didn’twanttointerfere.”
“Iwasreplyingtoanurgentemail.”Idoubtit.IthinkhewaswritingthenextgreatAmericannovel.Makingagrocerylist.Messingwithme.“We’resupposedtogettoknoweachotherbetter,Elsie.”Myname.Again.Fromhislips.Thattone,timbre,inflection.“HowamItomakeadecisiononyourhiringotherwise?”
Everyoneknowsexactlywhereyoustandwhenitcomestomyhiring.Ialmostsayit,butIdon’twantarepeatoflastnightinthebathroom.Idon’twanttolosecontrol.Icanbecalm,eveninthefaceofJack’sportentousdickishness.“Whatwouldyouliketotalkabout?”
“Ibetwecanfindsomething.Bloodtype?Firstpet?Favoritecolor?”
“Ifyou’retryingtohackmyonlinebankingsecurityquestions,youshouldknowthereisn’tmuchtosteal.”
Hismouthquirks,andIthinksomethingnonsensical:I’dhatehimlessifheweren’tsohandsome.Evenlessifhewereascharmingasamorgue.AndevenevenlessifIcouldreadhim,justalittle“Ifyou’dratherusethetimetorest,feelfree.”
“Thankyou.I’mnottired.”
“Really?Itseemstiresome,beingyou.”
Ifrown.“Tiresome?”
“Itcan’tbeeasy”—hetapshisfingerlightlyagainsttheedgeofthedesk—“thisthingyou’realwaysdoing.”
ThisthingI—whatdoeshemean?He’snotreferringto…Hedoesn’tknowabouttheAPE.AboutthedifferentElsies.“I’mnotsurewhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Henodsaffably,likeIsaidexactlywhatheexpectedmeto,anddisappointedhimintheprocess.Hedoesn’tbreakeyecontact,andasusual,Ifeelhe’sstrippedalayerofskinoffme.Naked,intheworstpossibleway.Ifindmyselfadjustingthehemofmyskirt—whichisalreadyataperfectlyacceptablelength.ItwasfinethismorninginDr.L.’soffice.Itwasfineonayogaball.WhydoIfeelweirdnow?“Relax,then.Mygradstellmethatchairisquitecomfortable.”
“IsColeoneofyourgrads?”
“Coleis,Ibelieve,Volkov’s.”Hemustnoticemysurprise,becauseheadds,“ButIwouldn’tworry.TheFeynmansexquotereallyhadhim.”
Thewayhesaysit(Feynmansexquote),allperfectvowelsandhardconsonants,makesmehotandcoldandwantingtolookaway.WhichIstubbornlyrefusetodo.“Thisisacomfortablechair.”Ileanback,mimickinghispose.I’mnotintimidated.You’renotintimidated.We’rebothunintimidated.
“Isleptinitonce,afteraforty-eight-hourexperiment.”
“I’mnotgoingtofallasleep.”
“Youcould.”
“Yeah.Andyoucouldtakeoutapermanentmarkerandscribblesomethingonmyforehead.”
Hisheadtilts.“WhatwouldIscribble?”
Ishrug.“?‘Donothire’?‘AlbertEinsteinsux’?‘Ihatetheorists’?”
Hesteepleshishands.“Isthiswhatyouthink?ThatIhatetheorists?”Hefindsmeamusing.Orboring.Orpitiful.Oramix.IwishIcouldtell,butIshalldieinignorance.
“Yourstudentssureseemto.”
“AndyouthinkI’mthereason?”Hesoundsgenuinelypuzzledbythat.Theaudacity
“Whoelse?”
Heshrugs.“You’rediscountingasimplerexplanation:studentsinterestedinexperimentalphysicsarebothmorelikelytohavepreconceivednotionsabouttheoryandmorelikelytochoosetotakeaclasstaughtbyme.Correlationdoesnotequalcausation.”
“Ofcourse.”Ismilepolitely.I’mcalm.Stillcalm.“I’msurethefactthatsomeonetheylookupto—you—notoriouslyhatestheoristshasnoimpactontheirviewofthediscipline.”
“DoI?”Hisheadtilts.“Notoriouslyhatetheorists?Iregularlycollaboratewiththem.Respecttheirwork.Admireseveral.”
“Nameone.”
“You.”Hepinsmewithhisstupid,hyper-seeinglook.“Youareveryimpressive,Elsie.”
Mystomachflips,eventhoughIknowhe’slying.Ijust…didn’texpectthisspecificlie.“Idoubtyouknowanythingaboutmywork.”
“I’vereadeverywordyou’vewritten.”Helooksserious,buthemustbemockingme.
WhatdoIdo?Mockback.“Didyouenjoymymiddleschooldiary?”
Ahintofacrinkleappearsatthecornersofhiseyes.“ItwasalittleJustinBieberheavy.”
“Youbrokeintothewrongchildhoodbedroom—IwasallaboutBillNye.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Oneofthepopularkids,wereyou?”
“Nottobrag,butIalsoplayedthetubainthemarchingband.”
“Lotsofcompetition,Ibet.”Hehasadimple.Onlyone.Ugh.
“Tons.ButIhadanin.ThroughtheD&DClub.”
Hislaughissoft.Relaxed.Lopsided.DifferentfromtheunyieldingexpressionI’vecometoexpectfromhim.Evenmorebreakingnews:I’msmiling,too.Yikes.
“Ibetyouweren’thalfascool,”Isay,pressingmylipstogether,assessinghim.Thebroadshoulders.Thestrange,strikingeyes.ThecasualconfidenceofsomeonewhowasneverpickedanythingbutfirstduringPE.Jackwasnomarchingtuba.“Youheldtheheadsofpeoplelikemeinthetoiletbowl.Occupiedthejanitor’sclosetwiththecheerleaders.”
“Wemathletesoftendo,”hemurmurs,alittlecryptic.“Yourmodelsareelegantandgrounded.It’sclearthatyouhaveaveryintuitivegraspofparticlekinetics,andyourtheoriesonthetransitionstospheruliticstructuresarefascinating.Your2021paperintheAnnals,inparticular.”
Myeyebrowlifts.Idon’tbelieveforasecondthatanythinghe’ssayingistrue.“I’msurprisedyoureadtheAnnals.”
Helaughsonce,silent.“Becauseit’stooadvancedforme?”
“Becauseofwhatyou’vedonetoChristopheLaurendeau.”
Thedetachednothingnessofhisexpressionslips.Morphsintosomethingharsh.“ChristopheLaurendeau.”
“Notafamiliarname?HewastheeditoroftheAnnalswhenyoupulledyourstunt.And,morerecently,mymentor.”Jack’seyeswidenintosomethingthatlooksbeautifully,unexpectedlylikeshock.Splendid.Iexploitmyadvantagebyleaningforwardintheseat,resistthetemptationtoadjustthehemofmyskirt,andsay,“Notheoristhasforgottenaboutthearticle.Itmighthavebeenfifteenyearsago,but—”
Wait.Somethingdoesn’taddup.
Jack’sthreeyearsolderthanGreg,whichmakeshimaboutfiveyearsolderthanme.Thirty-twoorthirty-three.Exceptthat…
Istudyhimnarrowly.“ThehoaxarticlecameoutwhenIwasinmiddleschool.Youmusthavebeen…”
“Seventeen.”
Ishrinkbackinthechair.Washesomesortofwunderkind?“WereyoualreadydoingyourPh.D.?”
“Iwasinhighschool.”
“Thenwhy—howdoesonesubmitapapertoahighereducationjournalatseventeen?”
Heshrugs,andwhateveremotionhewasshowingaminuteagohasbeenreabsorbedintothecustomaryblankwall.“Ididn’tknowtherewereagelimits.”
“No,butmostseventeen-year-oldsweretoobusybeggingforhallpassesorrereadingTwilight—”
“TwilightandBillNye,huh?”
“—tofocusoncloak-and-daggerploysthatinvolvedwritingoffensive,unethicalparodyarticleswhoseonlypurposeistodeceivehardworkingscholarsandslanderanentirediscipline.”Iendthesentencepracticallyyelling,nailsclawingthearmrests.
Okay.MaybeI’mnotsupercalm.MaybeIcouldusesomedeepbreaths.De-escalate.Howdoesonede-escalate?Idon’tknow.I’musuallyalreadyde-escalated.UnlessJack’saround,thatis.Jack,who’ssittingthere,relaxed,all-knowing.Punchable.
Iclosemyeyesandthinkofmyhappyplace.Awarmbeachsomewhere.Nooneisfairhairedandmassive.Cheeseisheavilyfeatured.
“Youknowwhatpuzzlesme?”Jackasks
“Theentiregamutofhumanemotions?”
“That,too.”Ilookathim.Takeinhisself-deprecatingsmilewhenthereisn’tasingleself-deprecatingboneinhisbody.“Buthere’sthething:wheneverthearticlecomesup,whateveryoneasksishowIcoulddosuchahorriblething.WhydidIwriteit?WhydidIsubmit?WhydidIsetouttohumiliatetheoreticalphysics?”
“Asopposedto?Whatchiantivintageyoucelebratedyoureviltriumphwith?Thebreedofthemandatorysupervillainwhitecatyouwerestroking?Thedecibelsatwhichyoucackled?”
“Asopposedtowhyitgotaccepted.”
Iknowexactlywherehe’sgoingwiththis.“Itwasafluke.”
“Maybe,”heconcedes.“Buthere’sthething:ifatheoreticalgeologistwroteabullshitarticlesayingthattheinnercoreoftheearthismadeofnougat,andtheforemostauthorityinthediscipline,say,theNewEnglandJournalofRocks,decidedtopublishandendorsethearticle,Iwouldn’tbesoquicktochalkitoffasafluke.InsteadI’dinvestigatewhetherthereisasystemicprobleminthewaytheoreticalgeologypapersareassessed.Whethertheeditormadeamistake.”
Iswallow.Itgoesdownlikebrokenglass.“Iamwillingtoacknowledgethatthesystemisfallible,ifyoustoppretendingthatyouactedoutofconcernfortheinjusticeofthepeer-reviewsystemandadmitthatyoumaliciouslyexploiteditsloopholesbecauseyouwantedto…Youstillhaven’tanswered,actually.Whydidyoudoit?”
“Notforanyreasonyouthink,Elsie.”
Ibitemyliptonotbarkathimtostopusingmyname.“Nottopullanepicprankandbecomefamousamongthelabbros?”
“No.”Iwishhesoundeddefensiveoroffendedor—anythingatall.He’sjustmatter-of-fact,likehe’ssayingasimpletruth.
“Andnotthesamereasonyouwanttohireanexperimentalistoverme?”
Hedrawsback,lookingsurprised.Disturbed,even.“YouthinkIdon’twanttohireyoubecauseyou’reatheorist?”
Ialmostsnortandsay,Yes,ofcourse,butthenIremembermyfirstmeetingwithhim,backinthesummer.Thewayhelookedatmealittletoohard,hesitatedalittletoolongbeforeshakingmyhand.“Well,”Iconcedewithasmallshrug,“Isupposeyoudocomebyyourdislikeofmehonestly.”
Hehuffsoutalaughandshakeshishead.“Again,withthissupposeddislike.”
“IheardyoutalkingtoGregaboutme.”Iignorethewayhiseyeswiden,almostalarmed.“Askinghimhowquicklyheplannedtogetridofme.”Ipullonthehemofmyskirtagain,andhiseyesdarttomyknees,lingeringforamomentbeforericochetingaway.Ishouldprobablystopdoingthat.Ineedanewnervoushabit.Nailbiting.Fidgetspinners.I’veheardgreatthingsaboutcrystalmeth.
“I’veneversaid—”
“Oh,it’sfine.”Iwavemyhand.“Youhaveeveryrighttoyouropinionofme.YouthinkI’mnotgoodenoughforhim.Idon’tcare.”Much.
Hebitestheinsideofhismouth.Hispaw-likehandreachesouttoplaywithsomethingonhisdesk—a3D-printedmodeloftheLargeHadronCollider.“Youmakelotsofassumptionsaboutmythoughts,”hesays,settingitdown.“Negativeassumptions.”
“Yourthoughtsareclearlynegative.”
“Itmightbeconnectedtothefactthatyou’vebeeninsincerewithmybrotherformonths.”
Isigh.“Wecannavel-gazeabouthowabominableagirlfriendIamtillBetelgeuseexplodes,butthereareafewthingsyoudon’tknowaboutmeandGreg,anduntil—”
“TherearemanythingsIdon’tknow.”Hedrumshisfingersonhisdesk,slow,methodical.Icannotlookaway.“Ispenthourslastnighttryingtohomeinonthis,andI’mnotanyclosertosortingyouout.Forinstance,whywouldyoulieaboutyourjob?You’reanadjunct,notJeffBezos’saccountant.Andthefactthatnotonlyareyouaphysicist,butyou’reinterviewinghere…Myfirstinstinctwouldbetoassumethatithassomethingtodowithme.”
“I—”
“ButIsawyourfacelastnight.YouhadnoideawhoIwas.Sobacktosquareone.Whythelie?Andwhatelsehaveyouliedabout?HowhaveyoukeptitupformonthswithoutGregrealizingit?Howwillhereactwhenhefindsout?Andaboveall,howwillyoureactwhenhefindsout?”HestaresatmelikeI’mahexagonalRubik’scube.Ipicturehimlyinginabedtoosmallforhisframe,wonderingallsortsofthingsaboutme,andnearlyshiver.“Areyouinlovewithmybrother,Elsie?”
Iswallow.“Thisisaveryintrusivequestion.”
“Isit.Hmm.”Heshrugsgraciously.
“Andanyway,Gregisthirtyyearsold.Hedoesn’tneedyoutorunhislife.”
“Gregisthirtyyearsold,andyouarethefirstpersonhe’sbeeninanykindofromanticrelationshipwith.”Hiseyesharden.“Consideringtheliesyou’vebeenfeedinghim,itseemsthathedoesneedsomeonelookingoutforhim.”
“Ifyoujustcalledhim—”
“Hewon’tbebackuntilSunday.”
“Haveyoutriedtogetintouchwithhim?”
“No.”Hiseyesdarken.“I’mnotgoingtotellmybrotherthathisgirlfriendissecretlyaliquidcrystaltheorysuperheroonthephone.I’lldohimthefavorofbreakinghisheartinperson.”
“Soyoucanpathimontheback?Say‘there,there’?”
“I’mserious,Elsie.”
Icockmyhead,picturinganemptyauditorium.GregdressedliketheapostlePeter.Asinglepersonintheaudience,clappingloudlyaftereverysong.Mybestfriend.“YoureallycareaboutGreg.”
“Yes,”hesayslikehe’stalkingtoachild,“Icareaboutmybrother.”
“It’snotagiven,youknow.”
“Doyounotcareaboutyoursiblings?Ordoyoursiblingsnotcareaboutyou?”
Ishrug,rememberingmyphonecallswiththemthismorningaftertheydidn’tbotheransweringthephonelastnight.Lucaspickeduphalf-asleep.Notonlydidn’therecognizemyvoice,healsoasked,Elsiewho?“Idon’tthinktheyarefullyawarethatIexistinacorporealform,”Imurmur,almostthinkingoutloud.Iregretitinstantly,becauseJacknodsinawaythathasmewonderingifhe’sfilingawaytheinformation.Futureammo?
“I’msorryyourbrothersareassholes.”Hesoundssurprisinglysincere.“Butgivenyourhistorywithlies,youcan’tblamemeforbeingconcernedaboutmine.”
“Youdidn’tknowthatIwaslyingwhenwefirstmet.”
“No,Ididn’t.”Jack’sexpressionsharpens.Hestraightensandleansforward,elbowsonhisdesk.Theentireroomshiftsandthickenswithtension.“Ididknow,however,thatthereissomethingaboutyou.Thatyoutirelesslystudypeople.Figureoutwhotheyare,whattheywant,andthenmoldyourselfintowhatevershapeyouthinkwillfitthem.I’veseenyouplayhalfadozendifferentrolesforhalfadozendifferentsituations,switchingpersonalitieslikeyou’rechannelsurfing,andIstillhavenoideawhoyouare.SoIthinkit’swithinmyrighttobeconcernedformybrother.AndIthinkit’swithinmyrighttobecuriousaboutyou.”
Ifreeze.
Didhejust—
Hedidn’t.Hedoesn’tknowme.Imusthavemisheard.Misinterpreted.Misunderstood.Mis—fuck
“I—”Myhandstremble,andIslidethembetweenmythighsandchair,likeachild.Ifeelbare.Headspinning,Iblurtout,“Idon’tknowwhatyou—”
Thephonerings.Jacksliftsonefingertosignalmetowaitandpicksup.“Smith-Turner.Hi,Sasha.Yes.She’shere.Shewasjustaboutto…Ah.Isee.Yeah.Noproblem.Icantakecareofit.”I’mtooshakenbywhathejustsaid—moldyourselfintowhatevershapeyouthinkwillfit—toeavesdrop.WhichmakesitallthemorestupefyingwhenJacksays,“Volkov’sinthemiddleofsomethingandcannotgiveyouatourofthedepartment.”Thefaint,crookedsmilereappears.“Butdon’tworry,Elsie.I’mhappytotakeover.”7ELECTRICALRESISTANCE
Irepeattohim“There’snoneed”somanytimes,thewordslosemeaninglikeinatonguetwister.It’sallinvain.
“Jack,I’msureyouhavelotsofthingstodo,”Isayasheushersmeoutofhisoffice,armbrushingagainstmine
“Likewhat?”
“Um.”Makenecklacesoutofbabyteeth?Deadliftananvil?“Work?”
Heslideshiskeyinthebackpocketofhisjeansandsizesmeupfromfivefeetaboveme.Ifeelridiculouslyoverdressed,eventhoughI’mtheonewearingproperprofessionalattire.“Icanmakethetimetoshowaroundapotentialfuturecolleague.”
Don’tsnort,Elsie.Don’tsnort.“Therereallyisnoneed—”
Hetuts.“Ifyoukeeprepeatingthat,I’llfigurethatyoudon’twanttohangoutwithme.”
Idon’t.ButI’dlovetohangyou.
Hepushesmedownthehallwaywithahandbetweenmyshoulderblades,andforasecondhismanyfeetandinchesandpoundsfeeltantalizingly,inexplicablyinviting.I’mtired.Alittleweary.Icouldsinkagainsthimand…
Whoa.
IthinkI’mgettingwoozy.MaybeIneedtoeat.Ishouldn’t,though.Ihadvitamin-enrichedgummyrabbitsbetweeninterviewstokeepmybloodsugarfromdropping—unwise,lettingyourselfgethangrywhenyou’rewithsomeoneyoudaydreamofslaughteringatbaseline.Itakeoutmyphone,meaningtocheckmyglycemiclevels.ExceptJackisstaringatit,eyesonthecracksplittingthelockscreen.(AselfieofCeceandmelaughingasweholdupablockofcranberrygoatcheese.ItwasonNewYear’sEve,beforewespentfourhourswatchingaBelgianmovieaboutcannibalism,thenonemorehourdiscussingitsemotionalthroughline.Iwantedtodie.Thecheesewasgood,though.)
Myglucosemonitorlooksfine,butIwanttocheckmypod.Ineedaminutealone.MaybeIcanpretendIforgotsomethinginJack’soffice?Iturnaroundtogivethedooronelonginglook,andmyeyesfallonhisnameplate.
“Where’stheTurnerfrom,anyway?”Jackgivesmeacuriousglance.Isuspectthathisleisurepaceisfasterthanmyfull-onsprint,butheslowsdowntomatchme.Howgracious.“Greg’slastnameisjustSmith.”
“Turner’smymom’slastname.”
“AndGregdidn’ttakeit?”
“See,thisseemsliketheexacttypeofinformationthatsomeonewho’sinalovingrelationshipwithmybrotherwouldalreadyhave.”Okay.That’snotuntrue.“WherewasVolkovsupposedtotakeyou?”
Itakemyitineraryoutofmyminusculepocket.Ihavetounfolditabouttwentytimes,whichseemstoamuseJack.Dick.“Wait.ItsaysherethatDr.Crowleywasgoingtogivemethetour.”Ilookup,hopeful.“Youdon’tneedto—”
“Crowley—andPereira—arenolongeronthesearchcommittee.”
“What?”TheverytwoassholesIoverheardinthebathroom?“Why?”
“Somethingcameup.Theyhadtostepback.”Hesaysitinamonotone,likeit’snotweirdthattwofacultymemberswouldpulloutinthemiddleofasearch.“ButI’mhappytotakeover.”Heholdsmyeyes,final,blue-quartered.“Whatdoestheschedulesay?”
Dammit.“Tourofthelabs.”
Hehuffsalaugh.“Yousureyouwanttoseethose?They’recrawlingwithexperimentalists.”
Istifleaneyeroll.“I’dlovetoseethelabs.LikeIsaid,Ifirmlybelieveinthecollaborationbetweenexperimentalandtheoreticalphysics,andIvalue…”Jack’seyebrowlifts(subtext:You’refullofshit),andItrailoff.
“ShouldIjustshowyoutheoffices,Elsie?”
Ipressmylipstogether(subtext:Stopsayingmyname).“Yes,please.”
Thethingabouttheoreticalphysicsis,itmostlyinvolvesthinking.Andreading.Andscribblingequationsonachalkboard.Andcontemplatingahemlocksaladwhenyourealizethatthelastthreemonthsofyourworkdon’tjivewiththeBekenstein-Hawkingformula.Whilewritingmydissertation,Ispentthebulkofmytimeinmyapartment,staringatthewall,tryingtomakesenseofthesegregationofcrystalsintochiraldomains.EveryfewhoursCecewouldpokemewiththeSwiffertomakesureIwasalive;Hedgiewasperchedonhershoulder,eagerlyawaitingthegreenlighttofeastonmycorpse.
Wetheoristsdon’treallydolabs,andthefanciestequipmentweneediscomputerstorunsimulations.I’veneverevenwornalabcoat—exceptfortheyearJ.J.mademedresslikeasexyneurosurgeonforaHalloweenparty.Eventhen,itwas80percentfishnets.
“Conferenceroomsarethatway.”Jackpointstotheright.Hisforearmiscordedwithmuscle.Whatworkouteventargetsthose?“Aboutsixtypercentofthedepartmentfocusesmostlyontheory.More,ifyouincludehybridfacultylikeVolkov.”Hegivesmeasidewaysglance.“Nicejobwiththepuns,bytheway.Didyouspendhoursgooglingdadjokes?”
Onlyabouttwentyminutes.I’maskimmer.“Tellme,doyoufeelsafehere?”
“Safe?”
“Ifoversixtypercentoffacultyaretheorists,theremusthavebeeninstancesof…slashedtires?Defacedmailbox?Giantdumpsonyourdesk?UnlessyousenteverytheoristanapologyFudgietheWhaleonyourfirstday.”
Isthataneyecrinkleagain?“I’mnotthemostpopularguyonfaculty.AndIhaveyettobeinvitedtothedepartment’sweeklyhappyhour.Butmostpeoplearecivil.Andagain,Ihavenothingagainsttheorists.”
“Sure.Someofyourbestfriendsaretheorists.”
Heholdsmyeyesasheunlocksadoor,andthesingledimplemakesareappearance.“Thiswillbeyouroffice,Elsie.Ifyourpungamestaysonpoint.”
MyfantasiesoffillingJackwithcandyandtakingabattohim—doIneedsugar?—arederailedbythehighwindowoverlookingcampus.Andthebeautifuldesk.Andthematchingshelves.Andthegiantwhiteboard.
God,thisofficeisspectacular.Icouldsithereeveryday.Takeinthehardwoodsmell.SinkintoacomfortablechairMITprocurementpurchasedforme.Letmybraincrunchawayconnectionsandexpandmytheoriesforhours.
Finishmymanuscript—theonethat’sbeenonpauseforoverayear.
Ishiverinpleasureattheidea.Unlikeatmyapartment,nococonut-crabbugswouldtrytocrawlinmymouth.Mylifewouldseea900percentreductionofMayIpaythisclass’stuitioninDogecoinsemails.Andthesalary…I’dhavepersonalfinances.Realones,notjustdimesIforgotinmywintercoatthepreviousyear.
Iwantthisoffice.Iwantthisjob.IwantitmorethanIhaveeverwantedanything,includingthatPollyPocketsetatagefive.
“Doyouneedsomeprivacy?Amattress?Emergencycontraception?”
Iwhirlaround.Jackisleaningagainstthedoorjamb,thesetofhisshouldersrelaxed,hisframefillingtheentrance.Hestaresatmewiththatlopsidedsmilethatalmosthasmeforgettingthatwehateeachother.
“It’s…”Iclearmythroat.“Aniceoffice.”
“Justnice?Youlookedonthevergeofsomethingthere.”
Icollectmyself.“No,I…What’stheteachingloadfortheposition,again?”
Hestudiesme,assessing,andIfaceaway.I’vehadenoughofhimfortoday.“Doyouenjoyteaching?”
“Ofcourse,”Ilie,runningafingeroverawoodenshelf.It’snotevendusty.
“Youdon’t,”hesays,pilferingtruthsoutofmyskull.“Maybeyoudidbeforehavingtoteachninetyclassesaweek,butnotanymore.”It’snotaquestion.“Theteachingloadistwoclassespersemester.”
Ipalmthefilingcabinet.“Nottoobad.”
“Youdoknowthattherearephysicsjobsthatrequirenoteaching?”
“Icangetgrants.BuyoutmyclassessoIdon’thavetoteach.”
“Grantsarerarefortheory.It’lltakeyoumonthstoapply,yearstohearback.Wouldn’tyouratherbeafull-timeresearcher?”
Iturnaround,handsonmyhips.“I’mokaywithyounotwantingmetogetthisjob,butIdrawthelineatyounotwantingmetowantit.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Seemstomelikeyouwanttowantitalittletoomuch.”
“Jack,hereyouare.”Ayoungwomanstompsatthedoorofmy—okay,the—office.She’sonlyafewinchesshorterthanJack,withlongdarkhairandanaccentthatIcannotplace.Sheisgesticulating.Alot.“Theydiditagain.”
“Didwhat?”
“Overrodemybookingofthetokamak.Canyoubelieveit?Thirdtimethismonth,whatthefuck?Ihaditfornextweek,thenbam,kickedfromthecalendar.AllthatbullshitabouthowthereactorisavailabletoallMITpersonnel?Theyclearlydon’tmeangradstudents.HowamIsupposedtofusetheplasma—inmyfuckingpressurecooker?”
“Michi.”Jacksoundsunfazed.
“Iftheywantmetosuperheatgasesinmybathtubandblowupmyroommate’sPomeranian,Iwillfuckingdoit,buttheentirepointofbeingemployedbyMITwasnothavingtocoalescemyownantimatter!Thisistheworstgoddamnplaceintheuniverse,andI’mgoingtoquitthisprogram.IshouldhavestayedatCaltech.IshouldhavegottenintoGrandma’ssquirrelfeedersbusiness—”
“Michi,”Jackinterrupts,hisvoicejustatouchfirmer.“ThisisDr.ElsieHannaway,oneofthecandidatesfortheopenfacultyposition.Dr.Hannaway,Michiisoneofmygrads.”
Michihadnotrealizedsomeoneelsewasintheroom.Thewaysheturnsbeetpurpleisadeadgiveaway,andsoisherappalled,wide-eyedexpression.
IrunaquickAPE:Michi’ssmart,motivated,overworked.ShelikesandtrustsJack(somaybenotthatsmart?).She’smortifiedherrantwasoverheard.Judgingfromherquiveringlowerlip,she’sabouttoburstintotears.
Uh-oh.
“Thatsucks,”Isayquickly.TheElsiesheneedscommiserates.“Ihateitwhenlabsdouble-book.”I’veneverbookedalabinmyentirelife.But.“HowhardisittosetupafunctioningGooglecalendar?”Very,Iassume.ButMichi’slipun-quivers.Sheun-purples.
“Right?”
“It’snotjustMIT.Everyplaceislikethat.Iwasagraduntilayearago,andwewerealwaysthelasttogetaccesstoequipment.”Ifbyequipmentyoumeancoloredchalk.“Itgetsbetterafteryougraduate.”
Thelipre-quivers.“Itdoes?”
“Ipromise.”Ismilereassuringly.MyweaknessiswomeninSTEM.Iwanttoprotectthemfromthestructurallyunequalhellfireofacademia.“Inthemeantime,I’msureJackwillbehappytointercede.”
Jack’sscowlbroadcastshisunfamiliaritywiththeconceptofhappiness.“I’llmakesureyouhaveaccess,Michi.”HesaysMichi,buthe’slookingatme.Glaring,tobeprecise.AndwhenMichiscurriesawaywithanod,hepushesfromthedoorandwalksrightuptome,averticallinebetweenhisbrows.
It’salmostaphysicalshock,redirectingfromMichi—open-book,see-throughMichi—toJack.He’stheusualblankbrickwallofquestionmarks,andIwanttotearoutmyhair.Hishair.Allhair.Whydoeshehavetobesofrustrating?Whydoeshehavetobethemostunreadable—
“Therealgirlwhowishedtobeapuppet,”hemurmurs,lowandrumbly.
“What?”
“Icanactuallywatchyoudoit.”
“Dowhat?”
“Analyzepeople.Turnyourselfonandoff.”
Itakeaterrifiedstepback.Acombativestepforward.Ican’treadhimforshit,andhe’sinmyhead?“Youknow,Jack,weallinteractdifferentlywithdifferentpeople.It’scalledcode-switching,atotallynormalsocialskill—”
“Code-switchinghasnothingtodowitherasingwhoyouareandtwistingwhat’sleftofyou.Haveyoueverevenbookedalab?Whatequipmentwereyoudenied?”
“Listen,itworked.Michiwasabouttocry.Ianticipatedherneeds,andtherewerenotears.”
“Youlie,Elsie.Everysingleoneofyourinteractionsisalie.”Hecrosseshisarmsandlooms.We’resupposedtobeonatourofthedepartment.Ifeellikehe’stakingatourofme.“IsthiswhatyoudowithGreg,too?Youcode-switchaconjured,nonexistentpersonahefellinlovewith?”
“No.”Jesus.Gregneedstogethisassbackfromyogacampasstataspossible.
“Areyoudoingitwithme,too?”Hisscowldeepens.
“What?No!”Ican’tevenreadyou!
“AreyouturningyourselfintowhatIwant?IsthatwhywheneverI’mwithyou,I…”Hisvoicetrailsoff,ormaybeitdoesn’t.MaybeI’vejustreachedcriticalmass.
I’mdizzy.Myheart’sadruminmyears.There’sasingledropletofcoldsweatrunningdownmyspine,andI’msure,absolutelypositivethatfightingwithJackhasburnedthelastofmyglucosemolecules.
Mybloodis0percentsugar.Fun.
“Elsie?”
Vision’sblurry.Where’sthewall?Igottaleanagainstthe—
“Elsie?”Hands.Muscles.Bones.Warmth.I’mpressedagainstsomethingand—“Elsie,whatthehellisgoingon?”
“Sugar.”Sonice,nothavingtostandanymore.Ifeelsolight.“Fast-actingcarbs.Juiceorsodaor…candy.Canyou…?”There’swarm,smoothskinundermypalm.ThenI’mdepositedontopofthedesk—mydesk—myfuturedesk—God,IreallyhopeIgetthisjob—I’llputthatBillNyefigurineIliketopretendJ.J.didn’tgivemebythecomputer—myAliceandBellaFunkoPopsonthecabinet—aplantonthewindowsill—somethingviciousandcarnivorous—aVenusflytrap,maybe—I’llfeedJack’scactustoher—I’llfeedJacktoher—
“Here.”
Myeyesflutteropen.IsuspectJackwasgoneforapeacefulmoment,butnowhe’sback.Towitnessmymisery.Likethosearsonistswhoreturntothecrimescenetomasturbate—
“Elsie.Takeit.”
There’sabottleinfrontofmynose,fullofadarkliquid.Ipryitfromhishandandtakeseverallonggulps.Instantbliss.
Well,notinstant.Notbliss,either.Ittakesafewminutesformybloodsugartostabilize.Eventhen,Istillfeellikeacadaver.Abadonethatyougetwhenyou’reinmedschoolandshowuplateforanatomylab.
ShouldIdrinkmore?IcheckmyglucoselevelontheiTwat—shit,mypodmalfunctionedagain.Deliveredtoomuch.Bloodsugar’sunderseventymilligrams.I’lltaketwomoresips,thenwaittwominutes,then—
“Youhavediabetes.”
Ilookup.Oh,right.Jack’sstillhere.Watchingmewithahalf-hawkish,entirelyconcernedexpression.Takingupmostofmyfutureofficeinthatvisceral,presentwayofhis.IneedtogetgoingwiththatVenusflytrappurchase.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Type1?”
Inod.
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
Itakeanothersipofmysoda—which,I’mslowlyrealizing,isnotCoke—andlaugh.“WhywouldItellyou?SoyoucanslipWerther’sOriginalinmytea?”
“Funnyyoumentionthat.”Hedoesn’tseemtobehavingfun.“SinceI’vemetyouexactlyfivetimessofar,andduringtwoofthoseyousufferedfromsomediabetes-relatedcomplicationthatrequiredmyhelp.”
“EightmoreandIgetafreesub?”
Hesnortsalaugh.“Withthislevelofself-sabotaging,youdon’tneedoutsidehelp.”
Ievil-eyehimhalf-heartedly,tootiredtobicker.“TheonlytwotimesI’vehadglycemicattacksinthelastyearwereinyourpresence.Maybeyoursuperpowerismakingmypodmalfunction.”
“YouneedtotellMonica.”
“Monica’snotgoingtolikemeanylessbecauseIhavediabetes.”Ithink?
Hiseyesharden.“YouthinkIwantyoutotellhertodiminishyourchances?You’reshittingonyourchancesallonyourown,withthefaintingaroundandtheeasilydisprovablelies.I’mconcernedaboutyourhealth.”
“Itakefullresponsibilityformyhealth,anditdoesn’taffectmywork.I’mnotrequiredtosharemystatusto—”
“Youalmostpassedout.”
“Mypumpmalfunctioned.It’soldandshittyandIneedanewone.Butthey’reprohibitivewithouthealthinsurance,so.”
Doeshelookguilty?Maybe.Maybeit’sjustrestingfrownface.“DoesGregknowaboutthediabetes?”
HowsociallyacceptablewoulditbeformetoburstintoGreg’scorporatebondingretreatanddraghimbacktoBostonbytheear?“Hedoesn’tneedtoknow.”
Jack’slipsthin.“Isthispartofyourgame?”
“Mywhat?”
“Thisweirdthing.Whereyoudeleteandremakeyourself?”
“Youareobsessed.”Anddisturbinglyright.“Areyouintoconspiracytheories?Lizardpeople?FictionalFinland?”Itakeanothersip.“God,thisisbitter.”Thelabelonthebottleisinaforeignlanguage.“Whatisit?”
“Volkov’sfavoritedrink.”
“What?”
“HehashisbrothersendafewcasesoverfromRussiathatherationsandcherisheslikeliquidgold.That’sthelastbottle.”
I’ddoaspittakeifIcouldbeartodrinkanothersip.“What?”
“Don’tworry.I’llmentionthatyoureallyneededit,Elsie.Hewon’tmindmuch.”
“No.No,no,no.Don’ttellhim.DonottellVolkov.I’mgonnafindanimportstore.Buyareplacement.Wheredidyougetthisfrom?Ican…”
Itrailoff.Jack’sdimpleisback.He’ssmiling.
Evilly.
“It’snotreallyVolkov’s,isit?”
Heshakeshishead.
“Ihateyou,”Isaywithoutheat.
“Iknow.”Hegrabsthebottle,takesasip.Scruncheshisnoseinanalmostcuteway.Doesheknowmylipswererightthere?“Disgusting.Istoleitfromthestudentlounge.Onlynon-dietsodaIcouldfind.”
“Youjuststolefromagradstudent?”Ilaugh.
“Yeah.Anunexpectedlow.”
Ilaughharder—mustbethatsugarhigh.“Howdoyousleepatnight?”
“Ihaveareallyfirmmattress.Greatforspinalhealth.”
Laughingagainhere.AndsoisJack.Itakethebottlebackandsipagain.Iguesswe’rebothvaccinated.What’stheharm?“God,thistasteslikepaintthinner.”
“Oraplanktonisopropylalcoholsmoothie.”OhmyGod.I’mlaughingevenmore.DoIhavepermanentbraindamage?“Areyougoingtobeokay?”Hisvoiceissuddenlysofter.Moreintimate.He’sreallystandingcloserthanweneedtobe.Atleasthe’llcatchmeifIfallagain.
“Yeah.Ijustneedasecondtorecover.”Lastsip.Isthiscompostjuicegrowingonme?Maybeit’sjustthisplace.Themidafternoonsunlightwarmingthehardwoodfloor.Theshelveswaitingtobefilledwithmybooks.“Andanothersecondtomarvelatthesplendorofmyfutureoffice.”
Jackshakeshisheadandsmiles,almostwistful.“Sorry,Elsie.Itwon’tbeyouroffice.”
Thethoughtisbloodcurdling.“You’renotsorry.Andyoudon’tknowthefuture.I’moutpunningyou,Jack.Theteachingdemonstration—itwentreallywell.AndIdidn’tevenstealVolkov’smother’smilk.Ihaveachance.”
Hestudiesmeforalongmoment,silent.Thenasksagain,“Willyoubeallright?”
“Yeah,Ijustneedasecondto—”
“No,Imean…willyoubeokay?IfyouloseGreg—becauseIwilltellhimaboutyou.Andifyoudon’tgetthisjob.Willyoustillbe…fine?”
Ican’timmediatelydecipherhistone.ThenIdoandburstoutlaughing.
He’sworried.Heseemsgenuinelyworriedaboutmywell-beingandstateofmind.Whichissurprisinglyniceandmaybeatadamusing,untilIrealizewhy:he’sconvincedthatI’llfail.Andthatmakesmefeel…something.Amixofangerandfearandsomethingelse,reminiscentofthecarefreejoythatcomesfromdancingonthegravesofenemieswhodared
“WhatwillyoudoifIgetthisjob,Jack?”Ileanforward.Myfaceisacoupleofinchesfromhis.“Pulloutyourhair?Askforthemanager?LeavethedepartmentandbecomeaZumbainstructor?”
Hedoesn’tpullback.Insteadhewatchesmeevenmoreintently,likeI’macritterinthepalmofhishand,andIcontemplatethepossiblescenarios,thesameonesthatmustbefillinghishead,too.
JackSmith-TurnerandElsieHannaway.Esteemedcolleagues.Officeneighbors.Academicfoes.
Oh,Icouldmakehislifesohard.Spreadtherumorthathewrapshisentiremoutharoundthewaterfountain.Putanestofkillercicadasinthelowestdrawerofhisdesk.Pushhimoutsidebare-eyedduringaneclipse.Thesky’sthelimit,andIwanttoseehimsuffer.Iwanttoseehimlose.Iwanttoseehimsweatit.Iwanttoseehimcry,becausehelostandIwon.
ButperhapsIwon’t.
Because:“Ifyougetthejob…”Heleansclose.Thatsliceofeyeburnsbrightblue,andhismouthcurves.“I’llmakedo.”
“WhilecryingyourselftosleepbecauseI’mnotGeorge?”
“Noteveryonewantsyoutobesomeoneelse,Elsie.”He’swrongaboutthat,butIcansmellhisskin.It’sgoodinawaythat’sprimeval.Almostevolutionary.Ihateit.“AndIdefinitelywouldn’twantyoutobeGeorge.”
“Andwhyisthat?”
Hepresseshislipstogether.He’sevenclosernow.Surprisinglyearnest.“Itwouldbeawaste.”
“Awasteofwhat?”
“Ofyou.”
Myheartskips.Stumbles.Restartswithagallop.Whatdoesheeven—
“Jack!Dr.Hannaway—hereyouare.Mymeetingjustended.”Volkovappearsinthedoorframe.“I’msosorryforrunninglate.”
Jackhastakenastepback.“Noproblem,”hesays,lookingatme.“Ijusthopeyouworesomethingreflective.”
Amomentofsilence.ThenVolkovregistersthepunandstartswheezing.“Oh,Jack,you—you—”Hechortles.Jack’salreadywalkingoutoftheroom,buthestopsinthedoorforalongglanceandalow“Goodbye,Elsie.”Afterabeat,headds,“Itwasapleasure.”8FRICTION
Whatdoyoumean,youthinkweshouldleavethembe?”
Mom’svoiceissoshrill,Iglancearoundtomakesurenooneoverheardherthroughthephone.Dr.Voightwavesatmebeforeslippinginsidetheauditorium—theonewhereI’llgivemyresearchtalkinfifteenminutes—andmystomachflips,omelet-style.
“It’sjust…Lucasisverystubborn.Shortoflockinghiminmydishwasher,I’mnotsurehowtostophimfromactingup.”IhastentoaddbeforeMomasksmetodojustthat,“AndIthinkhe’llbeokayifwegivehimspacetosulk.”
“WhataboutThanksgiving?”
Uh?“WhataboutThanksgiving?”
“Whatifhe’snotdonesulkingbyThanksgiving?WheredoIseathim?Whatifhedoesn’tshow?YourauntwillsaythatIdon’thavemyfamilyundercontrol.Thatsheshouldhostnextyear!She’sbeentryingtostealthisfrommefordecades!”
“Mom,it’s…January.”
“And?”
IspotJackandAndreacomingmyway,laughing,Michiandagaggleofgradsintow.He’sonewholeheadtallerthanthecrowd—likeateverysingleSmithgathering—andwearsagraylong-sleevedhenleythatmanagestolooksimultaneouslylikethefirstthinghefoundinthelaundryhamperandahigh-endpiecetailoredtoshowcasethatproteinishisfavoritemacronutrient.
HautecouturebyChuckNorris.
Iwishhedidn’tnodatmewiththatstupidsmirk.Iwishhewasn’tamusedbymyglare.
“IfbyNovemberthingsaren’tbetter,I’ll…lookintoroperestraintsandcheapstoragespace,Ipromise.Gottago,Mom.I’llcallyoubacktonight,okay?”IhanguptofindagoodluckemailfromDr.L.,whohasn’tquitemasteredtextmessagingyet,andsmile.
Atleastsomeonecares.
“I’mso,sosorryaboutyesterday,”Monicasays,arrivinginaflurryofclickingheels.HereyesknifeintoJack’smonstrousshoulders,andIdolovehowcommittedsheistodespisinghim.Trulywarmsmyhigh-riskcardiovascularsystem.“IleftyouwithJackforsolong.IhadnoideaSashawaslate—menSounreliable.”
“Notaproblem.”It’snotevenalie.LastnightImanagedtoputintwosolidhoursofemailansweringbeforedinner,andIdidn’tevendozeoffwhenCecetoldmeallabouttherecentbreakthroughinheranalysisof“TheOdessaSteps”(i.e.,act4ofthe1925silentmovieBattleshipPotyomkin).We’vewatchedittogetherbefore—multipletimes,sinceImadetherookiemistakeofpretendingtoloveitthefirst.ButlastnightIwasconsiderablylesstiredthanusual,andmytheoryisthatJack’sthereason.
Here’sthedeal:thingsbetweenhimandmeareunsalvageablybad.I’llneverconjureanElsieabletopleasehim,especiallysincehe’sfiguredoutmyAPEstrategies.AndasmuchasIhateknowingthatthere’ssomeoneouttherewhomIcannotwinover,italsoletsmeoffthehook.WithJack,Idon’tneedtobesomeoneelse,becauseIcan’tbesomeoneelse.It’sunsettling,anddisturbinglybaring,andalso…relaxing.
Basically,IhadfunwithJackSmith-Turner.Aphraseneverbeforeutteredbyahumantongue.
HaveIbeendoingitallwrong?MaybeinsteadofgettingpeopletothinkthatI’mworththeirtime,Ishouldstopgivingashitaboutthem?Hmm.Foodforthought.
“Onthepositive,everyonewho’shadone-on-oneswithyouadoredyou,Elsie.”Monicagrins.“Andthestudents—glowingfeedback.Ithinkwegotthisinthebag.Youjustneedtonailthisresearchtalk.”
Nopressure.“Onit.”Ismile.
Herhandsettleswarmlyonmyshoulder.“You’llbesuchawonderfulassettothedepartment.”
Tenminuteslater,afterMonicahasintroducedmetoapackedauditorium(Isuspectmandatoryattendance),Icanstillfeeltheweightofherfingers.ShementionedtheForbes30Under30,theSN10:ScientiststoWatch,andtheYoungInvestigatorPrize,andeveryoneclapped.Peoplelookbetweenmeandmyslides.Nooneseemstobenoddingoffyet.I’mtalkingaboutthemodelsIcreated,someunpublishedmaterialIhaven’thadachancetowriteupyet,and.
God.Ifuckingloveit.
Thethingis,I’mgoodatit.Really,genuinelygood.AnythingelseI’veeverbeenpraisedfor—You’resopretty,Elsie,sointerestingtotalkto,sofunny,soextroverted,sointroverted,sokind,sounderstanding,sopleasant,sothoughtful,solevelheaded,soinsightful,socrazy,socarefree,sodisciplined,sointense,solaid-back—ismadeup.Aproductoffogmachinesandcarefullyangledmirrorsthatreflectwhatotherswantmetobe.Butphysics…Ididn’tfakemywayintophysics.AndIlovetalkingaboutittootherpeople—notsomethingI’vebeenabletodooverthepastyear,sinceIteachapproximatelyseventybajillionclassesandmystudentsarestillatthe“applefallsonhead”stageofphysics.IsometimestrytoinvolveCeceinmywork,buteverytimeImentionliquidcrystals,shegigglesandwhispers,“MyPreciousss.”Whichisokay.It’snotexactlyapartytopic,butphysicists?They’reintoit.Experimentalistslovetheapplications,andtheoristslovetowonderwhattheywereuptoduringthebigbang,whetherthey’retherealoriginoflifeonEarth,iftheycanbeaddedtoasmoothie.
It’sawin-win.
“…thiswasphasetwoofthemodel—letmeknowifit’snotcrystalclear.”Ideliverthefirstofmythreescheduledpunstoaroomfulofchuckles.Iftheworldisajustplace,thisprostitutionofmysenseofhumorwillbuymeVolkov’svote.“Now,movingontothethird.”
Jack’sinthefourthrow,payingmeanuncomfortableamountofattention,writingsomethinginanotebook.Atbest,he’sdoodlingcoolS’s—atworst,draftinganonlinepetitiontodissuadeMITfromhiringadiabeticslugwhopilfersimportedsodasandcatfishesimpressionableyoungmen.Hehassomethingplanned.Iknowit.Heknowsit.Webothknowit,andthat’swhyourgazesmeetandholdsooften.ButI’vepracticedthistalksomuch,Icouldgiveitwhilegettingmycrotchwaxed.Whateveryou’replotting,I’mreadyforit,Ithinkathimthenexttimeoureyescatch.Hesmirksbackhisfamiliar,unevensmile.
Icarryonandwaitfortheshoetodrop.Andwait.Andwait.And…
Itdoesn’t.Jackdoesn’traisehishandtoaskanunintelligiblefour-partquestion.Hisstudentsdon’tjumpoutoftheirchairstostageananti-theoryflashmob.OncewegettotheQ&A,Ipeekattheceiling,fullyexpectingabucketofpig’sblood.Nothing.
JustDr.Massey,raisinghishandfromtheleftside,saying,“Whatadeeplyfascinatingmodel,Dr.Hannaway.Someoftheexperimentalistsherewouldreallybenefitfromyourcollaboration.”Hepointsatamiddle-agedmansittinginfrontofhim.“Toby,you’reworkingonnematics.”
“No,notme.ItwasDr.Deol.”
“No,Deol’sparticles.MaybeSasha?”
Theroomdevolvesintoachickencoop,everyonetalkingovereveryoneuntilVolkovinterrupts:“Wasn’titDr.Smith-Turner?”
Heturnsaroundwitheffort,lookingforsomeone,andIprayhemisspoke.Ipraythere’sanotherSmith-Turnerinthecrowd.Iprayforaquickandmercifulending.But:“Jack,you’vebeenstuckonyournematicsexperiments,right?Youcouldusethismodel,correct?”
IdaretoglanceatJack,expectingtoseehimfrown.Toscoff.Tolashback.Buthesays,“Indeed,Ihave.Andindeed,Icould.”Hesmilesalittle,pleasedinawaythat’snotbitterenoughformytaste.
Ijustknockedthistalkoutofthepark.Jackshouldbesobbing.Whydoeshelookalmost…admiring?
Hiseyesholdmineagain.Iglanceawayfirstandtakethenextquestion.
???
“Youareamostimpressiveyoungscientist,”Volkovtellsme,pausingtopopabacon-wrappedmushroominhismouth.“Arisingstar,withabrightcareeraheadofyou.”
“I’llmakesuretobuysunglasses.”Iwatchhimcacklehiswaytothecanapéstable,hopinghewon’tbeback.
Theinterviewwentwell,butI’mreadyforittobeover.ThisshindigatMonica’splaceisthehomestretch:ostensibly,aninformalreceptionmeanttoconveytheamiablecultureofthedepartmentandtheconvivialrapportamongitsfacultymembers.ButI’vebeentotonsofthesebackatNortheastern,andalltheymanagetoshowisthatweacademicsareawkward,resentfulnerdsunabletointeractwithourcolleagueswithoutlitersofethanoliclubricant.
Whichhavebynowbeendistributed.Theroomrangesfrombuzzytooutrightdrunk.TheconversationfromPS5gamestogossipaboutthegradstudents.(Coleisuniversallyloathed,hadasoulpatchphase,oncetriedtoorganizeanorgyinthespectroscopylab.IshouldintroducehimtoUnclePaul.)
Monica’shouseisfancyandsprawling,andIshouldn’tbeshocked:sheisabigshot—ofcourseshehasKFCbucketsofmoney.Manyofthosewhomanagetostickaroundacademiatillthefullprofessorstagedo,right?It’sjust…theincomedifferencebetweentenuredfacultyandpeoplelikemeisgaping.Maybescholarsmoveupfromthepovertylineandforgetallabouthowtheyusedtojerkawaketococonut-crabroachescrawlingontheirskin.Maybethere’saswitchinthebrainthatteachespeoplethedifferencebetweenhorsd’oeuvresandamuse-bouchesandmakesthemwanttodropseriouscashoncowskullwalldecor?
IsiptheclubsodaIpretendedtosplashwithginandmutter,“God.”
“PrettysureGodleftthisdepartmentyearsago,”someonewhispersabovemyear.
Iturnand—it’sJack.Ofcourseit’sJack.Theelectrontomynucleus,constantlyspinningaroundmeinthemostannoyingoforbits.He’ssocloseIhavetotiltmychin,andfromthisperspectiveitstrikesmeagainhowhandsomeheis.Likeapictureinanairportstorethatsellsfancyperfume.
“Stopfrowning,”heorders,andatfirstIautomaticallysmoothmyforehead.
ThenIfrownharder.“Don’ttellmewhattodo.”
“Comeon,Elsie.”Thecornerofhislipstwitches.“Ididn’tevenaskyoutosmile.”
He’sstandinginthedoor,onehandoneachsideofthedoorframe.Hisbicepsbrushesagainstmyhair,butIwon’tstepoutofreach.Iwasherefirst.Also,I’mclearlytwelve.“Didyouneedsomething?”
“Justcheckingin.Makingsureyou’veeatenenough.”
Irollmyeyes.“Idid.Thanks,Daddy.”Mybloodsugarisat120milligrams.I’mkillingit.
“Thoughtso,sinceyou’renotlyingfacedownonMonica’s”—heglancesattherugbeneathmyfeet,andhisnosescrunches—“deadDalmatian?”
“Ithinkit’scowhide?”
“Ah.Thatexplainstheskullsonthewall.”
“Theyreally…”Iclearmythroat.“Tiethewholeroomtogether?”
“Youthinkshekilledthemherself?”
“Why?Afraidyou’renext?”
“Ofcourse.Monica’sterrifying.”
Ilaugh.There’snothingJackcandotomakemelookunhirablenow.We’rejusttwofriendlyarchenemieschattingataparty.Noone’spayingattentiontous,whichfeelsoddlynice.Isolatingbutrestful.BecauseJackexpectsnothingfromme.
“AreyouandAndreadating?”Iask,becauseIcanandI’mcurious.
“No.”Heseemssurprised.“Why?”
Ishrug.“Iseeyoutogetheralot.”That’swhohewaschattingwithwhileVolkovsoapboxedaboutcompetitiveduckherding.
“We’refriends,wecollaborate,we’retheonlytwofacultymembersunderthirty-five.”Hetakesasipofhisbeer.“Idon’tdatemuch.”
Right.That’swhatGregsaid,too.Whatbugsmeis—I’mpositivethatAndrea,anotherwisebrilliantwoman,thinksJack’saniceguy.AndthatMichithinkshe’sagoodmentor,judgingbyhowcomfortableshefeelsinteractingwithhimviameltdowns.Aboutanyoneelse,thesewouldbegreenflags,butIknowbetter.
“So,”Isay,“yournematicsexperimentsaregoingpoorly?”
“Indeed.Howdidyouknow?Oh,right.YouweretherewhenVolkovannouncedmyrepeatedfailurestoobtaindecentresultstoathree-hundred-personauditorium.”Theself-deprecatingsmileisback,andsoisthedimple.Idon’twanttolaughagain,but…it’shard.I’vehadalongday.
“Ikindoflikedit.Infact,IthinkIhadanorgasmwhenithappened.”
“Ibet.”Hiseyesdarkenaroundthebluewedge.
“OnascalefromtakingaCrossFitclasstowritingparodyarticlesasaformofactivism,howmadareyouthatsomeonesuggestedyouuseamodelofmine?”
“What’saCrossFit,andwhywouldIbemad?Mylabdiscussedtheapplicationofyourmodelinourmeetingtoday.”
Ileanbacktosearchhiseyes.“What?”
“Michibraggedtoeveryonethatyouguysarefriends.ShefollowedyouonTwitter,Ithink.”
“Idon’thaveTwitter.”
“Ididtellheryouprobablyaren’t@SmexyElsie69—”
“Wait,areyouserious?Areyoureallygoingtoapplymymodel?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Butit’sapurelytheoreticalmodel.”
Heshrugs.“We’vebeenstuckformonths.Andit’sbrilliant.AndlikeItoldyoumultipletimes,I’vealwaysincorporatedtheoreticalmodelsandcollaboratedwith—”
“Stop.”Iturntofacehimdirectlyandgethalf-wedgedunderhisarm.Welooklikewe’reabouttoembrace.InaGameofThrones,stab-you-while-I-hug-youway.“Listen,I…Stopthis,please.Idon’tknowwhatyouwantfromme.I’vebeenadjunctingforayear,anditsuckssomuch—so,somuch.Ijustwantajobinagooddepartmenttocontinuewithmyresearch.”
“Youdeserveit,”hesaysquietly.Ifeelthewordsforirony.Findnotrace
“Stopit,”Irepeat.“Idon’tknowwhatgameyou’replaying,but—”
“Game?”Hescowls.“IjustsaidthatIhopeyougettheopportunitytocontinueyourwork,becauseyouclearlyareoneofthegreatmindsofourgeneration.”
Itense.“Idon’tneedyourcondescendingpraises.”
“I—”Heshakeshishead.Hishandcomesuptomychin,straightensmyfacetobetterstudyme.Whichhedoes,forendlessseconds,beforeasking,“Whathappenedtoyou,Elsie?”
“Excuseme?”Ifeelflayedalivewhenhelooksatmelikethat.Strippedtomybones.
“EverytimeImentionthatIadmireyourwork,youbecomedismissiveandcombative.”
No,Idon’t.OrdoI?“Maybeifyoudidn’tspendhalfyourtimeremindingmethatI’monparwithaskankyvillainfromamid-2000sCWshow,I—”
“Iamabletomultitask.”Hesounds…notupset,butonhisway.Nothisusualdetachedself.“Icanadmireyouasascientistandatthesametimeresentwhatyou’redoingtomybrother.”
“Allegedlydoingtoyourbrother.And…”AmIbeingneedlesslyantagonistic?No.No,JackandIareantagonists.Insulinandglucagon.ReyandKyloRen.GalileoandtheentireCatholicChurch,circa1615.“It’shardtobelievethatyourespectmewhenallIknowyouforisdissingtheverypeoplewhodomyjobandadvocatingforGeorgetobehired.”
“Thathasnothingtodowithyou,andeverythingwithGeorge—whoyouknownothingabout.”
“Right.MaybeifImethimandheardallabouthisoneandahalfpublications,I’dwithdrawmyapplicationincowedadmiration.”
Jack’seyeswiden.“What?”Hebitestheinsideofhischeek.“Elsie.You’reoperatingonsomeprettybigassumptions—”
“Elsie.Hereyouare.”Monicacrossesthecowhidetowardus.Shelooksatme.ThenatJack.Thenatmeagain.“Ithoughtyoumightneedsomesaving,”shemurmursinmyear.Judgingfromhishalfsmile,Jackheard,too.
“IwasjustmakingsureshestillwantstoworkwithusafterChristosputhishanddownhiswaistbandwhiletryingtoconvinceherthatcerealistechnicallysoup.”Jack’stoneisonceagainamused.Relaxed.
“Hedoesmakesomevalidpoints,”IinterjectbeforeMonicafield-dressesJackonthecowhide.“Monica,thiseveninghasbeensolovely.Thankyousomuchforhavingmeinyourbeautifulhome.”
“Butofcourse.Haveyoumetmyfamily?”
“Yourhusband,yes.Hisresearchisfascinating.”He’sanevolutionarybiologist.Weteareduptogetheroverthetawnyfrogmouths,whomateforlifeandletthemselvesstarvebythebodyoftheirdeadpartner.Goodtimes.
“WhataboutAustin,myson?Hejustgothome.He’sstayingwithus—currentlybetween…careers.Lookslikespendinghundredsofthousandsofdollarstomajoringolfmanagementwasnotagoodinvestment.”Hersmileistight.“DidyouknowJackandAustinhangout?”
“Oh.”IlookbetweenJackandMonica,whoseemtofindthefact,respectively,amusingandteeth-grindworthy.
“Weplaybasketballatthesamegym,”Jackexplains.Hisvoicevibratesthroughme,likehe’sveryclose.
“OnSundaynights.Rightduringourfamilydinner—whichAustinhasn’tattendedinweeks.”
“Maybeyoushouldinstallahoopinyourlivingroom.”Hepointsatthewall.“Rightthere,betweenthosetwofossils?”
“Maybeyoushouldinstallahoopupyour—oh,thereheis.Austin,dear,letmeintroduceyoutoourguestofhonor.”
Atallmanresentfullystopsstaringathisphonetocometous.He’shandsomeinacommon,forgettablekindofway,andinitiallyIthinkthat’swhyhelooksvaguelyfamiliar.ButasIwatchhimexchangeafriendlyhandshakewithJack,Irealizeit’smorethanthat.I’mpositivethatI’veseenhimbefore.Where,though?Icannotplacehim.Oneofmystudents?No.Hemustbeinhislatetwenties.
Thenithitsme.WhenMonicasays,“Austin,thisisafuturepotentialcolleague,Dr.ElsieHannaway.”
BecauseAustin’sresponseistogivemetheonce-over,snort,andthensay,“No,she’snot.”
Andthat’swhenitoccurstomethatthelasttimeImetAustinSalt,heofferedmeseventydollarstohavesexwithhim.9ESCAPEVELOCITY
Fuck.
Fuck,fuck,fuck.
ItwasmyfifthorsixthdatethroughFaux,fouryearsago,andFrancesca,theappmanager,wasscramblingtofindsomeonelastminute.“Theclientdoesn’tevenwantapreliminarymeeting,”shetoldmeoverthephone.Iwasrunningacrosscampus,fromanastroparticleseminartoanIntrotoPhysicsTAmeeting,franticallydodginggagglesofundergrads.“Allheneedsis‘armcandy’—hiswords.It’stheformalinaugurationofanewgolfcourse,andhewantstoimpresshisboss.Ifsomeoneasks,youmetthroughfriendsacoupleofmonthsagoandworkininsurance.Backgroundcheck’sgood,andhe’llpayextraforshortnotice—youin?”
Rentwasdueinaweek,andIhadagrandtotaloftworottenbananasinthefridge.SoIworeoneofthethreecheapcocktaildressesCeceandIhadgonehalfsieson,watchedawingedeyelinertutorial,andinthecabridetothesuburbs,gotmyselfcarsickeditingafellowshipapplicationduethefollowingday.
Austinhadgelled-backhairandansweredthephonewith“Talktome.”Notabadclientasmuchasanabsenteeone.“Armcandy”seemedtobecodeforprettywallpaper,whichmeantthatmyjobwastositatourtable,smilewidelywhenheintroducedmeasLizzie,andwonderwhythefancyasparaguscrepesweredecoratedwithstrawberries.Therewaslotsofdowntime,whichIusedtodosomegrading,phonehiddenundertheexpensivelinentablecloth.Attheendofthenighthegavemearide.Wechattedaboutthehowsandwhysofgolftillwegotdowntown,atwhichpointheofferedmeseventybuckstohavesexwithhim.Isaidno
Tobefair,hestartedlower.Andtobefairer,Ihadtosaynoseveraltimes(pepperedwithafewyeseswhenquestionsveeredto“Areyouserious?”and“Areyousayingpeoplepayyoutojustlookhotnexttothem?”and“Areyoureallygoingtoactlikeabitch?”).Iwasn’ttooscared,becausewewereonanon-desertedsidewalk.Iturnedonmyheelsandignoredhimasheyelled,“You’renoteventhathot!Yourtitsaretinyandyourmakeupisshit!”
ThefollowingdayItoldFrancesca,whomadeagaggingnoiseonthephone,askedthemillion-dollarquestion(“God,Elsie.Whyaremen?”),andblockedhimfromtheclientdatabase.Forthefollowingfakedates,Imadeanefforttodobettermakeupandusepush-upbras.Asapeoplepleaserandagraduatestudent,Iwasprimedtotakeallsortsofconstructivecriticismtoheart.
Andthatwastheendofit.
Orjustanintermission?BecausewhenAustinlooksatmeandsnortsandsays,“No,she’snot,”thetemperaturearoundmedrops.IlookintoAustin’sresentfuleyes,andmynervesscreech.Mybrainicesoverandthenshattersintoamilliontinyrazor-sharpfragmentsthatcrashnoisilyintomyskull.
IknowthatIamfucked.Wellandtrulyfucked.
Monicagasps.“ForGod’ssake,Voight’sabouttospillhiswineglassonmyFendichair.”Shescurriesaway,andIcannotbreathe.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Austintakesastepcloser,andthesmellhits:he’sbeendrinking.I’mgoingtopukeinthecowskull.
“Hi,Austin.Howareyou?”Isoundsolid,Ithink.Self-assured,butheignoresme.
“Honestly,it’sagoodmove.Youkindofsuckedasahooker.”
Myshoulderbladesmakesuddencontactwithsomethinghardandwarm.Imusthavephysicallyrecoiled.Andpushedbackinto—
Jackisbehindme.Witnessingallofthis.Cross-referencingnotesabouthowterribleIamwithAustin.Shit.Shit—“Whatdidyoujustsay?”heasks.
“Youeverhireher?”Hepointsatmewithhischin.
Ican’tseeJack’sface,butIhearthefrowninhisvoice.“Elsieisaphysicist.”
Austinlaughs.Itblendsseamlesslywiththechatterinthebackground,becausepeoplearestilleating.Drinking.Arguing.Whilemyprofessionallifefallsapart.“Dude,noway.Elsiehereis,like,anescort.”
AngerbleedsintomypanicandIstiffen.“Thisisincorrect,”Ihiss.“Notthattherewouldbeanythingwrongwithit,butFauxisafake-datingapp,whichyou’dknowifyoureadthetermsandconditionsyouagreedtowhenyousignedup.Butyou’retoobusywhackingballsaroundwithacrowbartolearnbasicliteracyorhowtotreatyourfellowhumanswithrespect.Stepawayfromme,or—”
“AtleastI’mnotsomekindofhookerwhodoesn’tevenbothertofuckherclients—”
“Hey.”Jack’spalmclosesaroundmyarmandpullsmebackintohim,likeI’manunrulychildwhomightwalkintotraffic.Hisvoiceislowandmenacing,andIfeelitreverberatethroughmyownskin.“Austin.Youheardher.Sheaskedyoutostepaway.”
Austinletsoutanuglylaugh.“Thisismyhouse.”
“ThengotoyourroomandplaywithyourTransformersfigurines.Leaveheralone.”
“Jack,Ipaidhertogooutwithme.Youdon’tunderstand—”
“IunderstandwhatI’mseeing,solistentome,asshole.”Jack’stoneischilling.Terrifyinglycalm.Austinpalesandtakesasmallstepback,andIalmostfeelsorryforhim.“You’reharassingawomanwhoaskedyoutogetoutofherpersonalspacewhileshe’sataworkfunction.Becausesherejectedyou.”
“ButIpaidherto—”
“Idon’tcare.Sheaskedyoutoleave.Getthefuckoutofmysight.”
Austindoesn’twanttoleave.It’sclearinhisflarednostrils,inhistwitchingjawwhilehestaresattheplaceabovemyshoulderswhereJackhastakenupresidence.Buthedoesn’tstandachance:afterafewfrustratedsecondshemutters“Fuckthis”andfinally,finallytakesastepback.
Myheartstartsbeatingagain.
“Andonemorething,”Jackadds.
Austinswallows.“What?”
“Ifyousayanythingaboutthis,toanyone,includingyourmother,I’mgoingtomakesureyouregretitforalong,longtime.Understood?”
Austinpresseshislipstogetherandnodsonce,tight.Thenhedisappearsintothecrowd,intoanotherroom,and—
Ifreemyarmsandturnaround,meaningto…Idon’tknow.ThankJack?Explainmyself?Playoffwhatjusthappenedasafeverdream?
Problemis,he’sstaringdownatme.Watchingmewithsharp,inflexibleeyesthatmissnothing,and—
Heseeseverything.EverymoleculeIambuiltof—hecouldlistit,describeit,reproduceitinalab.Heseestherebarstructureinme,andI…Iseenothing.Iunderstandnothing.
Istillhavenoideawhathewantsmetobe.
“Jack,”Isay.Abarelytherewhisper,buthecanhearme.Hecanheareverything.“Jack.I…Ijust…”Ishakemyhead.AndthenIcan’tstandtobeseenanymore,soItakeastepbackandweavemywaythroughtheroom,lookingforMonicatomakemyexcuses.10INERTIA
Inhindsight,”Cecemuseswhilenibblingpensivelyonapieceofgouda,“weshouldhaveseenthiscoming.Boston’spopulationissevenhundredthousand.Sayhalfaremen,andhalfofthattwenty-onetoforty—Faux’stargetdemo.Now,Faux’snotcheap,andthemassesaregettingpoorerwhileJeffBezosruthlesslyprofitsoffmydesperateneedforone-dayshippingofdill-picklelipbalm.Somaybeonlyafourthofthedudescanaffordtohireus.Andofthatfourth,halfiseitherinahappilycommittedrelationshipor…hasmorals.Now,considerthatwe’vebeendoingthisforaboutfouryears,fake-girlfriendinganaverageoftwoclientsamonth.Ifwecrunchthenumbers…”Shelooksatmeexpectantly.IconsiderpretendingI’mnotahumancalculator,thengiveup.
“Ninety-sixmen.”Isigh.“Andtheirfamilyandfriends.Inapooloftwenty-onethousand.”
CeceholdsacarrottoHedgie,whotakesadelicatenibble.“WhichmakestheprobabilityofuscomingacrosssomeonewemetthroughFauxinourprivatelives…?Timetonerdout,nerdqueen.”
“Bayesianprobability?Orfrequentist?”
Cece’sgrinismyfavoriteofhers,withthetonguestickingoutofherteeth.“Doesn’tmatter.Thepointis,it’spossiblethatinourquixoticquesttomakeenoughmoneytopayourtaxes—somethingJeffDillPickleBezosisnotaskedtodo,bytheway—we…”
“Fuckedup?”
“Agoodassessment.”
Iletmyforeheadslidetothetable.It’scold,andstickywithsomethingthatmightnotbeHedgie’surine.“WhatifAustintellshismotherthatI’msomekindofconwomanwhotricksherclientsinto…into…”
“Intonotfuckingher?DidhelooklikehemightwanttotalktoMonica?”
“I…”OnceJackwasdonewithhim,hejustlookedscared.Shitless,onemightadd.Butalsoangry,andangrypeopledoangry,stupidthings.Likeclimbingontopofatoiletinthemen’srestroomwithJackSmith-Turner’shandspressedintotheirwaist.Orforgettingtomonitortheirglucoselevels.God,whatashitshowofaninterview.Atleastthemostdisgracefulmomentshappenedbehindthescenes—yayforsemiprivatehumiliation.“Idon’tknow.”
“Eitherway,asamothermyself,”CecesayswithameaningfulglanceatHedgie,“ifmydouchebagkidcametomewhiningthattherisingstaroftheoreticalphysicsdeniedhimaneighty—”
“Seventy.”
“—seventy-dollarhandjob—theaudacityofthatbitch—I’dexclusivelybeangryatmydouchebagkid.”
Istraightenandsighagain.Thegouda’spredictablygone,soIpickupthecarrotandtakeasmallbite,avoidingHedgie’scorner.Though,why,really?Howbadcouldtoxoplasmosisbe?NotnearlyaspainfulasthewayJackstaredatmeaftereverything.Likehecouldbreakmedownintothesmallestdiatomicmoleculeswithalookandahandfulofwords.
Bettertakemychanceswiththesalmonella.
“IneedtotalktoJack.ExplainwhatAustinsaid.”
Cecescoffs.“Youdon’towehimanything.”
“Hehelpedme,though.WithouthimI—”
“Hestoodupforyouwhensomeshit-facedmanboyverballyharassedyou—Elsie,it’sthebareminimum.Thebar’ssolow,youcouldpickitupandbeathimwithit.”
Okay.SomaybeIdon’tneedtotalktoJack.Iwantto,though.Iwanttoexplaintohimthat…
Thatwhat?Really,what?HemusthaveputtogetherthatwhatI’mdoingwithGregissimilartowhatIdidwithAustin.Andifhehasn’t…didn’tIdecidetwodaysagothatIdon’tcarewhathethinksofme?Thathe’salostcauseanyway?IfIdon’tgettheMITjob,I’mnevergoingtomeetJackagain.AndifIdo…we’llbecordial,distantenemies.He’sstillthenutsackwhoturnedseventeenanddecidedtodeclarewaronanentirediscipline—mydiscipline.Sohe’stheoneguyIcan’tread,theonepersonwhocan’tbeAPE’d.Allthemorereasontonevervoluntarilyinteractwithhimagain.
Ijustdon’tknowwhyit’sscorchedintomystupidbrain,thatlastglancehegavemeasIsteppedoutofMonica’shome.Andtheearlierone,whenhegrabbedmychinandstudiedmelikeI’msomethingunique.MyownCartesiancoordinates.
Whathappenedtoyou,Elsie?
Isquaremyshoulders.“You’reright.Greg’stheoneIneedtotalkto.”WarnhimthatJackmightaskquestions.Givehimtimetoprepareanswers.Greg’sthereasonIwaskeepingsecretsallalong.He’stheonewhodeservesprotecting.“Inthemeantime,nomoreFaux.”IlookatCece.“Shouldyouquit,too?You’llbeonthejobmarketonceyou’redonewithyourthesis—whatifthishappenstoyou,too?”
“Itwon’tbeuntilnextyear.Wemightbedeadbythen.”
“Wouldbenice,wouldn’tit?”
Weexchangesmiles.“Imustsay,thesituationismakingmereconsiderFaux.Thenagain,thenumberofdollarsinmybankaccountismakingmereconsidermyreconsiderations.”Shetapsherchin.“It’sagoodreasontokeepworkingwithKirk.”
Ifrown.“Kirk?”
“Yeah,thatguywho—”
“IknowwhoKirkis.Ijustthought…You’vebeentalkingabouthimalot.Andyourefertohimbyhisfirstname.”
“HowelseshouldIrefertohim?”
“Historically,yourclientshavebeen,youknow…BigNostrilsJim.NotAndersonCooper.DoomsdayPrepperPete.AnchovyBreathOne.AnchovyBreathTwo.DeepV-Neck.AnchovyBreathThree—”
“Igetthegist.”
“KirkisalwaysjustKirk,whichhasmewonderingif…”
“Whoa.”Hereyeswidendramatically.“AmIbeingattacked?Inmyownhome?”
“No.Ijust—”
“Atmyowntable?”
Ishakemyhead.“No,I—”
“OnmyownchairthatIretrievedfromthecurbsideandthatusedtohavebedbugsandmaybestilldoes?”
“No!Ididn’tmeanto—”InoticeCece’sslysmile.“You’reevil.”
Shelaughs.“IsGregstillonthathippieretreatwhereyoupaytoweedtheirflowerbeds?When’shecomingback?Andwhenisthesearchcommitteevotingonthecandidates?”
Isshetryingtochangethetopic?“Ihavenoidea.Idon’tevenknowifGeorgehasalreadybeeninterviewed.Gregshouldbebackbytheweekend,buthe’llhavetonsofmessages,and…”
“Andhe’llseeamilliontextsfromyou.He’llcallthesecondheturnsonhisphone.You’llcalmlyexplainwhathappened,andyou’llcomeupwithaplantogether.Don’tworryaboutit,okay?”
Inod.
Asitturnsout,Ceceisright—IdogetacallfromGregthemomenthecomesbacktocivilizedsociety.Butshe’salsowrong,becausethingsdon’tgothewayshepredicted.Notatall.
Notevenalittlebit.
???
MyfirstthoughtwhenIreadUnknownBostonNumberisthatI’mgoingtobeofferedthejob.Itmustbethesheerdepthofmydesperationmakinganoptimistandafooloutofme.Foramoment,IseemyselfholdingbacktearsasIacceptanappointmentletter.IwouldliketothanktheAcademy,myroommate,andthegirlwhorunstheWhatWouldMarieDoaccount—myrocksduringtheharrowingyearsofgradschool.Iowethistoyou.
Itmakesthefallbacktorealitythatmuchharder.
“DoyouknowsomeonenamedGregorySmith?”Whoever’sontheotherendofthelinesoundssoangry,Ibrieflyforgethowtotalk.
“Um—”
“Isurehopeso,becausetherearefortyunreadtextsfromyouonhisphone.Andifyou’rehisstalker…you’llstilldo.Hewasbroughthereanhouragoforemergencydentalsurgery,andweneedsomeonetocomepickhimup.”
“Pickhim…up?”
“Yes.Itmeansthatyoucomehere.Gethim.Thentakehimwherehelives.”She’sspeakingveryslowly.IfItoldheraboutmydoctoraldegree,shewouldnotbelieveme.“Withavehiclesuchasacar.Orawheelbarrow,forallIcare.”
“I—Idon’townacar.AndIdon’tknowwherehelives.Can’tyoucallhimanUberand—”
“Honey,he’sdruggedoutofhismind.Icannotlethimwalkoutofherealone—hejustmumbledsomethingaboutwalkingintotheCharlesRivertohangoutwithAquaman.”
Iclosemyeyes.ThenIopenthem.IglanceatthelectureI’vebeenpreparing,thenatthetime(6:42p.m.),thenatHedgieglaringatmefromthekitchencounter.
Isighandhearmyselfask,“Whereareyoulocated?”11CENTRIPETALFORCE
IfGregwereadog,he’dbepeeingalloverthewaitingroom.
Inmytwenty-sevenyears,noonehasbeenhappiertoseeme.Heleaps(albeitsluggishly)outofhischair,tries(andfails)tospinmearound,effusivelycomplimentsmystained“MaytheMassTimesAccelerationBewithYou”shirt,andfinallysandwichesmyfaceinhispalmsandsays,“I’mabouttoblowyourmind,Elsie.Didyouknowthatquinoaisnotagrain?It’slike,asprout.OhmyGod,let’sdotheHarlemShake!”
Behindthereceptioncounter,thenurseshakesherheadandmutters,“Highlikeahot-airballoon.”
“I—thankyouforcallingme.”Shelookslesspissedthanshesoundedonthephone,butmoreexhausted.Theplacesmellslikemint,potpourri,andthatairhygienistsblowintothemouthduringcleanings.
“Sure.Getthisidiotoutofmywaitingroom,please.Igottagohomeandfeedmyownbroodofidiots.”
“Ofcourse.”IsmilereassuringlyatGreg,who’spettingastrandofhairthatescapedmybun.“LikeIsaid,Idon’tknowhishomeaddress.Doyouhaveitinyourpaperwork?OrIcouldbringhimtomyplace—”
“I’vegotit.”
IturntothedooreventhoughI’mwellfamiliarwiththevoice—fromthepastthreedaysofinterviewing,frommyworstfears,fromthatweird,intrusivedreamIhadlastnight.Greg’salreadyrunningtohisbrother,givinghimthesameunabashedwelcomehegaveme.
Myfirstthoughtisafamiliarone:Ican’tbelievethey’rerelated.IftheyplayedsiblingsinanHBOMaxminiseries,I’dcallbullshitonthecastingdirector.Mysecondis,ofcourse,Fuck
Fuckingfuck.Whyishehere?
Ilooktothenurse.“Didyou…didyoucallbothofustopickGregup?”
“Yup.BecausethefirstpersonIcalledwashismom,whotoldmeshe’dbehereinfifteenandthencanceledbecauseofamaniappointment.”Herliftedeyebrowis100percentjudgment.Iblameher0percent.“Idecidedtohedgemybets.”
“Right,”Isay.Gregyapsonabouthisfantabulousquinoadiscovery,andIdon’twanttomeetJack’seyes.Icannotbearforhimtoseeme,notafteryesterday’smessatMonica’sandthatlastlook.“Understandable.”Ismileweaklyatthenurse.ThenIturn,meticulouslykeepingmyeyesonGreg.“Yourbigbro’sheretotakeyouhome,soI’mleaving.I’llcalltomorrowwhenyou’refeelingbetter,and—”
“Oh,no.”GreglooksatmelikeI’mpouringliquidglueonabrownpelican.“Youcan’tleave.That’dbeawful!”
“But—”
“Youhavetocome!”
“Isuggestyoudowhathesays,”thenursetellsme.“Histoothwasabscessing.Theypumpedhimfull.”
“Greg,I—”
“Comeon,Elsie.I’llpaytheusualrate—”
“No.No,no,I—”Shit.Shit.IchancealookatJack,expectingtosee…Idon’tknow.Asneerofdisgust.Theusualsmirk.ASWATteambargingfrombehindhimtohandcuffmeforsolicitation.Buthe’swaitingpatiently,handsinthepocketsofhisjeans,thedarkblueofhisshirtpullingoutthecolorinhiseye.He’snotwearingacoat,becausehe’sphysicallyunabletofeelcold.Bornwithoutthermoreceptors—atragedy.“Sure.I’llcomeforabit.Let’sgo,Greg.”Iturntothenurse,whoseinterestperkedupatusualrate.“Isthereanythingweshouldknow?”
“Herearehismeds—startingtomorrowmorning.Justputhimtobedtosleepthedrugsoff.Anddon’tlethimmakeanymajorlifedecisionsforthenextfourtosixhours—nopuppyadoption,noMLMs.Also,Igoogledit:quinoa’saseed.”
Greggasps.“Weshouldgetapuppy!”
Jackpresseshislipstogether,butthedimpleisrightthere.“Mycar’sthisway.I’lldriveyoutothehumanesociety.”
BucklingGregupinthebackseatofJack’shybridSUVtakessolong,Icontemplateneverhavingkids.Astheothernot-under-the-influenceadult,I’mprobablyexpectedtorideinthepassengerseatnexttoJack,but…
Nope.
“I’llsitinthebackincaseGregneedsanything.”
Jack’slookclearlysays,Iknowyou’reavoidingme,becauseofcoursehedoes.Heknowseverything—andwhathedoesn’tknowishisforthetaking,becauseI’mtranslucent.Fun.
Irealizehowbadanideathiswastwentysecondsintotheride:whatevertheygaveGregismessingwithhisworkingmemory.He’sabletofocusonlyonwhat’srightinfrontofhiseyes,andcatastrophically,70percentofhisfieldofviewhappenstobeme.
Theother30is,ofcourse,Jack.
“Youguys,thisisfun.Isitnotfun?Justthethreeofus.NoMom,noDad,noUnclePaul.”
“Veryfun,”Jacksays,navigatingoutofthelot.
Greg’sheadlollsbackagainsttheseat.“Jacky,youcanaskElsieallthosethingsyouwantedtoknow.Hey,Elsie.”Heattemptstowhisperinmyear,thoughitcomesoutslurredandveryloud.“Jackyhasathingforyou.Like,hestaresallthetime.Andheaskssomanyquestionsaboutyou.”
“Oh,Greg.”Thisismortifying.“That’s…reallynotwhat’shappening.”
Inthefrontseat,Jack’ssilenceisquietly,painfullyloud.
“Fulldisclosure,Jacky,”Gregcontinueswithaloopygrin,“Imadeupalltheanswers.Idunnoifshelikestotravel,ifshewantskids,ifshe’sintomovies.Like,how’mIs’posedtoknow?”
Jack’sexpressionthroughtherearviewmirrorissealed.“ShehasathingforTwilight,I’vediscovered.”
Gregisdelighted.“Thevampireorthewolf—”
“Greg,howwastheretreat?”Iinterrupthimwithasmile.
“Sooomandatory.Butthenmytoothexplodedinmymouth,andIgottoleaveearly.Hey,youknowhowsometimesthereareshoesonthepowerlines?Whoputsthemthere?”
“Um,notsure.Listen,doyourememberifyougotachancetocheckyourtextsonyourwaytothedentist?Oryouremail?Orlistentoyourvoicemails?”
Hestaresatmewithanintense,solemnexpression.Itensewithanticipationashiseyesgowide.Thenhesays,“OhmyGod.WeshouldplayISpy!”
Isigh.
Fifteenminuteslater,afterGregclaimstospyabear,P.Diddy,andacanofgarbanzobeans,weparkoutsideaprettyRoxburyhousecarvedintotwoapartments.
“Whereareyourkeys,Greg?”Iask.
“I’vegotaspare,”Jacksays,finishingintwentysecondsaparallelparkingjobthatwouldhavetakenmetwentyminutesandmywholedignity.“Justmakesurehedoesn’twanderintotraffic.”
I’dliketothinkthatGreg’splaceiswhatmineandCece’swouldbelikeifwemanagedtoliftourcredenza,couldaffordnon-bedbuggedfurniture,andwerelesspronetofrolickinginourownfilth.It’ssimpleandcozy,coveredinknickknacksthatremindmeofGreg’spersonalityandhisquirkysenseofhumor.Jackdwarfstheentrance,buthedoesn’tseemoutofplace.Heobviouslyspendstimehere,becauseheknowsexactlywheretofindthelightswitch,howtoraisethethermostat,whichshelftosetthemailon.
“Cutlet!”Gregyells,fistingJack’sshirt.“Cutlet—whereisshe?”
Ilookaround,expectingtoseeacatslinkingcloser,butit’sjustusintheapartment—meidling,JackrelentlesslyinchingGregtowardabedroom.“Onmydeskatwork.Let’sgotakeanap,G.Soundsnice,right?”
“Didyouwaterher?Hasshechanged?Doesshestillrememberme?”
“Iwateredit.Her.Shelooksthesame.Notsuresheremembersyou,sinceshe’snonsentient—likemostcactuses.How’boutthatnap?”
“CanIhaveadrinkfirst,please?”
“Elsie,couldyougethimsomewaterwhileIputhimtobed?”
“Milk!Didyouknowthatmilkcomesfromnipples?”
JackandIexchangeabriefIsn’tcoparentingfunglance,andIrushintothekitchen.Ican’tfindtheactualglasses,soIpourthemilkintoaBonneMamanjar.I’llbringittoGreg,thenleaveinanUberthesecondtheydisappearintothebedroom.Ihavemylecturetoprep.Cecedoesn’tknowwhereIam.Ican’tbealonewithJack.Yes,perfect.
“Hereyougo,”ItellGreg,who’sbeingherdedtohisbedroomwhilehumming“GangnamStyle.”“Youonlyhavealmondmilk—technicallynotfromanipple.”Ihandhimthejarand—bigmistake.Huge.BecauseGregsipsnonepercentofitbeforespillingtheentiretyofitonJack’sshirt.
Igasp.Greglaughsuproariouslywhileyellingsomethingaboutthemilkbeingbackonnipples.Jackgiveshisbrotherapatient,ever-suffering-dadsmile.“Youhavingfun?”
“Soooomuch.Hey,rememberwhenweswitchedMom’syogurtwithmayo?”
“Ido.Itwasgenius—youridea,ofcourse.”
“AndMompuked.”
“Shewaspissed.Comeon,let’sgotobed.”
“Igotgroundedforaday.Butyougotgroundedfortwoweeks,becauseshekindofhatesyou.”
“Worthit.”Jacksmiles,likehedoesn’tmindbeingtoldthathismomhateshim.Gregtriestoembracehim,andJackstopshim.“Bud,I’llgetnon-nipplemilkalloveryou.”
“Whydon’tIgethimintobed?”ItakeGreg’sarm,pullinghimwithme.“Gofindsomethingclean.”
Thebedroomisjustatadmessierthantherestoftheplace,thebedstillunmadefromGreg’slastnightinBoston.He’snarratingadocumentaryontheenvironmentaltollofalmondproduction,whichmakescajolinghimintolyingdownmarginallyeasier.Idon’tturnonthelights,andhefallsquietwhileI’muntyinghisshoe.
ThankGodhe’sasleep.I’llbeoutofhereinaminuteand—
“Ilikeyou,Elsie.”
IlookupfromGreg’sboot.Hiseyesareclosed.“Ilikeyou,too,Greg.”
“Rememberhowyousaidwecouldbefriends?”
“Yeah.”
“Iwanttobefriends.”
Myheartbreaksalittle.Notwhenyousnapoutofitandcheckyouremail,youwon’t.“Awesome.Let’sbefriends.”
“Good.BecauseIlikeyou.DidImentionit?”
“Yup.”
“Notlikelikeyou.Idon’tknowifIcanlikelikepeople.”
“Iknow,”Isaysoftly.Ipullthebootoffandgetstartedontheother.
“Butyou’recool.Like…aBarbie.”
“ABarbie?”
“You’renotblond.Butthere’soneofyouforeveryoccasion.”
SomethingcatchesthecornerofmyeyeandIturn.Jack.Standinginthedoorframe.Listeningtous.Hisexpressionisdark,hisbrowisfurrowed,andhischestis…
Bare.
He’stakenoffhissoiledshirt,andforsomereasonIamphysicallyunabletolookanywherebutathisbody.WhichhasmerealizingthatIwastotallywrongabouthim.
Heis…well,heisbig.Andwellmuscled,verywellmuscled.AndIcanseeallthe…allthatstuffthatpeoplealwaystalkabout—thebulk,themass,theabs,thebicepsandthetricepsstretchingundertheink.Buthe’snotmadethewayIthoughthe’dbe.Iexpectedagymratbodywith0.3percentbodyfatandbulgingveins,buthe’salittledifferent.He’sreal.Imperfectly,usefullystrong.There’ssomethingunrefinedabouthim,asthoughhestumbleduponallthismassbychance.Asthoughhe’snevereventhoughtabouttakingamirrorselfieinhislife.
Somethingwarmandliquidtwistsbehindmynavel,andthefeelingissorareforme,sounfamiliar,foramomentIbarelyrecognizeit.ThenIdo,andIflushhotly.
Whatiswrongwithme?WhydoIfindtheideaofsomeonenotgoingtothegymattractive?Whycan’tIstopstaringathim,andwhyishestaringback?
Jackclearshisthroat.HeturnstoreachforsomethingtowearinGreg’sdresser,andwhatever’shappeningbetweenhisshoulderbladeslookslikeareligiousexperience.
“Elsie,”Gregmumblesfromthebed.I’mgratefulfortheremindertolookaway.“Issoymilkfromanipple?”
“Oh,um…no.”Myvoiceishoarse.Breathing’shard,butmarginallyeasieronceJackwalksoutoftheroom.“Soy’sabean.”
“You’resowise.Andfulloflayers.Like…”
“Anonion?”
“Likeayogurtwiththefruitonthebottom.”
Ismileanddragaquiltoverhim.“Let’splayagame.I’llgointhelivingroom,andwe’rebothgoingtocounthoweverhighwecan.Whoevercountshighestwins.”IhavevaguememoriesofMommakingLucasandLancedothis.Ofcourse,likeeverythingwithLucasandLance,italwaysdevolvedintothemfightingoverwhocouldcountthehighestandwakinguptheentirehouse.
“Whatashittygame.”Gregyawns.“I’llkickyourass.”
“Ibet.”Iclosethedoorbetweenthirteenandfourteen.Jack’swaitingonthegreenLawsoncouch,wearingatoo-tighthoodiethat’sprobablytentlikeonGreg.Themysteriesofgenetics.
Hedoesn’tlookup.Hesitsmotionless,elbowsonhisknees,staringatoneofGreg’scolorful,artsywallprintswithahalf-vacant,all-tenseexpression
Mystomachsinks.
He’spissed.Reallypissed.I’veseenhimamused,curious,annoyed,evenangrylastnightwithAustin,butthis…He’sfurious.BecauseI’mhere.BecausehethinksIextortedhisbrother.BecauseIoverfilledthemilkjar.There’sgoingtobeawholemessyconfrontation,andafterthelastthreedays,I’mnotevensureIwanttoavoidit.
“Listen.”Itaketwostepstowardhim,oneback,twoforward.Ifwehavetoargue,wemightaswellbeclose.KeepthevolumedowntoavoidwakingGreg.Irunmysweatypalmsoverthebackofmyleggings.“IknowIhaven’tbeenexactly…truthful.AndIassumeyou’refiguringoutwhat’sgoingonbetweenGregandme.Butthisentireshitshowisreachingaquantum-entanglement,spontaneous-parametric-down-conversion,decoherentstage.AndI’maskingyoutowaittillGregfeelsbettertohaveafrankconversationwithhim.”
Jackopenshismouth,nodoubttounleashhiswrath,andthen…
Hedoesn’t.
Insteadheclosesit,shakeshishead,andcovershiseyeswithhishands.
Oh,fuck.Whatisthis?
“Jack?”Noanswer.“Jack,I…”
Idebatewhattodoforamoment,thengositnexttohim.Ifhestartsyellingnow…well.R.I.P.myeardrum.
“It’sokay,”Isay.“Greg’snotsickoranything,Ipromise.Nothingbadis—”
“Hetoldme.”Jackstraightenshisback,eyesonceagainontheprint.“Ishouldhaveknown.”
“Knownwhat?”
“Whenhewas…I’mnotsure.Fifteen?Hewasstillinhighschool.Icamebackfromcollegeduringbreak.”Histhroatworks.“Hetookmeasideandsaidthathewasworried.Thathecouldn’timagineeverwantingtobeinaromanticrelationship.AndItoldhimheshouldn’tworry.Thatitwasstillearlyandhe’dfindsomeone.Thatitwasnormaltobenervousbeforebecomingsexuallyactive.Thatheshouldjustkeepanopenmind.AndthenI…”SomethingjumpsinJack’sjaw.Hecloseshiseyes.“AndthenIaskedtowatchBattlestarGalacticatogether.Likeatotalfuckingasshole.”
Inevercameouttoanyoneinmyfamily,Gregoncetoldme.IthinkItried,once.Kindof.ButthenIchickenedoutand…Idon’tknow.It’sbetterthisway.
“Haveyoueverheardoftheace/arospectrum?”Iaskgently.I’mbeinggentletoJack,apparently.
Heshakeshishead,eyesstillclosed.
“It’s…well,someofitiswhatGregtoldyou.Butthere’smore.Lotsofcomplexities.Therearegoodresourcesonlinethatyoumightwanttolookupbeforeyouguyshaveanothertalk.Andhe…Ithinkhe’sstilltryingtofigurehimselfout.”Manyofusare,Inearlyadd.Butit’smoreofmyselfthanI’drathershow.
“Fuck.”Jackturnstome.Hisexpressionis…Devastatedistheonlywordthatcomestomind.Ifhestartedslappinghimself,Iwouldn’tbesurprised.“Heshouldhavepunchedmeintheface.”
Iopenmymouth.Closeit.Thenthink,Whatthehell.“WoulditmakeyoufeelbetterifIpunchedyouintheface?”
Hiseyebrowlifts.“Woulditmakeyoufeelbetter?”
“Oh,alot.”
Heletsoutasilent,wistfullaugh,andmyheartsqueezesforbothSmithbrothers.“Jack,youwereakid.Andignorant.Andanasshole.And…okay,you’restilltwoofthesethings.”Iliftmyhand.IthoversforafewsecondsbyhisshoulderswhileIcontemplatetheinsanityofmevoluntarilyofferingphysicalandemotionalcomforttoDr
“Hewaspayingyoutopretendhewasinarelationship.Somyfamilywouldgetoffhisback?”
Ipressmylipstogetherandnod.Heswearssoftly.
“Ifitmakesanydifference,hewasn’tpayingmeto…Notthattherewouldbeanythingbadwithit,butwedidn’t…”Iflushunderhiseyes.
“Fuck?”
Iflushharderandnod.I’musuallyprettymatter-of-factwhenitcomestosex.NotsurewhyJackbringsouttheblushingadolescentinme.“It’sa…performanceofsorts.Idoitforlotsofmen.LikeAustin—who,bytheway,wasbyfarmyworstclient.Byparsecs.Greg’sthebest,ofcourse.”Iglanceaway.I’mbabbling,butit’sweirdtotalkaboutFauxwithsomeonewho’snotdirectlyinvolvedinsomecapacity.“AndGregandI…webecamefriends.Iknowit’sunbelievable,giventhathepaidmeandthatImadeupanentirebackstoryformyself,butIwouldhavedoneitforfree.Forhim.IfIcouldaffordit.Exceptthat…”
“Adjunctingdoesn’tpayforshit?”
Ilaugh.“Prettymuch.”
Jacksighsandleansagainstthebackofthecouch.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?Whenwemetattherestaurant?”
“Itwasn’tmythingtotell,youknow?Youweregoingtoaskwhyhe’dhiredme.AndIwasgoingtohavetowaffle,and…Weshouldprobablystoptalkingaboutthis.Soyoucanhavetheconversationwithhim.Oncehe’snotso,um,focusedonquinoaandnipples.”
Henods.Andthenhedoessomethingunexpected.Revolutionary.Gobsmacking.Universerocking.
Hesays,“I’msorry,Elsie.”
Ittakesmebysurprise.SomuchsothatIblurtouta“Forwhat?”
“Foraccusingyouoflyingtomybrother.Overandover.”
“Youdid,didn’tyou?”Icockmyheadandobservehimforamoment.Hisstrong,handsomefacelookspained.“Doesithurt?”
“What?”
“Thisapology.”Heglaresatme,andIlaugh.“Wasityourfirst?DidIpopyourapologycherry?”
“Apologyretracted.”Hisexpressionshiftsintosomethinginward.Likehe’sfinallyprocessinganimportant,crucial,weightypieceofinformation.Likesomething’sshiftinginhisworldview,andtheuniversearoundhimneedstobeadjustedforit.Iwonderwhatthatmightbetillhefocusesbackonmeandsays,“YouandGregneverdated.Hedoesn’t…”Thereissomethinghesitanttoit,likeheneedstohearmeconfirmit.Tomakesureit’strue,sculptedintostone.
“Nope.He’snotintome,neverhasbeen.”Inearlyrollmyeyes.“Youhappy?”
“Yes.”Histoneisdeadserious,andIsnort,standingup.Timetoleave.
“ShallweGrubhubchampagneandcupcakes?CelebratethatIwon’tbepollutingtheshadesoftheSmithestate?”
Hegivesmeanodd,longlook.“Youthinkthat’sthereasonI’mhappy?”
“Whatelse?”
Heshakeshisheadbutdoesn’telaborate.Insteadhestands,too,followingmetothecoatrackbytheentrance.“DidGregevertellyouIwasaphysicist?”
“Nope.Well,yes,butitdidn’tregister,becauseprojectilevomitingwasinvolved—don’task.Healsodidn’tknowIwasaphysicist,becausewe’reusuallystingywithpersonaldetails.Fakelastnames,fakeprofessions.Anextralayerofprotection,youknow?”
“We?”
“Thereareseveralofus.Fakedaters,thatis.Weworkforthisapp,Faux.AvailableforAppleandAndroid—Androidversion’ssobuggy,though.”Ineedtostopbabbling.Jack’slookingatmelikeI’maHiggsbosonabouttogivehimalapdance
“IsthathowAustinfoundyou?”
“Sadly,yeah.”Ibitemylowerlip.“DoyouthinkhetoldMonicaaboutmyalternativeacademiccareeryet?”
“Hewon’t.”
“Howcanyoubesure?”
“Afteryouleft,I…followedupwithhim.”Jack’sfeaturesareablandmask.Unreadableasever.“You’llbefine.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Trustme.”
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.Iwanttoask,buthistonesoundsfinal,andanyway…“Shouldn’tyouwantAustintotellMonica?SoGeorgewillgetthejob?AndyouguyscanbrooutintheMITrestroom?DoaromatherapytogetheranddiscusswhohasthebiggestHadronCollider?”
“Georgewillgetthejobanyway.Andwewon’tbedoingthat.”Awilddimpleappears.
“Everyoneknowsyoursislarger,anyway.”HiseyebrowcocksandIturntothecoatrack.Shit,didIsaythatoutloud?“Ican’tbelieveyourmomrefusedtopickGregupforamani.Whatajerk.”
“She’snot.”
“Shetotallyisajerk.Comeon,who—”
“Imeant,she’snotmymother.Andshewouldn’tappreciateyousayingotherwise.”
“Okay,edgelord.That’sabitdramatic.Weallhaveissueswithourparents,but—”
“Carolineisnotmymother.Notbiologically,norinanyotherway.”
Iturnbacktohim.“What?”
“Mymotherisdead.Gregismyhalfbrother.”
Istareathimforalongstretch.ThenIclosemyeyes.“Fuck.”
“Fuck?”
“Fuck.”Iscratchmyhead.“IjusthateitwhenIactlikeanassholewithoutevenwantingto.”
Helaughs.“Don’tworry.Likeyousaid,she’sajerk.Dad’snobetter.”
“Still,I’msorryaboutyourmom.Ididn’tknow.”
“I’mnotsurprised.”HeshrugsinhisimpossiblytightSuffolkhoodie.“Noonetalksabouther.”
“Thatexplainsit,though.”
“Explainswhat?”
“WhyGreg’ssuchasweetheartandyou…”
Dimple:on.“Andme?”
Ilookaway,flushing.“Nothing.Anyway.”Irummageinmycoatpocketsformyphone.“Greg’ssettleddown,soI’mgoingtocallanUber—”
“So,”Jackasksconversationally,“whatcamefirst?”
Ilookup.“Uh?”
“Thefake-girlfriendenterprise?”Hesoundsgenuinelycurious.“OrthemyriadofdifferentElsiesyouimpersonate?Wasiton-the-jobtraining,orhadyoubeen…modifyingyourselfbefore?”
“Idon’t—”Oh,there’snopointinarguingwithhim.Notwhenhe’snotevenwrong.“Listen,nowthatwe’veascertainedthatI’mnotsomegolddiggerthreateningtheSmithgenepool,couldyoustop?”
“Stop…?”
“Thisweird”—Igesticulatebetweenus—“anthropologicalcharacterstudyofme.Fine,yougotme.Iwantpeopletolikeme,andIgivethemthemetheywant.Ienjoygettingalongwithothers.Gasp.Reportmetotheauthenticitypoliceforaidingandabetting.”
“It’seasierlikethat,isn’tit?”
“Whatis?”
“Nevershowinganyonewhoyoureallyare.”Hewatchesmecalmly.Patiently.Inthesoftlightoftheapartment,hiseyesaredarkallaround.SometimesIhearacarrunning,butthetraffichereisnotnearlyasloudasatmyownapartment.“Thatwayifsomethinggoeswrong,ifsomeonerejectsyou,thenit’snotaboutyou,isit?Whenyou’reyourself,that’swhenyou’reexposed.Vulnerable.Butifyouholdback…Losingagame’salwayspainful,butknowingthatyouhaven’tplayedyourbesthandmakesitbearable.”
Ihidemyfistbehindmyback,clenchingittightattheunsolicitedpsychoanalysis.Mynailsbiteintomypalm.“Boldofyoutoassumethattherealmeismybesthand.”
Thatstupid,crookedhalfsmileisback.“Foolishofyoutothinkitisn’t.”
“Come,now.”Iforcemyselftosmilesweetly.“Webothknowyou’reonlymadbecauseI’veneverbeentheElsieyouwanted.”
“Isthatso?”Helookslikehewasputonthisstringedplaneofrealityasanomnisciententity.I’mangry,andheneedstostoptalkinglikeheunderstands
“It’syourowndamnfault,Jack.”
“Why?”
“Becauseyou”—Ipointmyfingerinhisface—“don’tgivemeanything.Everyoneelsedoes.Somethingtolatchonto,somethingIcanusetobethepersontheywant.Butyou’renotputtingoutsignals.Andthat’swhyyou’renotgettingtheVIPtreatmentlikeeveryoneelse.Soquitwhining,please.”
“Isee.”Hishand,warmandcalloused,closesaroundmywristandpullsmyindexfingerfromhisfacedowntohischest.Hecoversthebackofmyhandwithhispalm,andwhatthehellishe—?
“Haveyouconsideredthatmaybeyou’realreadythewayIwantyoutobe?Thatmaybetherearenosignalsbecausenothingneedstobechanged?”
Iscoff.Hereheis,theJackI’vecometoknowandloathe.“Right.Sure.”
“Onceagain,”hesays,toneoddlygentle,“whathappenedtoyou,Elsie?”
“Seriously?Whathappenedto—”Myhandisstillunderhis.Iliftmychin,bringingourfacesthatmuchcloser.“Thisiswhathappenedtome,Jack:alittleoversixmonthsago,Igomeetmydate’sfamilyforthefirsttime.Andmaybewearen’treallytogether,butyouknowwhat?Itdoesn’tmatter.Whatmattersisthatsincetheverystart,mydate’sbrotherisanabsoluteprick.HekeepsstaringatmelikeI’mGingerSpicecrashingtheroyalwedding.HeaskshisbrotherquestionsaboutmebecausehethinksI’minferiorandunworthy.HeactsunfriendlyandsuspiciouswheneverI’maround.Ithinkwecanbothagreethatgiventheopportunity,he’dwanttochangetheshitoutofme.”
ThelastpartcomesoutmoreaggressivelythanImeant,but—whatever.I’mmadnow,growingexponentiallymadderasIwatchJacknodslowly,asthoughconsideringmywords.“Well,that’saninterpretation.”Heatradiatesthroughmefromhisgrip.Itwarmsmybelly,licksupmyspine,remindsmehowclosewe’vesomehowgravitated.
“It’sfacts,”Ihiss.
“You’reaphysicist,Elsie.Youshouldknowbetterthantothrowaroundthewordfactwhenquantummechanicsexists.”
“What’syourinterpretation,then?”
Hesaysnothingforalongmoment,asifcollectinghisthoughtsordecidingwhetherI’mworthhiswords.Thensomethingshifts.Theairintheroombecomesthicker.HisAdam’sapplebobs,hiseyesfixonmine,andhestartstalking
“Alittleoversixmonthsago,Igotoafamilybirthdayexpectingtheusualnightofmisery.I’monlythereformybrother,becauseIcancountontwofingerstherelativesIcareabout,andhe’soneofthem.Weusuallysticktogether,butthisdinnerisdifferent.Mybrotherbringsadate.Awomanhe’sneverspokenabout—weird,sincewetalknearlyeveryday.Thefamily,especiallyhismom,arethrilled.”Jack’sgriponmyhandshifts.Softens.Myfingersarestillonhischest,half-pressedagainsthisheart.Myownhasbeguntothumpinahesitant,bracingway.
“She’sbeautiful,thegirl.Reallybeautiful.Therearelotsofbeautifulwomenintheworld,andifyoucanbelieveit,it’snotsomethingIusuallynotice,butI’mpayingmoreattentiontoherthanIotherwisewould.SomeonepullsGregawaybeforehehasachancetointroducemeyet.ButIwatchhertouchmygrandmother’sGoboardandpickuponeofthestonesthetraditionalway,indexandmiddlefinger.Iwatchhersneakabiteofcheese.Atsomepoint,I’malmostsureshesayssomethingthatnoonebutmeunderstandsasaHeisenbergprinciplejoke.Andthen,whenmybrothercomesback…that’swhenitstartsforme.BecauseIwatchherruninterferencebetweenhimandmyfamilyinawayI’venevermanaged—andbelieveme,I’vetried.I’vespentthirtyyearsofmylifetryingtoprotecthimfromtheirbullshit,andthisgirl.Shejustdoesitbetter.I’veneverseenhimso…happy’snottherightword,butheseemsatease.Andasthenightgoeson,Ican’tstoplookingather,andIrealizesomething:she’shypervigilant.Constantlythinkingtwostepsahead.Anticipatingothers’needs,likepeopleareequationsthatneedtobesolvedinrealtime.It’ssubtle,butit’sthere,and…”Heshrugs,freehandcominguptoscratchthebackofhisneck.Likehe’sstillpuzzled.Mychestisgettingheavy,theairinmylungssuddenlyleaden.
“ThatnightIgethome.Gotobed.CannotsleeptillIadmittomyselfthatI’mjealous.Orenvious.Amix.Mybrother’ssettlingdown,keepingsecrets,andwe’reclose,soI’mnotusedtoit.Andthegirl…Maybeit’showgoodsheiswiththepersonIcareaboutthemost.MaybeIhaveatype,andshejusthappenstoembodyit.But…well,I’mreactingtohermorethanIcanremembereverdoing.Withanyone.I’mhavingsome…complicatedfeelings,butIforcemyselftogetoverthem.Pushthemoutofmyhead.Iam,briefly,successful.Thenthere’sLaborDay.
“Shepassesoutinmyarms.Noexplanation.Sheactslikenothinghappened,andgoesbacktothatpersonalitytwistingofhers.ShedoesbegmenottotellGreg,though,andithasmewonderingifthisisnotasolidrelationship.”Hisvoiceisgettinglower,deeper,andhiseyesmoveintothemiddledistance,likehe’stakingastepbackwardinsidehimself.Ourhandsmusthaveshifted,becausemypalmisflatunderhis.Iwonderwhetherhe’saware.IwonderwhyIdon’tpullfree.“Andthat’swhenIrealizehowmuchofapieceofshitIam.Becauseshe’sobviouslygoodformybrother,butIamrelievedthattheirrelationshipmightnotgoanywhere.AndI’dlovetolietomyselfandcomeupwithavalidexcuse,butthetruthis,it’sbecauseI’mashithead.It’sbecauseIwantherformyself.Iwantto…Idon’tevenfuckingknow.Iwanttotakehertodinner,makesureshe’srelaxed,makesureshedoesn’tfeellikesheneedstothinktwostepsahead.IwanttoknowwhyshecanholdaGostone.AndIreally,reallywantto…well.I’llspareyouthegraphicdetails.I’msureyoucanimagine.”
Hissmileissmallandrueful.Mystomachistight,tiedinamillionknots,andI’mhot.Hotallover.
“Avoidingheristhebestcourseofaction.Idon’tmindskippingfamilyfunctions,andmybrothernevertalksabouther.It’slikeheforgetsthatsheexists,whichisweird,becauseIcan’tstopthinkingabouther.Iaskquestions,eventhoughIshouldn’t.Ihaveacoupleofreallywrong,reallymessydreams—aboutmybrother’sgirlfriend.WhenIseeheragainafterawhile,atmygrandmother’sbirthday,it’snotanybetter.It’sworse—butI’mnevergoingtoactonit.It’llgoaway,Iknowit.WhenIfindoutthatshe’snotwhoshesaidsheis,I’mmad—reallymad,becauseGreg’sthebestpersonIknowanddoesnotdeservethisshit.ButI’malsoalittlerelieved.”Helooksatmeagain.“Youknowwhy,Elsie?”
There’ssomethingdisarmingly,devastatinglyself-confidentaboutJack.Aboutthewayhelaidoutallthesefactswithouthesitating,asthoughowninghisfeelingsisfirstandsecondnature.Istudytheglintofthelamphittinghisgoldenhairandwonderwhythismanwouldevenbotherthinkingofme.He’sfiguredoutmyentiregame.Icametohimemptyhanded.
Mymusclesfeelnumb.Ishakemyheadwithdifficulty.
“I’mrelievedbecausewhateverthingIhaveforher,it’llgoaway.Itwon’tsurviveknowingthatshelied.ExceptthatIdidn’taccountforhavingtowatchhertalkaboutphysics,orreadherwork.Ididn’taccountforhavingtospendtwodayswithherandfindingoutthatsheis…”Hesmilesatme.Gentle.Resigned.“Spectacular.”
Thereisaloudnoise,butneitherofuslooksthatway.We’relockedtootightintoeachother,boundtowhateverthisthick,starved,voraciousmomentbetweenusis.
Untilwehear,“Guys,whydoespeesmellbadafteryoueatasparagus?”
IglanceatGreg,whois—
“Naked!”Iyelp,twistingmynecktoturnaway.
“Dude.”Jack’svoiceishoarse.He’sshakinghishead.“Wherethehellareyourclothes?”
“Lostthem.Hey,rememberwhenwetriedtoseewhocouldpissthefarthestaway?”
Jackwincesandtakesastepawayfromme.Hishandholdsontomineforjustasecondlonger,andthen,allofasudden,theroomiscoldanddrafty.
“Ishouldprobably…”Istart.
Hegivesmeaweightylook.“Gohome.”
“Yup.”IfindmyphonewhileJackwhispers“Let’stakethistothebathroom,buddy?”andIslipoutasIhearsomethingabout“asparapee.”
No,thankyou.
Thesecondthefrontdoorclosesbehindme,Islumpagainstit.Itakeadeepbreathandstareforalong,longtimeattheglowofChristmaslightstheneighborsforgottotakedown.12COLLISION(INELASTIC)
From:Dupont.Camilla@bu.edu
Subject:Macbethreflectionpaper
Dr.Hannaday,
I’mfocusingmypaperonLadyMacbethasthefourthwitch.Somepartsofthetextsupportthisinterpretation—doyoumindtakingalookatwhatIhavesofar?Thefileisattached.
Sincerely,
Cam
From:martinash3@umass.edu
Subject:whoiscute
Udocucuteureallycuteusooooocute
From:martinash3@umass.edu
Subject:Pleasedisregard
Dr.Hannaway,
Myroommateaccidentallyatethewrongbatchofbrowniesandlockedhimselfinthebathroomwithmyphone.PleaseignoreanyemailsImighthavesent.
Cheers,
Ashton
From:greenbermichael12@emerson.edu
Subject:Thermopaper
Extensionplz.
Thefollowingweekissoul-crushinglybusy,withboththerun-of-the-millgrindofadjuncthoodandcatchingupontheworkImissedduringtheinterview.Noworries,though:inbetweenproctoringexamsandteachingthewondersoftheFraunhoferdiffraction,IstillcarveoutopportunitiestoagonizeoverwhetherIgotthejob,whenI’llknowwhetherIgotthejob,howI’llknowwhetherIgotthejob,andwho’lltellmewhetherIgotthejob.See?Excellentmultitaskingskills.AlmostasthoughI’mnotahumandisasterjugglingseveralsubclinicalmooddisordersatanygiventime.
TheiTwatbecomesmyfaithfulcompanion,lestImissacall,anemail,atextmessage,aVaticansmokesignalinformingmethatmydaysofpainaregone:
WelcometoMIT,Elsie,saysMonica’sdisembodiedvoice,readytogroommeashersuccessor.
You’renowpart-icleofthePhysicsDepartment,Volkovguffaws,handsonhisbelly.
IhearyoustoleGeorge’sjob,Jacktellsme,cluckinghistonguefromawholefootaboveme,smilingonlywiththosebeautiful,geneticallyimprobableeyesofhis.YouandIshouldreallylearntogetalong.
It’sallinvain.WheneverIpickup,it’stelemarketers.PhishingscamsremindingmetopayawarrantyonthecarIdonotown.Lucas,callingtobitchaboutLance.Lance,callingtobitchaboutLucas.Mom,callingtobitchaboutLucasandLance.Ononememorableoccasion,Danacallingtoaskmyopiniononwhethermybrotherswouldagreetohavesexwithheratthesametime.“Why’severyonesointothreesomesallofasudden?”Iask,andthenhastilywalkawaywhenthesecretaryoftheUMassBiophysicsDepartmentlooksupfromtheexamsshe’sarchiving.
ItrytocallGreg,buthedoesn’tpickuporanswermytexts,whichsendsmeintoanadditionalspiralofanxiety:I’veruinedhislife.He’llhatemeforever.ButIcan’tforcehimtoacceptmyapology,soIsublimatethenervousenergyintorefreshingmyemail:abeloved,iffruitless,hobby.Nomit.eduaddressappearsinmyinbox—juststudentsonthevergeofmentalbreakdownsat11:34onaWednesdaynightbecausetheyforgotwhetherchapter8willbecoveredonthetest(Plsplsplssayno,Dr.H.).Becauseit’sgradschoolapplicationseason,afewevenmakeittoofficehourstoaskforrecommendationletters.WhenIpointouttoaBostonUniversityseniorthathefailedmyclass,heblinksconfusedlyandasks,“Isthatano?”
OnThursdaynight,halfwaythroughloadingthedishwasher,Cececatchesmetryingtounlockthehomescreenwithmyelbow.
“That’sit.”ShepicksuptheiTwatandslidesitinherpocket.“I’mconfiscatingthistilltomorrow.”
“No.No,please!Ireallyneedit.”Isounddefensiveandwhiny.Whatacombination.“It’smyLinusblankie.”
“You’vedevelopedatransitionalobjectinyourlatetwenties?”
“Awhat?”
“Securityblankets,teddybears,youknow.Thatstuffkidslatchontowhenthey’reanxious,they’recalledtransitionalobjects.”
“Wheredotheytransitionyouto?”
Shegivesmeaconsternatedlook.“Themercilessravagesofadulthood.”
Itactuallyhelps,notbeingabletostalkthesocialmediaoftheentireMITsearchcommitteeforoneevening.Monicapostsonlyaboutthepapershergradspublish,anyway.Volkovhasn’tbeenactivesince2017,whenheretweeteda“ThankGodNewtonwasn’tunderacoconuttree”meme.George,ifthat’shisrealaccount,isallaboutpicsofhislunches(whichlookannoyinglydelicious).Jack,ofcourse,isnotonsocialmedia.
Whichisfine.Becausehe’sinmyhead—plenty.NotthatIknowwhy.First,I’mnotsureIbelieveanythinghesaid.Second,I’malmostsureIdon’tbelieveanythinghesaid.Third,he’sstilltheguywhowrotethathoaxpaper,andfourth,hewantsanothercandidatetogetthejob.Fifth:no.Justno.Sixth,ifIbelievedanythinghesaid,three,four,andfivewouldstillbevalid
“No.Ididn’tseehimduringtherestofmyinterview,”ItellDr.L.whenIvisithiminhisoffice.
Hesmiles,pleased.Histurtleneckisthesamedarkgrayashishair.“Verywell,Elise.Andwhataboutyourtalk?DidyouchangeitlikeItoldyou?”
Dr.L.’sfeedbackcansometimesbeatadoutoftouch.Forinstance,Idon’tthinkthatwritingtheentirehistoryofliquidcrystalsresearchonaslidein8.5-pointfontisagoodidea,but:
“Idid,”Ilie.Whenhesmilesagain,IsavorknowingthatIpleasedhim,butthemomentIstepoutofhisoffice,guiltsweepsoverme.Fordeceivinghim.Ormaybe…maybeforhavingadmittedtomyselfthatIfindJack,whoruinedmymentor’scareer,attractive—viscerallyattractive,inawayIdidn’tthinkIwasabletonotice.
ItoccurstomeonFridaynightthattheattractionhaslittletodowithhimbeingtallorhandsome,andeverythingtodowithhowperceptiveheis.
Jackseesme—apuppetwhomaybe,justmaybe,isarealgirlafterall.
Andbecauseheseesme,Icannotinteractwithhimsafely.Andthat’swhyI’mnotwillingtothinkaboutthethingshesaidtome.Thewayhelooked.Thedimple.Hishandslidinguptheinsideofmythigh,warm,inexorable.Elsie.YouknowwhatIwanttodotoyou?Ishakemyhead.I’llspareyouthegraphicdetails.I’msureyoucanimagine.
Okay—yes,therehavebeendreams.Adream.Graphic.Detailed.Alittlesweaty.Butno,nope,no.Ihaveotherthingstogetanulcerover.Time’sarrow.Climatechange.Thelackofgovernmentaccountabilityandtransparency.Myprofessionalfuture.Icanchoosewhattostressabout,andJack’snotit.
That’swhatItellmyselfuntilSaturdaynight,whenitallcomestoahead.
???
“SometimesIwonderwhyIwasn’tbornintheearlyseventeenthcentury,whichreallyhindersmyabilitytoweararuffinpublicandpracticeleech-basedmedicine.OrinancientRome,whereIcouldhavespentmydaysinasociallyacceptablecycleofreclining,eating,puking.ButthenIexperiencewonderslikethisinIMAX,andIknow,Ijustknow,thatIwasmeanttobealiveinthisdayandage.Myrewardforanupright,leechlessexistence.”
IblinkatCece,eyesstillblearyfromthreehoursinthetheater.Whenwewalkedinside,thesunwasupandthelastweek’sworthofsnowhadfinallymelted.Nowit’spitchblack,andCece’scatchingawholenewbatchofflakeswithhertongue,liketheFlorida-borndorksheis.
Idoloveher.Quiteabit.Andthat’swhyIsacrificedmypreciousSaturdayafternoontothegodsofFakingItandspentitwatchingtheoriginalversionofthefamed1968Kubrickmasterpiece,2001:ASpaceOdyssey.Onehundredandsixtyexcruciatingminutesofsolarsystemscreensaverpicssetto…Vivaldi,maybe?
Withmovieslikethis,whoneedswaterboarding?
“Wasn’titamazing?”Shebeams.
“Itsurewaslotsofthings.”
Ceceisnottoohighonthecinematographytonoticemytone.“Youdidn’tlikeit?”Shefrowns.“Idoagreethatthe‘DawnofMan’scenewheretheapelooksatthebonewasdearlymissed.”
“Um,yeah.That’sit.”
Shestepsinfrontofme,cockingherhead.Bundledupinherredmaxicoat,shelooksaboutsixteen.“Youdidn’tenjoythemovie?”
It’seasierlikethat,isn’tit?Nevershowinganyonewhoyoureallyare…Whenyou’reyourself,that’swhenyou’reexposed.
Forasplitsecond,whatJacktoldmeflashesthroughmyhead,atoo-catchytuneearwormingaround.It’snothingIhadn’tknown,butonceputintowords,itgothardertoignore—abrusqueshiftfromproceduraltosemanticknowledge
SayIconsideredit.Cece,afterall,ismyclosestfriend.Icouldsmile,slidemyarmunderhers,pullhertowardtheTstation,andsayconversationally,Ididn’tlikethemovie.Ihavenoideawhatevenhappened.Myfavoritecharacterwastheevilcomputer,andtwentyminutesinIwasonthevergeoflettingoutthepiercingshriekofamillionBroodTencicadas.AlsoI’dlovetoneveragainwatchthedirector’scutofliterallyanything—infact,I’dratherspendanafternoonstaringatmystudentloanportal,theonethatmakesmeburstintotearsonceamonth.Andsincewe’reatit,theotherdayIcaughtyourhedgehogdefecatingonmypillow.Myteaisnext.
Thethoughtofadmittinganyofthismakesmyrightsideache.Thatulcer,probably.
IstillslidemyarmunderCece’s,butwhatIsayis,“Itwassublime.Thejourneyofman’sconsciousnessintotheuniverse.Theeventualpassageofthatconsciousnessontoanewlevel.”It’salinefromRogerEbert’s1997reviewofthemovie.Imemorizeditthismorning.
“Unparalleled.”Shebeams,thensquints.“It’sthejob—that’swhyyou’reblergh.”
“I’mnotblergh.AmIblergh?”
“Yes.Areyouworriedaboutthejob?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Well,”Iconcede,“yes.”
Shestopsmeinthemiddleofthesidewalk.“You’llgetit.Youdidgreat.”
“I’m…”Cece’sinagoodmoodfromwatchingslo-mospaceballet,andIdon’twanttospoilit.Ismile.“Veryoptimistic.”
“Maybeweshouldwatchanothermoviewhenwegethome.”Shetugsatmysleeve.“Somethinglightandfunny.ModernTimes?OrTheGreatDictator?Laughteristhebestmedicine.”
“Ithinkantibioticsarethebestmedicine.Unlessit’saviralinfection,inwhichcase—”Istopbecausesomeonebehindmeissayingmyname.
Theworstthingis,Iknowexactlywhosevoiceitis,becauseit’sburnedintomyauditorycortexinawaythatsignifiescertainneuraldamage.ButIturnaroundanyway,andthereheis.
Jack.
InhisblackNorthFacecoat,whichisfamiliarbynow.Withhisbroadshouldersandlighthairandinexplicable,gut-feltpresence.Takingupmoreroomthanheshouldonthesidewalk,lookingatmeasthoughI’mtheghostofNikolaTeslaandmeetingmebychanceindowntownBostonisunforeseenbutverywelcome.
“Oh,”Icroak.Shit.Shit?Shit.Whyishehere?“Um…”
“It’shi.”God,hisvoice.Thatlopsidedsmile.“That’swhatyousaywhenyoumeetsomeone,Elsie.”
“Right.”Iswallow.“Hi.”
MyfirstthoughtisthatI’veconjuredhim.Bythinkingabouthimfortytimesaday—uptoandincludingsecondsago
Thesecond:Imustbecursed.AllIwantistoexciseJackfrommylife,butI’mjustliketheAustralopithecusafarensisin2001:tryingtofrolicintheprehistoricveldt,foreverdoomedtobehuntedbyanalienmonolith.(Ithink?Idozedoff.)
Thethird:he’snotalone.There’satallwomanbyhisside,withlongbraidedhairanddeep-redlips.Theywereclearlyinthemiddleoflaughingaboutsomething.WhenJackstoppedtotalktome,shebumpedagainsthimandnevermovedaway.
He’sonadate.
Withsomeoneelse.
Jack’soutonadatewithsomeone,anditfeelslikeastoneinmybelly.
“Oneofyourgrads?”thewomanasks,entertained.Herdarkskinisimmaculate,andshelooksfamiliarinthewayverybeautifulpeopleoftendo.
“No.”Jackhasyettolookawayfromme.“Notquite.”
“Hi.”Ceceinterruptswithhermostcharminggrin.“ClearlyElsieisexperiencingabreakdowninthesocialpragmaticskillsnecessarytointroduceus,so…what’syourname,tallgentleman?”
“Jack.”
“Nicetomeetyou,Jack.”Shethrustsoutherhand,whichdisappearsinsidehis.Istare,half-paralyzed.“I’mCeleste,Elsie’smostfavoritepersoninthewholeworld.”
“Areyou?”Hiseyesslidetomine.“Mustbenice.”He’sstillhalfsmiling,likethisismakinghisSaturdaynight.
“Well,youknow,it’shardwork.Lotsofcheesesharing.AndIdidjusttakehertowatch2001,whichsheloved.”
“OhmyGod!”TheMostBeautifulWomanintheWorldisdelighted.“Wewereinthere,too.”
“Stunning,right?”
“Amasterpiece.DespiteJack’scommentaryonthepredictabilityofthe‘evilspaceSiri’s’arc.”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“Igotbored.”
“Youalwaysgetboredatthemovies.”Shepresseshershoulderagainsthis.“Ihavetoconfiscatehisphoneandpokehimawake.”
“Becauseyoualwaystakemetoseeboringmovies.”
Shepincheshisarmthroughthecoat.“Ifitwereuptoyou,we’donlywatchJackass.”
“Itwasonce.”
“Oncetoomany.”
Heshrugs,unbothered.Icannotstoplookingatthetwoofthemframedbythesnowflakes.Theeasybanter.Jack’sobviousaffection.Thewoman’sfingers,stillaroundhissleeve.Somethingslimyandcoldpressesbehindmysternum.
“So,”Cecebuttsin,“howdoyouguysknowElsie?”
“Idon’t,actually,”thewomansayswithacuriouslookatJack.“HowdoyouknowElsie,Jack?”
Hiseyesarefixedonmeagain.“Shedatedmybrother.Among…otherthings.”
Theatmospherechangesinstantly.Theairwasalreadyicy,densewiththepromiseofsnowstorms,butthetemperaturedropscolderaspeopleparsethemeaningofJack’swords.
Firstthere’sCece,whoknowsthatIdon’tdate,notforreal,andisputtingtogetherwhereshelastheardthenameJack.Shescowlsandtakesaprotectivestepcloser,readytodefendmeagainstmymostrecentarchenemy,kitten-hissing-at-a-bisonstyle.
Andthenthere’sthewoman.Herexpressionmorphs,too,intosomethingknowingandintrigued.“You’reGreg’sgirlfriend.ThatElsie.”ShelooksbetweenmeandJackonce,twice,andthenholdsherhandouttome.“I’veheardsomuchaboutyou.It’sreallynicetomeetyou.I’mGeorge.”
Mybrainhalts.
“Well,Georgina.Sepulveda.Butplease,callmeGeorge.”Hersmileiswarmandwelcoming,asthoughI’madearfriendofJack’swhomshe’sbeendyingtomeet.
“GeorginaSepulveda,”Imouth,barelyaudible.Thenameunlocksadrawerinmybrain,fullofscientificpapers,TEDTalks,conferenceaddresses.GeorginaSepulveda,youngphysicshotshot.I’mafanofherwork.Shedoesn’tlookfamiliar—sheis.
“Yup,that’sme.”Herhandisstilloutstretched.Ishouldtakeit.“IworkwithJack.”
“George,”Jackwarns.
“Okay,technicallynotyet.ButI’llstartatMITnextyear.What?Comeon,Jack.Igottheformaloffer,sentbackthesignedcontractthismorning.Icantellpeople.”Shegivesmeaconspiratoriallook.Mystomachchurns.“You’realibrarian,right?Ilovelibraries.”
Nexttome,Cecesucksinabreath.Meanwhile,Inod.Itmustbeanautomaticreaction,becauseallmyneuralcellsarebusy,sluggishlyprocessingwhatIjustheard.
Georgina.
George.
MIT.
Formaloffer.
No.No,no,no.Thereisleadinmybelly.Bloodthumpsinmyears,and—
Itakeastepback,andforasplitsecondmymindskitterstoaplacefaraway:myapartment.ThecomputerIleftonthebed.Thehalf-writtenmanuscriptonit—theoneIwasfinallygoingtofinishwhenIgottheMITjob.
ButIdidn’tgetit.Georgedid,Georgewho’swithJack,andit’sover.
Igaveitmyall,anditwasn’tenough
“Elsie,”Jackstarts.Hemusthavemoved,becauseGeorgeandCecehavedisappearedbehindhim.Histhroatbobs.“Unsuccessfulcandidatesarenotnotifieduntilallpaperworkiscomplete.”
Ishakemyheadandhefallssilent.Hiseyesarefullofcompassion,ofsincere,heartbreakingsorrow.Icannotbeartowatchit.
Iturnaroundslowly.Stepawayjustasslowly,barelytakinginthesidewalk.Themanwalkinghishusky.ThegroupofstudentsfeigningexcitementforanupcomingTruffautretrospective.IwalkpastthemandIwalksomemore,unhurried,likeeverything’sgoingtobefine
Everythingwillbeallright.
I’mattheredcrosswalklightwhenIhear,“Elsie?”
It’sCece,callingfromwhereIleftherbehind.Iignoreher.
“Iseverythingokay?”George.“Shit,didIdosomething?”
Cecedoesn’tanswerher.“Elsie,let’s…let’sjustgohome.”
Silence.ThenJack:“Elsie.Comeback,please.”Hesoundslikehiseyeslooked,andit’ssimplyintolerable.
Thecrossinglightturnsgreen.Itakeadeepbreath,letthecoldairfillmylungs,andstartrunning.13ANNIHILATION
Irunoneblock.
Oneandahalf.
Two.
Snowflakessticktomyskin.Mylungsburn.Mypodcatchesonthewaistbandofmyleggings,andyetitfeelsgood.
I’mnoathlete.I’veonlyeverrunforthebusandpassingPEgrades,butthisisnicelyall-consuming.Ifocusontheslapofmybootsagainstthesidewalk,theoxygenthat’sneverquiteenough,thetasteofironinthebackofmythroat.Mythighmusclesclench,protest,butthefeelingofgettingawaymakesupforit.Thesnowthickens,formingatunnel,acocoontotuneeverythingelseout.I’mmakingmywaythroughawormholetoaseparatepointinspace-time.Adifferenttimeline,inwhichI’mnotafailure,Iwon’tspendonemoreyearwithouthealthcareandthemoneytolivelikeafuckinghumanbeing,Iwon’tdisappointmymentorandmyfriendand—
Fingersclosearoundmywrist.Ilosemybalance.Stumble.Fallonmyface—no,notquite.Somethingstopsme.Stronghandsonmywaiststraightenme,setmeonmyheels,andthenJackistoweringinfrontofme,thecolossusofeverythingthat’swronginmylife.IwanttoscratchmynailsdownhisfaceandseehiminasmuchpainasIaminright
Icould.We’revirtuallyalone.HundredsoffeetawayfromCeceandGeorge—
Shit.IjustranawayfromthemlikeI’mfuckingbananas.LikeI’manentirefruitsalad.
“Youweren’tsupposedtofindoutlikethat,”hesays,barelywinded.Icannotbreathe.Fuckthisshit—I’mneverexercisingagain.“Shehasnoideayouweretheothercandidate.YouweresupposedtobenotifiedonMonday—”
“Fuckyou,”Ispitout.
Jackistakenaback,andsoamI.Didnotexpectforthattocomeoutofmymouth,butindesperatioveritas.Weshareasecondofsurprise,thenhecollectshimself.“Itwasnevergoingtobeyou,Elsie.”Histoneisnotunkind,butit’snotcompassionate,either.LikeheknowsIcouldtakeneither.“Volkovandhisteamwerenevergoingtovoteforyou,because—”
Iwalkaroundhim,buthegrabsmywrist.
“—becauseitwasneverafaircompetition.ItoldyouthatGeorgewouldgetthejob—”
“Itwasjustposturing!”
“Itwasnot.ItoldyouasmuchasIcouldwithoutdivulgingconfidentialinformation.Thisentiresearchwasmishandled,andmakingyouawareofwhotheothercandidatewaswasahugemissteponMonica’spart—”
“Well,clearlyIhadnocluewhoGeorgereallywas.”
Heexhales.“Elsie.”Aflakesettlesonhischeekbone,rightunderthesliceofblue.Itinstantlymelts.“Elsie,youneverstoodachance.”
“Ihateyou.”
“That’sfine.Hateme.Butknowthis:itwasabad-faithinterview.”Hetakesastepcloser.Hiswarmthmakesthechillbearable,andIhatehimforit.“Elsie.Iamsorry.”
“Bullshit.”
“Elsie—”
“Doyouevenrealizewhatthismeansforme?Foryouit’s—it’sTheHungerGames,TheAcademeEdition,butthisismylousyfutureandeverythingI’veworkedtowardformyentireadultlife.Ineededthatjob.”
“Iknow.”
“No,youdon’tknow.”Ipressmyhandsagainsthischestandpushhimaway.Hedoesn’tbudge,whichmakesmeexplosivelymad.“Youdon’tknowwhatitfeelsliketohaveachronicconditionandnohealthinsurance!Tohavetobeperfect,tohavetobeonallthetimebecauseeveryonearoundyouexpectsyoutobe!Andit’sprettyfuckinghardtobeperfectwhenyou’reworkingfifteen-hourdaysfornomoneyatajobyouhate!You’renotexperiencinganyofthat,soyoudon’tfuckingknowhowI—”
“You’reterrified.You’reoverwhelmed.Thejobmarketisatitsworst,andyoudon’tknowifthere’llbeopeningsnextyear.Believeme,Icanrelate—”
“Ohreally?Youcanrelate?WithyourlongandarduoustrekintoSTEMacademiaasawhite,wealthyman?”
Heleansforward.Hishandclosesaroundmyupperarm.“DoyouthinkI’mhappyaboutthis?”
“Yougotexactlywhatyouwanted!”
“Idid.”Hisfacehardens.“AndabunchofthingsIdidnotwant,too.”
“Ohyeah?Likewhat?Humiliatinganothertheoreticalphysicist?Installingyourgirlfrienddownthehallsoyoucangetlaidbetweenclasses—”
“Enough.”
Irecoil.Hisvoiceisharsh,anditgivesjustenoughpausetoprocessthewordsthatjusttumbledoutofme.
OhGod.OhmyGod.IknowGeorginaSepulveda.Iknowherwork.Iknowhowincrediblyshittyacademiahasalwaysbeentome,awomaninphysics,andIjustdidthesametoanotherwomaninphysics.AwomaninphysicswhomI’veadmiredforyears.
WhatthehelldidIjustdo?Whothefuckisthispersoninsideme?“I’msosorry.”Myhandfliestomymouthtomuffleasob.“I—I’mso,sosorry.It’snoteventrue.Noneofit.I’vereadherarticles.She’samazingand—”
“It’sokay.”Jack’sexpressionisbacktosoft.LikeI’mnottheprotoclusterofallassholes.
“No.”Ishakemyhead.“No,shedoesn’tdeserveanyofit,and—fuck.Fuck.”Mythroatburnswithguiltandsomethingthatfeelsalotlikeshame.Mycheeksareicyandwet.Verywet.Ipresstheheelsofmypalmsintomyeyes,butthetearskeepcoming.
“Elsie,it’sokay.Youhaveeveryrighttobeupset—”
“No.It’snotokay.I’mbeingunreasonableandnoneofthisisGeorgina’sfault,andasterribleasyouare,it’snotyourfault,either.I’mtheonewhofuckeduptheinterview,and—”Anothersob.Heheardthistime.Nowayhedidn’t.“Youshouldn’tletmetalktoyoulikethis.”
Heissilentforamoment.ThenIfeelhimtakeastepcloser.Hedoesn’ttouchme,buthiscoatbrushesagainstmine,amuted,swishingsound.
“Ilikeit,actually.”
Ilookup.There’safaintsmileonhislips.“Youlikebeingyelledat?”
“Iliketoseeyou.Whenyou’renottryingtobesomeoneelse.”
I’mactuallyhiccuping,likeathree-year-oldwithabruisedelbowatthemonkeybars.Ibitetheinsideofmycheektomakeitstop,butit’salostbattle.Likemyentirestupidlife.“Ican’timaginewhy.”
“Ilikerareoccurrences.”
Ineedtoleave.Ican’tstandhere,shivering,beingsnowedoninthemiddleofthesidewalk.WithJonathanSmith-Turner.BawlinglikeI’monanonionfarm.Butcryingmyheartoutandthoroughlyhumiliatingmyselfinfrontofaprofessionalrivaltakesupallmyenergy,whichmeansIcan’tleave.
“It’scold,”hesays,likehe’sreadingmymind.“Ilivefiveminutesfromhere.”Isniffle,unsurehowtoanswer.Bullyforyou?Butthenheadds,“Comeover.”Imusthaveshownsomekindofreaction,becausehecontinues,“Notforanythingyou’rethinking.ComeoversoIcanwarmyouup.Iwanttoexplainwhathappenedwiththesearch.”
“No.I—”I’mnot…No.
“I’llansweryourquestions.Tellyouexactlywhathappened.”
“Ican’t—”
Hishandcomesuptocupthebackofmyhead,likehewantstomakesurethatoureyesarelockedforthis.Thatweunderstandeachother.“Elsie,ifIletyougorightnow,you’rejustgoingtoreplaythewholeinterviewinyourheadandreachthemisguidedconclusionthatit’syourfaultyoudidn’tgetthejob.Andyou’renevergoingtoletmetalktoyouagain.”Hisexpressionispainfullyhonest.Howdoesheknowallthisstuffaboutme?Idon’tevenknowit.
“MaybeI’lljustblameitonyou.”Isniffle.
Hehuffsoutalaugh.“Theresheis.”
“I’msorry.Iknowyouwanttohelp,butIjust—Ican’ttalknow.I’mcrying.”
“That’sfine.”
“No,it’snotfine.BecauseIalmostnevercry”—asob—“whichm-meansthatIhavenoideahowtostop.”
“Thenyoucancryforever.”
“No.Id-don’twanttocry.AndIleftCeceb-behind.AndIneedtotellDr.L.thatIdidn’tgetthejob.AndyouneedtoletGeorginak-knowwhereyouare.AndI’mf-fuckingfreezing.Ihatethiscity,andIhatebeingaphysicist,andIhateVolkov’sstupidp-puns,and—”
Hisarmsarewoolandironaroundme.Perfectlywarm,perfectlysolid.It’sseveralmoremomentsofcryingbeforeIrealizethathehaspulledmeagainsthim.Thatthisisahug.Hislips,dryandwarm,pressagainstmyforeheadasthoughhecares,asthoughallhewantsistocomfortme.Lowmurmurswarmmyfrozenskin,softsoundsthatIcannotimmediatelydecipher.
“Shh.It’sokay,Elsie.It’sgoingtobefine.”
Iwanttobelievehim.IwanttosinkintohimmorethanI’veeverwantedanythingelse.Iwanttoburymyfaceinhisblackcoatandmakeitmyownpersonalwormhole.InsteadIkeepcryinghuge,silenttears,curlmyfingersintothefabricofhissleeve,andholdontight.
This,thisistheworst.Mylowestyet.AndnotonlyisJackSmith-Turnerwitnessingit,Ialsodon’thaveitinmetomindtoomuch.
Sowhenhesays,“Letmegetyouwarm.Letmedothisonethingforyou,”andhishandslidesdowntotakemine,Iallowhimtoguidemewhereverhewants14CENTER-OF-MOMENTUMFRAME
Hiscondoislarge,especiallyfordowntown.
Two-story,90percentwindows,openfloor-y.Theremightevenbeacolorscheme,darkbluesandwarmwhites,butIcan’tpictureJackusingthewordpalette,soIchalkituptochance.Still,theplaceiscleanandunclutteredenoughthatIautomaticallytakeoffmyshoesattheentrance,thenpadmywayafterhimtotheopen-plankitchen,hopingJackwon’tnoticethatmysocksmatchinpattern(stripes)butnotcolor(pinkandorange).
Iwishtherewerehintsthathe’saclosetedbrony,oranavidcollectorofgenitalcasts,butthisplacescreamsImightbeanunmarriedmaninhisthirties,butit’snotbecauseIdon’thavemyshittogether
Thenagain:hemightbeunmarried,buthe’snotquitesingle.
Isitgingerlyatthewoodendiningtableandeyeabowloffreshfruit;booksandprintoutsofjournalarticlesstackedneatlyonthebreakfastisland;Jack’slargeback,hismusclesbunchingundergreenflannelasheputtersaroundthestove,quicklytypessomethingonhisphone,andsetsamugonthecounter.Thesnowispickingup,giantflakesswirlingunderthestreetlight,andgettinghomeisgoingtobeabitch.IcouldsplurgeonanUber.Shouldn’t,though.
Thisisweird.So,soweird.
Ishouldbetoodevastatedtofeelawkward,butlikeIsaid,I’manexcellentmultitasker.Abletoexperiencetheexistentialdreadseepingintomyunemployedbonesandtofantasizeaboutcrawlingintoagolfholeoutofsheerembarrassment.Evenworse,I’msodamncold.Iwrapmyhandsinthetear-stickysleevesofmycardigan,slidethembetweenmythighs,andclosemyeyes.
Itakeaslow,deepbreath.
Another.
Another.
Secondsorminuteslater,porcelainclinksagainstthewood.IblinkupandJack’sforearmisthere,withitsropedmuscles,andthelighthairs,andthatcutoftattoopeekingfromundertherolled-upsleeve.I’veseenhimhalf-naked,andIstilldon’tknowwhatit’ssupposedtobe.
“Hotchocolate,”hesaysgently,asthoughI’maskittishkitten.
Itsmellsdelicious,ofsugarandcomfortandheat.Iwatchahandfulofmarshmallowsfloathappilyaroundthetop,andmymouthwaters.
“Doyouknow,”Istart,thenshakemyheadandfallsilent.
Foodcanbesuchanordealwhenyourpancreaticcellshaveleftthechat.Iremembermylastyearofmiddleschool,atChloeSampson’sbirthdayparty—themostamazingsheetcakewithbuttercreamfrosting.Beforeeatingaslice,thediabetes-havers(i.e.,me)neededtoknowexactlywhatwasinit,tocounteractitwiththeappropriatedoseofinsulin.Butwhoknowswhat’sinasliceofCostcocake?Notme.AndnotMrs.Sampson.AndnottheCostcowebsiteorthecustomerservicehotline,whichMrs.Sampsoncalledwhilefifteenstarvingteenagegirlsglaredatmeforholdinguptheparty,and…
Well.Thepointis,I’velearnedtosaynotounexpectedsugar,nomatterhowtastylooking.Peopledon’tlikenuisances.
“Thankyou,butI’mnotthirsty.”
“Youneedthecarbcount?”Jacksetsthepackagewiththenutritionalinfobesideit.“Toadjustyourbolus?”
Itiltmyhead.“Didyoujustusethewordbolus?”
“Suredid.”Hetakesaseatrightacrossfromme.Eventhechairsinhishouselooktoosmallforhim.
“How?”
“Iwenttoschool.Iknowwords.”Heseemsamused.
“YouwenttoschoolforwordslikecentripetalandbrittlenessandRosselandopticaldepth.Theonlypeoplewhoknowstuffaboutbasalinsulinandbolusaredoctors.”
“Howfortunate,then.”
“Medicaldoctors.Andpeoplewithdiabetes.”
Hestaresforamoment.Thensays,“I’msureothersdo,too.Familiesofpeoplewithdiabetes.Friends.Partners.”Hisvoiceisdeepandrich,andIneedtolookawayfromthewayhe’sstudyingme.
SoItakeoutmyphoneandquicklycheckmyinsulin,pretendingIcan’tfeelhiseyesonme.IliftmyT-shirttomakesurethatthepoddidn’tgetdislodgedinthesingleactofexerciseIengagedinduringthelastdecade,and…Honestly,Ican’trememberthelasttimeIdidthisinfrontofsomeonewhoisn’tCece.IwanttoaskJackifhereadupondiabetesafterfindingoutaboutmine,butit’spossiblythemostself-centeredthoughtI’veeverhad.
Ihaveaboutfortynewnotificationsacrossfiveapps.AllfromCece.
CECE:Whereareyou?
CECE:We’regoingtotheStarbucksacrossfromthetheatertowaitforyouguystocomeback.
CECE:Pls,letmeknowyou’reokay.IknowthissucksbutI’mwithyou.Wecandothis.We’llmoveintoabasement.I’llpickupmoreFauxdates,you’llbemysugarbaby.
CECE:JacktextedGeorgeandtoldheryou’reokay.Sheseemstothinkhe’strustworthybutidk.Helookslikeanoaktreeonsteroidswithasix-foot-eightwingspan.Isheevenhuman?
CECE:Elsie?
IanswerwithaquickI’mfine.WithJack.Gohome,please.WhenIlookup,Jackisstaring.
Iclearmythroat.“Bad-faithinterview.Whatdoesitmean?”
Hisexpressiondarkens.“Thatwouldbeanyinterviewinwhichtheoutcomeis,forwhateverreason,predecided.Likepositionsthatareadvertisedasopenwhenthey’remeantforaspecificcandidate.”
“TheMITpositionwascreatedforGeorgina?”Ifeelapanginmychest.
“Morecomplicatedthanthat.ThepositionwasoriginallyleftvacantwhenJamesBickart—anexperimentalist—retiredtwoyearsago.Hewas,Ibelieve,threemillionyearsold.”
Ichuckledespitemyself.“Soundsaboutright.”
“Youknowthetype.Lotsoftweed.Lotsofdistrusttowardcomputers,lotsofopinionsongirlswhowearnailpolishdespitethedistractionoftheirmalepeers.IwasstillatCaltech,butIheardsomestories.Thepositionshouldhavebeenrefilledimmediately,buttherewereissueswiththebudget.ThenmygrantsandImovedhere.”Hepushestheforgottenmugcloser.I’mimpatienttohearmore,butItakeasiptopleasehim.Thewarmthspreadingintomystomachisdelicious.“Iofferedtohelpfundthepositiontohireanotherexperimentalist—notoutofsomedeephatredfortheorists,ifyoucanbelieveit.IwashiredbyMITtobeefuptheirexperimentaloutput.Experimentalistsarecurrentlyoutnumbered,andwewerefillingaspecificposition.ImentionedtheopeningtoGeorge,andshetoldmeshewasinterestedinapplying.She’satHarvardrightnow,andphysicsacademiaisanoldboys’clubeverywhere,but…Harvard’sbad.Soshesentinhermaterials,and…Yousaidyou’refamiliarwithherwork.Asyoucanimagine,everyoneknewitwasgoingtobeherfromthestart.”
Icanimagineitverywell.Herthesisexperimentsweresteppingstonestomassiveadvancementsinparticlephysics.Georginaistheepitomeofinspiring.
“Thenyouapplied.AndMonicawassoimpressedbyyourCV,shedecidedtobringyouindespitethecommitteerecommendingagainstit.Itwaspointedouttoherthattherewasnothingyoucouldhavedoneduringtheinterviewthatwouldhavegottenyouthejob,butsheinsisted,reasoningthatGeorgealreadyhadanexcellentpositionatHarvardandmightdecidenottoacceptanoffer.”Hesighs.“EvenifGeorgeweren’tarockstar,youhavetounderstand:sheandIwereingradschooltogether.We’vehadhalfadecadelongerthanyouinthefield.Halfadecadeworthofscientificoutput,publications,grants.”
You’retheidealcandidate,Monicatoldmethefirstnightwemet,butIwasn’t.Isimplywasn’t.“WhydidMonica…?”
“Shetriedheralltohireatheorist.AndIhavetoadmit,sheplayedhercardswellbychoosingyouashercandidate.”Heleansforward.Idragmyeyesuptohis.“Elsie,Iwasthereforthefinalvote.Georgewon,becauseshewasbestqualified,buteveryoneinthedepartmentwasimpressedwithyou.Whichdoesn’tsurpriseme,afterIsawyourtalkandreadyourarticles.”
“Right.”Ipressmyfingersintomyeyes.“Myarticles.”
“They’reexcellent.Andalso…”
Ilookathim.“Also?”
Hewetshislips,likeheneedstimetophrasesomething.“Sometimes,whenIreadthem,Icanalmostheartheminyourvoice.Yourpersonality.”Heshakeshishead,self-effacing,likeheknowshe’sbeingfanciful.“Aturnofsentencehere.Aformulathere.”
Ithoughtwe’dagreedthatIdon’thaveapersonality,I’mtemptedtosay.ButI’mtootiredtobebitter,andJack…he’sbeennothingbutkind.Itryforasmile.“Ican’tblameyouforvotingforher.”
“Ididn’t.”
Myeyeswiden.
“Irecusedmyself.”
“Why?”
Heopenshismouth,butthewordsdon’tcomeimmediately.“Ihada…conflictofinterest.”
“BecauseofGeorge.”
Hesmilesfaintly.“Becauseofyou,Elsie.”
Ihavenoideahowtointerpretthis.SoIjustdon’t.“Aren’tyouandGeorgina…?”
Hecockshishead,confused.God,he’sgoingtomakemesayit.
“Together.Aren’tyoutwotogether?”
Helaughs.“No.Butweareclosefriends.AndunlikeDora,herwife,I’mscaredenoughofhertoletherdragmetoseemoviesthatbendthespace-timecontinuumandfeelseveralhourslongerthantheyactuallyare.”
“Oh.”Oh.“Duringtheinterview,didshe…knowaboutme?ThatIwastheothercandidate?”
“Notuntilafewminutesago.Iwasn’tallowedtotellherwhotheothercandidatewas.”
“It’sjust…”Iscratchmyneck,whereheatisslowlycreepingup.“Earlier,whenIintroducedmyself,sheseemedtoknowwhoIwas.”
Hefreezes—amillisecondofhesitation—thenresumeswithhiscasual,stone-strongconfidence.“Ididtalktoheraboutyou.Butthatwaslongbeforeyourinterview.ItoldherthatGregwasfinallyseeingsomeone.AndthatIwasstruggling.”
“Becauseyoudisapproved.”
“Elsie.”Histoneispatientbutfirm.“IunderstandifyouareuncomfortablewithwhatItoldyou.ButI’veneverliedtoyou,andI’mnotgoingtostartnow.”Hiseyesholdminelikeavise.“IwasattractedtosomeoneIshouldn’thavebeenattractedto.Ifeltguiltyandfrustrated,andIconfidedinGeorge.”There’safroginmythroat.Anentireecosystem.Fiveastralplanes.Somethingglowsandpulsatesinsidemystomach,andIdon’tknowhowtoevenbegintorespond.LuckilyIdon’thaveto,becauseJackadds,“Gregwantedtomeetwithyouthisweek.Iaskedhimnotto.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIhadtotellhimthatyouwouldn’tgetthejob.Hewasn’tsurehewouldn’tslipup,and…Iwasplanningtobetheonewhoexplainedeverything.”
Ifeelmyselfsmile.“Notagoodliar,ishe?”
“I’msurprisedhedidn’tblurtoutaboutyourarrangementonyourfirstdate.”
“Yeah.”Metoo,actually.“Howishe?”
“Good.Fine.Thetoothhealed.Wetalkedabout…him.Honestly,hedidn’tinsultmenearlyasmuchasheshouldhave.”
“Luckyforyou,youfoundme.”Yourresidentnutjob.Screamingabuseonthesidewalk.
“Elsie.”He’sdoingthatintenseeye-holdingthingagain.“It’sfine.”
Nothingaboutthisisfine,anditlikelywon’tbeforalongtime.ButInodanywayandstand.“Right.I…Sorry,again.Thankyouforexplainingeverything.Andforthehotchocolate.Ishouldgohomebeforethesnowgetsbad.”
Heturnstooneofthemillionwindows.“Looksbadalready.”
Itdoes.Theoutside’sawhiteoutofflurries,andmypost-crying-jagexhaustionisswallowingmewhole.MaybeIcanthrowasmokebombanddisappearintothequantumvacuum.“Beforeitgetsworse.”
Hestands,too.“I’lldriveyou.”
“What?No.Theroadsaren’tsafe.I’lljusttakeanUber.”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.
“WithCece,”Iadd,checkingmyphone.“Noneedtoputyouindangerif…”Itrailoffandgothroughmytexts.
CECE:Georgeassumesyou’restayingwithJack????DoessheknowsomethingIdon’t?????
CECE:Ubersurgepricingisinsane.Georgeofferedtodrivemehome,butweneedtoleavenoworthesnowwillstrandhercar.
CECE:Plstextmetoreassuremethathe’snotmakingsausagesoutofyoursmallintestine.
Isqueezemyeyesshutforasecond.Thisisfine.It’sokay.
“Youneedanewphone,”Jacksaysquietly,glancingatthecrackedscreen.
Ineedanewjob.“I’lltakethebus,actually.”
“Youthinkbusesarerunning?”
“Hopefully.”Iattemptasmile.He’sbeennothingbutkind,andhedeservesasmiling,less-than-depressiveElsie.“Unlessyou’dlikemetocampoutonyourcouch,”Ijoke.
“Nah.Youcantakethebed,”hesayswithoutpause.Likehe’sbeenthinkingthisthrough.
Hecan’thavebeen.“You’renotserious.”
“I’llevenchangethesheets.”
“I…Why?”
Heshrugs.“It’sbeenawhile.”
“Imeant,whydoyou—”
“Becauseyou’recold,Elsie.”Hestepscloser,andIcanfeelthehotglowofhisskin.“Becauseyouhadaroughnight,andprobablyaroughmonth.Becauseit’snotsafe.AndbecauseIlikehavingyouaround.”
Ishouldprobablytrytoprocessthis,butI’mso,sotired.“Doyouhaveaspareroom?”
“Ido.Nobedinit,though,andaccordingtomyfriendAdam,myairmattress‘sucksass.’?”
“Isthatwhereyoukeeptheskeletonsoftheorists?”
Hesmirks.Doesn’tdenyit.“I’lltakethecouch.That’swhereIfallasleepreadingtheoryarticleseverynight,anyway.”
Maybeit’sajab,butitmakesmelaugh.Iglanceatthesectional,whichcouldcomfortablyhousethreeofhimandlookscozierthanmychildhoodbed.I’mreallynotinthepositiontorefusethis,thoughImakealast-ditcheffort.“Iwouldn’twanttoputyouout.”
“Elsie.”
Ihateitwhenhesaysmynamelikethat.Alittlestern,amused,annoyed.LikeIshouldbepastmybullshit,eventhoughI’mneckdeep,drowninginit.“Okay.Thankyou.”
“Doyouneedinsulin?There’sapharmacydowntheblock.”
ApparentlyInowdiscussmymedssupplywithJonathanSmith-Turner.Wild.“Ijustchangedmypod.I’mgood.”
Henods,andthen…Iguessit’shappening.I’mstaringathisbackandfollowinghimuptheL-shapedstaircase,liketheneutronstarofhelplessnessI’vebeenreducedto.Itrytopicturewakinguptomorrow.Squirtinghistoothpasteonmyfinger.Makingmywaydownstairs,nonchalantlycomplimentinghisorthopedicpillow,thenthrowingoutaLaters!beforeventuringoutintotheblindingwhite.
I’mintheawkwardesttimeline,butaproperfreak-outwillhavetowaituntilIhaveenoughenergy.
“Bathroom’sinhere,”hesaysoncewereachtheupstairslanding.Herummagesinalinencloset,thenplugsanight-lightintothewall.Forme.
Myheartsqueezes.
“That’smyoffice.”Heopensadoor.“Andhere’sthebedroom.”
Jackhasaheadboard,unlikeother,morebasicpeople(me).Andabluecomforter,darksheetsthatmatchtherug,andabedthat’sprobablyafewnotchesaboveking.Emperor?Galacticdominator?Noclue,butIbethehaditcustom-made.IbetthewoodworkertookagoodlookatJackandsaid,“We’llneedthewoodofathousand-yearHuonpineforamonstrositylikeyou.IshallheadtoTasmaniaonmyskiffatfirstlight.”
Therestoftheroomistidyanduncluttered—nodirtyboxersdrapedovertheleatherchairbythewindow,noClifBarwrappersonthefloor.Thewindowtakesuptheentireeastwall,andthere’sonesinglepieceofart:aframedpictureoftheLargeHadronCollider.TheendcapoftheCompactMuonSolenoid—afuturistic,mechanicalflower.
It’sbeautiful.IknowthatJackdidsomeworkatCERN,andmaybehetookithimself—
“I’llchangethesheets,”hesays,brushingpastmetowardthedresser,andIrealizethatI’vebeenstaring.
“Oh,don’t.I’mnotexactlypicky,and…”Iclearmythroat.Whatever,it’sfine.“Wecanbothsleepinhere.Imean,thebedishuge.”
He’sgivingmehisback,butIseethemomentthewordsland.Thedrawerishalf-open,andhismovementsstuttertoastop.Musclestenseunderhisshirt,thenslowlyrelax.Whenheturnsaround,it’swithhisusualunevensmile.“Seemslikealotforyou,”hesays.Abitstrained,maybe.There’snodimpleinsight.
“Alot?”
“Goingfromrunningawayfrommetosleepinginthesamebed,inunderonehour.”
Iflushandlookatmytoes.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantorun—Ijust…AndI’mnot,like,comingontoyou.”I’dlovetosoundsharpandindignant,butit’sjustnotwhereI’mat.
“We’veestablishedthatyoudon’tneedtocomeontome,Elsie.Doyouwantsomethingtosleepin?”
“Oh.”Ishakemyhead.“I’mgood.I’mwearingleggings,anyway.IfiguredthatifIhadtosufferthrough2001,Icouldatleastbecomfy.”
“Ithoughtyoulovedthemovie.”Igivehimanappalledlook.Jackleansagainstthedresser,armscrossed.“It’swhatyourfriendsaid,”heexplains.
“Oh,no.Imean,shethinksIdo.ShethinksI’mintoartsymovies,butIdon’treally…”Tellherthetruth.
IthinkJackcanreadmymind.“DoessheknowhowmuchyoulikeTwilight?”heaskswithasmall,kindsmile.
“Noway.”Ilaughweakly.“Ifanything,shemightsuspectIenjoyitironically.”
“Ironically?”
“Yeah.Youknow,whenyoulikesomethingbecauseit’sbadandlovemakingfunofit?”
Henods.“IsthatwhyyouenjoyTwilight?”
“Idon’tknow.”Isitontheedgeofthemattress,grippingthesoftcomforter.“Idon’tbelieveso,no.”Iponder.“Ilikesimple,straightforwardromancestorieswithdramaticcharactersandimprobablyhighstakes,”Iadd,surprisingmyselfalittle.Ididn’tknowthisbeforeputtingitintowords,andIfeellikeJackhasbeatenmetosomepartofmyself.Again.“Also,IliketoimagineAliceandBellaendinguptogetherafterthemovieisover.”
“Isee.”Asever,hefilesaway.Thenhepullssomethingthatlookslikesweatsandateefromunderhispillowandheadsforthedoor.“Ifyouchangeyourmindorgetcold,justlookaround.You’llfindsomethingtowear.”
“Areyougivingmepermissiontorummagearoundyourbedroom?Likeyouhavenothingtohide?”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“WhatwouldIhide?”
“Idon’tknow.”Ishrug.“Agianttentacledildo.Viagra.Adiarywithapinklocket.”
“Noneofthatwouldbeworthhiding,”hesays,themostquietlyconfidentmanintheentireworld.“I’llbedownstairsifyouneedanything,okay?”Thedoorcloseswithasoftclick,andI’mrighthere.
InJackSmith-Turner’sbedroom.
AlonewithhispillowsandhisCERNwallartandprobablythedesiccatedliversoftwelvetheorists.Plus,awholelotoffallingsnow.
IquicklyupdateCeceontheshitshowthat’smylife,thenslideunderthecoversonwhatIhopeisn’tJack’sside,groaninginpleasure.
Ihaveareallyfirmmattress.Greatforspinalhealth.
Hesuredoes,andit’sperfect.Iimmediatelyrelax,envelopedbythecomforterandanice,darkscentthatI’mnotreadytoadmitisJack’s.Icouldstayhereforever.Barricademyself.Neverfacetheconsequencesofmyownfailures.
Cecereplies(Thisissoweird???Butgoodnight???),andInoticethatmybatteryisat12percent.Iglancearoundforacharger,findnone,thennoticethenightstand.Jackgavemepermission,right?SoIopenthedrawer,bracingmyselffor…Idon’tknow.Cockrings.Thumbs.AcopyofAtlasShrugged.Buttheinsideissurprisinglymundane:tissues,pens,keys,aflashlightwithafewbatteries,coins,andawhitepieceofpaperthatIcannotresistpickingup.
It’saphoto.APolaroid.Blurry,withaGoboardandahandfulofpeopleclusteredaroundit.Onlyonefaceisfullyinfocus.Agirlwithbrownhairandevenfeatureswhofrownsatthecameraand—
Me.It’sme
ThephotowastakenatMillicentSmith’sbirthdayparty.Agameendsinadraw;Izzyyellsatpeopletosmile;alltheSmithsturntowardher.
Exceptforthetallest.Whokeepslookingatme,onlyatme,afaintsmileonhislips.
“Oh,”Isaysoftly.Towhom,Idon’tknow.
Ileanbackagainstthepillow,staringatthepicturepinchedbetweenmyfingers.Lightsstillon,contemplatingthefactthatmyfurrowedbrowresidesinJack’snightstand,Idriftoffinahandfulofsecondsanddreamofnothing.
???
WhenIwakeup,thealarmclocksays3:46a.m.,andmyfirstconsciousthoughtisthatIdidn’tgetthejob.
Ifailed.
Ithappened.
I’mintheworst-casescenario.
ThesceneofmefindingoutfromGeorgerunsonaloopinmybrainforseveralminutes,eachreplayspotlightingadifferentmortifyingdetail.
Iranawayinthemiddleofaconversationlikeachild.
Ileftmyclosestfriendaloneinasnowstorm.
Isaidterrible,unfairthings.
Idon’tmakethedecisiontoprowldownstairs,butonceI’mthere,Iknowit’swhereIneedtobe.Thelampsareoffandthesnowisstillfalling,butenoughlightcomesfromthestreettomakeoutthecontoursoftheplace.OfJack,wholiesonhisbackonthesectional,athinblanketdrapedoverhislowerhalf.Hiseyesareclosed,buthe’snotasleep.Notsurehow,butIknowit.AndheknowsthatIknowit,becausewhenIstepcloser,hedoesn’tmove,doesn’topenhiseyes,buthedoesask,“Doyouneedsomething?”Hisvoiceisscratchy,likehedidsleepatsomepoint.
“No,”Ilie.Which,ofcourse,heknows.Heknowseverything
“Wantmetobringyouupsomewater?”
“No.I…”I’mawake,butnotfully.BecauseIkneelbesidethecouch,myheadjustinchesfromhis,andask,“I…CanItellyousomething?”Hiseyesfinallyopen.Helooksatme,andmyhairisprobablyamess,Iamsurelyamess,butIneedtosaythis.“Idon’t…WhatIsaidaboutGeorgegettingthejobbecauseshe’syourgirlfriend.Orfriend.Becauseofsomeweirdpoliticalintrigue—itwasunfairofme.Despicable.AndIdon’tbelieveit.AndIjust—itwasawfulofmeto—”
“Elsie.”Histoneisevenanddeep.“Hey.It’sokay.Youalreadyapologized.”
Hedoesn’tgetit.“Iknow,butofallthethingsthathappenedtoday,itseemsliketheshittiest.AndIcannotcontrolanyofthis—notmycareertanking,notwhetherI’mgoingtohavehealthinsuranceormakerent—butI…IcancontrolthewayIreact.SoI’msorryIsaidit.AboutGeorge.Andaboutyou.And…peopledoittomeallthetime.InthelastyearofmyPh.D.,Igotthisstupidaward.WhenIwalkedintothestudentloungethefollowingday,otherstudentsweresayingthatitwasonlybecauseIwasawoman,and…Ifeltliketotalshit,andIreallydidn’tthinktheywereright,butforasecondIwasn’tsure,forasecondtheymademedoubtmyself,andIjust—Idon’twanttobelikethem.I—”
“Hey.”JackshiftsandthendoessomethingIdon’tfullyunderstand.He—
Oh.
Somehow,hepullsmeup.Andsomehow,I’monthecouch.Lyingonthecouch.Nexttohim.Myheadnestlesunderhischin,hisarmssurroundmine,ourthighstangletogether.IopenmymouthtosaysomethinglikeWhatthehell?orOhmyGodor?!??,butnothingcomesout.
Instead,Iburrowdeeper.
“Assholes,”hesays.
I’mstillasleep.Thisisadream.Anightmare.Ablend.“Who?”
“Thepeoplewhodidn’tlikeyouwinningtheForbesaward.”Howdoesheknowthat’stheawardIwastalkingabout?“Youshouldreportthem.”
“Forwhat?”Iaskagainsthisthroat.He’swarmandsmellsnice.Likesleep.Likeclean.Likehecouldeasilychangemysink,savekittensstuckinatree,extinguishafire.“Forbeingdicks?”
“Yes.ThoughHRwouldcallitsexualdiscriminationandbuildingahostileworkenvironment.”
“It’snotthatsimple,”Imumble.
“Itshouldbe.”Hischinbrushesmyhaireverytimehespeaks,andIremembertryingtomentionwhathappenedtoDr.L.ThewayhecommiseratedwithmebutalsosaidthatitwouldbebetterifIjustforgotithappenedandfocusedmyenergiesonphysics.
“Whatwouldyoudoifyourstudentssaidsomethinglikethat?”
“I’dmakesuretheycanneverhaveacareerinphysics.”
Thewordsvibratefromhisskinthroughmine,andIknowhemeansit.Idon’thaveasingledoubt.Andthat’showIstartcryingagain,likeastupidVersaillesfountain,andhowhisholdonmetightens,legstwistingfurtherwithmine.Hisfingerstwineinthehairatmynapeandpressmedeeperintohim,shieldingmefromthecoldandeverything
“Ijust…”Isniffle.“Ireallywantedachancetofinishmymoleculartheoryoftwo-dimensionalliquidcrystals.”
“Iknow.”Hislipspressagainstmyhair.Maybeonpurpose.“We’llfigureoutaway.”
Thereisnowe,Ithink.AndJacksays,“Notyet,no,”withasmallsighthatliftshisbigchest.“It’llbefine,Elsie.Ipromise.”
Hecannot.Promise,thatis.Therearenoreliablesources,noknownquantities.We’reinaseaofmeasurementuncertainty.“Maybethisrejectionwillbemysupervillainoriginstory.”
Hechuckles.“Itwon’t.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Becausethisisnotyourcharacterarc,Elsie.Morelikea…characterbump.”
IlaughwetlyagainsthisAdam’sapple.Ineedtogobackupstairs.I’veneversleptwithanyone,neverevenconsideredit.Ican’tcontrolwhatIdoatnight—whatifImovetoomuchorsnoreortakeuptoomuchspace?AcoverhogistheElsienoonewants.ButwithJackIhavenothingtolose,right?We’repastallthat.“Ican’tbelieveIwokeyouupatfourandyoudidn’tmurderme.”
“WhywouldImurderyou?”
“Because.It’slate.”
“Nah.I’mkindofintoit.”Heyawnsagainstthecrownofmyhair.
“You’llreallyenjoythethrilloffrequentnighttimeurinationasaseniorcitizen,then.”
“It’snotthat.”Ithinkhemightbeabouttoconkout.“This…ItfitsnicelyinabunchofreallyweirdfantasiesIhaveaboutyou.”
Irememberthepictureinhisnightstand.HisearnestfaceinGreg’sapartment.I’mbreathingthesameairasJackSmith,butIdon’tfeelscaredorunsafe.
Justcomforted,really.Warmandsosleepy.
“Dothesefantasiesinvolvegianttentacledildos?”I’myawning,too.Fadingfast.
“Ofcourse.”Icanhearhiswrysmile.“Waymoreoutlandishstuff,too.”
“Milkmaidrole-play?”
“Wilder.”
“It’sfurries,isn’tit?”
“Youwish.”
“Youhavetotellme,orI’llpicturenecrophiliaanddismemberment.”
“Inmyweirdfantasies,Elsie…”Heshiftsmetillourcurvesandanglesmatchup.Perfectly.“Inmyfantasies,youallowmetokeepaneyeonyou.”Ifeelhislipsatmytemple.“AndwhenIreallyletgo,Iimaginethatyouletmetakecareofyou,too.”
Itdoessoundoutlandish.“Why?”
“Becauseinmyhead,noonehasdoneitbefore.”
IfallasleephuddledinthecurveofJack’sthroat,wonderingwhetherhemightberight.15HEATTRANSFER
Therearenocurtains,andIwakeupfirst.
Themorninglightisblindingwhite,aspainfulasamillionnakedmoleratsgnawingatmyeyeballs.Judgingfromtheslow,rhythmicbreathchuffingagainstthebackofmyneck,it’ssomethingJackhasgottenusedto.
Ifeelrested.Warmandcozy.AtsomepointinthenightImusthaveturnedaroundinhisarms,becausemybackispressedagainsthischest.Hishandisundermyshirt,splayedflatagainstmybelly,fingersbrushingmypod,butnotinacreepy,sexualway.He’sjusttryingtokeepmeclosesothatwebothfitunderthethinblanket.Itshouldfeellikebeingspoonedbyapiranha,butitsomehowworks,and…
Maybeitisabitsexual.Becausethere’ssomethingveryhot,very,veryhard,very,very,verybigpressingagainstmyass.
Jackprobablyneedstopee.Don’tmengethardinthemorningswhentheyneedtogotothebathroom?It’sapeeerection.Apeerection.Yup.
Still,Ishouldleave.
ItrytoslipoutfromunderJack’smassivebiceps,butheresistsinhissleep.Myheartraceswhenhehumssomethingintomynape,fingersgrippingmyhip.Thathardthingpushesintome,tryingtonestlefartherbetweenthecheeksofmyass,andIgasp.
“Yousmellsogood,”hegrowlsintomyskin,andallofasuddenI’mglowingwithheatandembarrassmentandsomethingelse,somethingnewandpulsatingandunfamiliar.Isquirmaroundthefeeling.OhGod.Isthis—amIturnedon?He’sbarelyawake,andIbethethinksI’mhispillowgirlfriendorwhoeverhesleptwithlast,andI’mhere,allhotand—
“Elsie,”henearlygrunts.Hisarmtightensaroundmywaist,thenabruptlyrelaxes.
He’sstillfastasleep.Andthistime,whenIwiggleaway,heletsmego.I’mrunningupstairs,flushingcherryred,andhe’sonceagainbreathingevenly
It’sokay.It’sfine.KindofcreepythatI’meventhinkingaboutthis,sincehe’sasleep.Inthebathroom,Ibrushmyteeth(yup,withmyfinger),washmyface,andreassureCecethatIhaven’tbeensextrafficked.
Myinboxisbloatedwithemails.Thehighlight:
From:melaniesmom@gmail.com
Subject:Melanie
Melanieisagoodpersonanddidnotmeantocopythatessayfromtheinternet,shetoldmeso,andIbelieveherbecauseIraisedherandinmyhouseholdwedonotcondonelies.Shewasframed(herroommatehasavendettaagainsther,eversincethemenstrualcupincident).Pleaseletmydaughterresubmitherassignment.
Melanie’smom
Isigh,twice,thenstress-snoopinJack’scabinets.FindingsomeRogaineorantifungalmedsorprescription-strengthdeodorantwouldhumanizehim,butthere’sonlytoothpaste(wintergreen—disgusting)andsoap.SoIsitbackontheedgeofthetubandspendanunspecifiedlengthoftimethinkingofawaytoletDr.L.knowthatIfailed.
Ifailedhim
BythetimeIcrawldownstairs,Jack’smovingaroundthekitchen,phonelodgedbetweenshoulderandear,laughingsoftlyandsaying,“…sinceyou’restayingthreedays,we—”
Heturnsaround.Whenhenoticesmestandingatthebottomofthestaircase,hissmilefades.Yes,I’mstillwearingtheNortheasternshirtIsleptin,andyes,myhandsareswallowedbymycardigan,andyes,Ican’thelpstackingmyfeetontopofeachother.
Clearly,I’mbringingsexyback.
“Needtogo—seeyounextweek.”Jackputsdownhisphone,thenslidesamugofcoffeeacrossthekitchenisland.Forme,Iassume.WhichmeansthatIhavenochoicebuttomakemywaythereandtakeaseatonastool.
Helooksabitdisheveled,thebackofhishairstickingup,stubblelongerthanlastnight,shouldersandarmsfillingthewornT-shirt,buthestillhasthatairabouthim.Amused.Confident.Unbothered.Iwaitforhimtomentionthatweslepttogether—We.Slept.Together.Buthedoesn’tseemtobeinclinedtobeadickaboutit.
“Hey,”hesays.
Thepeerection(trademarkpending)isgone.Ithink.Ican’treallysee.Heprobablyusedthebathroomdownstairsand—
Notthepoint,Elsie.Focus.
“Hey.”Itakeasipofmycoffee—disgusting,ascoffeealwaysis.Isetdownmymug,openmymouthtoapologizeagainaboutlastnight,aboutthestateoftheworld,abouttheclusterofatomsthatshapesmyveryexistence,whenhesays,“CanImakeyoubreakfast?”
“Oh.”Ishakemyheadevenasmystomachgrowls.“I’mfine,I—”
“MayIpleasewatchyoueatsomething?”Bam,dimple.“It’llbegoodformymentalhealth.”
I’lljusttakethisdayforwhatitis:memarinatinginapuddleofembarrassment.“Ifyouhaveapieceoftoast,that’dbegreat.Thankyou.”
Henods,slipsasliceofwholegraininthetoaster,andthenasksareallyoddquestion.“Whyaren’tyouafull-timeresearcher?”
Iblink.“What?”
“YougotyourPh.D.,thenwentstraighttoadjuncting.Mostpeopletrytosqueezeinafull-timeresearchpositionlikeapostdoc,especiallyifthey’renotpassionateaboutteaching.”
AfteryearsofhearingDr.L.talkaboutJack,it’ssurrealhavingJackbringupDr.L.,howeverobliquely.“Ididthinkofit,butthereweren’tanyinthearea.Theoristsdon’texactlyswiminfunding…”
“Whataboutotherplaces?YouwanttostayintheBostonarea?”
“Yes.Well,Idon’twantto,butIshould.Formyfamily.”
“Areyouclose?Dotheyhavehealthissues?”
“No.Andno.Just,mymomandmybrothersare…”Shitshows.Complete,uttershitshows.Likeme.“Ican’tleave.”
Henods.Likehedoesn’tfullyunderstand,likeheunderstandstoomuch.“Yourealizethatyourskillsetwouldbeofinteresttomorethantheorists,right?Yourworkishighlytranslational.Experimentalphysicistswouldfighttohaveyouontheirteams.”
Theydidn’t,though.Dr.L.askedaroundwidely,andnoonewasfighting.Noonewasevenpolitelyarguing.“Likewho?”
Heholdsmyeyesforabeattoolong,and—
“No.”Ishakemyhead.“No.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Idohavethefunding.”
“No.”
“Andtheneed.”
“Nope.”
He’sfullysmiling.LikeI’mhispersonalentertainmentcenter,amusinghimin4KandDolbySurround.“Wecouldnegotiatesalary.”
“No.Nope.No.I’mnotgoingtoworkforyou.”
“Why?”
“I’mnotgoingtogradeyourtestsandbringyoucoffee—”
“IhavethreeTAs.”Helookspointedlyatmyfullmug.“AndI’mhappytotakecareofyourcoffee…Youdon’tevenlikecoffee,doyou?”
Isquirminthestool.“I…”
“Oh,Elsie.”Heshakeshisheadinmockdisappointmentandtakesawaythemug.“Ithoughtyouwereabovesparingmyfeelings.”
“Youwerereallynicetomelastnight,and…”Iclearmythroat.“Anyway,Ican’tworkforyou.”
“Why?”
“BecauseyouareJonathanSmith-Turnerandalmostdestroyedmyentirefield.”AndDr.L.wouldkillme,Idon’tadd,butIstillfeelastabofguiltforbeingabouttoliterallybreakbreadwithmymentor’sarchenemy
“Okay.”Heshrugs,settingaglassofwaterandtoastinfrontofme.“Disappointing.Butitdoesgivemefreereintoasksomethingelse.”
“Askwhat?”
“CanItakeyouout?”
Thewordsdon’timmediatelycompute.Forseveralsecondstheyfloatinmybrainlikedriftwood,aimless,unparsable,andthentheirmeaningdawnsonme.“Youmeanyouwantto…murderme.”
Hewinces.“Onceagain,whathappenedtoyou?”
“Youaskedtotakemeout—”
“Foradate.”
“Oh.”Iblush.“Oh.”Iscratchthesideofmynose.“Um…”
Jack’seyebrowlifts.“Youseemmorealarmedbydinnerthanmurder.”
“No.Yeah.Imean,it’sjust…Why?”
“Youknow,I’mgrowingconcernedaboutyourlanguagecomprehensionskills.”Thecornerofhismouthisquirkingup,andIcannottakethisanymore.
“Stopit,”Iorder.
“Stopwhat?”
“Beingamusedbyme!Idon’tunderstandwhyyou’dwantto…We’vedonenothingbutbuttheadssincethedaywemet.”Icovermyeyeswithbothhands.“Whyareyousuddenlybeingsonice?Givingmeshelter,offeringmeajob?Ijust…Isthissomefetishofyours?Somepeoplegetoffonarmpitsex,youenjoymessingwithmeand—”
“Lookatme,Elsie.”Hisvoicesnapsmetoattention.Jackhasmovedaroundtheislandandisleaningagainstit,nexttome.Thebackofhisfingertapsgentlyagainstmyhand,groundingme.AsilentShutup,willyou.“Youdonespiraling?”
“I’mnotspiraling,”Ilie.“Jack,believeme.Youdon’twanttospendtimewithme.”
Henods,thoughtful.“Whatelsedon’tIwant?”
“I’mserious.Forone,I’mtechnicallystillfake-girlfriendingyourbrother.”
“Didn’tknowitworkedasaverb.Cute.”
“Andyouhatethepersonality-switchingthing.”
“Thatwon’tbeaproblem.”Hiseyesgleam.“SinceIalsoenjoycallingyouonyourbullshit.”
Mycheeksheat.“Wehavenothingincommon.Whatwouldweeventalkabout?”
“Wecouldspendtwoweeksjustonliquidcrystals.OryoucouldtellmeaboutTwilight.YoureroticBillNyefanfictionphase.Streamofconsciousnesswouldbefine,too.I’dlovetoknowwhatyou’rethinking.”
“IthinkalotabouthowmuchIhateyou,”Isaywithnoconviction.
“Ithinkalotabouthowmuchyouhateme,too.”Hissmileistender.“When’sthelasttimeyouhadsomeoneinyourlifeyoucouldbecompletelyhonestwith,Elsie?”Askedbyanyoneelse,itwouldbeapatronizingquestion.Becauseit’shim,itjustfeelsgenuine.
“I…”
Maybemyparents,whenIwasveryyoung.ButIcan’trememberasinglemomentinthepasttwodecadesinwhichIwasn’tcontextdependent.InwhichIdidn’tfeeltheneedtocutmyselfintopieces,servetheoneIthoughtotherswouldwantonasilverplatter.Therehavebeeneasierpeople,likeCece.Peoplewhoknewmostpartsofme,likeCece.Evenpeoplewhorecognizedthepleaserinmeandencouragedmetostop,likeCece.
Okay:therehasbeenCece.AndI’mgrateful.Butevenwithher,I’veneverbeenfullysincere.I’vealwaysbeenscaredthathonestywouldbethedealbreaker.
“It’sbeenawhile,”Isay.ButJackalreadyknewthat.
“Thenyou’reoverdue.”
Thisis…terrifying.
“No,”Isayfirmly,shakingmyhead.“Thankyoufortheoffer,butI’mnotinterested.”
Disappointmentdarkenshiseyes,butIcanbarelytakeitinbeforeaphonebuzzes—his.
“Shit,”hemutters.Buthelooksawayandpicksitup,andafteraheavingsighhesays,“Ineedtoleave.”Hegrabsasweaterfromthecouch.“Let’sgo.I’lldropyouofffirst.”
Islidetomyfeet.“Icantakethebus.Thestorm’sover,so—”
“Elsie.”Handagainstmyback,hepushesmetotheentrance.
“No,seriously.You’vealreadydonesomuch…”Hetakesasoft,cozyblackhatandslidesitovermyhead.It’snotmine,butitfeelsgreat.AndapparentlyI’mnotawakeenoughtoinsistthatIdon’tneedarideandbuttonupmycoatatthesametime.“It’sfine,IcaneventakeanUberand…”
Henoticesmyshakinghandsandgentlybrushesthemawaytodomybuttonshimself.
“Elsie,it’sfine.Igetit.Youdon’twantmetotakeyouout.”Hegetstothehighestbutton.Hisknucklesbrushagainstmydownturnedchin.“Atleastletmetakeyouhome.”
???
Jack’saconfidentdriver,relaxedeveninbadweatherconditions,withtheroadsnotquiteclearandothercarsswaying.IsinkintotheheatedseatheturnedonformeandrememberthetimeIswervedtoavoidasquirrel,almostcausingamultivehiclecrash.
ThesquirrelturnedouttobeaWendy’spaperbag,butit’sfine.I’mgoodatotherthings.Probably.
“Feelfreetopickup,”Isay,pointingatJack’sphone.It’sbeenbuzzingnonstopinthecupholder,aweirdtechnosoundtracktoNPR’sworldnewssegment.
“It’snotacall,”hesays,lookingstraightahead.
Morebuzzing.“Areyousure?”
“Yeah.Justanincessantbarrageoftexts.”
“Oh.Itsounds…urgent.”
“Itisn’t.Notbyanysanedefinitionoftheword.”Hesighs,uncharacteristicallydefeated.“DoyoumindifIstopsomewherebeforetakingyouhome?It’sonthewayandit’lltakeaminute.”
“No,it’sfine,”Isay—onlytoregretitwhenhepullsupadisturbinglyfamiliardriveway.“Thisis…Isn’tthis…?”
Jackkillstheengine.“Regrettably,yes.”
“I…”Shouldhebebringingmehere,considering…literallyeverything?“Doyouwantmeto,um,hideinthetrunkorsomething?”
“It’stendegrees.Thecarwillgetcoldprettyfast.”
“SoIshouldhideinthebushes?”
Helooksatmelikehe’sgoingtostageaninterventionformytenuousgraspofthesecondlawofthermodynamics.“Comeon.It’llbeaminute.”
OutsidefeelslikeHoth,andmybuttactivelymournsthetoastywarmthoftheseat.It’sconsideringacommemorativebenchwhenthefrontdooropenstothecruel,menacing,cutthroatgloryofthemostterrifyingSmith.
Millicent.
“Well,well,well,”shesingsongs,standingcross-armed.She’swearingsimpleblackpantsandacardigan,buteveninacasualoutfitthere’ssomethingintenselymatriarchalabouther.Icannotpicturehereverhavingbeenanythingbutninetyandrich.“Lookwho’snotdead.”
“Youknow,”Jacksaysfrommyside,inthatever-amusedtoneofhis,“Ihavemanyregretsinlife.”
“I’mcertainyoudo.”
“Butteachingyouhowtotextisthebiggest.”
Millicentwavesherhand.“Whenyouwerethree,IhadtodriveyoutotheERbecauseyoustuckapurplecrayonupyourbutthole.Thatshouldbeyourbiggestregret.”
Jackherdsmeinsidethefoyerwithagentlepushonmylowerback,liketouchingmecasuallyisanestablishedthingwehavegoingon.
“Youtookyoursweettime,consideringthemoneyyoucouldinheritwhenIcroak.”MillicentholdshercheekupforJacktokissher.Herefuses,insteadenvelopingherinabearhugthatshepretendstobristleatbutclearlyloves.
“Itoldyou,”hesays,“justgetburiedwithit.”
“I’mbeingcremated.”
“Ihearpaperburnsgreat.”
Shescoffs.“Keeponthisway,andI’lljustwillmyentirefortunetoComcast.”Shewhirlsaroundandmarchesdowntheglitzyhallway.Jackheadsthesameway,unperturbed,somehowmanagingnottolookoutofplacedespitebeingamountainofmusclesinaCaltechhoodie.Afteramomentofconsideration,Idecidetofollowhim.
Betternotbealone.Wouldn’twanttobeaccusedofstealinganashtray.
WestepintothesamekitchenwhereJackcaughtmelyingaboutthewinetwoweeksago.Iwatchhimwalktoacupboard,holdMillicent’seyesasheopensit,takeoutabagofsugar,setitonthetable,crosshisarms,andask,“Wasthisyourlife-or-deathemergency?”
Millicentbeams.“Why,yes.Ijustcouldnotreachit,andIsohatebittercoffee.”
Iglanceatthecupboard.Whichis…nothigh.
“GladIwasabletocometoyouraidonthisveryurgentmatter.”Jacknodspolitely,stopsforaquickpeckonhisgrandmother’scheek,thensaunterstothedoor.Hishandfindstheusualspotonmyback,andhegentlypushesmeoutofthekitchen,clearlyreadytoleave,when—
“Butsinceyou’realreadyhere,youshouldreallystayforcoffee.”
Jack’sarmsdroptohissides,andheturnsaround.
“Millicent,”hesays,stern.Amused.Mustbearichpeoplething,callinggrandmasbytheirnames.“LikeImentionedlastweek,andtheonesbefore,youdon’tneedtotrickmeintospendingtimewithyou.”
“Oh,Jack.ButIhavebeenburned.Manytimes.”
“WhenwasthelasttimeyouaskedmetocomeoverandIdidn’t?”
“Threeyearsago.Onmybirthday.Itcouldhavebeenmylast.”
“Butwasit?”
“Hindsight,shmindsight.”Shestaresremotelyintothedistance.“Iwaitedandwaitedformyonebearablegrandchildtoshowup—”
“Ilivedacrossthecountry.”
“—butalas,you’dleftme.Abandonedme.MovedtotheWestCoastinsearchofsomethingelusive.ANobelPrize,perhaps?”
“Icalledyoueverydayforsevenyears.”
“How’sthatNobelPrizecomingalong,anyway?”
Hesighs.“Youdon’thavetotrickme,”herepeats,andthistimeshegrinsathim,impishandmischievous,andIrememberthatshehasalwaysbeenmyfavoriteofGreg’srelatives.
“Butit’smorefunthisway.”
Isuspectthisisaninteractionthey’vehadmultipletimes.IsuspectJackistryingtonotsmile.“I’mtakingElsiehome.ThenI’llcomebackand—”
“Elsie?”Millicentturns,asthoughnoticingmeforthefirsttime.“Elsie.”Shetakesasteptowardme,andIstopbreathing,tryingtomakemyselfinconspicuous.Whoneedsoxygen?I’lljustphotosynthesizefromnowon.“WhyisElsiesofamiliar?”
Igulp.Comically.
“Ah.Yes.YoubeatJackatGo.”
“We…tied,actually.”IglanceatJack,who’ssmilinglikemydiscomfortputshiminagoodmood.
“Indeed.”Millicent’seyeslaser-focusonme,andIwonderwhatIshouldsayifsheaskswhyI’mhere.What’sthecoverstory?“Youdon’tlooktoogood.”
“Oh.I…”
“Shehadaroughnight,”Jacksaysmildly.“Letherbe.”
Millicentnodsknowingly.“Dear,whenevertheycan’tgetitup,theysitontheedgeofthemattresswiththeirheadsbetweentheirhandsandwhinelikebabiesandturnitintoourproblem,but—”
Igasp.“Oh,no.No,no,that’snotwhatwe—”
“Shejustfoundoutshedidn’tgetajob,”Jackexplains,unruffled.“Butthankyouforthevoteofconfidence.”
“Ifyousayso.”Millicentseemsunconvinced.Thenhereyeslightupwithaglimmerofrecollection“Wait.She’snotyours,isshe?She’sthegirlfriendoftheonewhoalwayslookslikehejuststress-ateacrabappleoveratrashcan.”
Jackrollshiseyes.“YoumeanGreg?Mybrother?Yourgrandson?”
“HowwouldIknow?Ihavefourchildrenandsevengrandchildren.Howmanynamesdoyouexpectmetomemorize?”
“Elevenwouldbeagoodstart.”
“Bah.”Hereyesfixonme,sharp.“Sheishis,though.”
“Notreally,”Jacksays.“It’salongstory.”
“Perfect.Youcantellmeovercoffee.Twosugarsasalways,Jack?”
“Yup.”Heturnstoleaveagain.“I’llhaveitwhenIcomebackfromtakingElsie—”
“Nonsense.Elsiemuststay,too.Isimplycannotletherleave.”
“Yes,youcan,becausekidnappingisaseriousfelonyoffense.”
“Pssh.”
“I’mdrivingherhomeand—”
“It’sfine,”Iinterrupt.Theybothlookatme,stunnedbymycapacityforspeech.“Idon’tmindstaying.”
“See?Shedoesn’tmind!”Millicentclapsherhandsanddropsanypretenseofhelplessness,pullingthreemugsfromacupboardthat’smuchhigherthantheonewiththesugar.Jackhesitates,though.Hetakesastepcloserandscansmyfacefortracesofmylittleuntruths.
“Really,”IsayonlyforJack’sears,“it’sfine.”
“Fine?SpendingunremuneratedtimewithtwoSmiths?”
Stayingperfectlysuitsmyyellow-brickquestforthelesserevil,becauseitallowsmetopostponeinformingDr.L.ofwhathappenedorevendealingwiththeconsequencesofit.AslongasI’mhere,timeissuspended.Thepastisset,andIdidn’tgetthejob.Anyfuture,however,ispossible:AOCwillrisetopowertoforgivemystudentloans.Mypancreaswillproduceitsowninsulin.I’llretiretothecountryside,liveofftheland,andspendmydaysthinkingaboutthekinematicsofcrystal-richsystems.
AndJackknows,becausehisbullshitdetectorworkslikeacharm:heseesthatIreallywanttostayandpullsbackachairforme;thenourcoatsareoff,we’resittingacrossfromeachother,andI’mglancingaroundtoavoidnoticingthathe’sfocusingonmelikeI’mthekeytounderstandingthefree-fallaccelerationofantimatter.Millicentbeginstransferringfancyjamthumbprintcookiesfromafancyboxtoafancyplate.Iscanthewrappingfornutritionalvalues,findingnone.
“So,”sheasksconversationally,“howlonghaveyoutwobeendoingit?”
Igaspsohard,Inearlychoke.Jackcalmlypourshiscoffee,unruffled.“We’renot,”hesays.
“You’renotwhat?”
“Doingit.”
Millicentlooksbetweenus.“Notevenalittlebit?”
“Nope.”
“Areyousure?”
“IthinkI’dknowifwewere.”Jackpilessugarinhismug,andIwanttoflingmyselfintoanactivevolcano.
“Icertainlyhopeso.Ohwell.”Sheshrugsquaintly.“Iguessit’sforthebest.Youwerealwayssoprotectiveofyourbrother—itwouldbeatadoutofcharacterforyoutoseducehisgirlfriend.”
“Let’snotusethewordseducebeforeelevena.m.,’kay?”Jackstandsandstartsmovingaroundthekitchen.“Andlet’stalkaboutsomethingelse,sinceElsie’sinthemiddleofananoxicevent.”
Iabsolutelyam.Myorgansareshuttingdown.
“Whatelseshallwediscuss?Iambutahelplesselderlylady.Nothingeverhappenstome.Ahyes:theneighbors’doghasbeendefecatingonmylawnagain.I’mconsideringhiringsomeonetogodefecateontheirs.Wouldeitherofyoubeinterested?”
“I’mabitbusy,”Jacksays.Asecondlater,asteamingmugappearsinfrontofme.Jackcagesmefrombehind,onehandnexttomineonthetable,theotherfussingwithsomethingpapery.Hesteepsateabaginthehotwater,andIfeelhischestbrushingagainstmybackandhairashesays,“ButElsieisinthemarketforanewjob.”
Itwistaroundtoglareathim,buthe’salreadybacktohisseat.Millicent,ontheotherhand,isgivingmeanexpectantlook.
“I—sorry,I…Ican’t,and…”It’sprobablyillegal?“Sorry.”
“Secondjoboffershe’srefusedthismorning,”Jackmurmurs.
“Mmm.Picky.Nomatter,I’llaskmyothergrandchildren,then.Perhapsstronglyhintthattheirinheritancewilldependonit?”
“Lesshelplesselderlyladyandmorebitteroldhagterritory,”Jacksaysfondly.
“Perhaps.What’swiththetea?”sheasksJack.
“Elsiedoesn’tlikecoffee.”
“Oh.”There’ssomethingloadedinthatoh.“Youcouldhavesaidso,Elsie.”
“No,shecouldn’t.”Jack’seyesholdminefromabovehismug.Thedimpleappears,makingmyheartstutter.TheairbetweenussmellslikeEarlGrey,raspberryjam,andearlySundaymorning.“Butwe’reworkingonit.”
Myphoneislongdead,therearenoclocksinthekitchen,andIhavenocluehowlongwesitatthetable.I’moccasionallypartoftheconversation,butneitherMillicentnorJackasksmuchofme,andit’snice,beinginthisSmithlimboofsorts.FocusingonthewayJackandhisgrandmotherinteract,acombinationofteasinganddeep,utterloveforoneanother.Idon’tthinkI’veeverbeeninaroomsofullofhonestybefore,butI’mpositivethatnotasingleliehasbeenutteredsinceIcameintothishouse.It’sexhilarating,butinastomach-droppingway.Likearollercoaster,oreatingbluecheese.
JackandMillicent,Idiscover,spendpartofeveryweekendtogether—preferablythroughanambush.“Lastweek’s‘life-or-deathemergency’wasthatsheneededBitcoinexplainedtoher,”hesaysdryly.It’sobviousthathedoesn’tmind.
“Ialsodon’tgetBitcoin,”Isayafteralongsipoftea—thethirdhotdrinkJack’smadeformeintwelvehours.Notsurehowthisismylife.
“See?”Millicentsmilestriumphantly.“Greg’smaybe-girlfriendisonmyside.”
JackandMillicentknowmoreabouteachother’slivesthananyrelativeofmineeverdidaboutme.Shetrackswithnodifficultynames,places,eventshementions,andinturnhedoesn’tmissabeatwhensheannouncesthatshe’llwearagreendresstotheRutherforddinner,oraftershecomplainsthatshefinishedhershowandhasnothingtowatch.
“Youdidnotfinishit,”hesays.
“Idid.”
“IgotyoutwelveseasonsofMurder,SheWrote.Youcannothavewatchedtheminoneweek.”
“TherearenomoreepisodesontheTV.”
Hestandswithasigh.“I’mgoingtoswitchtheDVD.Berightback.”
Iopenmymouththesecondhedisappears,readytofillthesilencewithsomecommentabouttheweather,butMillicentisalreadygivingmeoneofherpiercinglooks.“You’renotalibrarian,areyou?”
Iclearmythroat.“No.I’msorryIlied.It’salongstory,but—”
“I’mninety—notimeforlongstories.Whatisitthatyoudo,then?”
Ifidgetwiththeteatag.“I’maphysicist.”
“LikeJack.”
“Sortof.Notreally.”Ikeepmyeyesonthemug.Thestateofmycareerisasorepoint.“He’saworld-renownedprofessor.I’mjustanadjunct.Andhe’sanexperimentalphysicist,whileI’m—”
“Atheorist.”Shenods.“Likehismom,then.”
Ilookupandblinkather.“Hismom?”IsMillicentgettingconfused?LikeGrandmaHannawaybeforepassing,whenshe’dmixmeupwithherleastfavoritesisterandyellatmeforstealingherapron?“Youdon’tmeantheonewho…”
“Died.Well,ofcourse.Heonlyeverhadtheone.”Shescoffs.“It’snotasifCarolinewaseagertotakeover.Heartbreaking,watchingthosetwoboysgrowupsoclose.Samehouse,samefamily.Onewithamother,theotherwithout.”
“Oh.”Ishouldn’taskanyofthequestionsbuzzinginmyhead.MillicentisclearlyundertheimpressionthatJackandIaresomethingwe’renot,orshewouldn’tdisclosethis.But…“HowoldwasJack?”
“WhenGrethedied?”Grethe.“Aboutone.Mysonremarriedjustafewmonthslater.TheyhadGregsoonafter.Yousee,forthefirstfewyears,itwasmewhoinsistedthatwetellJacknothingaboutGrethe.Ithoughthecouldhaveanormallife,believingthatCarolinewashismotherandhehadlostnothing.ButCarolinewasneverfondofhim,and…well,itwasherrighttorefuse.Ishouldn’thaveinterfered.BecauseImadeitworse:afewyearslaterhegotintosometroublelikechildrenoftendo,andCarolinescreamedathim,‘Don’tcallmeMom—I’mnotyourmother.’Itwasamomentofweakness.AndCarolinedidfeelguiltyafterwards.Butbythen,Jackknew.”Shesighs.“Hardtoexplaintoanine-year-oldthateverythinghebelievesisalie.Thatheshouldn’tcallMomthewomanhisbrothercallsMom.”Millicentmassageshertemple.“Jackseemedtotakeitinstride.ExceptthathestoppedcallinghisfatherDad,too.IbecameMillicent.Andeversince,he’sbeenverydistrustfuloflies.Verypreoccupiedwith…boundaries.Morethanishealthy,Ibelieve.”Shebusiesherselfstackingmugsontopoftheemptycookieplate.ForthefirsttimesinceImether,shelooksherage.Frail,old,tired.Hermouthisdownturned,bracketedbydeeplines.“AndyetJackandGreggrewupthickasthieves,despiteallthat.Theonesavinggrace.”
IrememberJacktakingcareofGregafterthedentist,andmyheartsqueezes.Itrytopicturethemaskids,pictureJackbeinganythingbuthistall,assured,authoritativeself,andfailmiserably.
“Areyousureshe…Grethe.”IwanttoaskifTurnerwasherlastname.ThereasonJack’saSmithbutnotreallyaSmith.“Areyousureshewasatheorist?”PhysicsrunsinJack’sfamily,whentheonlythingthatrunsinmineiseczema.
“Whydoyouask?”
“Just…Jackdoesn’tseemtoliketheoristsverymuch.”
Millicentgivesmealook.“Helikesyou,doesn’the?”
ShespeakslikeI’mtheleastsharpcookieinthejar,andIflush.“Butheoncewroteanarticlethat—”
“Oh,that.”Shechuckles,likeit’safondfamilymemory.Firstdayofkindergarten,meetingGoofyatDisneyland,andthattimehergrandsonsentanentirefieldofstudyintoatailspin.“Thathadnothingtodowiththeoreticalphysics.Hewasjustateenageractingout,angrybecauseofwhathe’dfoundoutaboutGrethe.Buthe’samannow.Agoodone.ToobadIcan’tleavehimmymoney,orhe’lljustdivideitupbetweentherestofmyungratefulfamily.”
“WhathadhefoundoutaboutGrethe?”WastheentireSmith-TurnerHoaxabouthismom?Didhe…hateher?Wasitsomesortofrevengeonherfor…forwhat?Dying?It’stooridiculous.“Didhewritethearticlebecauseofher?”
Imustbeaskingtoomanyquestions.Millicent’sexpressionshifts,firsttoguarded,thentovacuous.“Iforget,”shesayswithaditzyshrug,eventhoughshedoesn’t.Millicent,I’mcertain,hasn’tforgottenasinglethinginherlife—notGreg’sname,andcertainlynotwhatledJacktobewhoheistoday.“Jackwilltellyou.Whenyou’vebeentogetherlongenough.”
“No,we…Really,JackandIarenot—we’renotdoingit,”Isay.Mybraincringessohard,itfoldsinonitself.
“Oh,Iknow.Thisissomethingelsealtogether,isn’tit?”
“It’snothingatall.We’renotevenfriends.”
“Right.”Hertoneisalmost…pitying?“Well,you’llfigureitoutinyourowntime.”
“Figureoutwhat?”
“DVDplayer’sallset,”Jackannounces,emerginginthedoorway,“andI’veleftdetailedinstructionsonhowtoswitchtothenextseason,sincetheonesIwrotelastweekaregone.”
“Oh,yes.IhadtothrowthenotepadatyourauntMaureenwhenshesaidmygreenpulloverwastoobright.”
“Ofcourse,youhadto.CanIdriveElsiehomenow?Oristheabductionstillongoing?”
Millicenthuffs.“Dotakeher,please.I’msickofbothofyou.You’renotnearlyasentertainingasJessicaFletcher.”
Shekicksusoutasunceremoniouslyasshewelcomedusin,makingasymphonyoffaux-irritatednoisesthatarebeliedbyhowhardsheclingstoJack’shug.
“I’llstopbylatertoshovelsomesnow,”hepromises.
“Fine,butdonotcomein.I’llbebusywithmyshow.”
“Iknow.”Hekissesherforehead.“Begoodtillnextweekend.Havefunwritingspitewills.”
“Ishall,”shesaysdefiantlybeforeslammingthedoorinourfaces.
“Doesshereally?”Iaskonourwaytothecar.Thesnowcrunchesunderourfeet.
“What?”
“Writewillsforspite.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Pettiness.Boredom.Loneliness.WhenIwassixteen,myfathermadeacommentaboutherroastbeingdry,andshepledgedamilliondollarstoabunnyshelter.”
“God.Why?”
“It’saviciouscycle.Mostofmyfamilydoesseemtogravitatearoundherbecauseofthemoney,whichiswhyMillicentwieldsitlikeaweapon.Butthatdoesn’tendearhertothefamilymemberswhoarenormalhumanbeingsandbelievethatthreateningtovengefullypledgeyourestatetoJPMorganChasejusttomakeapointmightbepushingittoofar.”
“IsGregoneofthedecentones?”
“Greg’sthemostdecent,buthepreferstoavoidMillicentaltogether.Helikesitwhenpeoplegetalong,whichcannothappenifshe’sinagivenquantumspace.”
“LikePauli’sexclusionprinciple.”Weexchangeasmilenexttothepassengerseatofthecar.“Youlikeher,though.”
“She’sanabsolutemonster.Butshedoesburrowintoyouafterthirtyorsoyears,”hesaysfondly.“Likeatick.”
Ilaugh,mybreathagustofwhiteinthespacebetweenus.“ShouldweexplaintoherthatIwasn’treallydatingGreg?”
“Nah.Millicent’stoobusylaunchingfeceswarstocareaboutanyofthat.”
“You…”Itrytosoundcasual.“DoyoualwayscallherMillicent?”
“It’shername.”
“Imean,whynotGrandma,orGram,orGranny,orMawmaw—”
“Mawmaw?”
“Whatever.Babushka.MaternalForebear.”
Jack’sexpressiongoesinscrutable.“It’sgood,callingpeoplebytheirnames.Itminimizesmisunderstandings.”IthinkIseeasplitsecondofhesitation,likemaybehe’sthinkingofsayingmore,butit’sfleeting,swiftlygoneintheglisteningsnow.“Comeon.I’lltakeyouhomebeforeyourroommatesendsoutanAmberAlert.”
Inod,becauseIdoneedtosortoutthemessthatismylifeinaSmith-freespace.Butthensomethingoccurstome:therestofmylifeisgoingtobeaSmith-freespace.
AJack-freespace.
I’llprobablyneverseehimagain.WhywouldI?ThecircleswemoveinareaVenndiagramwithlittleoverlap.Maybewe’llmeetataphysicsconferencetwoyearsdowntheroad,whenI’mstillanadjunctteachingfortyclassesaweekandhe’sworkshoppinghisNobellecture.ButmyarrangementwithGregislikelyover,whichmeansthatthisisit.ThelasttimeI’llseeJack.Thisman,thismaddening,impossible,space-takingmanwhoseemstoknowmedespiteallthatIdotonotbeknown,willbegonefrommylife.
Ishouldbeeagertogobacktosimplertimes,whenIusedtospendzerohoursaweekinhiscompanyandmybrainwasn’tmadeofguacamole,but…whatawaste.Whatasurprisinglyterrifyingperspective.
Andthat’swhyIstophimwithatugonthesleeveofhiscoat.WhyIopenmymouthandsaywithnoforethought,nopremeditation,andalotofrecklesspanic,“Youcantakemeout.”
Itcomesoutwithnopausesorintonation,justabunchofsoundssmooshedtogether.WhichJack,judgingbytheknotbetweenhisbrows,didnotunderstand.
Iclearmythroat.Takeadeepbreath.“Ifyoustillwantto.Andifit’sokaywithGreg.Youcantakemeout.”
Jackjuststares,motionless,reactionless,forwaytoolong.“Takeyouout…inthemobway?”
“No.No!That’snotatallwhatI—”Iblush.I’mcoldandtiredandmyheadhurtsandIhavenoideawhatI’mdoingandwhywon’theunderstand?“Icancometoyourplace.Icantakeyouout.”
Henods.Slowly.“Inthemobway.”
“No,I—”Inoticeit,theamusedgleaminhiseyes,likeheknowsexactlywhatI’mtryingtosay.Ipressmylipstogether,becauseIdon’twanttoencouragehim,Idon’twanttosmile,butI’maboutto.“Ihateyou.”
“Sureyoudo.”
“Whyiseverythingsodifficultwithyou?”
“Iliketokeepyouonyourtoes.”
“Listen—let’shangout,”Isay.Thisfeelsfoolhardy.Illadvised.Exciting.“Just…try.Seewhathappens.Wouldthatbeokay?”
“Itwould,”hesaysafterabriefpause.“Underonecondition.”
Ifrown.“Makingdemandsalready?”
“Always.”Hismouthtwitches,buthe’sbacktohisopaqueself.“Ifwedothis…whenyou’rewithme,Ineedyoutobehonest.Nopretendingyou’resomeoneelse.NotryingtobewhateveryouthinkitisthatIwant.Yousaywhatyouthink.Andwhenyoucan’t,atleastletyourselfthinkit.Nolies,Elsie.”Hisjawsets.“Justyou.”
Inod.AndthenIrealizethatIhavenoideahowtodothat,andIlaugh,alittlesad,alotterrified.“Icantry.”
Henods.“That’senoughfornow.”
“Youshouldbehonest,too,”Iadd.“Noliesonyourend,either.”
“Idon’tlieoften,”hesayssimply.HearingitmakesmethinkofwhatMillicentsaidabouthispast,andmyheartclenches.I’veseenJackbeingbrutally,needlesslyhonest.Lying,notsomuch.“AndIcan’tseemyselflyingtoyou.”
“Youdon’tevenknowme.”
“Idon’t,”headmits.Hestudiesmyfaceforseveralmoments,likehecannotstoponthecoverorthefirstpage,likeheneedstoreadthewholebookeverytime.Thenheleansintome,andtheicychillofthemorningmeltsawayinhisheat.Myeyescatchonhischeekbones.Thelineofhisjaw,sosharpitcouldcutaheart.Hislipsarefullandupturned,astartofthatlopsidedsmileofhisthatmakesmeangryandweak-kneed,and…
Hebendstomurmurintheshellofmyear,“I’dliketo,though.”Myhairsrise,myspinecoilslikeasilentbowstring,andforthefirsttimeinmyentirelifeI’mthinkingofkisses,ofskin,ofwakingwithJackthismorning,ofhishandbetweenmyshoulderblades,oftheinkonhisarm,ofhislips,whichlookfullandsoft,andhehasn’tshavedinawhileandhesmellsgoodand—
Aclick.Behindme.Jackstraightensandpullsthepassengerdooropen.Thattensioninsidemeisstillbuzzing.Ifeelalmostdizzy.
“Getin,”heorders,lowandhoarseandmaybenotreallytome.
Islideintotheseat,anditsinksinthatthismightbereal.Happeningoutsidemyhead.
Me,takingashotatbeingmyself16FUNDAMENTALFORCES
From:Glass.Abigail.2@bostoncollege.edu
Subject:Thermo201
Hiya!Ihaven’tcometoclassthissemesterbecauseIcan’tfindtheroom.Wheredowemeet,again?Couldyoudrawmeamap?Thx.
“Egregious.”
Dr.L.saysthewordwithsoftg’sandmysteriousvowels,likeEnglishisaFrenchlanguagethattheAmericansarejustborrowing.I’dfinditamusing,butit’sourfirstmeetingsincerelayingmyjobnewsandIcan’tfeelanythingbutanxiety.Heaskedmetocomeover,andIreallydidn’twantto,whatwiththesnowandthecrockofshitthat’smyschedule.AndyethereIam.
“Egregious,thatthey’dchooseanothercandidate,”herepeats.“Perhapsanappealisinorder.”
“Knowingwhothewinningcandidateis,Idoubttherearegrounds.”
“GeorginaSepulveda,yousaid?”
Inod.
“Andwhowouldthatbe?”
I’mtakenabackthatanylivingphysicistwouldn’tknowofherwork.ButDr.L.canbenarrowmindedwhenitcomestoexperimentalists.Mayberightfullyso?
“She’sbehindtheSepulvedamodel.Abrilliantparticlephysicist.AndshewasaBurkefellowyearsago.”Ilookdownatmyknees.ThenbackuptoDr.L.’sdeepscowl.“I’msorry,Dr.Laurendeau.Iknowthisisdisappointing,but—”
“IwonderifSmith-Turnerinfluencedthesearch,afterall.”
Myhandgripsthearmrestofthegreenchair.“He…Idoubtit.”
“Wecannotputitpasthim,canwe?”
Iclearmythroat.“I’mconvincedthathedidnot—”
“Elise,youwantSmith-TurnertogethiscomeuppancejustasmuchasIdo,don’tyou?”
MystomachsinksandIlowermyeyes,mortified.Dr.L.spentthelastsixyearscounselingme,andhereIam.Ascrewup.Cavortingwiththeassholewhonearlyruinedhiscareer.
NotbeingtheElsiehewants.
Ineedtogobacktoit.ToElise—hardworking,undeterred,laserfocused.“Thisisahugesetback,butI’m…regrouping,”Isay,tryingtosoundoptimistic.“Intermsoffindingajobfornextyear,I—”
“Butyouhaveajob.Several,infact.”
“Yes.Absolutely.”Itakeadeepbreath.“Buttheseadjunctgigsaretimeconsumingandleavemelittletimeforresearch.AndIreallywanttofinishdevelopingmy—”
“Thereisalwaystimeforresearch.Onemustwanttofindit.”
Iclosemyeyes,becausethisonehurtslikehell.TheElsiehewantsalmostslipsaway,butIholdstrong.“You’reright.”
“Couldyounotsimplyteachfewerclasses?”
Ibreatheslowly.Inandout.“Financially,that’snotapossibility.”
“Isee.Well,sometimesmoneymusttakesecondplace.”
Igripthearmrest,feelingagustoffrustrationthathe’dthinkmegreedyforwantingtobuyinsulinandliveinaplacewithoutmutantmoths.It’simmediatelyswallowedbyguilt.ThisisDr.L.Iwouldn’tevenknowtheNielsen-Ninomiyatheoremifitweren’tforhim
Itakeadeepbreath,forcingmyselftomentiontheideathat’sbeenswellinginmyheadsincemymorningatJack’s.Whilethereisnodimensioninwhichmeworkingforhimwouldbefeasibleorappropriate,maybethereissomepromiseinwhathesaid.“SomeonerecommendedthatIconsiderapostdoctoralfellowshiporanotherresearch-onlyposition.”
Dr.L.looksatme,alarmedforasplitsecond,andthensighs.“Wehavebeenoverthis,Elise.”
“Right.Butwetalkedabouttheorists.Maybesomeexperimentalistsmightbeinterestedin—”
“Unfortunately,no.Iaskedwidely,andIamverysorry,butnosuitablephysicistwasinterestedinhiringyouasaresearcher,”hesays,andmystomachsinksevenmore.
Ilowermyeyestomyjeans.God,I’manidiot.Atotalfuckingidiot.
“Elise,”hecontinues,tonesofter,“Iknowhowyoufeel.”Hecircleshisdesk,comingtostandinfrontofme.“Rememberwhenyoustartedyourdoctorate?Howhelplessyoufelt?HowIguidedyouthroughdevelopingyouralgorithms,publishingyourmanuscripts,makinganameforyourselfwithinthephysicscommunity?Icanhelpyounow,too.”
Ithinkaboutallthethingshe’sdoneforme.AllthethingsIowetohim.IwonderwhereI’dbewithouthim,andcomeupempty.
“Doyoutrustme?”
Inod.
???
Idon’tgetaformalrejectionfromMITtillWednesdaynight.
I’minthemiddleofwhat’srapidlybecomingasemesterlyendeavor:relearningNoether’stheoremtobeabletoteachittoamostlysnoringclassroomateighta.m.,onlytoforgetitonceagainbythetimemyninethirtythermolecturecomesaround.
Mybrainisacolander.
WhentheiTwatrings,Ilookup.CeceiswritingherMILF(manuscriptI’dliketofinish)onthecouch,butshemeetsmyeyes.
“I’msorryitdidn’tworkout,”Monicatellsmeafteralongexplanationthatincludesthewordsinstitutionalfitfourtimes.Iappreciatethecall.Academicrejectionsareoftenone-lineemails.Moreoften,tumbleweeds.
“It’snotyourfault,Monica,”Isay
“Orisit?”Cecemutters,whichhasmesmiling.
“Iunderstandthesituation,”Iadd,justtoseeCecesprainaneye-rollingmuscle.
“Iwantyoutoknow,”Monicasays,“thatnewpositionswillbeopeningsoon.”
IthoughtI’dleftmyhopebloodyandbeatenonthesideoftheroad,butapparentlyit’sstillbreathing.“Nextyear?”
“Inthreetofiveyears.Severaltheoristsaresettoretire,andthedeanwon’tdareclosethetenure-tracklines.Ihopeyou’llapplyagain.”
Goonwithoutme,myhopesays,contemplatingsixmoresemestersofNoether’stheorem.I’llonlyslowyoudown.“OfcourseIwill.”
“Andlet’skeepintouch.Grablunchoncethesemesterisover.”
“I’dlovethat.”
“Fantastic.Wasthereanyfeedbackyou’dliketogivemeregardingthesearch?”
Jack’svoiceringsinmyear:Yousaywhatyouthink.Andwhenyoucan’t,atleastletyourselfthinkit.
Okay.Well.Monica,youknowthathighlyirregularmeetingwehadbeforemyinterview?MaybeyoushouldhavetoldmethatIhadnochance.Also,youoverdiditwiththecowdecor.Alsoalso,yoursonisapsycho,andIhopehedislocateshisdickwhilepubliclyhumpingafirehydrant.
“Just,thankyouforeverythingyou’vedone.Iappreciateit.”
Jackmighthaveapoint.Contemplatingthetruthisanice,cheapthrill.
BythetimeIhangup,Ihavetwonewemails—onefromastudentaskingformycreditcardnumbertobuyfifteenhundredliveladybugs,onefromGreg.
HeyElsie,
I’vebeenwantingtogetintouch,butJacksaiditwasbettertowait,and…well,Ihearyou’renowintheknow.Sorryyoudidn’tgetthejob.Butit’ssocoolthatyou’reaphysicist.Whatarethechances?MaybeJackcanhelpyoufindsomethingelse?Hehastonsofconnections!
Anyway,wouldyouliketogetlunchinthenextfewdaystodebrief?I’llbuy!
-G
PS:IhavebeeninformedthatIattemptedtourinateon/nearyou.Iamdeeplyregretfulofmyactions.
I’mconsideringmysuddenlunchpopularity—takethat,middleschoolbullies—andalmostdon’tnoticeCecesittingnexttomeatthetable.“Hey.”She’seatingcroutonsstraightfromthebag,pickingthemoutwithchopsticks.Aspermyusualpolicy,Idon’task.“Howdoyoufeel?”
“Ifeel…”Whatagoodquestion.“LikealltheplotballsthatIwasjugglinghavedroppedtothefloor.AndIhavenoideawhatcomesnextinmystory.”
Thisisnotyourcharacterarc,Elsie.Morelikea…characterbump.
“Couldtherebeapositiveside?”
Icockmyhead.“Positive?”
“Nowyoudon’thavetojuggleanymore.Youcanuseyourhandsto…flippeopleoff.Scratchyourbuttcrack.Becomeafingerpuppeteer.”Sheshrugs.“Ifyouwokeuptomorrowandcouldchooseanything,whatwouldyoudo?”
Myeyes,quickerthanmybrain,fallontheupperleftcornerofmycomputer,wheremyWorddocsleepsitsneglectedslumber.I’dfinishmyworkontwo-dimensionalliquidcrystals,Iinstantlythink.Buthow,withouttheMITjob?Andthatballhasdropped,whichmeansthat—
Cecesighs.“Okay,youknowwhat?Thatwasahardquestion.Let’sjustdaydreamaboutthefuture.”
“Sure.”Ileanbackinmyseat.“Incomeinequality?Nuclearproliferation?Climatechange?”
“I’malwaysupfordiscussinghowrisingsealevelswillleadthemerpeopletoclaimthelostcityofMiami,butIwasthinkingmore…nextyear.Money.”
Isigh.“UMasshasopeninstructorslots,andsodoes—”
“No.Listen,Idon’twantyoutodothat.I’vebeenthinkingaboutthis,and…IthinkIcanswingit.”Herearnest,heartfeltlookisonlyslightlyundercutbythewavingofacaesarcrouton.“Kirkisgivingmeajob.Hesaidhe’llneedmeatleasttwiceaweek,andhewantstopaymelikeanemployee.Histeamisactuallydrawingupacontract.”
Ifrown.WhydoesKirkcropupsomuchinconversation?Andaboveall:“WheredoesKirkgetthemoney?”
“He’sascientist.”
“Asascientistmyself,letmeaskyouonceagain:WheredoesKirkgetthemoney?”Aspine-chillingthoughtoccurstome.“Pleasetellmehe’snotElonMusk.”
“Youmonster.Takethatback.”
“He’stheonlyrichscientistIcanthinkof!”
“KirkisKirk,Ipromise!He’dneverwritepetulanttweetsabouthowtheworldisunfairtopoorbillionaires.Tobehonest,IdoubtheknowswhatTwitteris.He’slike…”Hereyesshinealittle.“Atotalnerd,Elsie.Ingradschoolhecreatedthismaterialthateveryonewants,thenhebuiltacompanyarounditwithhisfriendwhohasanMBA.Butthecompanyishugenow,asin,ridiculouslybig.Ithasstocksandstuff.”Cece’sgettinganimated.Croutonsflyallovertheroom.Hedgiehasnoticed.“Sonowhehasallthesefunctionsandmeetingsheneedstogoto,andhehatesthem,buthesaysthatifI’mthere,they’remorebearable,eventhoughIknownothingaboutscienceormoney—”
“Hangon.”Ifrown.“What’sthenameofthematerial?”
“Ikeepforgetting.Somekindofresistantblahsyntheticblahfiberblahblah.”Shetapsherlipswiththechopsticks.“Taurus,maybe?”
IwishIweredrinking,becausethisdeservesaspittake.“Cece,areyoufake-girlfriendingthedudewhoinventedTauron?”
“Oh,yeah.That’swhatit’scalled.”
“Tauronisliterallyeverywhere.”Iblink.“Hemustbeamillionaire.”
“Ithinkheis.Andthat’swhyyoudon’thavetoteachsixty-nineclassesnextyear.”
ShegivesmeanexpectantlooktillIsighandmutter,“Nice.”
“Thankyou.Anyway,I’llcoverrent.Soyoucanworkareasonableamount.Oneortwoclasses.Andtherestofthetimeyoucanstayhomeanddoyourresearchaboutsparkles.”
“Crystals.”
“Crystals.AndwecanspendournightseatingGruyèreandrankingWongKar-wai’smoviesfrommosttoleastcinematographicallypoignant.”
DoessheknowhowmuchyoulikeTwilight?
Ismile,tryingtorememberonesingleWongKar-waimovie.Prettysurewedidatwo-daymarathonthreeyearsago,whichIspentsolvingequationsonmymind’sblackboardwhileCecewasinfullStendhalsyndrome.“2046wouldwin.”
Shesmilesdreamily.“Probably.”
Idon’tlikeKirk.No—Idon’tlikethewayCecelookswhenshetalksabouthim,becauseI’veseenheractlikethatonlyaboutforeignmovies,orSapir-Whorf,orhedgehogs.Itjustdoesn’tseemlikeagoodideatolikeone’sfakeboyfriendthatmuch.ButIdon’thaveachancetosayit,becauseCeceisstandingagain,rummaginginthecupboardforwontonstrips.Andbecausemyphoneisbuzzingwithatext—thefirstI’veevergottenfromthisnumber:
Areyoufreetomorrownight?17DISPLACEMENT
Iwearblackjeans.
Acutesweater.
Ankleboots.
Ileavemyhairdown.ThenIpullitupinabun.ThenIletitdownagain.ThenIbraidit.
ThenIleaveitdown.
Ihaven’ttoldCecewhereI’mgoing,becauseshe’snothome,andI’mphysicallyunabletosendheratextexplainingthat:
I.
Am.
Going.
Out.
WithJackSmithTurner.
Maybe.I’mstillnotpositivethatthereasonhewantstoseemeisnottostealthilysubstitutemyinsulinwithFrappuccino.MaybeIshouldmakeasafetycall—maketheinvestigators’jobeasierwhentheyfindmycorpseinaswamp.ButthecarisalreadytherewhenIgetdownstairs,andIsimplyslipintothepassengerseat.
Thecabinsmellslikeleather,Jack,andbadideas.Ishouldsaysomething.Hi,howareyou?Didyouhaveagoodweek?FavoriteTeletubby?Off-yearelectionsthoughts?I’vedonethisamilliontimes—goneoutwithpeople.Amillionfakedates.Thenwhy?Why?Whycan’tI…Why?
“Ithink,”hedrawls,“Ijustheardyourheadexplode.”
Iturntohim.He’shandsomeinanear-painfulway,andmyheadisstillinmid-explosion.
“Wanttogobackup?”Thesmile.Uneven.Amused.All-knowing.“Trythisanotherday?”
IshakemyheadbeforeIchangemymind.“Iwanttodothisnow.”Iswallow.Facestraightahead.“Ithink.”
Hestartstheengine.“Lookatyou.”
“Lookatme?”
Heputshishandontheheadrestoftheseattobackoutofthespot.Hisfingersbrushagainstmyhair,soft,distracted.
“Yeah.Lookatyou,tellingthetruth.”
???
“Twofriendsareintownforaconference,”hetellsme,“andanotherfriendishostingasmallget-together.Ifiguredwithwitnessesyou’dbemore…relaxed.”
He’sprobablyright,butalso:“Idon’twanttointrude.”
“I’dloveforyoutomeetthem.”
Isitagoodidea,hangingoutwhenhisfriendsarearound?I’mprobablyverylameincomparison.I’mjustnotthatentertaining—notatmybest,anddefinitelynotwithJack,whosofarhasgottenmyworst.“Areallyourfriendsscientists?”Iask.
“Some.”Apause.“Jesus.Ican’tthinkofonewhoisn’t.”
Inod.It’strulyhardtoexpandone’ssocialcircle.Academicsbecomefriends,hangout,andaboveallsleepalmostexclusivelywithotheracademics.BecauseacademiaisabitliketheOlympicVillage—sansopeningceremonywithcondomdistribution.
Weparkinfrontofanarrowbrownstone,andafterringingthebellatayellowdoor,heturnstome.“Hey.”
Iturn,too.Underhiscoathe’swearingjeansandadarkhenley,andhe’sbigandattractive,anditoccurstomeforthefirsttimeinyearsthatnightsinwhichpeoplegoouttogether—notallnights,butsomenights,maybeseveralnights—don’tjustendwithahugandgoodnight
Ishiver.
“Honesty,”heremindsme.“Youdon’tneedtoimpressanyone.Noneedfortheusualpartytricks.”
Ismile.“Iwasgoingtocarvearecorderoutofacarrotandplayitforyourfriends.”
Hegivesmealonglook,likeI’mthesinglemostcharmingpersonhe’severmet.“Notgonnalie,that’dbeprettycool.”
EvenbeforeIknewabouthismother,Jackalwaysseemedtomelikealonewolf,setapartfromtherestoftheSmiths.It’sinstantlyclear,though,thathisfriendgroupishischosenfamily.Thereareoverfifteenpeopleinthehouse,andnotonlyaretheyalldelightedtoseehim,theywelcomemejustaswarmly.Thesingleexception:Andrea,Jack’sMITcolleague.Shestaresatmelikeavaguelydispleasedgargoyle,probablyfeelingawkwardaboutthefactthatIdidn’tgetthejob.
“Beer?”Sunny,theengineerwhoownsthehouse,asks.She’sadark-hairedballofenergy.“Wine?”
I’mreadytospendtherestofthenightholdingadrinkIdon’twantjusttoavoidlookingoutofplace,butJacksays,“I’llhaveone.Elsiedoesn’tdrink.”
Inevertoldhim,butofcourseheknows.“Anythingelse,then?Water?Soda?OJ?Maplesyrup?”Sunnyfrownsintoherfridge.“Milk?”
“Whole?”Jackasks.
“Twopercent.”
“Keepyourwhitewater.”
“YouspoiledlittleSmithbrat,raisedwithunpasteurizedemutitjuice.”Shepuncheshisarm.“RememberwhenCaitiewaspumpingandkeptherbottlesinthefridgeofthestudentlounge?”
“AndKrollusedit.”
“Forhiscoffee.”Sunnyshakesherhead.“Goodtimes.”
Jackhasfriends,insidejokesthatgobackadecade,andawholegroupofsmart,kindpeoplewhoteasehimbecausetheycareabouthim,and…I’mnotsurewhattodowiththispieceofinformation,asidefrombeingmind-numbinglyfascinated.IbrieflywonderiftheyknowaboutthearticleJackwrote,whethertheysupporthim,whattheiropinionoftheoreticalphysicsis,andthenforcemybraintoshutupforonce.Ishouldlearnhowtohavefunatsomepointinmylife.
OneofthepeoplevisitingtownisabiologistfromStanford.He’sastallasJack—animpossibility,Ithought,especiallywithinthenerdcommunity.
“ThisisAdam,”Jacksaysaftertheyshakehandswarmly,inthataffectionatebutunderstatedwayofmenwholikeeachotheralotbutwillprobablyneveropenlyadmitit.Adamlookslikehemightbeafewyearsolder.Dark.Frowny.Intimidating,thoughthebeautifulgirlnexttohimlooksanythingbutintimidated.“Andthisis—”
ShetakesastepforwardandenfoldsJackinatighthug.“Jack!”
Hehugsherbackwithasmile.“Hey,Ol.Nicetoseeyou’restillputtingupwiththisguy—thankyouforyourservice.Elsie,thisisOliveSmith—norelationtomyterriblefamily,luckyher.She’sAdam’s…Adam,isshestillyourfiancée?”
Adamnodswithamildlyirritatedexpression.
Jackgrins.“Haven’tpickedadateyet?”
“Shehasnot,”Adamwhines.Sternly,though.
“Ol.Puthimoutofhismisery.”
“Attwenty-eight?WhatamI,achildbride?”OlivelooksbetweenmeandJack.“Haveyouguyspickedadate?”
Iwishtodieonthespot.Iwishtomeltintothesweetrespiteofnothingness.“Oh,we…”IglanceatJack,hopinghe’llcometomyrescue.Hejustgivesmealookhalfwaybetweenpleasedandamused,holdsmyeyes,andsays,“Notyet.”Istepclosertopinchhimhardintheribs.Hestopsmewithahandonmywristandadelightedsmile.
“HowdidyouandAdammeet?”Iaskhiminadesperateattempttochangethesubject.
“InundergradIdidasummerinternshipatHarvard,inthelabwhereAdamwasaPh.D.student.”
“HerantheworstSouthernblotI’veeverseen,”Adamsays.
“Itwasaroughthreemonths.Iwasgentlydiscouragedfromgoingintobiophysics.ThenafewyearslaterImovedtoPasadena,andhewasinPaloAlto,andwestartedhangingout.HikedourwayaroundCalifornia.AndthenheintroducedmetoOlivewhen…Ol,howdidyouandAdammeetagain?”heaskswiththetoneofsomeonewhoknowstheanswerfullwell.
Shegrins.“Why,Jack,Adamwasatenuredprofessor.AndIwasbutalowlystudent.”
“Graduatestudent,”Adaminterjects,speakingtome.“Andnotmystudent.”
“Butinhisdepartment,”Oliveaddsimpishly.“Itwasallvery,veryscandalous.”
Jacksmiles.“Youshouldsellthemovierights,Ol.”
“I’mhopingforaNetflixminiseries.SomethingsexylikeBridgerton,youknow?”
It’sclearlyabitJackandOlivedoalot.Adamletsoutalong-sufferingsigh.“Anyway.”Hechangesthetopic.“Howareyou,Jack?”
“Veryentertained.”
JackandAdamaresomewherenorthofcircumstantialfriends.Inacoupleofminutestheyareabsorbedinconversation,talkingaboutpeople,things,placesI’mnotfamiliarwith.OliveandIgravitatetowardeachother,sittingonthecouchwhileallaroundusJack’sfriendslaughandjokeandembodytheepitomeofsuccessfuladulthood.
“Doyoualsonotknowanyoneelseandfeellikethedumbestpersonintheroom?”shewhispersatme.
Inod.Everyonehereisabitolder,andItrynottoimaginetheacademicpositionstheymighthave.“Whatdoyoudo?”IaskOlive.
“Cancerbiology.Justfinishedthefirstyearofmypostdoc.I’mprobablygoingonthejobmarketinthenextcouple.”Shemakesaface,sippingonherbeer.
“AreyouplanningonstayinginCalifornia?”
“Wouldbenice,sincemyfriendsarethere.Buthonestly,academicjobsaresorare,it’llbehardenoughtomakesureAdamandIareinthesamecity.”
“Doyouhaveaplan?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Thegoodthingis,Adamhasgrants.We’rehopingthatwhateverinstitutionwantsmewilltakealookatthemoneyanddecidethatwecanbeapackagedeal.Butiftheydon’t…”Sheshrugs.“Wemighthavetonegotiateaspousalhire.”
Ismile.“Thenyou’llsetadate?”
Sheleanscloserwithasurreptitiousexpression.Herskinis90percentfreckles,andI’veknownherforfiveminutes,butIwanttobeherfriend.“I’vesetitalready.We’regettingmarriedinApril.Duringspringbreak.Adamjustdoesn’tknowityet.”
“Howdoesthatwork?”
“So,he’sintonature.Hiking,thatstuff.I’mtakinghimtoYosemite,whereaparkrangerwillmarryusinaquickandpainlessceremony.Thenit’sjustgoingtobethetwoofusforaweek.Andthebears,Iguess.OhGod,Ihopethebearsdon’teatus.”Sheshrugsthethoughtaway.“Anyway,Adamdoesn’tlovepeople,andwecanalwayshaveapartylater,butthis…Ithinkthisisthekindofweddinghewants.Theonewe’remeanttohave.”
IpictureOliveandAdam,alone,trekkinghandinhandundertheponderosapines.It’snotdifficult.“Whydon’tyoujusttellhim?”
“Ishould,right?”Shelaughssoftly.“Ijust…IwasinaprettybadplacewhenImethim.Hedidsomuch—stilldoes,alwaystakingcareofme,andI…Iwanttotakecareofhimforonce,youknow?MakehimfeellikeI’vegothim.”
Inodandthenstaredownatmyemptypalms.
WhenIreallyletgo,Iimaginethatyouletmetakecareofyou,too.
“HaveyouandJackbeentogetherforawhile?”Oliveasks,andIlookupather.IcantellthattheElsieshewantswouldsayyes.ThatshelovesJackverymuchandlikesthethoughtofsomeonewho’lltakecareofhim.But.
Honesty.
Forasecond,Ipicturemyselfblurtingouttheentirestory:howIfake-datedGreg,thenmetJack,thenmetJonathan.ButIdoubtOliveisfamiliarwiththeconceptoffakedating,soIsanitizemyversion.“Thisisthefirsttime,actually.”
Itfeelsweirdtosaytheoppositeofwhatsomeonewants.AnditfeelsdownrighthorriblewhenOlive’sresponseisadisappointed“Oh.”
Iswallow.“I’msorry—”
“No,no.”Shesmiles,reassuring.“I’msorryaboutearlier.Askingifyou’regettingmarried.”
Ishakemyhead.“We’rejust…gettingtoknoweachother.”
“That’sgreat.It’snicetohearthathe’soverhisIDon’tDate,LetMeSetBoundariesandMakeItClearThatThisIsJustAboutSexphase.”HerimpressionofJacksoundsmorelikeVinDiesel,butithasmethinking:IhavenoideawhatJackwantsfromme.Oliveisthesecondpersontomentionhowimportantboundariesaretohim.Hehasn’tsetany,buthealsosaidthathewasattractedtome,and…
IfwhatJackwantedfrommewassex…whatthen?
Honestly,noclue.Idon’thavemuchexperience.NotbecauseIeverboughtintotheideathatsexissomethingprecious,butbecauseitfeltlikeameanstoanend,awaytoensurethatthepersonIwaswithwaspleasedwithme.SexneverhappenedbecauseofanyattractionIexperienced,butthat’sokay:maybeInevercravedit,butIalsonevermindedit.Becauseitwasn’tforme
WithJack,though…something’sdifferent.Perhapsbecauseheseesmoreofmethananyoneeverhas.IfindmyselfthinkingaboutlastSundaybythecar,overandover.Tetheredontheedgeofakissthatmightnotcome,tense,heated,spellbound.
Theremightbesomethinghere.Oritmightbenothing.What’scertainisthatI’mmorecuriousthanever.Ifsomethingweretohappen,itwouldbeforme
“Didyouguysmeetatwork?”Oliveasks.
“Kindof.I’maphysicist,too.ThoughI’manadjunct.”
“Ouch.”
Ilaugh.“Yeah.”
“Youliketeaching?”
“Nope.Lotsofhigh-defpicturesofbuttrashesthataretoodeadlyforpeopletocometoclass.Siftingthroughthosedoesn’tleavetimeforresearch.”
Shelaughs,too.“Ibet.IdidnotlikeTA’ing.It’snicebeingapostdoc—noneofthebullshitofbeingagradstudent,noneoftheresponsibilityofbeingafacultymember.Justresearch.”
“Soundslikeadream.”
Shegivesmeasurprisedlook.“Youdidn’tdoapostdoc?”
“Thereweren’tanypositions.ButmyPh.D.advisorsaysit’sforthebest.I’llmovetoafacultypositionearlier.”
“Butdoyouwanttomovetofacultyearlier?”
“It’s…complicated.ButItrusthim.Iowehimalot,so…”Isigh.
Olivescansmyface,largeeyesassessing,andthensays,“Inmyexperience,weallwanttotrustourmentors,buttheydon’talwayshaveourbestinterestsinmind.”
“Inwhatway?”
“Just…”Shechewsonherlowerlip,pensive.“Academiaissohierarchical,youknow?Thereareallthesepeoplewhohavepoweroveryou,whoaresupposedtoguideyouandhelpyoubecomethebestpossiblescientist,but…sometimestheydon’tknowwhat’sbest.Sometimestheydon’tcare.Sometimestheyhavetheirownagenda.”Herexpressiondarkens.“Sometimesthey’retotalshitbucketswhodeservetosteponapitchforkanddie.”
Iwonderwhathappenedtoher.Ievenopenmymouthtoask,butAdamturnstous,asiffeelingtheshiftinhermood.“Olive,doyouhavepicturesofthetuxHoldenboughtforhiswedding?Jackwon’tbelieveit’ssequined.”
Olivebrightens.“It’stotallysequined,andit’samazing.”
Weendupchatting,firstthefourofusandthenothers,too,forwhatfeelslikeminutesbutturnsouttobehours.WhileAndreaistellingthestoryofhowheradvisorshowedupcompletelysloshedatherthesisdefenseandstartedofferingdigestivecookiestotherestofthecommittee,thecushionnexttominedipsandIhear,“Everythingokay?”
It’sJack.Murmuringinmyear,armrestingbehindmeonthebackofthecouch.He’ssurprisinglyclose,butIdon’tpullback.“Yourfriendsarefun.”
“Ifiguredyou’dlikethemmorethanme.”
“Ikindofdo.”Ismile,thinkingaboutMillicent,Greg,Olive.Thinkingthathehasgreattasteinpeople.Andthennoticesomethingonmythigh:asmallpouchofalmonds.“What’sthis?”
“Glycemiclevelcontrol.”Hismouthquirks.“Oryoucanfaintonme.Sinceit’sahobbyofyours.”
“DidyoustealthesefromSunny’scupboard?”
Hegivesmealook.“Isharedanofficewithherforyears,andsheonceleftaurinesampleforherdoctoronherdesk.”HestaresatmylipswhileIlaughsilently.“I’mnotgoingthroughhercupboards.”
Ishakemyhead.Outofthecornerofmyeye,InoticeOliveandAdamlookingatme—no,atus,inawayIcannotquiteunderstand.Ifocusonmyalmonds,thengoinsearchofatrashcanforthewrapper,and.
“Elsie?”
GeorginaSepulvedaisinthekitchen,beautifulandkick-ass.She’stall—Ididn’tfullygrasphowtallwhenJackwasnearby,dwarfingher.
“Sogladyou’rehere.I’vebeenwantingtotalktoyou,butJackwastheusualshitletandrefusedtogivemeyournumber.”Sherollshereyes.“AtfirstIthoughthedidn’thaveitandjustdidn’twanttoadmitit.Butyou’rehere,whichmeanshewasjusthoardingit.Likeadragon.God,Iknewhe’dbelikethiswhenhefoundsomeone.YouandIshouldbecomebestfriendsjusttospitehim.”Hersmileiswideandwarm,andit’sinstantly,violently,mortifyinglypresentinmymindthatthelasttimewemet,Iactedlikeatoddlerwithlittlebitchdisorder.
“I…”Ilookaroundlikeanidiot,insearchof…what?Ateleprompter?Thisismortallyembarrassing.“Ididn’tknowyouwerehere.”
“Justgothere.Facultymeetingranlatefornoreason—theentirethingcouldbesummarizedintwofifteen-secondTikToks.”Sheshrugs,movingcloser.Iclutchmyalmondwrapperlikeit’saterryclothmonkey.
“Georgina—”
“George,please.Georginaismymother.Andmygrandmother.Mygreat-grandmother,too,probably.Weshouldinvestinababynamesbook.”
“Oh.”Iclearmythroat.Mycontributionstothisconversationarepriceless.“Jack’sinthere,ifyou—”
“Iknow.LikeIcouldmisshimwhenhe’sstandingnexttoAdamCarlsen.They’retheMountRushmoreofSTEMacademia.Anyway—willyouhavelunchwithmenextweek?Iwanttochatwithyou,butnotinSunny’shome.”Sheshudders.“Ican’tbeinherewithoutthinkingoftheurinesample.”
Professionally,mylifesucksabit.Psychologically,I’mnot,assomewouldsay,“healthy.”Musically,Ishouldhireatubatofollowmearound.Butontheupside,I’vebeenkillingitinthelunchinvitedepartment.
“Youwanttochatwithme,”Irepeat.Justtobesure.
“Yes.PartlybecauseJackismyclosestfriend,anditwouldbughimifIstoleyoufromhimevenjustabit.Butmostlybecausethelasttimewemet,Iactedlikeatotalbitch,andIwanttomakeituptoyou.”
What?“No,no,I’mtheonewhoranawaylikealunatic.Myfirstreactiontofindingoutthatyou’dgottenthejobwasunforgivableandincrediblymessedup.Iactedlikeabitch—”
“Yes,youtotallydid.”George’ssmileistriumphant.“Tomakeituptome,youwillletmetakeyououtforlunch.”
“That’s…”Islow-blink.“Verywellplayed.”
“Thankyou.”Shedustsnonexistentspecksoffhershoulder,andIlaugh.
“IseewhyJacklikesyousomuch.”
“IseewhyJacklikesyoumore.”Hersmilesoftens.“NextWednesdayokay?”
Inod.“Soundsgreat.”
JackandIleaveafewminuteslater.IexchangenumberswithOlive,andSunnyhugsmegoodbyewhileJackisgettingthecar,whisperingthatanyurinesamplerumorsImighthaveheardhavebeengreatlyexaggerated.ShealsoswearsthatifJackandIbreakup,she’llsidewithme,becauseshealreadylikesmemore.
Ilaughonthedoorstep.“Itmakesmefeelguiltyforstealingyouralmonds.”
“Oh,theymustbesomeoneelse’s.Nonutsinthishouse—they’re,like,sogross.”
Inthecar,I’mcontemplatingtheideathatJackresearched,bought,andpackedadiabetes-friendlysnackjustformewhenheasks,“Wheretofordinner?”
“Oh.”Somethinghappyandsurprisedflipsinmychestattheideaofthenightnotbeingoveryet.“Ilikeeverything.”
Hemergesintotraffic.“Excellent.Someofmyfavoritestuffiseverything.Nowtellmewhatyouwanttoeat.”
Ilookathisnear-perfectprofile.Hehasn’tshavedinthelastcoupleofdays,looksabittired.Iwonderifhe’sbeenupandaboutsincemorning.Ifhehasn’thadanythingsincelunch.He’shuge,probablyalwaysravenous.Simplestuff,bigportions.
“Burgers,”Isay.
HegivesmeaNicetrylook.“Yes,Elsie,Idolikeburgers.Thatwasn’tthequestion,though.”
Iscowl.Howdoeshedothis?Howdoeshealways—
“Wantmetopulloversoyoucangetoutandstompyourfootabit?”
Igrowl.Judgingfromthesmile,heabsolutelyhearsme.
Okay—whatdoIwant?Well,cheese.I’malwaysinthemoodforcheese.Butcheeseisnotreallyameal,andtheplaceswhereitmightbeareusuallytoofancy,and—
“Sayit,”heorders.
“What?”
“Whatyou’rethinking.”
“I’mnot—”
“Sayit.”
“Really,I’m—”
“Sayit.”
“Cheese,”Ialmostyell.Shockingmyself.
Jacksmiles,satisfied.“Iknowjusttheplace.”
???
“You’rejoking.”
“Nope.”
“Wecan’t—nothere.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
Jackwaitsformetofinishthesentence.WhenI’munableto,theever-presentlower-backhandnudgesmeinsidethecozyheatoftherestaurant.
OfMiel
“Thisseemssadistic,”Ipointout,“evenforyou.”
“Youunderestimatedme,then.”
“Two?”Thehostessgreetsus,chirpy.“Wouldyoupreferatableorabooth?”
Jacklooksatmelikewe’readrugcartelandI’mtheringleaderwhoneedstosignoffonanydecision.Dammit,thishonestybusinessishard.Okay,sonotthebooth—Jack’slegsareskyscraperlong,sohe’dprobablyhateit.Buttablesarelessprivate,whichhealsomighthate—
Heleansintomyear.“StopbuildingobservationalmodelsaboutwhatyouthinkI’lllike,andjustbehonestabout—”
“Booth,”Igruntout.ThehostessmakesanobviousmentalnotetotellourwaiterthatI’maweirdo,buther“Ifyou’llfollowme”isimpeccable.
“Excellentchoice,”Jackmurmurswhileweweavetowardthetable,andallIcanthinkofisthatTwo-Weeks-Ago-Elsie,bright-eyedandfuture-hopeful,satinthisveryrestaurantacrossfromJackandcontemplatedslippingunderthetabletopower-drillhiskneecaps.Tonight-Elsiegapesathimashetellsthewaitress,“I’llhaveyourcraftbeer.Andshe’llhavethecheeseboard.”
Iliftmyeyebrow.“WhathappenedtomeaskingforwhatIwant?”
“Thecheeseboardiswhatyouwant.”
Itis.But.“Howcanyoubesosure?”
“Ikagawaorderedittheothernight.Isawthewayyoulookedatit.”
“How’sthat?”
“Likepeoplelookatporn.”
Laughterbubblesoutofme.“Okay,youwantmetobehonest?I’mgoingtobehonest.”
“Goforit.”
“Brutallyhonest.”Itakeadeepbreath.Maybeit’sthebooth,butitalmostfeelslikewe’realoneinhisapartmentagain.Justthetwoofus.Intimate.“Sometimes,whenIcan’tsleepbecauseI’mnervous,IlookupcheeseonGoogleImagesandIjust…scroll.Iscrollinfinitely.AndIfeelpeace.”
“That’snothing.”God,hisdimple.“George’sentireYouTubehistoryispimple-poppingvideos.”
Isnortalaughintomywater.“Bytheway—shementionedyouwouldn’tgivehermynumber.”
Jack’sbeerarrives.Histonguepushesagainsttheinsideofhischeek.“Ihadaverydisturbingmentalimage.”
“Whatmentalimage?”
“OfGeorgeremindingmedailyforthenextfewdecadesthatshegottotakeoutthegirlIlikedbeforeIeverdid.”
Ilaugh,picturingherstartinghermaidofhonorspeechwith“Webster’sDictionarydefinessloppysecondsas…”ThenIrealizewhothebridewouldbeinthewedding,andmyfaceissuddenlycookedmediumrare.Whoa.
“Youlooklikethatagain.”
“Likewhat?”
“Worried.”Hesearchesforwords,likehe’snotsurehimself.“Vigilant.Overthinking.”
Iplaywiththeclothnapkin.“Howcanyoualwaystellwhat’sinmyhead?”
“Samewayyoucantellwhat’sineveryone’shead.”
Ifrown.“Ijustlook.Trytopayattentiontowhatpeoplewant.”
“That’swhatIdo.ExceptthatIdon’tcaremuchaboutmostpeople,butIcan’tstoppayingattentiontoyou.”Heshrugs.Thereissomethingsoutterly,disarminglyhonestabouthim.“SoIlook.”
Isitreallythatsimple?Isthatwhat’shappeninghere?“WhatamIthinkingnow?”
“Youhavequestions.”
Ilaugh.“Thatwasasoftball.”
“Itwas.Justaskthequestions.”
“They’rekindof…”Iexhalealaugh.“They’renotreallyjust-casually-getting-to-know-each-otherquestions.They’renot…normal.”
“You’renotanormalperson,”hesays,inawaythatfeelsliketheoppositeofaninsult.“AndI’dratheryouaskthanoverthink.”
Iclosemyfingersaroundhisglass,feelingthecondensationpoolinmypalm.ThenIpullmyhandbackintomylap,wet,cold.
Okay.“BackatMonica’splace,yousaidthatyoudon’tdate.AndOlivetoldmethesame…”
Helaughs.“Olive?”
“Wemayhavetouchedonyourlovelife.”Iflush.
“Ah.Olive.”Henods.“SheandAdamare…Ithinkshewantsotherstohavewhattheyhave.”
Inod.I’veknownherfortwohours,butit’stheimpressionIgot.
“It’snotahardandfastrule—nocommitment,nodating,nofeedingpastmidnight.Ihaven’tswornitoffbecauseloveisacapitalistconstructorsomebullshitlikethat.”Heshrugs.“ButwhenIwasyounger,Iwasinacoupleofrelationshipswheretheinterestdidn’tmatchup,and…It’sbettertobeup-front.Sonoonegetshurt.”
“Isee.”Ipictureaboybeingtoldbyhismotherthathe’snothersonanymore.Thengrowinguptohatetheideaoftellingawomanthatshe’snothisgirlfriendanymore.Itmakessense,thisdeterminationofhis.Italsomakesmyheartheavy.
“Whataboutyou?”heasks.
“Me?”
“Doyoudate?”
Ismile.“Foraliving.”
“Right.Howdidthatstart?”
“Oh.”Igobacktotracingpatternsontheglass.“Incollege.It’skindofadepressingstory.Doesnotpairwellwithcheese.”Iletoutanervouslaugh,hopinghe’lllaugh,too.
Insteadheasks,“Whydepressing?”
Honesty.Honesty.It’sathingthatIcanprobablymanage.“Because…Ididn’tknow.”
“Youdidn’tknowyouweredatingsomeone?”
“No.”Iswallow.“Ididn’tknowitwasfake.”
Hisattentionshifts.Stillonme,stillfocused,butmorecautious.Gentle.Landmineterritory.“Youdidn’t.”
I’veneverspokenaloudaboutwhathappened,notevenwithCece,because…I’mstillnotsurehowitcouldhavehappenedtome.It’sbeenyears,anditstilldoesn’tfeellikemystory.I’vealwaysbeensoguarded.Socareful-footed.AndwhenIstumbled,Ididn’tjustskinaknee.Ifellfacedownandknockedoutallmyteeth.
“WhenIwasasophomore,thisguyIknewmovedabroad.Theplaceherentedwascheap,soItookoverhisrent.That’showImetJ.J.Hewastheroommate.”Ipushtheglassaway.“I’dseenhimaroundthePhysicsDepartment,andIthoughthewasanokayguy.Thoughhewasplanningonbecominganexperimentalist.”
“Shouldhavetippedyouoff.”
Ilaugh.“Wespentalmostoneentireyearpolitelyignoringeachother.Idealroommatesituation.Thenhebrokeupwithhisgirlfriend.”Isigh.“Itwasmessy.Twenty-year-oldmessy,youknow?Therewerestillfeelings,butshe’dmetsomeoneelse,and…AllIknowisthatacoupleweekslatershecameovertopickupherstuff,andshefoundJ.J.andmehavingdinnertogetherwhilewatchingsomethingonTV.Shewentballistic.Shewassojealous,whichwashilarious,sinceJ.J.andIweresittingtenfeetapartandIwashavingchickpeas—officiallytheleastromanticfood.Butthat’showJ.J.gottheideathatweshouldpretendtobetogethersoshe’dgetevenmorejealousand…Idon’tknow,racethroughBostonLogantoconfessherundyinglove?Itwasafuzzyplan.ButIsaidyes,because…”
“Becauseyouweren’tanybetterthanyouarenowatsayingno?”
“Hey—nopersonalcallouts.”Hesmiles,andIcontinue.“Westartedtheruse,and…wedidn’tjustfakeitoncampus,whenshewasaround.Hetoldeveryone—hisfriends,myfriends.Andinmydefense,which—maybeIhavenone,butwedidn’ttalkmuchaboutthefactthatitwasfake.Hebroughtmehometohisparentsfortheholidays,westudiedtogether,hetaughtmehowtoplayGo.”
Jacknodsslowly.“Howquicklydidyougetbetterthanhim?”
“Verytoextremely.ButIpretendedIdidn’t,becausehehatedlosing.Hehatednotfeelinglikethesmartestpersonintheroom,buthewasgoodathidingit.Hewascharminginpublic.Butinprivatetheinsecuritiescameout,and…”
“Notsocharming?”
“Notreally.Hewasself-centered,but…youhavetounderstand,I’dneverhadlotsoffriends.Iwasalwaysthewallflower,tryingnottogetnoticed,butallofasuddenIwasatthecenterofsomeone’suniverse.Weweretogetherallthetime.Firstjustafewweeks,thensixmonths.Hestartedkissingmeinprivate,too.Thenmorethankissing.Thenhewantedtohavesex.”
“Didyou?”
Mymouthisdry.“Yeah.Ididit.”
“No—didyouwantto?”
“I…Ididn’tnotwantto.”Itracemyfingeragainstthetablecloth.“Mostly,Iwantedhimtohaveaversionofmehecouldenjoy.”
Jack’seyesclose,andI’msuddenlyafraidofwhatI’llfindwhenheopensthem.Disgust.Pity,maybe.Judgment.Butno:it’sjustthatdeepbrown,thesliceofcolor,andabunchofotherthingsIcannotrecognize.
“ItwasElsieandJ.J.Everyonesaidhowbeautifulacouplewewere,andIsettledintothat.IreadtheDunebooksbecausetheywerehisfavorites.ItoldmyselfDreamTheaterwasgood.Ididhislaundry.Cutmyhairshortbecausehelikedbobs.Ifeltpowerful,likeI’dcrackedhowtobeasocialhumanbeing.I’dlearnedhowtomakepeoplewantme.”Iwetmylips.“Thenhisexaskedhimtogetbacktogether.”
Jack’sjawtenses.Hisnecktightens.“Andhesaidthatyouhadtogo,becauseyourrelationshipwasfake.”
Inod.“Iwasn’tevensureifIhadtherighttobehurt.Itwasjust…confusing.”
“Wereyouinlovewithhim?”
Iletoutasmalllaughandshakemyhead.“Notatall.Anditshouldhavemadeitbetter,right?ThatIdidn’tlosetheloveofmylife,thathewasjustsomeguyIonlylikedbecauseIknewhowtopleasehim.ButthenIrealizedwhyithitmesobad.”Ihavetostop.Takeadeepbreath.“I’dtriedsohard.GivenmyalltobetheperfectElsiehewanted,and…”Italmosthurtstoomuchtosayit.
“Yougavehimaperfectversionofyou,andhestilldidn’twantyou,”Jacksaysprosaically.Almostdetached.LikeI’magravitationalsingularitythatcanbeexplained,cataloged,predicted.I’mmomentarilystunnedbyhowrightheis.ThenI’msurprisedthatI’mevensurprised.
“Andwhatyoutookawayfromitwasthatyouhadtotryharder.”
Inod.“Prettymuch.”Thetrayofcheesearrives,butmystomachissealed.“J.J.’sgirlfriendwouldn’tallowmetoliveintheapartment.AndbecausethecontractwasinJ.J.’sname,Ihadtomoveout.Ididn’treallyhaveanywherelefttogo,and…I’llspareyouthedetails,butitwasamess.Imissedtests,assignments.Didn’tgetenoughcreditstostayonmyscholarship.Myjunior-yeargradeswereshit—andthefirstthingonthetranscriptsIsentinforgradschoolapplications.I’dwantedtobecomeaphysicistforadecade,andbecauseofsome…someguywhosuckedatGo,Ialmostdidn’t.”Iforcemyselftoreachforapieceoffontina,because—fuckJ.J.It’sdeliciousinmymouth.Richandsmooth,sweetandpungent.ItmakesmeforgetthatInearlybawledlikeafour-year-oldinthemiddleofafancyfusionrestaurant.“Butmymentorsavedme.”
Jacktenses.“Yourmentor.”
Inod,pickinganothercube.“Laurendeau.”TheguywhosecareerJackaccidentallyruined.I’mtryingnottothinkaboutit—Jack’sarticle,orwhatDr.L.wouldsayifheknewthatI’mherewithhim.Itseemslikeagooduseofmywell-honedcompartmentalizationskills.“HesawthroughthebadgradesandthereclettersthatsaidIwasflaky.ToldmeIhadpotential.Acceptedmeintogradschool.EverythingI’veaccomplished,Iowetohim.”
Jackscansmyfaceforalongtime.Thenheexhalesslowlyandnodsonce,asifcomingtoanarduousdecision.“Elsie—”
“Myturntoaskaquestion,”Iinterrupt.I’mdonetalkingaboutJ.J.andDr.L.“Sincewe’reonthetopic.”
Jackhesitates,likehe’snotreadytoletgoofthesubject.“Whatisit?”
“Olivealsosaidsomethingelse.Thatwhenyoudogooutwithwomen,it’susuallyto…”Ican’tbringmyselftoutterthewords.Butitdoesn’tmatter,becauseJacklookslikeheknowsexactlywhatIwanttosay.Ipointbackandforthbetweenus.“Isthatwhatyouwant?”
Hedoesn’tanswerimmediately.Insteadhestudiesme,stern,unreadable,impenetrableashehasn’tbeeninawhile.Andthen,afteralongbeatofchoosingwordscarefully,heslowlysays,“YouandIwon’tbehavingsex—”
“Youguysreadytoorder?”Thewaitressinterruptsus.
Wedon’tgobacktothetopic.AndIwonderwhytheknotofreliefinmybellyfeelssomuchlikedisappointment.18FLUX
MymainsentimentgoingintolunchwithGregisfear—closelyfollowedbyself-loathing,guilt,andanuncontrollableimpulsetorunbackhomeandfeedmyselftoHedgie.Doeshehateme?Doesheholdmeresponsibleforoutinghim?Doeshewanthismoneyback?Hedeservesit.I’llsellacornea.Orafoot.Whatevergoesforhighest.
Asitturnsout,Ishouldn’thaveworried.BecauseGreggrinswidelythemomentheseesme,andthenaskssuggestively,“Youandmybrother,huh?”
“Oh,no.No,I…”
We’reatourusualcafé,buteventhoughtodayIcouldusesomediversions,therearenoscreamingtoddlersorprojectilevomitingortragicmishearings.Justthebaristaina“BreatheIfYouHateTomBrady”shirt,me,andGreg’swinkyface.Isilentlywishforatectonicearthquake,tonoavail.
“We—JackandIarejust…hangingout.”
TherewasdinnerlastThursday,ofcourse,whichendedwhenhedrovemehomeandansweredmy“Doyouwanttodothisagain?”withaninfuriating“Doyou?”AndthentheSaturdayafternoonspenthuntingdowntheMurder,SheWrotenovelizationforMillicentandbickeringaboutthevalidityofstringtheory.(“Ithasproducednotestableexperimentalpredictions.”“Weareworkingonthemath!”“Workaway,butuntilyoucometomewithasubstantialbreakthrough,themultiverseisasscientificastheGreatPumpkin.”)Andlastnight,ofcourse,whenhedrovemetoaNortheasternlectureIwasgoingtoattendanyway.(“Oryoucantakethesubwayandwecanmeetthere,ifyouenjoywatchingpeoplemasturbatetoTropicanaads.”)Afterwardwespentonehourinhiscar,trash-talkingthespeakerforsayingthatthegravitational-waveexperimentwasawasteofmoney.
It’sTuesdaynow,andyes,I’veseenJackthreetimesinthepastweek,butifItoldGreg,he’dassumethatwe’reacouple,whichwearen’t.Wehaven’tevenheldhands,unlessonecountsthattimeIwascomplainingaboutthemilitarizationofscienceandalmostgotrunoverbyaHondaCivic.He’dgrabbedmywristandpulledmebackandhadn’tletgountilhe’dgottenmesafelytotheothersideoftheroad.Plushalfablock.
Whateverthisis,it’sslow—static,somewouldsay.Imayhavefoundmyselfthinkingaboutkissing.ImayhavefoundmyselfthinkingaboutwhetherJackisthinkingaboutkissing.Imayhavebeenpittingseeminglyconflictingthingshe’ssaid—YouandIwon’tbehavingsex;ThegirlIliked;Reallybeautiful;It’llgoaway—againsteachotherinaMarchMadness–likebracket,tryingtofigureouthowexactlyhefeelsaboutme.
IguessIcouldask.Iwill.OnceI’mready.
“It’snotserious.We’rejust…gettingtoknoweachother,and—”Greg’seyebrowlifts,andIcrumple.Spiritually.“Idon’tknow.Maybe?”
Hegrins.“Ihadafeeling.”
“Afeeling?”
“Heaskedlotsofquestionsaboutyou.Ithoughthewasjustbeinghisusualneedlesslyprotectiveolderbrotherself,butwhenwegotinto‘DoesElsiepreferwinterorsummer?’territory,Irealizeditwassomethingelse.”
Iscratchmytemple.“Youdidmentionthat.”
“Idid?”
“Thetooth.Whenyou…”
“Oh.Yeah.”Hesighs.“Youknow,Iactuallyhadfunthatnight.MaybeIshouldincorporatemorerecreationaldrugsintomylifestyle.”
“Greg,IfeellikeIunwittinglyprecipitatedyouhavingtocomeouttoJack,andI’mreallysorry.”
Heshakeshishead.“What’sfunnyis,backatWoodacre,beforethetoothdecidedtorotmefromwithin,IhadthethoughtthatitwastimeformetojustaskMomtoleavemealone.Besides,IcouldhaveoctupletsandGrandmawouldprobablystillleaveeverythingtoMonsantojustforspite.AndJackwasnevertheissue.I’dbeenmeaningtotellhimforalongtime,andit’snicethatnowheknowsanddoesn’ttreatmeanydifferent.Nothing’schanged,exceptthathewastornupaboutnotresearchingthearo/acespecbeforeandvery,veryapologeticforlustingaftermy‘girlfriend.’?”Heair-quotesthelastpartandthenlaughsalittle.Iwanttosprayaboutlikeamorningmistanddisappearintonothingness.
“Greg,I…”Honesty.“Igetit,Ithink.Howyoufeelaboutrelationships.BecauseIalsoamnotquitesurewhatIwant.And…I’dlovetocontinuebeingfriends.”
“Good.BecausenowthatIalmostpeedonyou,we’reboundforlife.”Hegrins.“OhmyGod.YouknowwhatIjustrealized?”
“What?”
“ThatifyouandJackworkout,UnclePaul’sgoingtoaskyouguysforthreesomestillthedayhedies.”
Iclosemyeyes.Imightjustbetheoneprojectile-vomitingthistimearound.
???
LunchwithGeorgeisatotallydifferentbeast.IhaveonehourbetweenclassesatUMass,andsheagreestomeetmeoutsidethebuildingwhereIteach.Notsurewhy,then,Ifindherinsidemylecturehalloneminutebeforemyelevena.m.IntrotoPhysicsisdismissed.
“Youressaysonmoderncosmologyaredueby—”Istumblewhensheslipsinside,herpurplecoataflashofcolorinthedullroom.“Bytheendoftheweek.Twopages.”
“Doublespaced?”someoneasksfromthehuddleofwarmbodiesthatisthelastrow.Notsurewhyeveryoneseemstobewillingtoselltheirsoultositthere,sinceIdon’tcallonstudents,andaslongasthey’rereasonablyquiet,Ipretendnottoseewhenthey’redoingsomethingelse.IoncehadaguyhemcurtainsthroughAnalyticalMechanicsandneverbattedaneye.
HegotanA-minus.Goodforhim,andforhiswindows.
“Singlespaced.Twelvepoint.”Groansarise.“PleasedonotinsultmyintelligencebyusingAlgerianasafont.AnddonotsetthemarginstoonepointthreeincheshopingIwon’trealize,becauseIwillcheck.”
Iwillnotcheck.Infact,IwillbarelyskimtheessaysforkeywordswhileCeceputsonsomeNoahBaumbachthatis,unfortunately,notMadagascar3.MystudentswouldfindmesopatheticiftheyknewhowdesperatelyIhustletogivethemallanA.
“Andremember:in-textcitationsonlyfromscholarlysources.”
Raisedhand.“Whatifmyuncle—”
“LikeImentioned,whileI’mveryhappythatyouruncleminoredinbiologyattheUniversityofDelawaretwenty-threeyearsago,IwillnotaccepthisThanksgivinghottakesasascholarlysource.Seeyouallnextweek.”
“ThislookslikeafunwaytospendyourtimeonGod’sgreenearth,”Georgetellsmeafterjoiningmeonthepodium.“Howmanyoftheseclassesdoyouteachperweek?”
“Oh,onlyfour,fivethousand?”Shelaughs,andIinstantlyfeelguilty.IshouldbegratefulthatIhaveajob.ThealternativeishypnotizingmypancreasintothinkingitcanmakeinsulinandlivingoffWendy’sketchuppackets.“Butit’snotthatbad.Thestudentsaregreat,and—”
“Dr.Hannaway?”Asophomorerunstowardme,sweaterpulleddownonhershoulder.“Couldyoucheckifthisisjustapimpleor—”
“We’vebeenoverit,Selina.I’mnotthatkindofdoctor.”
“Ah,right.Mybad.”
“Noproblem.GetitcheckedoutatStudentHealth,okay?”Ismile—externally.Internally,it’sabloodbath.“Please,don’tsayanything,”IbegGeorge.
“Let’sgo.”Sheclosesherhandaroundmyelbow.“Youdeserveatwelve-coursemeal.”
ShetakesmetoaTurkishcafénearcampus.“Verywell,”shesaysbetweendolmas.“IthinkwebothknowthereasonIaskedyouhere.”
“Dowe?”
“Ofcourse.”Sheleansforward,handssteepled,eyesburningintomine.“Jack’smyclosestfriend.Hurthim,andI’mgoingfullTonyaHarding.Thoughyou’reprobablynotasattachedtoyourkneesasNancywas,soI’lldoitontheknuckles.Youwon’tbeabletopickupchalkwithoutexperiencingagonizingpain.You’llhavetoholditbetweenyourteeth,andallthathydrousmagnesiumsilicatewillfuckupyourbowelmovementsforever.”Myblooddrains.I’mplanningtofleetoaremoteLatvianvillage,altermyfingertipswithacheesegrater,dyemyhairblack,thenblond,thenbacktobrownagainjusttothrowpeopleoff—whenGeorgeburstsoutlaughing.“OhmyGod,yourface.”
Iblinkather.
“I’msorry,thatwassoinappropriate.Ijustcouldn’tpassitup.”
Iblinkagain.“Soyoudidn’twanttomeetbecause—”
“Nope,nothingtodowithJack.Youcanpullhisheartoutofhischest,grillit,andeatitwithasideofcreamedcornifyouwant.Imean,Iamfondofhim,butrelationshipsarelikeassholes.Shouldn’tgoaroundandsmellotherpeople’s,yadayada.”Hersmileismischievous.“Sorry?”
Isiponmyayran.“It’sokay.Just…NancyKerriganismycousin.Andmyfatherwasdiagnosedwithchalk-inducedlungdisease.”
Shepales.“OhmyGod,I’msosorry.Ididn’tmeanto…Ifeelhorribleabout—”Shenoticesmysmallsmile.“Youjustmadethatup,didn’tyou?”
Ishrug,stealingoneofherdolmas.
“NotonlyareyouperfectforJack,IthinkImightlikeyoumorethanhedoes,andthat’salot.Anyway—thisiswhyIaskedyoutomeet.”Shemovesmydrinktotheside.Thensetsdownapieceofpaper.
ShesipsherwaterasIreadandread—withoutunderstandingasingleword.Mrs.Whitecottonfromsecondgradewouldbesodisappointed.
“Isthisa…?”
Shenods.
“It’snot…Ididn’tinterview.”
“ButyoudidgettothefinalroundofanMITinterview.Somebodywhowillremainnameless—let’sjustcallthemJack—toldmethatoverthreehundredcandidatesapplied.I’mgoingtotrustthatyourcredentialscheckedoutandthatyoudidn’ttrytospinanassociatedegreefromBiblecollegeintoaphysicsdoctorate.”
“You…youareofferingmeajob?Inyourlab?”
“Asapostdoc.TherearetwospecificliquidcrystalsprojectsI’dhaveyouworkon.”
“Jackputyouuptothis,”Isay.Alittleaccusing.
“Nope.InmyrelationshipwithJack,usually,andby‘usually’Imeanalways,IharasshimintodoingwhatIwant.”
Shemustbelying.“Listen,thankyou.Thisiskind.ButIalreadytoldhimno.AndnowthatheandIarekindof…Itwouldn’tbeagoodideato—”
“Wait.”Shefrowns.“Whatdoyoumean,youalreadytoldhimno?”
“Healreadyofferedmetheposition.”
“Hewhat?”Georgeexplodes.Thewaiterandaboutfifteenotherpatronsturntous.“Jackofferedyouajob?”
“You…didn’tknow?”
“Thatissoinappropriate.”Sheisface-palming.Hard.“Youdon’tofferajobtoyourbrother’sex,whomyou’vebeengoneoverformonths.”Theface-palminggraduatestobothhands.“God.Men.Eventhegoodonesarejust—”
“Areyousayingyoudidn’tknow?”
“Nope.AndIdidn’ttellhimIwasplanningtoofferyouajob.Thefundscomefrommygrants—thisiscompletelyseparatefrommyworkwithhim.”Shesighsheavily.“Listen,I’llbereal:Ididn’tknowwhoyouweretilllastweek.AsidefromthegirlJacktalksaboutwhenhegetsdrunk.ButIlookedupyourstuff.Yourworkisgood,andIcouldreallyusesomeonelikeyouonmyteam.Andbeforeyouask—yes,socouldJack.ButI’mbetter.”Sheleansforwardandpointsatalineinthecontract.“It’sathree-yearposition.IcanpayyouonepointfivetimestheNIHsalary.Liquidcrystalsareasideprojectforme,soyou’dbeleading.Firstauthoronallpublications.Iknowyoudon’thaveappliedexperience,butweneedsomeonewhoknowsthetheorylikethebackoftheirhand.Noteaching,noAlgerianfont—justresearch.Thoughifyouwanttokeeppretendingthatyouenjoyit,I’msurewecouldfindyouaclass.”
Whatisupwithallthesepeoplecallingmeonmybullshitlately?AmIsuddenlygivingoffmaincharactervibes?“AndJack,inallofthis…?”
“Isanonentity.Don’tgetmewrong.I’mhappyforyouguys.Well,forhim.Hewasstartingtolookmiserable.Allthatbroody,horny,guiltypining.”
Iclearmythroat.“Wouldtherebehealthinsurance?”
“Youdon’thavehealthinsurancenow?”Ishakemyheadandsherollshereyes.“AdjuncthoodisthefuckingeleventhplagueofEgypt.Yes,ofcourse,healthinsurance.Youwon’thavetodothisweirdfake-datingthing.”
Dignity:disintegrated.“Jacktoldyouaboutthat?”
“Oh.”Shewinces.“Um…No.Icould…readitinyourface?”
NowI’mtheoneface-palming.
“Listen,hehadto.BecauseIknewyouasalibrarian.Butbelieveme,there’snojudgmenthere—Iputmyselfthroughmymaster’sbyworkingasaPAforoneofElonMusk’scronies.Andtogobacktothejob—themostimportantthingis,threeMITtheoristsaregoingtoretirewithinthenextfiveyears.You’dbefirstinlinetoreplacethem.”
“Thereisnoguaranteethat—”
“Thereisnoguaranteethatwewon’tbesuctionedoffthesurfaceoftheearthbyademonicallypossessedvacuumcleaner.”Shehesitatesforasecond,asifdecidingwhethertoaddsomething.“Elsie,Iknowitcan’tbeeasy,acceptingajobfromsomeonewhostoletheoneyouwanted.ButyougotyourPh.D.lessthanayearago.You’reyoungtobecompetingforfacultypositions.Honestly,I’msurprisedyou’readjuncting—researchisyourstrongsuit,andyoushouldbefocusingonbuildingyourCV,notcheckingstudents’zits.”
Itmakessense,andIwantwhatshe’soffering—enoughmoneytonotworryaboutmoney,anofficetoneatlylineupmyFunkoPops,threeyearsofpeaceofmind.But.
“CouldItalkitthroughwithmymentor?”
“Sure.Whoarethey?”
“Dr.LaurendeauatNortheastern.”
It’sablackcloudmoment:onesecondGeorgeisallconfidentdetermination;thenextshephysicallyrecoils,elbowknockingagainstthebackofherchair.“ChristopheLaurendeau?DoesJackknow?”
“Yes.Why?”
“I…Nothing.”Sheshakesherhead.Thelightinhereyeshasdimmed.“Butyoudon’tneedtoaskforhispermission.Thisisyourfuture.Yourcareer.Yourdecision.”
Mycareer,yes.ButIonlyhaveonebecauseDr.L.draggedmeoutofthepile.“Whendoyouneedananswerby?”
“Icanwaitfortwo,threeweekstops.Afterthat,I’llhavetostartlookingaroundtofilltheposition.Okay?”
Inod.Justtakethejob,agreedy,tiredvoiceinsidemeinsists.ItcravesthoseparmesancrispsthatarefivebucksapopandissickofremindingstudentstostopcirclingtheScantronbubbleinsteadoffillingitin.StealaninkcartridgefromtheBostonUniversityprinterandgetyourselffired.Thenyou’llhavenochoicebuttogoworkforGeorge.Dr.L.willdealwiththedecision.
“So,”sheasks,“asidefromofferingyouajob,whatotheroutrageousandutterlyinappropriatethingshasJackproposedtoyou?Marriageceremonyduringfacultymeeting?RetroactivehyphenationtoHannaway-Smith-Turnerforallyouracademicpublications?NakedcuddlesintheMITlibrary?”
Ialmostspitmyayranalloverher.Butit’sokaybecauseshetotallydeservesit.19IMPEDANCE
OnFridaynight,Iwearadress.
Nothingfancy.It’sacable-knitsweaterdressmycousinhandeddowntoMombecauseitwastoolong,andMomhandeddowntomebecauseitwastoosmall.Ipairitwithmyonelipstick,myonetubeofmascara,myoneeyepencil,myonepairofthighhighs.Icurlmyhairallonmyown,cursingsoftlywheneverIburnthesideofmyhand,soCecewon’thear.
Reader:shehearsanyway.
“ThisissuchanM.NightShyamalanplottwist,”shetellsmefromthekitchen,whereshe’spouringmilkintoabowl.“Doyouseedeadpeople?OhmyGod—amIdead?”
“Shutup.Idressupallthetime.”
Shewavesherspoonatme.“Notfordates.”
“Actually—”
“Notforrealdateswithyourprofessionalarchnemesisandbrotheroftheguyyouusedtofake-date,whoyouwishedwouldincuradeathbypapercutsbutnowlikeenoughtofixthatcowlickonthebackofyourhead.”
Isigh.“Greatsynopsisofmylife.”
“Thankyou.Ifyoueverneedabiographer…”ShepoursCocoaPuffsintothemilk,likethenonsensicalcreaturesheis.“Whereareyouguysgoing?”
“Dinnerwithhisfriends.Hehasthisreallyactivesocialcirclethatmakesmelookbacktothatsummerwhenmybestfriendwasawatermelonwithgooglyeyesandfeelabsolutelydevastated.”
“Inthirdgrade?”
“Highschool.”
“Ouch.Well,youhavemenow.Readytocalllawenforcementifyou’renotbackbyeightthirty.MayI?I’vealwayswantedtoreportamissingperson.”Sheholdsthespoonlikeaphone.“No,Officer,shedidn’thaveenemies,butshewaspartofaweirdsectarianconflictthatonlysomeonewithadoctorateinphysicscouldfullygrasp.LastseencavortingwithabigdudeinaSaintPatrick’sDayPortaPotty.Yes,I’llhold.”
Ilaugh.“DotextmebeforeyoucallLiamNeeson.AndImightbelaterthanthat,butI’mnotspendingthenight.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Shegasps.Thespoonclatters.“Areyounotlettinghimsmackthesalmonbecauseofthearticlehewrote?Ishisseventeen-year-oldselfcockblockinghimfromthepast?”
Ifrown—atherusageofsalmonandatthereminderthatwhy,yes,theguyI’mgoingoutwithdiddothat.Andit’snotthatIeverforget.It’sjustthatItrulycannotreconcileit—thewayJackiswhenwe’retogether,kindandfunnyandevenadmiringofmywork,andthefactthatfifteenyearsago—
“Elsie?Isthatit?”
“No.No,he’sjust…notplanningonhavingsexwithme.”
Hereyeswiden.“Areyouplanningonhavingsexwithhim?”
Maybe.Probably.No.ShouldI?Iwantto.I’mscared.Maybe.“Ihavetogo.”Ichewontheinsideofmycheekandpickupmypurse.ThenstopatthedoorwhenCecesays,“Hey,Elsie?”
Iturnaround.
“Youlookprettytonight.”Herbigeyesarewarm.“Evenmorethanusual.”
Ismile.IthinkIlookmediumasusual,butmyheartfeelsopenallofasudden,openforCece,thisbeautiful,oddpersonwhocannotreadanalogclocksortellthedifferencebetweenleftandright,who’sbeenstickingwithmethroughthinandthinandthinforthepastsevenyears.Foramoment,allIwantistoopenmymouthandsay,Ihatearthousemovies.Couldwewatcharom-comsometimes?Riverdale?LiterallyanyKardashianshow?
Whatcomesoutis“Youlooklikeaweirdo,pouringmilkbeforethecereal,butIloveyouanyway.”
Istepouttohermiddlefinger.Thenmyphonerings,andthat’swhenmynightcollapseslikeanaccordion.
Inmydefense,Ipickupassumingit’sJack,callingtosaythathe’slate,orthatI’mlate,orthatsomeonehammeredhiminthefrontallobeandtheresultingbraininjuryhelpedhimrealizethathedoesn’twanttoseemeeveragain.Atragicmiscalculationonmypart,because:
“Elsie,finally.Youneedtocomehomerightnow.”
“Mom?”
“LanceisnowwithDana.AndLucaspunchedhimafterthesoccergame.Everyonesaw.”
God.“ButItalkedtothemlastweek.Lancesaidhewasn’tinterested—”
“Helied,Elsie.I’mdisappointedinyoufornotpickinguponit.”
“I—”Iexhale,steppingoutofthebuilding.“Heseemedsincere.”
“That’swhyyouneedtocomehomeandhelpmesortthisout.Ihavebeensotenseandjittery.Mypoornerves.”
“Mom,Ican’t.Idon’thaveacar,forone.AndIhaveclasses.”
“Justfindasubstituteteacher.”
“That’snot—I’mnot—Mom.”IspotJack’scar.It’sfreezingcold.Everyinstinctyellsatmetofirstfinishmyconversation,butIcannotresistgettingin.Theseatisalreadyheated,Jack’shairstillshowerdamp,curlinginsoftwispsonhisneck.Helooksfreshlyshavedandsmellsdivine—likesoaptheysellinfancyboutiquesandthehollowofhisthroatwhenIsleptnestledinhisarms.
Oneminute,Imouth.Henods.Mom’sgoingonabouthowLanceismisunderstood,Lucasissensitive,Dadisbusywithwork,andthemeanladiesatchurcharesuretoberejoicinginthedownfalloftheonce-esteemedHannawayhousehold.Meanwhile,Jackstudiesmethroughmyopencoat.MydresshitsonlyaboutmidthighwhenI’msitting.Hiseyesfollowtheline
Oh.
“Mom,Ihavetogo.I’llcallthembothtomorrowandtalkthemoutof…illegalstuff,attheveryleast—”
“Youcan’tsolvethisatadistance.”
Isigh.“I’lldomybest.Honestly,I’mnotsureIcansolvethisatall.I’mnotsureanyonecan.”
Momgasps,outraged.“Howcanyoubesoselfish,Elsie?”
Iexhaleslowly.“Idon’tthinkI’mbeingselfish.I’llhelpassoonasI’mable,butthey’rebothbeyondlisteningtoanythingI—”
“Unbelievable,”shesays,andthen…nothing.
Absolutelynothing.
“Jack?”Isay.
“Yes?”
“IfI’mtalkingwithsomeoneandoutoftheblueIhearthebusysignal…whatdoesitmean?”
Hegivesmealook.“Soundslikeyoualreadyknow.”
“OhmyGod.”I’mdumbstruck.“Mymomjusthunguponme.”
Henods.“ShouldIbeshocked?Isthatsomethingthatdoesn’thappeninfunctionalfamilies?”
“I…don’tknow.Doesyourfatherhanguponyou?”
“Doesmyfatherhavemynumber?”
Ilaugh,andweexchangeahalf-clueless,half-amusedglance.Peasinapod,really.“It’safirst.”Mystomachfeelsheavy.“Sheusuallylikesme.Orpretendsto,anyway.”
JacklooksatmewithhisrestingIseeyouface.I’mnotusedtoMombeingthismadatme.Itfeelsterrible,likemyentiresoulispassingakidneystone,andsuddenlytheideaofgoingouttodinnerholdszeroappeal.It’llbegood,Itellmyself.Youlikehisfriends.Laughteristhebestmedicine.Oropiates.
“Wanttotellmewhathappened?”heasksgently,twistingthecarthroughBoston’snarrowone-ways.
“Myfamilyis…embarrassing.”
“Moresothanadozenpeopleinmonogrammedshirtsvulture-circlinganinety-year-oldinthehopethatshe’lldropdeadandafewwadsofcashwillrollintheirdirection?”
“Myfamilywoulddothesame,iftherewereanymoneytobehad.Ifsomethinghappenedtomygrandma,mybrotherswouldbeateachotherupoverthesix-packofbeersheleftinthefridge.”
“Isthatwhatthey’refightingabout?Beer?”
“Iwish.It’s…”Irollmyeyes.Itsoundstoostupidtobear.“Agirl.”
“Agirl.”
“Well,she’sawomannow.Butshewasagirlwhenitallbegan.”
Hefrowns.“Howoldareyourbrothers?”
“Olderthanme.Andhonestly,Iblamethisentiremessontraumaticencephalopathy.Bothofthemwereonthefootballteamgettingtheirbrainsoatmealed,andtherewereseventymillioncheerleaderstheycouldhave,Idon’tknow,playedD&Dunderthebleacherswith,butno,theydecidedtochoosethesameone.Dana.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Idon’tthinkthat’swhatpeopledounderthebleachers,Elsie.”
“They’remybrothers,okay?Forthepurposeofthisconversation,they’vebeenfightingovertheexclusiverighttoattendDana’sdecoupageclasses.Andthemostridiculousthingis,theyfancythemselvesinsomekindofLegendsoftheFallsituation.Theyboththinkthatthebigloveoftheirlifeisdoomedtofailbecauseofthemachinationsoftheireviltwin,butthetruthis,it’ssoobviousfromtheoutsidethatnoonelovesanyonehere.Danagetsninetypercentofherdopaminefromwatchingtwoguysfightoverher.Momonlycaresaboutwhathercousin’shusband’ssister’snannythinks,andistotallyfinewiththemshankingeachotheraslongastheydoitprivately.Andthesadthingis,LucasandLanceusedtobebestfriends.They’dhavefuntryingtoconvincemethatChapStickwasmadeofdromedaryspermandwatchingmegag.Butbynow…they’veforgottenthatthey’rebrothers,forgottenwhytheylikedDanainthefirstplace,andarejustchickenspeckingateachother’sfeed—likethey’retwohydrogenatoms,andDanaistheelectrontheyconstantlystealbackandforth.Butthey’rebothnonmetals,andeventhoughtheywishtheycouldpluckthatelectronoutforgoodandkeepitforthemselves,nope,sameelectronegativity,sorry,itwon’twork.Andwe’rebacktosquareoneeverysixdamnmonths.”
“Andwheredoyoucomein?”Jackasks,voicequietinthecaraftermyboutofyelling.Ifeelguiltyforunloadingmyentirelifestoryonhim,likehe’sOprahorsomething.Ishouldbefun
“Momsendsmeintobrokerpeace.”Isquirmagainsttheseat.Jack’seyesslidetomylegs,ormaybetheydon’t.ThecarisdarkandIcan’ttell.
“Why?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Itsoundslikeyourbrothersarehavingissueswithoneanother.”Inod.“Whydoesshesendyou?”
“I—because—we—”It’ssuchaWhyistheskyblue?question.Scatteringofsolarlightthroughtheatmosphere,duh.“It’smyfamily.”
“It’syourmom’sfamily,too.Andyourdad’s,andyourbrothers’.Andyetthey’refinewithnotaddressingtheissueandaskingyoutotakecareofit.”Hetakesarightturn,andthelightsofthetruckcomingtowardushithisjawattheperfect,mosthandsomeangle.There’sthewayhelooks,hislowvoice,thissmellofhis.Whatdoesthismanwantwiththis?Withme?
“Ioweittothem.”
“Youdo?”
“Yes.Youdon’tunderstand—Iwas…Igavethemlotsofproblemsgrowingup.Mydiagnosiswassuchahassleforthem,andthemedicalcarewassoexpensive.Ioweittothem.”Mystomachdrops.NowMomismadatme.I’maningrate.
“So,tosummarize:Becauseyourpancreasstoppedproducinginsulinwhenyouwereachild,younowoweyourfamilyadoula-worthydegreeofemotionallabor?”
Itsoundshorrible,putlikethat.Downrighthorrifying.But.“Yeah,kindof.”
“Whatdoesyourfamilythinkofyourjobsituation?”
“Oh,that.”Ishrug.“Notmuch.”Idon’tplantoelaborate,buthe’sgivingmearaised-eyebrowlook,andIwanthimtochecktheroad.“Idon’ttellthemaboutthatstuff.”
“Youdon’ttellthemaboutyourlife?”
“It’snotwhatImeant.”ThoughIdon’t.“Just…I’mafirst-generationcollegestudent.”
“Thereareplentyoffirst-generationacademicswhoseparentsaresupportiveandengaged.”
Irollmyeyes.Becauseit’snotlikeIdon’tknowthathe’sright,orlikemyheartdoesn’tfeelheavyatthethought.“Justgoaheadanddoit.”
“Dowhat?”
“You’redyingtoarmchair-psychologizeme.”
Hedoesn’tevenhidehowentertaininghefindsme.“AmI?”
“Youobviouslyhaveanopinion.”
“Hmm.”
“Justsayit.”
“Saywhat?”
“ThatIdon’ttellmyfamilyaboutmyjobbecauseI’munabletoletpeopleknowthatI’mmorethanthesumofthewaysIcanbeusefultothem.ThatifIshowmytrueself,withmyneedsandmywants,Iriskbeingrejected.ThatI’vewieldedmyabilitytohidewhoIamlikeanemotionalantiseptic,andintheprocessI’veturnedmyselfintoapuppet.Orawatermelonwithgooglyeyes.”
Hemaneuversthecarpasttheglowofthestreetlights,andasthesecondspassinsilence,IgrowafraidthatI’vesaidtoomuch,showedtoomuch,beenmetoomuch.Butthen:
“Well.”Hissmileisfond.Tender.“Myjobhereisdone.”
Iclosemyeyes,lettingmyforeheadslideagainstthewindow—hotskinandcoldglass.“IknowhowmessedupIam.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah.Ijust…Idon’tknowhowtostop.”
“Thenmaybemyjobisnotdone.Andyoushouldstickaround.”Iturntocheckwhetherhisexpressionmatcheshistone—amixofteasing,sweet,amused,hopeful,otherthingsIcanneverunderstand.
ThenInoticewhereweare.“Thisisyourapartment.”
“Yup.”Heparks.No,hereverseparks.Withoutsweatingorcryingoralitanyoffuckshitfuck.Ihatehim.
“Didyouforgetsomething?”
“Nope.”
“Thenwhy—?”
“Ifiguredwe’dtakeiteasytonight.Relax.”
“Whataboutyourfriends?”
“Theycanentertainthemselves.”
“Butthey’rewaitingforus.”
“Nah.Itextedthem.”
“When?”
“Whileyouwerecomparingyourbrothers’relationshiptoanonpolarcovalentbond.”
“I…Why?”
“Becauseyou’reobviouslyupset.Andprobablyhadalongweekatwork.Andyouhadmore-or-lessnonconsensualluncheswithtwopeoplewhomIknowtobegiantpainsintheass.Ithinkit’sbetterifwestayin.”Hekillstheengine.“Justus.”
“But…”Ilookupathisbuilding.Unlikemine,itdoesn’tlooklikeit’stwentyminutesfrombeingcondemnedandthirty-fiveminutesfromburningdownduetoexposedcircuitry.“Whatareweevengoingtodo?”
Ihearthesmileinhiswords.“Ihaveacoupleofideas.”
???
“So,BreakingDawn’sthefirstone.”
“What?No.Twilightisthefirstone.Otherwiseit’dbetheBreakingDawnSaga.”
“Right.Needablanket?”
Thelightsarelow,butJacktracksmymovementsasIshakemyheadandfoldmylegsunderneathme.Thehotchocolatehemadesitsonthecoffeetable,rightnexttohisHeineken,andIthinkIsawhimraisethethermostatwhenwefirstcamein,afterhenoticedmeshiveringinthechillyhallway.I’moverdressed,over-made-up,overcurledforanightonthecouch.Idon’tcare,though.
“Okay.”Hegrabstheremoteandsitsnexttome,nearbutnonthreatening.Notcloseenoughtotouch,butthecushionshifts,andtheairaroundmeiswarmer.Denser.
“IcannotbelieveyouownaTwilightboxset.”
“Ineededtoseewhatthefussisabout.”
“YouboughttheBlu-rays.WhobuysBlu-rays?”
“Peoplewhocan’tfindtheVHS.”
Istudyhim.Hisodd,beautifuleyes.“Howoldareyou,precisely?”
“Seventy-three.”
Ilaugh.“No,forreal.”
“Seventeen.”
“You’rethirty-three,aren’tyou?Thirty-two.Thirty-four?”
“Wouldn’tyouliketoknow.”
“Givemeahint.Whatdoyouremembermostfromyourchildhood?Slime?TheDSLdialtone?Butterflyhairclips?Peopledyingofthebubonicplague?”
“YoucanshitonmyTwilightForeverboxsetallyouwant—I’veseenthewayyou’reeyeingit.”
“Withpolitebutdetachedinterest?”
“Withshameless,covetouslustforthe‘EdwardGoestoItaly’featurette.”
Ilaughagain.It’snice,beingherewhereit’swarm.“Sowhatdoyouknowaboutthemovies?”
Hedrumshisfingersonhisknee.“TheyhaveabloodcurdlingCGIkidnamedElizabelle—”
“Renesmee.”
“—andsomethingaboutsparklydermatology?Spidermonkeys?”
“There’salsovampirebaseball.”
“Encouraging.”
“Okay,realtalk.”Iturnalittletowardhim.“Areyougoingtohatethis?”
“Probably.Butnomorethan2001:ASpaceOdyssey.”
“Whatdoyoulike?”
“Physics-defyingcarchases,mostly.Peopleclimbingbuildings.Spacemonsters.”Heshrugs.“Georgecallsthemmy‘whitemalerage’movies.”
“Okay,well,wecanwatchoneofthoseAvengers’InfinityEndgameorsomethingwithTheRock.Imean,whataboutwhatyouwant?”
“Whataboutthat?”
“Weneverfocusonthat.”
“That’sbecauseIhavenoissuesaskingforwhatIwant.”
“Thatfeltlikeabackdoorbrag,”Imumbleresentfully.
“Itwasfullyfrontdoor.”
Iplaywiththehemofmydress.“Iunderstandthatthisisabouthelpingmereclaimmyindividuality,butifwe’regoingtobefriends,weshoulddostuffyoulike,too.Otherwise—”
“Elsie.”Handsonmychin,heliftsittillmyeyesareonhis.“You’redoingit.We’redoingit.”IkeeplookinguntilIcannotbearitanymore,thenfreemyself.
“Okay,well.”Iswallow.Twice.“Youstilldidn’tneedtobuytheboxset.”
“Itoldyou,I—”
“No,Imean…”Mycheeksarewarm.“It’sstreamingonNetflix.AndonPrime.”
IplucktheremotefromhishandbeforehecanaskmehowIknow.AndthenIignoretheamusedwayhiseyeslingeronme,andlaughovermyhotchocolateathissoftcomments:“Verygreen,”or“Theygotohighschool?”or“What’supwiththeketchupbottle?”
Abouthalfwaythrough,IprymyselffromthehormonalrideofparanormalteenageangsttolookatJack.He’sstudyingthemovieintently,watchfully,likeit’sadocumentaryonunparticlephysics.“IpromiseI’mnotgoingtoquizyouafterwards,”Itellhim.“Youcanscrollonyourphone.Fallasleep.Rollyoureyes.”
“IsthatwhatpeopledowhenyouwatchTwilightwiththem?”
“Idon’t.”
“Youdon’t…?”
“Watchitwithanyone.”IneverspendtimewithpeopledoingsomethingIunabashedlyenjoy.“Iusuallystreamacamversiononmylaptopandgiveoffadense,guiltyaura.OnceCececameininthemiddleofEclipse.IturnedoffthemonitorandsworeIwasmasturbatingtostepbrotherhentai.”
Hismouthcurves.“NotBillNye?”
“Didn’tthinkofit.”Helooksbackatthescreen,butsomething’sblossominginmystomach,somethingheavyanduncomfortable,andwhenIsay,“Hey,”heturnstomeagain.“Thankyou.”
“ForsuggestingBillNyeporn?”
“No.For…”Icannotputitinwords.UntilIcan.“Forwantingtoknowmeenoughtowatchmyfavoritemoviewithme.”
Ileanforward,fullyplanningtokisshimonthecheek.ButsomethinghappensonceI’minsidehisspace,and..
Planschange.Ilinger.
Jackiswarm.Hesmellsniceandfeelsfamiliar,reallikeverylittleinmylifedoes.SoIstay.Justbecauseit’sthatgood.AndIstayevenwhenheturnstowardme,andhismouthissoclosetomine,I’malmostsurethisisgoingtoturnintosomethingelse.Intoakiss
Heexhales.
Iinhale.
Hishandrises.Gripsthebackofmyheadtoholdmestill.Myeyesflutterclosed.Atightflushspreadsallovermystomach,skinonfire,heartpumping.
Finally,akissthatIwant.Andoh,doIwantthiskiss.Iwantto—
“No,”hesays.Hislipsnearlymoveagainstmine.“No.”
Heletsgoabruptly.Iopenmyeyesandhe’sontheedgeofthecouch,feetawayfromme,facingaway.“Jack?”Hisbackisrigid.
Herubshiseyes,mumblingsomethingthatsoundsalotlike“Toosoon,”andI’msuddenlycoldandfullofdread.
“Ididn’tmeanto…”Ireachoutandlaymyhandonhisshoulderblade.Heinstantlymovesaway,andIrealizeit’sthewrongwaytoaskforforgivenessforinvadinghispersonalspace.
“Elsie,Ineedyoutonottouchmeforaminute.”Hegoestostandbythewindow,rubbinghisfingersoverhismouth.OntheTV,Bellaiscrying.Ifeellikecrying,too.Mortifiedtothecore.MyembarrassmentcouldpoweramidsizedEuropeancountry.
“I’msorry,”Isaytohistautshoulders.“MaybeI…”Honesty.Whenishonestytoomuch?“IthinkImaybeattractedtoyou.”
“Fuck,”hebreathesout.Heturnsaround,runningahandthroughhishair.I’veneverseenhimopenlyshowdistressbefore.“Fuck,”herepeatssoftly,andI’mlost.WhatdidIdo?Ididn’tmeanto—
Hetakesadeepbreath.Suddenlyhe’sevenmoreimposing.“I’mnotgoingtofuckyou,”hepromisesmequietly,almosttalkingtohimself.
“I…”Havenoideawhattosaytothat.“Iam…”Confused?Rejected,maybe?ButIdidn’taskhimforthat.He’sassumingalotbasedonacoupleofsecondsofproximity,andI’mtemptedtopointitout,whichiswhyIshockmyselfwhenwhatIsayisvaguelyresentful.“Right.Youmentionedbeforethatyou’renotinterested.”
Heletsoutalaugh.“Ineversaidthat.”
“Attherestaurant,yousaidthatyoudidn’twanttohavesexwithme.”
“IsaidthatIwasn’tgoingtohavesexwithyou.”
Ifrown.“That’sthesamething.”
“It’snot.”
Mymindrushestocatchup.Thenitdoes,andmyentirebodyflusheswithheat
“IsthathowyouinterpretedwhatIsaid?”Hesoundsincredulous.“Lackofinterest?”
Ishrug,likeitdoesn’tmatter.Likeitdidn’tcutdeep.
“YouthinkIdon’twanttofuckyou,”hesays,bluntasalways
“Whyelse?”
“Whyelse.”
Iclearmythroat.“Whyelsewon’tyou?”
Jackshakeshishead.Hisjawhasastubbornset,likethisisarulehe’smadeforhimself,somethinghe’sthoughtagreatdealabout.“It’swhat’sbestforyou.Forus.Rightnow.”
“I’msorry,didyou…”Iclearmythroat.“Didyoujustinformmethatwe’renotgoingtohavesex,becauseit’swhatbestforus?”
Henodsonce,likehewouldtoaknown,undisputedfact.Watermoleculesslowdownlight.Andthat’swhenIstand,indignant.“Youunderstandthatthisshouldbetheproductofadialoguebetweentwopeople,right?”I’mbarefoot.He’ssomuchtallerthanme,myneckproteststheunnaturalangle.“Youcan’tjusthandoutdecisionswithoutexplanation—”
“Ican,actually.”Thewayhebendsdowncan’tbecomfortable,either.We’resharingabouttwosquarefeetofspace.Cross-armed.Unsmiling.Asecondagowewerejokingonthecouch.Whatthehell?
“Thisisincrediblypatronizing.Youcan’tassumethatyouknowwhat’sbestfor—”
“Okay,then.”Heshiftsforward,andIcanfeeleverymillimeter.“HowdoImakeyoucome?”
I…musthavemisunderstood.“What?”
“Whatdoyoulikewhenhavingsex?Whatdoyouwant?Whatareyourneeds?”Hiseyesarepoolsofblackinthedimlights.“HowdoImakeyoucome?”
Ishakemyhead.Edwardismovingatlightspeedtosavehislove,andmymindisasslowasaslug.“Sorry?”
“Yousaiditwaspatronizingofmenottodiscusssex.Solet’stalk.”ThisistheJackfromourfirstmeeting:challenging,uncompromising,demanding.“Unlessitmakesyoufeeluncomfortable.Agoodsignthatmaybeit’sbestforyounottohaveit,either,but—”
“That’snotit,”Ihurrytosay.Butmaybeitis,alittle.Idon’ttalkaboutsexverymuchwithpeople.JustCece,andmostlyintermsofwhatfourteenth-centurynunsweresupposedlyuptowhentheyshouldhavebeentendingtotheherbgarden.Butithasnothingtodowithcomfort.Wedon’ttalkaboutsexforthesamereasonwedon’ttalkaboutstockdividends:wehaveverylittleofit.
“Thentellme,”herepeats.Hislookshiftstosomethingthat’snotquitedaring.Likeforoncethisisnotapowerplayofhis,andhegenuinelywantstoknow.“HowdoImakeyoucome?”
“Thisissuchaweirdthingtoask.I—”Lightbulb:on.“OhmyGod.YouthinkI’minexperienced.”Ilaughrightinhisface.“I’mnot.I’vehadsexwithJ.J.,like,amilliontimes,inamillionways!”Iadd,justtogetareactionoutofhim.ButJack’sreactionisinfuriatinglynonexistent.“YouthinkI’mlying?”
“Idon’t.Ifyoutoldmeyou’reacard-carryingmemberoftheOrgyoftheMonthClub,I’dbelieveyou.Butsinceyouhaveallthatexperience,you’llhavenoproblemtellingme:HowdoImakeyoucome?”
Iopenmymouthand…immediatelycloseit.
“I’mwaiting,Elsie.”
Ihatehimwhenhe’slikethis.Just—smugandmercilessandall-seeingand—
“Stillwaiting.”
Ilookdownatmyfeet,thestockingssheeraroundmytoes,andallofasuddenI’mfeelingjust…
I’membarrassed.Ihavenoideawhattotellhim,andforasecondIconsiderlying.PretendingthatI’mafuckingsexgoddess.Twentyorgasmsinatrenchcoat.ButJackislie-repellant,andhe’dknow,andit’dbeevenmoremortifyingthanthetruth:Ihavenoideahowhecanmakemecome.
MymindturnstoJ.J.,andhere’satruthI’mnotgoingtoadmitoutloudinthisfancyopen-planapartment:Idon’tevenknowifIhavethecapacitytolikesex.Ineverwondered,becausemeenjoyingsomethingwasneverapriority
“Isthissomethingyoudowitheverygirlyousleepwith?”Iaskbitterly.“Anentranceexam?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Othertimesit’smoretrialanderror.”
Somethingheavytwistsinmystomach.“Andafterthat?”
“Afterthat,Idowhattheylike.HavethemdowhatIlike,ifthey’reupforit.”
Jealousy.That’sthefeeling—I’mjealousoftheseunnamedgirls.Inmymindtheyalllookleggy,stunning,smart.WorthyofbeingfuckedbyJack.
Unlikeme.
Iturnawayandsteptooneofthemillionwindows.Idon’tknowhowhestandsit,thenakednessofthisplace.It’safishbowl.Heneedscurtains.
“Elsie.”He’sbehindme.Iseehisreflectionintheglass,holdingmyeyeslikeinamirror.“Youhaveapatternofdoingthingsyoudon’tenjoyforthesakeofothers,andIneedtobesurethetwoofusdon’tfallintoit.Ineedtoknowthatyou’renotinitiatinganythingwithmebecauseit’ssomethingyouthinkIexpect.AndIneedtobecertainthatyoudon’tfeellikeyouhavetobesome…fantasylaywhoseonlyfocusismypleasure.Thatyou’reinaplacewhereyou’reabletoacknowledgeandarticulateyourneeds.”
Iletmyforeheadfallagainsttheglass,watchingmyeyescrossovermynose.
“Youshouldtellmewhatyou’rethinking,”hesaysafterawhile,muchmoregentlethanaminuteago.
“Why?”
“BecauseIwanttoknow.”Hesighs.“Andyoupromisedyou’dtry.”
Right.Yes,Ididdothat.Stupidly.“I’mthinking…”Iturnaround.DrummynailsagainstthewindowsillandclosemyeyeswhenIcan’tbeartolookatJack.WhatamIthinkingatanygiventime?ThemoreItrytograspmyownmind,thefasteritgoesblank.“I’mthinkingthattwothingscanbetrueatonce:youwanttoprotectme,andalsodoitinapatronizingway.I’mthinkingthatbytryingtorespectme,youendedupmakingadecisionforme—likeeveryoneelsebeforeyou.I’mthinking…thatIdon’treallyknowyou,notyet,butsometimes,whenI’mwithyou,IfeellikeyouknowmebetterthanIdomyself.”Iswallow.“ButI’malsothinkingsomethingelse.”
“What?”
Iopenmyeyes.Heis—Iwanthim.Formyself.Ihavenoideainwhatshape,timeline,texture,butIdo.“I’mthinkingthatIdon’tknowhowyoucanmakemecome.Butitwouldbefuntofindouttogether.”
I’mexhaustedfromallthethinking,overthinking,rethinking,unthinking.Soforthefirsttimeinmylife,Ijustletmymindwhiteout.Istepoutofmyheadandintomybody,savortheabsenceofformulasandpredictionmodels,andjustdoit.
Grabthehemofmydress.
Takeitoffinonefluidmotion.
DropituntilitcrumplesatJack’sfeet.
It’sabiggamble.I’veneverdoneanythingthisbrave,stupid,recklessbefore,butthisisJack:havingsomanyofmyfirsts.Anditdoesn’tevenmatterifthesecondmyclothesareoff,I’malloutofcourage.Istareatthefabric,tooscaredtomovemyeyesanywhereelse,lettingthetensionstretch,thepressurebuild,tillIhearalow“Elsie.”
Iglanceup.
I’mnotinsecureaboutmybody,probablybecauseIamsobusybeinginsecureabouteverylittlethingIdo,say,broadcast.ButifIwere,ifIhadanydoubtsaboutwhetherI’mattractive,pretty,desirableenoughtohim,they’ddissolvelikesugarinwater.
Jack’scheeksarepink.Hispupilsfat,fixedatsomepointbetweenmybellybuttonandtheelasticofmypanties.Athissides,bothhishandstwitch,thenclenchintofists.“It’stoosoon,”hesaysagain.“Weshouldwaittillyou’remorecomfortablearoundme.”
“I’matmymostcomfortablearoundyou,”Isay.Andthen,becausehonesty:“Andalsoatmyleast.Butthat’sbecauseyou’reanasshole,andunlikelytoeverchange.”
Heexhalesasharplaugh.Ilookathimlookingatme,thinkingthatImightwinthisifIplayitright.Andthenhesays,“Ifwe…Weneedrules,”anditoccurstomethatI’vealreadywon.
“Idon’t—”
“Ineedrules,”hesaysfirmly,inatonethatbrokersnoobjection.He’sstaringattheswellofmybreastsovermybra,mappingtheedgeofthesimpleblackcotton.“Youpromisemeyouwill—”
“StopyouifIneedto.Tellthetruth.Behonest.”Inearlyrollmyeyes.He’sright,butI’mimpatient.Hot.Tinglingwithasenseofalmostvictory.Ofpossibilities.
Histhroatbobs.“Wetakeitslow.”He’sstartingtosoundlikehejustfinishedasprint.IconsidermakingaCrossFitjoke,butmymind’soccupied.“We’renothavingsex.Andclothesstayon.”
Iglanceatmydress.“ShouldIputitbackon?”
“Jesus.”Helickshislips,stepscloser.Hishandliftstohoversomewherearoundmywaistbutdoesn’ttouchme.“Myclothesstayon.”
Theywon’t.Theycan’t,logistically.Butheseemsobsessedwithbeingincontrol,soIsay,“Suityourself.”Ireacharoundbehindmybacktounclaspmybra.Hestopsmeandshiftsevencloser.
“Leavethaton.”
Inodandbenddowntorolloffmythighhighs.
“Leavethemon,too.”Hisjawworks.“Please.”
Oh.
“Okay.”Iclearmythroat.Myheartispoundingandhe’sflushed,andneitherofusisdoinganything.We’recaught.Stuckinthetransition.“Canwe…Idon’tknow.Canwekissnow?Orisitstill‘toosoon’—”
Jackisnotclumsy,notever,buttheembracesomehowis.Toohurried,greedy,impatient,themomentumtoostrongwhenhepressesmeagainstthewindow.Thecoldglassbitesintomyskin,aheadycontrasttotheunyieldingweightofhischestonmyfront.“Whyare—?”
Hismouthisonmine,andI’moverwhelmed,thendizzy,thenconfused.Inmyexperience,kissesarebrief,somethingtodobeforemovingtootherbodyparts,totherealthing.ButJackwon’tletthisoneend:histonguepressesagainstmine,strokesslowly,coaxesmyjawopen.Hekisseslikehe’salreadyinsideme.Idon’tknowwhattodoaboutthat,sothemomentstretchesendlessly,fullandhot,untilIcannothelpsquirmingagainsthim.
Thereisacouchnearby.Abed,countlesschairs,anairmattressI’veheardtalesof.We’rehere,though,thewindowsilldiggingintomyhipstillheliftsmeontopofit.He’sstilltaller,bigger,stronger,butheyieldsafewinchesofadvantageandIarchintohim,twistingtogetcloser.
“Wait.Wait,letme—”Hisfingerscloseonmywristsanddrawmyarmsaroundhisshoulders.Hishandslipsbetweenmythighs,liftsoneuptomakeroomforhiships,andthenwe’relockedtogether,finallycloseenough.
Imoanintohismouth.Hegruntsandbreaksthekiss.“Isthisokay?”hepants.Somethinghardpushesagainstmystomachthroughhisjeans.“Isthisokay?Doyou—”
“Yes.”
“Thankfuck.”Hesweepsmyhairawayandholdshisnosetothehollowofmythroat.Inhalessharply.“Yousmelloutofthisworld.I’vebeenstuckonitsincelastsummer,butit’sgottenbetter,and—”
“Bed.Weshouldgotobed.”
“We’renotgoingtobed.”Henipsmycheekbone,thenlicksthestingoff,andwebothmoanatthefeeling.“I’mnotgoingtofuckyou.We’rejust…makingout.Foolingaround.Thisisnot…”Hehookshisfingerintothesoftcupofmybraandlowersit.Hisforeheadpressesagainstmineandhelooksdown,tothehardpointofmynipple.“Jesus,”hemutters.
“Icantakeitoff—”
“No.”Hegroanssoftlyandthumbsthepebblebackandforth.Pinchesitjustthissideoftoomuch,makingmegasp.“I’mnotgoingtofuckyou,butGod,Icould.”Hisentirepalmrubsagainstmybreast,andmywhimperishumiliating.
Thisisgoingtofeelgood.Really,reallygood.It’salreadymuchbetterthan…thananything.Pullingembarrassing,unfortunatenoisesoutofme.
“WhatdoIdo?”heasks,fittinghisfingersinthedipsofmyribs.
Ilookupathim,glossy-eyed,alreadyalittledazed.“What?”
“Whatdoyoulike?”He’slookingdownatmybodylikeit’sabeautifulspaceoddity,somethingbelongingtoaminorgoddess,tobeinvestigatedinfilthy,methodical,obsceneways.Hishandtracesmyflatstomach.Skimstheplacewheremythighhighstransitionintotenderskin.Brushesreverentlyagainstthepodrightabovemypanties,likethislittlethingmylifedependsonisasmuchapartofmeasmynavel.J.J.askedmetotakeitoff,saidhefounditoff-putting.Madebionicwomanjokes.Andthenthere’sJack.Lickinghislipsandasking,“WheredoIstart?”
Ihavenoclue.“Um…”
Hekissesmeagain,thistimeslowandgentle,pullingbackfromthatinitialbrink.Heuncoversmyotherbreast,andhisfingersareback,playingwithmynipplelikeit’saninstrument.Liquidwarmthhookslowinmybelly.“Trialanderror,then.”
“Whatdoyoudowithothergirls?”
“Othergirls?”
“Normalgirls.”
Helaughsintomycollarbone,thenstartssuckingonit.“Elsie.”
“Ijustwanttoknow.IfI…ifIweren’tme,whatwouldyoudo?”
“No.”Againstmysternum.
“Ijust—honesty,yousaid.”He’slickingtheinsideofmybreastslikethey’reluscious,sweetfruits.Irunmyfingersinhishair,bowintohim,beg,“Please.”
Hehumsagainstmynipple.Iwaitforhimtotakeitintohismouth,tenseasaviolinstring,andwhenhedoesn’t,whenhepullsbacktostareatme,Inearlygroan.
Idogroan.Asoft,miserablewhine.
“Ifyouwereanyotherwoman…”Hispalmsstrokemyknees,spreadingmylegsapart.“Ifyouwereanyonebutyou,Iwouldtakeyoutobed.AndI’dfuckyoueverywhereyouletme.”Hisfingersarelikeelectricity,climbingupmyinnerthighs,lightingupnerveendings.“Iwouldgodownonyou,maybewhileyou’regoingdownonme.AndbecauseyourtitslooklikesomethingI’llbedreamingaboutfordecades,I’daskforpermissiontocomeonthem.Paintapicture.”Hereachestheelasticofmypanties.Iinhale,sharp.“I’dcleanyouupandfeedyoubeforetakingyouhome,ifyouwantedmeto.”Histhumbpushesthewetcottontotheside.Slidesunderneath.“Butyouwouldn’tbeyou.AndafterwardsIwouldn’tthinkofyouverymuch.”
HetapsagainstmyclitandIletoutamoan.It’skneebuckling,howgoodthisfeels,therushofpleasureclimbingdownmyspine.
“Thisiswaytoofast,”hesayshoarsely,buthe’sdrawingslowcirclesaroundme.Mypussythrobsintimewithmyheartbeat,andmynailsdighardintothewindowsill.Iamgratefulformyblackpanties,whichwon’tshowhowwetIam.Forthelowlights.I’mgratefulthatIcanclosemyeyes,pretendhe’snotlookingatmeandseeingeverylittlethingI’mmadeof.“Elsie,maybeyoushouldaskmetostop.”
“Don’t.Whateveryoudo,pleasedon’tstop.”
Helaughs,breathless.“More?Less?Whatdoyouwant?”
Iwanteverything,andnothingwilleverbeenough.I’memptyandIacheandI’mclenchingaroundnothingand—
“Elsie,whatdoyou—”
“Idon’tknow,”Iwhine,burning,outofcontrol.“Idon’tknow,butplease—canyou—”
“Shh.It’sokay.”Thethumbpressesharder,andmyheadfallsbackagainstthewindow.“IbarelyknowwhatIwantfromyou,andI’vehadmuchlongertothinkaboutit.”He’sclose,lickingmyneckandmynipples,scrapinghisteetharoundmythroat.Itmakeseverythingworseandsomuchbetter.“Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoing,either.Notwithyou.Thisisnew.”
Myheadisajumbledmessofpleasureandpanic.Thisis—ohGod.“That’shumbleofyou,”Imanagetopushout.Myhipsshift,tryingtomeethimandgetmorefriction.Jackseesmestrain,andhedoesnothing.Ihatehim.Ihatehim,Ihatehim,I—
“There’ssomethingreallyhumblingabouthavingthefaceofyourbrother’sgirlfriendinyourheadeverytimeyoucome.”
Anotherwhimper.Mine.“Iwasneverhis.”
“Ididn’tknowit.Formonths,Ididn’tknow.”
Iwanttoaskhimwhathethoughtof.Whenitstarted.Ijustsay,“Iwassureyouhatedme.”
Helaughs,alittlewistful,andleansinforakissagainstmytemple.“Ididsometimes.Formakingmehatemybrother,justbecausehewastheonewhogottoeatyouout.”Hishandtwists,andsomethinginhisgripchanges:morepointsofcontact,Jackpartingmyfolds,theheelofhishandpressingagainstmyclit.It’sevenbetter.Somuchbetter.“ShouldIputafingerinsideyou?”
Aflushspreadsupfrommychest.Myentirebodyisburning,ablendofembarrassment,heat,pleasure.
“Idon’t…Iusually…”
Ifeelhimnodagainstmycheek.“No,then.”
“But…”Historically,penetrativesexhasdoneverylittleforme.Butthensohaskissingortouching,andasIsithere,tremblingfromJack’shandbetweenmylegs,Icannothelpthinkingthatmaybetherecouldbemoretothat.“Trialanderror,”Isay,whichmakeshimlaugh,adeeprumbleinhischest.
“Yousure?”
Inod.Andthenhismiddlefingernudgesatmyopening,tappinggentlywhilehisthumbstrokesmyclit,andIthinkit’sgoingtobeaprocess,Ithinkmybodyisgoingtohavetoworkforit,butI’mwrong.Hesinksinsidemelikeastoneinwater,gentlebutnottentative,andit’stight,butthefrictionisgood.Hepullsbacktoholdmyeyes,andwestaylikethat,bothvaguelysurprised,bothnotquitedaringtobreathe.Untilhekissesmymouthandhookshisfingerinsideme.
Iarchandcontractaroundhim.Webothjolt.
“Fuck,”hebreathesout.“Here,huh?”Hedoesitagain,hittingaspotthat’ssomehowindecently,massivelyperfect.Myentirebodybloomswithheat,thrumsfromtheintensityofit.
“OhmyGod,Jack,you—”
Hedoesitsomemore,andIloseanyabilitytospeak.Hiskissesdeepen,becomemoreaggressive,butIamtoolostinthepleasureshootinguptomybrain,toouncoordinatedtoreturntheminanymeaningfulway.Herealizesit,Ithink,becausehegroansinthebackofhisthroat,andhisotherhandmovesbetweenmyshoulderbladesandhepullsmeintohischest,asoftcreaturehescoopedupfromthefloor,squirmingunderhim,meltingbetweenhisfingers,utterlydefenseless.“Iimaginedbeingwithyoulikethisalot.But,Elsie,thisisunreal.Youareunreal.”Hislipstrailacrossmycheek.“WhenIgetinsideyou,I’mgoingtolosemyfuckingmind,”hepantsagainsttheshellofmyear,likeit’stoodirtytosayoutloud,evenaloneinadarkroom.
“Youareinsideme—”
“YouknowwhatImean.”Hebitesmylobe.Hishandcaressesupanddownmyspine,asoothingtouchthat’sthepolaroppositeoftheslickmessbetweenmylegs.“Two?”
Iswallow.Mythighsarestartingtotremble,andafrighteningthoughtoccurstome:Imightcomefromthis.Imightactuallyhaveanorgasm.Imightloseallcontrolandafairbitofdignity,infrontofsomeoneelse.Infrontofthissomeoneelse.
“Elsie?Onefingerokay?Oryouwantmore?”
Idon’tknow.No.Yes.Ishakemyheadandblindlygrabhisarm,diggingmynailsintohim.Hisbicepsisanoaktree,nogivetotheheavymuscles,andIfeellessstranded.Anchored.
Iwantmoreofthis.OfJack.ButI’malreadyfull,burstingattheseams.“Youhavereallybighands,”Isay,andIdon’tsay,Ilikeyourhands.Iloveyourhands.Iwatchyourhands.
“Okay.”Hewetshislipsagainstmine.We’redrawingamaptogether,ofaplaceneitherofushasvisited.“Okay,let’sstickwithone.”
“Ithink…”Icuphischeek.Makesuremyeyesareonhis.“Ithinkweshouldgotobed.Havesex.Realsex.”
Helaughs,strained.“Ithinkyoushouldletmegoonmykneesandeatyououtuntiltomorrowmorning.”
God.God.Ishakemyhead,dizzy,warm,dazzled.“Let’sjusthavesex.You—youcan’tbeenjoyingthis,”Itellhimaroundamoan.Iclearlyam.Enjoyingit.
“Yousure?”Heanglesmealittle,andthereisnomistakingthehotbulgeofhiscockagainstmyhip.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I’mnot—I’mnotevendoinganything.Ifwewenttobed,Icould—”
“Youmakesoftlittlesounds.YoushiftyourhipswhenIdo—ah,yes.This.Andthesetinyspasmsaroundmyfinger,whichmakemethinkofyouclenchingaroundmycock.Givenhowtightyouare,itisn’thappeninganytimesoon,but—”Hecloseshiseyesandtakesadeep,undonebreath.“Sorry.”
Hisrhythmonmyclitispickingup,andI’mfadingfast,allshallowbreathingandspottyvision.“Sorry?”
“Justtryingtogetagrip.”
“Youdon’thavetogetagrip.Youcantakemeupstairsand—”
Mychannelcontractsaroundhimandwebothgroan.“Yousureyoudon’twanttwofingers,Elsie?”
Iletmyshouldersfallbackagainstthewindow.It’swetwithmysweat,notcoldanymore.“Weshouldtry.”
Hewatcheshimselfthistime.Hestaresathisindexfingerdisappearinginsidemealongsidethemiddle,hisotherhanddrawingcalmingpatternsonmywaist.Iclenchandgaspandtwistonhim,buthedoesn’tletup,keepspushinginslowly,andaftersomeresistance,I’mtakinghim,archinginvoluntarilytomakeroom,lettingoutafinallittlenoiseofgratitudeanddisbelief.
“Jesus,”Jacksays.“Fuck.”
I’mgettingusedtoit.Thissenseofbeingcrammedwithsomethinghotandbeautiful.Imoveexperimentally.Squeezearoundhimtillwebothmakesoundsthatbelongtoanimals.
“Good?”
Inod.Theedgesofmyvisionareblurry.“Good.”
Hiskissesaregentlepecks,almostchaste.Afterthoughts,punctuationstothislurid,soakingthingwe’redoing.“Somaybeyouliketobefull,”hesays,voicehusky.
Inod.MaybeIdo.
“IwillgiveyouanythingIhave—anythingyouwant,ifyouletmegodownonyourightnow.”
Ilieback,enjoythefullness,andtrytodecideinthemushthatismybrain.“I’veneverdoneit,”Iwhisper,andJackmustfindthesituationunacceptable,becausehedropstohiskneesinfrontofmeandinhalesdeeplyagainstthecreaseofmyabdomen.
Ittakesexactlytwoswipesofhistonguetosendmetoouterspace.Onearoundmyopening,wherehe’sstretchingmetoowide,andIthinkI’mgoingtodieofembarrassment,ofheat,oftheliquidpressurethatgrowswitheachofhisgutturalgroans.Thenhemovesuptomyclit,andIknow—Iknow—thatnothinghaseverfeltlikethisinmylife,thatgoodthingscomesparingly,thatIshouldtrytomakethislast,butit’soverbeforeitstarts.Mybodyseizesandsnapsandburstsintoabubbleofsimple,pure,physicalpleasurethatfeelstoointensetoweatheralone.MyfingerspullJack’shairtootight,diginhisscalp,andhekeepsoneatingatme,evenwhenI’mcomingdown.Hisfingersstaydeepinside,asiftogivemesomethingtocontractaroundwhileIrideitout,andit’sperfect,this.It’sexplosive,crashing,nuclear.Somewhereintheuniverseantimatterisbeingproduced,andit’sallbecauseofthis.
Becauseofus.
“IthinkI’mdying,”IsaythesecondIcanbreathe,completelyserious.Myheelsarediggingintohisback,andwetnoisesriseupfromwherehe’sstillrunninghistongueoverme.
“IthinkIwanttodothiseveryday,”heresponds,kissingmypussylikehewouldmymouth.“Everydayfortherestofmylife.”
Hiswordsbarelyregister,theglowofpleasurescramblingmymindashepullsouthisfingersandstandstopressasoftkissonmyjaw.Hemurmurssoothingpraisesandnuzzlesthetopofmyhead,likeheknowshowdisorientedIfeel.Ithinkthesearecuddles.Theyfeelasgoodastheorgasm.
Thensomethingoccurstome:Icame.Hedidn’t.Ithinkofthatmomentoftensedesperationjustbefore,thefearofbeingstuckonthevergeofpleasure,andIwonderifthat’swhereJackisatnow.Ifthat’showhefeels,pulledtootight,toobigforhisskin.
“Iwanttohavesex,”Itellhimforthemillionthtime,andit’strue.Ido.IwanttoseeJackcome,forawholehostofreasonsthathavelittletodowithhim.I’mutterly,purelyselfish
“Againsttonight’srules,”hemuttersintomyshoulder.
“Soyou’rejustgoingtostop?”Ishiftmythigh,andit’sstillthere.Hiserectcock.
“I’mfinewith—”
“Honesty,”Icutin.We’rebothstartingtowieldthewordlikeaweapon.“Whatdoyouwantnow?Puttingasideyour‘rules.’?”Irollmyeyesatthelastword,whichseemstoamusehim.Mystomachbloomswithheat—aphysicalreactiontohisdimple.
“Idon’thaveto—”
“Honesty.”
“Okay.”Heexhalesandstaresdownatmybody.Considersthepossibilities.“Iwanttocomeonyourstomach.”
“Oh.”Iexpected…Idon’tknowwhat.Notthis.“Isita…kinkyouhave?”
Heshakeshishead.“Notusually,no.But…”Helookspastmyeyes,uncharacteristicallybashful.
“Honesty?”Irequest.
“Ineverthoughtofmyselfasthepossessivetype.But…youweresomeoneelse’sforalongtime.Itdrovemeabitcrazyinmylizardbrain.”
Inod,thinkingofmyownvaguejealousy.“Ithinkyoushould,then.”
Heswallows.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”Ibitebackasmile.“Makesureyourclothesstayon.Rulesandall.”
Hegivesmeadirtylook.ForasecondI’mgigglingonthehighofteasinghim,thenthere’shisbeltclinkingundone,thecatchofazipper,brushesoffabricashetakeshimselfout,andthesmilediesonmylips.
Iamlooking,andheisn’t.Hedoesn’twatchformyreaction.Justtakeshimselfinhand,pumpingupanddown.Hiscockishard,longandthickinawayIdidn’tthinkpossible.Iglanceatthewayhe’sstrokinghimself,thenawaytothecouch,thenathimagain,andask,“Doesn’tit…getintheway?”
It’samortifyingquestion,andIwanttoair-frymyselfoutofthisplaneofexistencethesecondit’soutofmymouth,butJack’snotlistening.Hiseyesmoverapidlyallovermybody,likeIhaven’tbeenalmostnakedinfrontofhimforthepasttenminutes.“YoureallyarethemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseen,”hemurmurs.
“Yousaidyoudon’tcare.Thatyoubarelynotice.Thattherearelotsofbeautifulwomen.”
“Idon’tknow.”He’susuallysoconfident,butrightnowhesoundsasdisorientedasIfeel.“Withyou,Inotice.”Henipswetkissesdownmyjaw.“Youthinkyoucancomeagain?”
Impossibletotell.Ihaven’tcomewithanotherpersonbefore,andanimprovementrateof200percentseemssteep,butmaybe?I’dratherbepresentforthis,though.Studyhim.KnowwhatJacklookslikewhenhe’snotfullyincontrol.“IthinkIdon’twantto.”
Henods,andwhathappensnextisnotreallyforme.Hestepsbetweenmythighsandanglestheundersideofhiscocksothatithitsmyclit.Ithasusbothgasping,butit’saboutwhathewants.Asisthewayheslotstheheadagainstmyopening,andthelongmomentheleavesitthere,grunting,aturningpointinthemultiverse,wheretwofuturesexist:oneinwhichhepushesinandfucksme,theotherinwhichhefollowsthoseinflexiblerulesofhis.
Unfortunately,JackSmith-Turnerisastickler.
ItoccurstomethatIcouldbedoingthisforhim.Icouldbemorethanjustawarmbodyandslenderarmsloopedaroundhisneck.“ShouldI—”
“Nottonight.”Hismovementsarepickingup,knucklesbrushingrhythmicallyagainstmyslit.“Ijustwanttolookatyou.Knowyou’rehere.”Heusesmyslicktomakehimselfwet,hard,fastpulls,andafterjustahandfulofsecondsIseethetensioninhisarms,themutedtremorsinhisfingers,howclosehealreadyis.“Shit,Elsie.”Hisvoiceisurgent.Alittledesperate.Hisforeheadpressesagainstmine.“Thereweredays,theselastfewmonths,whenyouwereallIcouldthinkabout.EvenifIdidn’treallywantto.”Thenachoked“Fuck”thatfeelslikearushofbreathagainstmylips,andIknowhe’sthere.
Ithinkhe’llfinishwithagrowl,makeamessoutofme,maybeadmirehishandiwork,butthat’snotwhathappensatall.Insteadhepullsbacksothathiseyescanholdmyowntilltheverylastmoment,glassyandnearlyallblack.Hisfreehandsearchesblindly,frantically.Itgrabsminewhenhefindsit,twiningourfingerstogetherinatight
Thisisabouthimandme.Andthepossibilityofsomethingthatgoesfarbeyondthebothofus.
“Elsie,”hemouthswhenhecomes.Heseemstoretreatintohimself,todigdeepintohisheadtodealwiththeshockingpleasureofitandavoidlosinghismind,andallIneedtodoisholdhimtighttoremindhimthatyes.I’mhere.Withhim.
I’mhere.
It’sdownrightterrifying,whatthiscouldbe.WhatIwantittobe.Itmakesmetearup,andthenitmakesmesob,andthenitmakesmeclutchatJackfordearlife,thesplotchofhissemenstickingtohisshirtandmystomach,poolinginmybellybutton.Tohiscredit,hedoesn’taskmewhat’swrong.Hedoesn’tbegforexplanations.Hejustholdsmeclose,botharmswrappedaroundme,evenwhenmytearsmorphintogiggles,likeI’msomecrazy,unstablegirlwhodoesn’tknowwhattobeorwhattofeel.
Wait.That’sexactlywhoIam.
Ilaugh.ThenIlaughsomemore.ThenIcannotstop.Themovieisover,“15Step”byRadioheadbafflinglyplaysduringtheblack-and-whiteendcredits,andI’mlaughingagain.
“You’reruiningthemoment.”Hislipscurveintomythroat,windedlikehejustfinishedanOlympicrace.
“I’msosorry.Ijust—”
“What?”
“Justwonderingifyoustillthinkit’s‘toosoon.’?”
Heslapsmybutt.Iyelpandthenkeeponlaughing.
“Yes.”HemaneuversbackandanglesmyheadsothatI’mlookingathim.“It’sreallysoon.Buttheonlypersonwhocanslowusdownisyou,so…”
“Sowhat?”
Hepushesastrandofsweatyhairbehindmyear.Hiseyesareworried,andwarm,andemptyofeverythingthat’snotus.“Begentlewithme,Elsie.That’sallIask.”20FALLINGBODIES
From:SandraShuberton@gmail.com
Re:ThermodynamicsEssay
DoctorHannaway,ma’am,it’sbeen23hours,haveyougradedmyessayyet?
Saturday’sadaze.
Ishufflearoundmyroomgingerly,fullofdistantstaresandhandsstoppingmidaction,likeIcannotrememberwhatIopenedmyclosetfor,howtosqueezethetubetogettherightamountoftoothpaste.
It’safirst.Isensethatsomeparadigmaticshifthashappenedwithinme,butIcannotjustifyit.JackandIdidabunchofthingsthathighschoolerstodaywouldbarelyconsideraquarteroffirstbase—sowhat?Itrytocognitivelyreframelastnightastwoadultshavingcasualfun,butmyheadisfullofaggressive,intrusive,embarrassingthoughtsthatmakeithardtoconcentrateongrading.Asthoughthesheernatureofgradingdidn’tdoitonitsown.
“Whendidyougetbacklastnight?”CeceaskswhenIemergeinthekitchen.Asusual,she’sengagedinamixofactivities:teachingHedgieanobstaclecourse,listeningtoanaudiobookonthewomenofthePlantagenets,makingoatmeal.
ItrytorecallwhattheclockinJack’scarlookedlikewhenhedroppedmeoff.Therednumbersblinkingatmeinthedark,asiftosay,Youshouldgo.AndJackleaningoverthearmrestforakiss,thenpullingmeintohislap.Whispering,Notyet.“Aroundone.”
“Arecord.”
“Wewatchedamovie,”Itellher,toavoidsaying,IthinkIhadthemostsoul-shakingnightofmyentireadultlife,anditdidn’teveninvolvecheese
“Whatmovie?”
“Um…avampiremovie.”
“OhmyGod.Nosferatu:EineSymphoniedesGrauens?”
“…Yeah.”
“Luckyyou.”Shesighs.“DidyoumakeoutbeforeorafterCountOrlokawakens?”
“Wedidn’t—”Shepointsatmyneck,andIturntocatchmyreflectioninthemicrowave.Dammit.“During.”
Shenodsknowingly.“It’sahornymovie,isn’tit?”
Iremindmybrothersthatiftheygotojailforkillingeachother,theirfutureliveswillcontainverylittleDanaandverycopiousamountsoftoiletwine.InresponseIgetcalledabitch(Lucas),orderedtogetafuckinglife(Lance),andtold,unceremoniously,“Humph”(Mom).
“Theydidagreetonotrunovertheotheriftheymeetatthefarmers’market,sothere’sthat.”
“Gladtoseeyou’redoingyourpartforthefamily,Elsie,”shesays.
IthinkI’mforgiven.BecauseIdidwhatIwastold.Thereshouldbereliefinthat,butwhileMomgoesonaboutthatComicSansinspirationalquotemyauntpostedonFacebookthatmayormaynotbeshade,Ipicturepracticinghonesty.Mom,stop.Thisismessedup.
Idon’tdoit,though.
IoftenmeetwithDr.L.onSaturdays,andI’vebeendyingtodiscussGeorge’sofferwithhim,buthe’soutoftown.InsteadIhavelunchwithCece(aquinoabowl—IsnapapictureandsendittoGreg,whoreplieswithsevenface-palmingemojisinarow)andthenspendtheafternoonatthesciencefair,manningtheUMassPhysicsClubstandalonebecausenoneofthestudentswhoweresupposedtohelpshowedup.Ifreezemyassoff,wonderifIshouldbeworriedaboutthegroupofkidswhokeepbeggingmetoteachthemhowtobuildacatapult,thenimaginedoingthisnextyear,alloveragain.
ThenIimaginemakingmylifeaboutwhatIwant.
WhenIgetatextfromJack,mybrainstopsworking.
JACK:Greginvitedustodinner.Wanttogo?Wecanstayinifyouprefer.
HetalkslikehisSaturdaynightsbelongtome,eventhoughthisthingwithusonlyjuststarted,andmyheartskipstoomanybeats.
ELSIE:I’matUMassdoingunspeakablethingstilllate.ButIcouldjoinwhenI’mdone.
JACK:Perfect.
Ithinkofthewordhonestyalotbeforeadding:
ELSIE:I’dliketospendthenightafterwards.
Thereplytakesalongtimetocome,andIfindmyselfpicturinganswers.It’stoofastLet’sgetbackontrack.Takeitslow.
Butsomethinghasshifted.Maybeonthewindowsill.Maybewhenhenippedmychinafterbuttoningupmycoat.Maybeintheparkinglot,themomenthegrabbedmyhandandpulledmebackintothecar,tellingmethatIcouldn’tleavewithouttellinghimtheendingofthemovie.Dotheygotocollege?DoesEdwardeverseeadermatologist?Whowinsthegoldenonion?
Hisreplytakesalongtimetocome,butI’mnotsurprisedwhenitdoes.
JACK:Good.
???
BythetimeGregopensthedoor,I’veworkedmyselfuptoastateofpanic.
“Ithoughtcomingempty-handedwouldberude,”Iblurtout,“soIgrabbedthis.Becauseitwascheap,butnotthecheapest.”Ihandhimthebottleofredwinelikeit’sahotpotato.“Ididn’tnoticethenameuntilIgotonthebus,and…”
Greglooksdownatthelabel,whichproclaims“MénageàTrois”inasexy,flirtatiousfont.Hesnortsoutalaugh.
“Iswear,thisisnotaproposition.”
“Noted.”Hehugsme,atoncenewandcomfortinglyfamiliar.“I’llputthisorgyinviteinthefridgeandgofinishthefood.Makeyourselfcomfortable.”
Iclawoutofmyanxietypit,takeoffmycoat,thenmaketofollowhimintothekitchen,when—
Jack.
Fornoreasonwhatsoever,myheartjoltsandIcannotbreathe.Maybethere’ssomethingwrongwithmycardiopulmonaryhealth—ismyentirebodyjoiningmypancreasandcrappingout?Doesnothinginsidemeworkanymore?Butreally,it’snotimportant.Idon’tcare.Jackdoesn’tcare.Hestandsjustafewfeetfromtheentrance,armscrossed,chestnuteyesfullofwarmthandamusementashemurmurs,“LookslikeyouandUnclePaulhavesomethingincommon,afterall.”
“I…He…It’samisunderstanding.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Whenyousaidyouwantedtospendthenight,Ididn’tthinkyoumeanthere.”
Igroan,coveringmyeyeswithmyhand.AndwhenIfeelJack’sheat,Iknowhehasdriftedcloser,andIletmyselfsinkintohim.
“Hey,”hesays,lipsagainstmytemple,andsuddenlyeverythingfeelsabitmorerightintheworld.Iwanttokisshim,desperately,justasdesperatelyasIdon’twanthisbrothertowalkinonuskissinginhislivingroom.SoIpullbackandopenmymouthtosaythefirstthingIcanthinkof.
Thenimmediatelycloseit.
AmIgoinginsane?Ismybrainleakingoutfrommyears?Ican’tsaythat.I’mnotbatshit—
“Honesty,”hechidesgently.
Crap.“I…”Iswallow.Buckup.Takeadeepbreath.“Imissedyou.”Irubmyforehead.“God,I’msuchaweirdo.”
Henodsslowly,asthoughmullingitover.Thenoffers,“Iwenttocampustodaytogetworkdone.InsteadIkeptwonderinghowbuckwilditwouldbeifIaskedyoutomovein.”
Iletoutasurprisedlaugh.“You’reaweirdo,too.”
“Yeah.”
“Haveyouever…?”
“Nope.Totalfirst.”
“What’swrongwithus?”
Hiseyesholdmine,unyielding.“Ithinkwebothknowwhat.”
Ilaughagain.“What?”
“Comeon,Elsie.Youknowwherewe’regoing,here.”
Itakeastepback,nearlybumpingintoafullyassembledhutch.PanicbubblesasItrackthisconversation.IthinkIknowwhathe’sreferringto,but…It’snotpossible.Itmightfeellikethat,butit’stoofast.
“No,”Isay.Andthenturnaway,drymouthed,becausehe’sgivingmethelookagain,theonehereservesforwhenwebothknowI’mlying.
I’mafraidhe’llbehisusualmercilessself,buthejustnods,pushesastrandofhairbehindmyear,andtellsme,“It’llcometoyou.”Histouchlingersbriefly,thenhishanddropstohissidejustasGregcallstotellusthatdinnerisready.
“I’maverymediocrecook,”hewarnsme,andit’snotalie,buthismediocrefoodpairsperfectlywithmymediocrewine,andevenbetterwithstoriesofhisandJack’smediocrechildhoods.TeenageGreg,apparently,usedtoupdateeveryFacebookstatuswithemosonglyrics.Jackhadaskaterphaseandaman-bunphase(notoverlapping).TheyoncecollaboratedonahomemademafiathrillertitledTheGodson,whichGregpromisestoshowme.Inexchange,Imakethemlaughwithmyweirdestfake-girlfriendingstories,liketheguywhohadmelearnseashantiesinpreparationforourdate,ortheonewhowasafraidofwallpaper.
“Thisis…easy,”ItellJackwhenGreggetsalate-nightworkcall.He’swashingthedishes;Idry.
“Whatis?”
“Just…”Istareathissoapyfingers.“This.Thethreeofus.Ithoughtit’dbeweird,but…”It’snot.
“Whydoyouthinkthatis?”heasks,withthetoneofsomeonewhoalreadyhastheanswer.Idon’t,though.Iteludesme,evenasGregunearthsTheGodsonforitsfirstshowingintwodecades.Afterwehughimgoodnight,Idozeoffinsidethecar.Andoncewe’rehome,Ihangmycoatonmyhook.
IsitmessedupthatI’vestartedtothinkinthoseterms?Ifbeingsomewherethreetimeswereasignofownership,CeceandIwouldbethebaronsofTraderJoe’scheeseaisle.Butmypeacoatalwaysfindsitselfinthesamespot—betweenalightweightblackjacketandthelanyardwithJack’sMITPhysicsInstitutebadge.Thebuddingdomesticitymakesreachingforpossessivepronounsthatmucheasier.
“Wantahotchocolate?”heasks.Heventuresdeepinsidetheapartment,turningonjustonelight.Hisfaceisfullofshadows,andI’malittlelostinthem.
“No.”
“Anythingelse?”
Ishakemyheadandstifleayawn.It’spasttwoandallIwantisapillow,butIthinkwe’reabouttohavesex.That’swhatspendingthenightmeans,right?IshouldcheckUrbanDictionary.
“Let’sgoupstairs,then.”
Inhisroom,hehandsmeanextra-largehoodieandherdsmetowardthebathroom.IchangeintoitbecauseI’mtootiredtowonderwhy,becauseit’skindofcomfy,andbecausemaybeitfitsintoakinkofhis.Hedidlikelingerie.Sportswearmightbethenextlogicalstep.Ortentacledildos
Iusehismouthwash,scrubmyfaceclean,thenpadbackintohisroom,hairupinamessyknot,thethickcottonhittingmythighsalmosttomyknees.IbrushpastJackandhisamusedlookandthrowmyselfonmysideofthebed—moreunwarrantedpossessivepronouns—andsneakinatwenty-secondmicronap.Ormaybeit’smoreliketenminutes,becausewhenInextwakeup,Jackblocksthenight-lightseepinginfromthehallway.Hesmellslikeshowerandtoothpaste.Andhe’swearingplaidpajamabottomsandaToyStoryT-shirt.
“Cute,”Isay,closingmyeyesagain.“DidyounoticeWoodyandBuzz’shomoeroticundertones?”
“Ithoughttheywereveryovert.”
“Validating.Thankyou.We’reabouttohave”—Iyawn—“sex,right?”
Themattressdips.“Sure.”Underthedownblanket,stronghandspullmecloser,longlegstanglewithmine,andwe’vedonethisbefore.It’scomforting.Familiar.Thewordminepopsintomysleepyheadagain,andIletitfloataboutlongerthanIshould.
“Okay,good.”Ican’tstopyawning,butIforcemylidsopen.“I’montheDeposhot.IgetitfromPlannedParenthood,otherwiseIcouldn’taffordit.”
“PlannedParenthood’sgoodpeople.”
“Yeah.”Ishiftcloser.He’shardagainstmystomach,butnothingabouthimbroadcastsimpatience.“Wedon’thaveto,like,useacondom.Unlessyouhavepubiclice.”
Hischeekcurvesagainstmine.“Idoubtcondomsprotectfrompubiclice,sweetheart.”
IdozeoffintoapillowthatsmellslikeshampooandahintofsweatandJack’sMIToffice,thinkingaboutthelogisticsoflittlecrittersjumpingfromonecrotchtoanother,onlytojoltawakemid-fading.“Don’tletmefallasleep,”Iyawnintohisneck.“We’resupposedtobedoingit.”
“Weare.We’regoingatitlikeanimals.Justcloseyoureyes.”
Ido.It’seasier.“Isthisanotherruleofyours?AreyouintoBDSM?”
“Idohaveathingforconsent.Andmypartnersbeingawake.”
Ipicturelegionsofbeautiful,intelligent,curvypartnerswithadvanceddegrees.“Whathappenedtothegeologist?”
“Who?”
“ShewasyourdatethedayImetyou.Verynice.Ontheshortside.Darkhair.Iforgothername…”
“Madeleine.She’scurrentlyinEuropeforhersabbatical.Spain,Ibelieve.”Hepushesastrandofhairbehindmyear.“She’scool.Youtwowouldgetalong.”
I’mmarginallymoreawake.“Haveyoubeenwithlotsofwomen?”
“Mmm.”Thesoundpurrsthroughmyskinandbones.“Idon’tknow.”
“Howdoyounotknow?”
“Ihavenoideawhattheparametersof‘lots’are.”
“Betweenonehundredandthreehundredandtwelve.”Heslapsmegentlyontheass.Ichuckleandmeltintohim.“I’mnotsure,either.”
“Thenwe’llneverknow.”
“Butyoudothisalot.”
“Ihaven’tinawhile.”
“Sincewhen?”
“Ithinkyouknow.”
Oh.“Youlikesex,”Isay.Notaquestion
“Ido.”Hepauses.“ButI’llalsogomonthswithoutthinkingaboutitifI’mbusyworkingonagrantoranexperiment.”
“Likeyourcurrentsetsoffailedexperiments?”
Helaughssoftly,pressingakissonmyhair.“I’vethoughtmoreaboutsexinthelastsixmonthsthaneverbefore.”
“Ihopeyou’lllikeit.”Iburrowfurtherintohim.“Withme.”
“Iwill.”
“Youcan’tknow.”
“Ican.”Herubsahandupanddownmyback,likeI’mafussypetinneedofsoothing.MaybeIam.
“Sexualcompatibilityisathing.Whatifwe’renot…”
“Thenwe’llworkonit.”
“Idon’twanttobework.Idon’twantyoutofeelthatI’mwork.”
Hesighs.“Somewherealongthewayyourwiresgotcrossed.Yourbraindecidedthatyou’renotworthpeople’stimeandeffort,andthatifyouaskforanything,theywon’tjustsayno,they’llalsoleaveyou.”Hesaysitmatter-of-factly,likehe’sArchimedesofSyracuserepeatinghisfindingsaboutupwardbuoyantforcestotheacropolisforthetenthtime.“That’snothowloveworks,Elsie.Butdon’tworryfornow.I’llshowyou.”
“ButI—”
“Gotosleep.”
“What?Why?No!”Itrytomoveup,buthisarmscagemetighter.“Weshouldbehavingallthesex.”
“Inaminute.Fornow,justcloseyoureyesandbesilentfortwentyseconds.”
“Why?”
“It’sakinkIhave.”
“Youperv.”Yawn.“Whathappenedtoanalplayandbondage?”
“We’llgetthere.Areyoureyesclosed?”
Inodintohischest.
“Perfect.Nowcounttotwentyinyourhead.”
Hisbreathisasoft,steadyrhythmundermyear.I’mwarmandsafe,andIgetonlytothirteenbeforeI’mlosttotheworld.21COMPLEXHARMONICMOTION
MyfirstthoughtisI’mgoingtobuyhimcurtains
Mysecond:I’mgoingtodowithoutcheese,insulin,andpossiblytoiletpaperforthenextsixmonths.Tosaveup.Tobuyhimcurtains.
Blackout.Rodpocketed.Floortoceiling.
It’sunacceptable,fallingasleepthatlateandthenwakingupatwhat—seventhirty?Eight?Nine?Justbecausesomeguydoesn’tknowthatshadesexist.Seemslikeaprettysimpleconceptto—
“I’llgetyouasleepmask.”
IopenmyeyesandIthink,Blue.Which—lessthanone-eighthofhiseyesisblue.Itmakesnosense.“HowdoyouknowwhatIwas—?”
“Yourfrownwokemeup,”hesays,voiceroughwithsleep.Heshiftsinastretchingyawn,andit’slikeaseismicevent,ahugetectonicfaultshiftingunderthecrustoftheearth.Becauseduringthenight,IendedupfacedownontopofJack.
“How?”Iask.
“Youmovedaroundalot,”hesays.“Feltliketheeasiestwaytokeepyoufromkickingmyshins.”
“Wait—whendidyou—?”
“Aboutfiveminutesafteryoufellasleep.”
“Wow.”Ishouldmoveaway.Buthemakesforagoodbed,firmandbulkyandwarm.I’mgroggywithsleepthatwaseithernotenoughortoointense,anddon’twanttoleavejustyet.
Foronce,Ifeelmyself,mybody.Jack’shandisonmylowerback,underthehoodie.Myfeetarewrappedaroundhisshins.Hismouthisseveralinchesaway,butalsoaccessible,andIreachforit.
Iaimforasimplepeck,suspectingamessofrotten-eggymorningbreath,butthere’snoneofthat.Hetasteslikehimself,familiar,anddeepensthekissintosomethinggentle,slow,deliciouslylazy.Timedoesn’texist.Thisbedistheexpanseoftheuniverse.We’restilldreaming,tuckedsafelyinsideourheads.
Thereisnourgencyinhim,nopressurepoint.Justtheunhurriedrhythmofhistongueagainstmine,leisurelypatternstracedagainstmyskin.Hisheartbeatspeedsupbutremainssteady.Hisbreathinggrowsshallow,butIknowitonlyfromtheriseandfallofhischestagainstmine.
It’sagoodwaytowakeup.Iwanttowakeupexactlylikethisagainandagainandagain.Iwanttofeeltheblindingsunrayswashoverus,andthisnewbrightnessinsideme,fragileandscaldinghotallatonce.
Maybethat’swhytherearenocurtains.Inthelight,it’seasytofeelbrave.AllthosethingsI’mscaredofseemconquerable,andhonestyisalmosteffortless.
“Jack?”Ipullback,balancingonmypalms,oneoneachsideofhishead.Myhairhascomeundoneanddrapesarounduslikeashrine.
“Elsie.”Hispalmscomeuptoholdmyface.
“I…”I’mnotscared.I’mjustnot.“Ilied.”
Hismouthquirkssleepily.“Whichtime?”
Iglare.“Ihateyou.”
“Sure.”Histhumbsswipegentlyovermycheeks.Lovingly.Becausethat’swhatthisisabout.“What’sthislieyouspeakof?”
“IsaidIdidn’tknow.ButIdo.”
“Knowwhat?”
Iswallow.“Wherethisisgoing.Wherewe’reheaded.Thetwoofus.”
Somethingthickensbetweenus,denseandweighty.Iknow.Heknows.We’veacknowledgedit.It’salmostasign,theuniverse’spermissiontomoveforward.Jack’seyesarewarmandprobing,andhesays,“Comehere.”
Idon’tremembertakingoffmybralastnight,butImusthave,becausewhenhetossesmyhoodietothefloor,mytoo-paleskinisbareintheblindinglight.Idon’tevenwanttoaskhimtolookaway.
Jackseesme.Andit’sokay.
“Comehere,”herepeats,andhismouth’sonmine,insistent,brakelessthistime.Likehe’skissingmefornow,forallthetimeshecouldn’tbefore,forlater,too.Whateveritwasthatheldhimbackyesterday,twonightsago,thepasttwoweeks,itmeltsinthemorningsun.
You,avoicesuggests.AllthoseElsiesthataren’treallyyouarewhatstoodbetweenhimandthis.
I’moutofbreathwhenhesitsuptotakehisshirtoff,andthis—thisisactuallynew.He’salmostasundressedasIam,we’reequals,andwhenhetriestopullmedowntohim,Ishakemyheadandbegintoinspecthim.Isitastridehiships,ridinghimasthoughhewereamellow,compliantbeastinsteadofthemostdangerousthinginmylife.
“Iusedto…Backbeforemyinterview,Iusedtotrytopicturethem.”Itracetheinsideofhiselbow.“Yourtattoos.”
Hewillstaywhereheis,buthecan’thelptouchingme.Hishandcomesuptomyribcage,thumbstrokingtheoutsideofmybreast.“HowdidyouknowIhadtattoos?”
Iswallow.“Icouldseetheendofone.”
“Ah.”Histhumbmovestomynipple,featherylight.Iarchintothetouch.“Whatdidyouthinktheywere?”
“Barbedwire.ABonJoviquote.ElonMusk’sface.”
“Jesus.”
Ilaugh,butI’mnotbreathingeasily.“Sorry.”
Histattoosarebeautiful.TheDiracequation.Theelectroncloud.Betadecay.TheFibonaccispiral.Kinematicmodels,astralplanes,Drake’sformula,themolecularstructureofMBBA.Blackstrokesoffadedinkinterlockedtogetherinabeautifulpainting.Theentirefoundationofmodernphysicsisonhisbroadshoulder,wrappedaroundhislargebiceps.Itraceeverylineofit,everycurveandeverycorner,andheletsmeexplore.Vibratingwithrestraint,buthedoes.I’veneverbeensoselfishbefore,nevertakenupsomuchtimeforsomethingthatisonlymine,andIthinkheknows.Ithinkthat’swhyheallowsit.
“Rememberhowitwas?”Iask.“Learningthemforthefirsttime?TheSchr?dingerequation.Thestandardmodel.”
Henods.Histhroatbobs.He’shardundermycore,patientlyimpatient.“Knowingthattheuniversecanbemadesenseof.”
“Madeofpatterns.Rulesthatcanbelearned,discovered,predicted.”
“Findthemout,andyou’llknowhowtomaketheworldintowhatyouwant,”hesays.
“Findthemout,andyou’llknowhowtomakeyourselfintowhattheworldwants,”Isayinreturn.
Weregardeachotherforamoment.Myhandsareonhim,andhishandsareonme,andI’mthinkingoftwo-,five-,ten-year-oldJack,aloneintheworld,callingsomeoneMom,beingtoldnotto.Theonlyfair-hairedSmith.I’mthinkingofayoungboydeterminedtoshapehissurroundings.Hechosehisownworldintheend,didn’the?Greg.Millicent
AndI’mcertainhe’sthinkingofme.AlltheElsiesI’vecreatedtofitalltheworldsI’veinhabited,allthepeopleinthem.He’sstrippingthemoffmeonebyone,likehehassincethedaywemet.
We’renotsodifferent,youandI,Ithink,andthenhearmyselfexhalinghard.I’vebeenholdingmybreathwithoutrealizingit.“Iknowwherewe’regoing,”Isayagain,feelingthecertaintyofitdeepwithinmybones,likeDirac,likerelativity,thestronginteractionbetweenquarksandgluons,andhetakesitlikewhatitis:permissiontotakecharge,torollusover,pinmeunderneathhim.
Hetakesmypantiesoff.Slidesthemunderhispillow—hoarding,likeadragon.“Youcouldbemyentireworld,”hewhispersinmyearbeforemovingtomycollarbone.“Ifyouletme.”
Istrokehishair.“IthinkIwill.”
“ThenI’msorry.”
“Whatareyou—ah,whatareyousorryfor?”
He’smakingroomforhimselfbetweenmylegs,spreadingthemopen,touchingmetherepurposefully,exploringly,urgently,likehe’slookingforanswers.DoIwantthis?AmIready?AmIwetenough?Yes.Yes.Idon’tknow.
“BecauseI’mnevergoingtoletyougo.”
Imoan.Hiserectionbrushesagainstmystomach,andIreachdownforhim.Iwanttofeelhim,too.Iwanttotouchhim.Butthesecondmyhandclosesaroundhimthroughhispants,heseemstostutter.Hisexpressionblanksandthenheinhalessharply.Heishard.He’sreallyhard.
“Stop,”heorders,choked.
Iobey.Butsay,“Honesty?I’dliketokeepgoing.”
He’snotsurewhethertobelieveme.Butheletsmepushusonoursides,andwhenIslidemyfingerspasthiswaistband,he’sstill,motionlessbutforthemovementinhisthroat.
“Youdon’tlikethis?”Iask.
“Ido,”herasps.
“Youseem…”
“It’snewforme,too.”
Ilaughsoftly.“Handjobs?”
“BeingwithsomeonethatI…”Hedoesn’tfinish.Myfingerswraparoundhim,andhiseyesdropshut.Heseemstofallbackward.Intohimself.“Fuck.”
Ipumpupanddown,butit’sweird,clumsy,withhispantson.He’stoodistractedbymytouch,andIhavetotugatthewaistbandseveraltimesbeforeheunderstandsthatIwanthimtopullthemdown.
“Canyoutellme?Howdoyoulikethis?”Iask,adjustingmygrip.Ineedtwohands.Yes,it’llbebetterwithtwohands.Stillanawkwardposition,butalsointimate,howcloseweare.Nice.Ismellhimdeepinmynostrilsandhe’sgood.Sogood.
“Ilikeittoomuch,Elsie.”
“No,I—”Ishakemyheadagainsthischest.“Tellmehowyoudothis.Whenyou’realone.”
“Thisis—fuck,it’sgood.Just…slowfornow.Steady.Andifyou—thehead—yes.Yes,there.”
“Whatelse?”
Ihearhimswallow.“Yourvoice.”
“I…What?”
“Justspeak.”
“I’mnot…”Laughterbubblesoutofme.“Idon’tthinkIcandodirtytalk.”
“Youcangowithnematics.Youcancounttoten.Idon’tcare,just—”
“I…IcouldtalkaboutGeorge’soffer.HowI’vebeenseriouslyconsidering.IfIaccepted,we’dbeworkingtogether.I’dbeatMITwithyounextyear.I’dearnalivableamountofmoney,somaybewecouldgotolunchtogethersometimes.I’dbuy—”
Hemakesadeep,gutturalsound.Hishandmovesdownbetweenourbodies,andIthinkhe’sabouttoshoomeaway,buthisheaddipsforwardandhisfingerstightenaroundhisballs,thenfistaroundmine.“Iwanttofuckyou,”hesaysintomyhair.“Please,letmefuckyou.”
Isimplynod.
It’sbeautiful,havinghimontopofme.He’ssowideandheavy,I’dhaveexpectedfeelingconstrained,unpleasantlyhelddown,butthere’snoneofthat.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneck,tipmychinuptokisshim,lethimpressmeintothemattressanddeliciouslycontainme.
Andthen,whenhisstomachslidesacrossmine,Igetastabofpanic.
“Wait.”
Hestopsinstantly.Looksdownatme,watchful.
“Ifit’snotgood,we’regoingtoworkonit.Right?”
Helaughsagainstmylips.“It’salreadythebestsexI’veeverhad.”
“Butif—”
“Yeah.”Heeasesmylegsopen,ormaybetheyspreadallontheirown.Hiscockpushesagainstmyabdomenfirstandthenslidesdownthewetmessofmyfolds,slotsagainstmyentrance.“Wewill.”
Itsuddenlyseemsimprobablethatthisisgoingtowork.He’smuchbiggerthanJ.J.,andeventhoughIwasawareofthisbefore,atsomeabstract,theoreticallevel,thepracticalimplicationsarenowglaringlyobvious.Thisisaphysicalimpossibility.That,orit’sgoingtohurtlikehell.AndthisisthepartofsexI’vealwayslikedtheleast—someonepushinginsideme,andmestrugglingtoadjust,tokeepup,toaccept.Iimagineitwillbethesame,andforasplitsecondIwonderifIcouldbearit,notlikingthis.WithJack.
It’snew,worryingaboutmyownenjoyment.I’mcontemplatingit,vaguelydumbfounded,whensomethingchanges.
Jackpressesintome.
Theheadofhiscockslidesinside,justoneortwoinches.
Mybodycontractsaroundhiminasmallspasm.
Iletoutachokedcry,andheslurssomethingthatsoundslike“Fuck”againstmycheek.Iarchintohimasairrushesoutofmylungs,tryingtogetcloser,tryingtochasethatfeeling.
Thisis—nice.Really,reallynice.Unprecedentedlynice.MaybeI’mjustwetenough,maybeI’mmorerelaxedthanever,buthe’snotevenhalfwayinsideandI’mflutteringaroundhim,thetinglingofanorgasmalreadydeepinsidemybelly.
“Holyfuck,”Jackrasps,andhelpsmegoafterwhateverthisis.Hishandslipsbetweenus,thumbpressingagainstmyclit,andItightenevenmorearoundhim,areedywhimpercomingoutofmythroat,mixingwithhisloudgroan.
Myheadwhitesout.I’mconfused.Dizzy.Idon’tthinkIcame,butthisisgoodinawayIcannotevenbegintoparse.Thisfeelsright,andmybodyknows,becauseitwelcomesJackinsidelikeI’mwherehebelongs.
Somaybeyouliketobefull.
Yes.Yes.ItappearsthatIdoliketobefull.
“Isitallin?”
Heshakeshishead.Iconsiderlaughinginhisface,tellinghimthathe’slying,buthe’sinnoshapetodoso.Hiseyesareglassy.Thearmhe’sproppedhimselfuponisshakingonthesideofmyhead,liketheefforttopacehimselfissomewhereabovetherealmofwhat’shuman.
“You’re…big.”
Henods,likeheknowsanditdoesn’tmatter.Mynipplesarehardpebblesagainsttheexpanseofhischest,andthecontactisexquisite.Icouldcomejustfromthis—rubbingmyselfagainsthim.
Iletoutareedylaugh.“Isthiswhatsexfeelslikefornormalpeople?”Iask,movingmyhips,circling,tippingbackandforth,justtoseewherethiscouldendupgoing.Thepossibilitiesaretantalizing.
“Noonehasfeltlikethisinallofhistory,”hetellsme,voicedeepandshaky,andthenhe’skissingmehard,histonguelickinginsidemymouth,andafterafewsecondsofthatI’msofter,I’mopen,I’mlost,andittakesonlytwoupwardthrusts,oneforcefulandtheotheralmostaccidental.ThenI’mtakinghimrighttothehilt,feelinghissackflushagainstme,anditfeelslikesomethingdreamt,somethingmeanttobe.
“Fuck,”hemurmursagain,butIbarelyhearhim.Ifocusonmyownbody,thewayit’sstretchedfull.IfeelJackinthebonesofmyskull,inthetipsofmytoes,andeverywhereinbetween.Ithrum,fluttergentlyaroundhim,andeventhoughI’veneverbeenthisclosetoanyoneelse,it’sstillnotenough.Hemustknow,becausehegathersmeoffthemattressinhisarms.Iamcompletely,utterlysurroundedbyhim,bytheperfecttensionofthismoment,andJackbeginstopushinandoutofme,inandout,deliciousrhythmanddrawn-outfriction.
Icannottakeit.It’stoobrilliantly,stupidlygood.Myheadlollsbackagainsthispillow,andhislipsfindmyjaw,nipmychin,bitemyneck.“I’mgoingtofuckyoueverywhere,Elsie.”Helicksthehollowofmythroat.“Betweentodayandthedaywedie,I’mgoingtofuckyoueverywhere.”
Inod.Lethimknowthathecan.Thereisatight,liquidpoolbloominginsidemystomach,twitchesofpleasuremakingtheirwaydownmylimbs,surgingupmyspine.IreachforJackagain,pullhimtomeforthekissesIwant,butitdoesn’twork.We’retooraw,toonewatthis,toodesperatetocatcheverydropofthis.Ourlipspresstogether,thentheypause,forgottenbybothofus
“Canyoucomelikethis?”heasks,hisbreathahotwashagainstmyear.
I’mdriftingaway.I’llneverhearhisvoiceandnotthinkofthis.Ofthedeep,roughbiteofitsinkinginsidemybrain.OfthewhisperedYesandThiswayandPerfectand—
“Elsie.”Hisbodytremblesaroundmine.Onthevergeoftippingover.“Canyoucomethisway?”
“Idon’tknow.I—maybe?”I’mclose,Ithink.Abouttosnap.It’sphenomenal,thewayhehitseverywhereinsidemeatonce,amasterpieceofbiologythatsomethingcouldworksogloriously,andIjustneedalittlemore—justalittlemore—
“Shit.”Histhrustsquicken,heburieshisfaceinmythroat,andIthinkhe’sgettingclose.Ithinkhedidn’texpectit.Hedoesn’twanttocome,notyet,butthismightbefullyoutofhiscontrol.
Andit’swhatIwant.Toseehimlostinsomething.“You’regood.Thisisgood,”Iurgehim,andthewordissuchapaltrysubstitutewhenwhatImeanisThisisthebestthingI’veeverfeltandThankyouandWhateveryouwant,really,whateveryouwant,justtakeit
“Fuck,”hesaysagain,andIseeitinhisface,thesecondit’salloverforhim.Hishandclosesaroundmyhip,holdingmetohimwhilehepressesasfarashecango,andthenIfeelhiscockjumpinquick,jerkymovements.“Elsie.”
I’mmoaning.He’sgasping.Hisskinslidesagainstmine,sweaty,andmybodyclampsdownonhim.Hisbacktensesintoaslab,andIholdhimwhilehishipsturnerratic,thenstop,then—
Theheatspreadinginsidemecomestoahalt.IwatchJack’seyesgoblank,feelhimbitemycollarbonelikeI’mhisanchor,likehewantstoberemindedthatI’mreallyhere.Thegruntsheletsoutcomefromsomewheredeepinsidehim,somewhereIdoubthehimselfknows,andIholdhimtomyselfuntilhisorgasmdiesdowntoafewclumsy,involuntarythrusts.
I’mstillbuzzingwiththrumming,unsnappedtension.Anditshouldbefrustrating—itisfrustratingthathecameandIdidn’t,thatthere’sheatpushingagainsttheseamsofme,simmeringfromwithin.Butitwasgoodanyway.Andafteramomenthepullsout,breathsrapidandchoppy,andlooksdownatme.Hisexpressionisshaken,alittleastonished.
“Shit,”hebreathesintomyneck,hisheartadrumagainstmyskin.Icannotstoptrembling.“I’msorry.”
“It’sokay.I—”
Hepushesmylegsopenwithhispalms,andIarchlikearainbowwhenheslidestwoofhisfingersinsideme,feelingblissfullyfullagain.
Hecankissmeproperlynow,soft,deep,hungry,andsays,“Letme—I’mgoingto—”
He’smorereptilianbrainthananythingelse.I’mwetwithhiscomeandmyownslick,andhedrawsfast,beautifulcirclesaroundmyclitthatimmediatelypushmeovertheedge.Ishutmyeyestightandcomeinstrongwaves,andwhenIdo,hepushesinsidemeagain,somethingdelicioustoclencharound,somethingbeautifulandgrounding,andwhenwefallasleeplikethat,Ithinkthatwhereveritisthatwe’regoing,maybe,justmaybe,itmightturnouttobeaplaceIneverwanttoleave.22CRITICALMASS
WhenIwakeup,thesunishighinthesky,andshadowshaveshortenedtolittlestumps.It’sthelatestI’vebeeninbedsincethattimeIgotthefluduringfreshmanyearandspentforty-eighthourshallucinatingthatmyskinwasaneggshellandmyskeletonhadfinallygrownenoughtohatchoutofit.
Therearenonightmarestoday.Justafeelingofbone-deeprestandJack’sbigbodycurvedbehindme,armswrappedaroundmytorsolikeacross,securingmetohim.It’snotunlikethewayIawokeexactlytwoweeksago.Exceptthatwe’renaked,ourskintacky.Thistimeheisgoingtohavetochangethesheets.
Somethingnagsatthebackofmyskull,tellingmethatIcan’taffordtowastetime,thatIshouldgetoutofbedandbeproductive—answeremails,cleantheoven,buyacemeteryplot.IshushitandstretchinJack’sarms.Hestaysasleep,hardonceagain.Iwonderifit’sanotherpeerection.If—
“Awhat?”
Ohshit.“Nothing.”DidIsayitoutloud?
Jack’svoiceisadeeprumble.“Didyoujust—”
“No.Nope.I—”
Ihidemyfaceinmypillow.ThisiswhyIdon’tsleepin—ifIgettheamountofrestIactuallyneed,myhead-to-mouthfilterstopsworkingand—
Jack’shandslidesdownpastmystomach.Hestartsgrindingdrowsilyagainstmyass,andmymindblanks.
“Okay?”heasks,half-asleep.
“Please.”Ihookmyfootbehindhisshin.Hepressesanopen-mouthedkissonthecurveofmyshoulder.
“Youdidsaythatwemighthavetoworkonthesex.”
Istiffen.Ifitwasn’tgood,Isaid.Wasitnotgood?Ithoughtitwas,but—whatdoIknow?He’stheexperthere.“I’msorry,I—”
“Elsie.WorkonhowlittleIlast.”Hebitesthespotwherehekissedme,andthenhiscockisrubbingagainstme,breachingmyentrance.Hemakesafewsoft,grunt-likenoisesnexttomyear,thenpressestothehiltinonesinglepush.Ispasmaroundhim,andthedragagainstmymusclesissun-extinguishinglygood.It’sstillasnugfit,butI’mwetfromhiscome,softfromsleep,andheslidesinsidelikeadream.
Hepinchesmyhardnipple,likeheknowsexactlywhatmybodywants,evenwhenIdon’t.Hispalmpressesagainstmyabdomen,andIwonderifhecanfeelhimselfmovewithinme,ifhecantellhowfullIam.Histhrustsarelongandslow,atonceleisurelyandforcefulenoughtoshiftmyentirebodyclosertotheheadboard.
“Okay,okay,I—”Helaughsruefully,breathlessagainstmythroat,andIreachbehindme.Totouchhischeek,toholdontohim.“Maybeyoushouldbeincharge.BeforeIfuckyouintothemattressagain.”
Shockingly,I’mstillcapableofblushing.“WhatdoI—”
“Just—move.”Hepressesakisswheremyneckmeetsmyshoulder.“Dowhatfeelsgood.Letmeseeyou—yes.Yeah.”
Igrindmyassagainsthisabdomen,shallow,slow,awkwardatfirst,becausethepositionisweirdandbecausewhatevenamIdoing?Butmyhipscircleinalong,sinuousmove,andsomethinghitsjustright,and—
Wegaspinunison.
“There?”hemurmursagainstmyear,anglingmyhipstogivemeevenmore.“That’showImakeyoucome?”
Mymindblurs.“Youalreadymademecome.”
Hemakesagutturalnoise.“Iwanttofeelit.Whenmycockisinsideyou.”
Imoan,andthenI’mnotinchargeanymore.Thepleasuregushesinsideme,scarilystrong,quickerthanIthoughtpossible,unravelinglikeanavalanche.Isqueezehisfingersandhesqueezesback,andwhenmybodyclampsdownonhis,hedoespressmeintothemattress,andhedoesfuckmelikehiscontrolisnotfullythere,andhedoessaymynameoverandover,likeawarchant.HesmellslikesexandoursweatandthebestsleepI’veeverhad,murmurssweet,filthythingsinmyear,promisesthathe’llneverletmego.
Thesunishighinthesky,Jackisdeepinsideme,andIsmileintothesheetsfornoparticularreason.
???
IthinkImightbehappy.
Thoughduetoalackofhands-onexperience,Icannotbesure.
Butinthebathroom,whilechasingdropletsdownJack’sthroat,mylegswrappedaroundhiswaistashepushesmeintothetiledwall,Iwonderifmaybethisisit.Thiswarm,comfortingweightglowingshylybehindmysternumcouldbesomethinglikehope.
Hopethatthere’llbemoredayslikethisone.
“Stopsmilinglikethat,”hewhispersinmyear.Thejetoftheshowerpoundsoverhisback,andhislipstastelikehotwater.“OrI’llbeonyouallday.”
IlaughintohisneckandpretendIdidn’thearhim.
Theclockinthebathroom,theoneIimagineJackcursesatwhenherunslateinthemorning,reads12:37.Itowelmyselfdry,buzzingwithpossibilities,withthetenuous,burgeoningimpressionthatforonceI’mnotrunningaway,butheadingsomewhere.
“Food,”hetellsmeonceI’mwearingmy—his—hoodieandapairofsocksthatwon’tstayuponmycalves.Hissmileishandsome,self-deprecating.“IhavetheseelaboratedaydreamsthatI’mfeedingyouafive-coursemealIhunted,field-dressed,andpreparedallbymyself,”hesayswithakissonmyforehead.
“Why?”
Hegivesmeanarchlook.“Don’taskwhy,likeit’sarationalimpulse.So,whatdoyouwant?”
“Whatcanyoumake?”
“Nothing.”Heshrugsatmystartledlaugh,thenthrowsmeoverhisshouldertotakemedownstairs.Ifeellikeasparklydrink.“I’lllearn.It’sanewobsessionforme.”
Ican’trememberthelasttimeIgiggledthismuch.
Thefive-coursemealturnsouttobeslightlyburnedgrilledcheesewithboxedtomatosoup.Isitonmystoolattheisland,andheeatshisownstandingacrossfromme.It’ssimultaneouslythemostordinaryandthebestthingI’veevertasted.
OnmyphonethereisatextfromCece,timestamp9:23a.m.
CECE:“I’llneverspendthenightatJack’s,”shesaid.“I’mdestinedtodiealone,strangledbythetumbleofcobwebsthathaveovertakenmyvulvaduetosexualinactivity,”shesaid.
Ilaugh,andJacksmilesjustbecauseofthat,whichisalittleunlikehimandalsostupid.He’sstupid.I’mstupid.We’restupid.Ormaybewe’rejustsixteen.JackSmith,JackSmith-Turner,JonathanSmith-TurnerandIhavehadsex.Morethanonce.Morethanmorethanonce.Andnowwe’rehavingbreakfastatonep.m.Thisisnotmytimeline,butI’llclaimitanyway.
Itellhimaboutthescienceofgrilledcheese,thenegativesurfacechargeofthelipidmolecules,stressandstrain,theoptimalpH,whichshouldalwaysbesomewherearound5.5.(“Manchego,then,”hesays.“Ormildcheddar.Gouda,too.”)MyheartisspinningdizzilyatthethoughtofthismanwhoknowsthepHofdifferentcheesetypesoffthetopofhishead,whenmyphonebeeps.
Aremindertochangemyinsulinpod.IconsiderputtingitofftillI’mhome,thenlookatJackandthink,Honesty.Thisday,thisnot-too-goodsoup,thismanwithablack-holetattoopeepingoutofhisT-shirtsleeve,theyaretoogoodtonotspendsomehonestyon.
“I’mgoingtoneedafewminutesupstairs,”Isay,hoppingoffthestool.“ButI’llbeback.”
“What’sgoingon?”
“Justneedtochangemyinsulinpod.”Irummageinmypurseandthenholdmykituptriumphantly—apaleyellowbagwithlittlehedgehogsCecegotmeyearsago.“Don’tworry,youdon’thavetobethere.Iknowpeoplegetsqueamish.I’lldoitinyourbedroom—”
“Showmehowyoudoit.”
Heputsdownwhat’sleftofhissandwich.Washeshishands.
Ilaugh.“Why?”
“BecauseIwanttoknow.”
“Whywouldyou—ohmyGod.Youwanttoputhigh-fructosecornsyrupinmyinsulin.Wasthisalongcontomurderme?”
Hesmilesandshakeshishead.“I’mstartingtobepartialtothewayyoubypassallrationalexplanationsforeverythingIsay,anddashstraighttomebeinganunhingedserialkiller.”
“Ithinkit’sourthing.”
Hisbicepsbunchupwhenheleanshispalmsagainstthetable.“Showmehowitworks,”herepeats.Itsoundslikeasoftorder,andIanswerwithasoftquestion:
“Why?”
“BecauseIwanttoknowthesethings.”
There’ssomethingunsaidinthis.BecauseIwanttoknowyourlife,maybe,orBecauseIwanttoknowyou.Myeyesfallonthekit,andIpicturemyselfusingwordslikereservoirandexpirationadvisoryandketoacidosis.Explaininghoweachcomponentworks.I’veneversaidsomeofthosewordsoutloud.Theyliveexclusivelyinmyhead,togetherwiththerestofmyproblems.
EvenCeceknowsonlythebasics.ButthisisJack.SoIswallow.“Doyouhaveanydisinfectant?”
Thedimpleisback.“Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”
Lessthananhourlater,Isettlebetweenhislonglegsonthecouch,toesbrushingagainsthiscalves,hishandsplayedonmystomachunderthehoodie.HerefusestowatchtheendofTwilight(“IthinkI’veseenenough”)butagreeswithmethatNewMoonisthebestintheseries(“Relativistically”),curlsaroundmeforatwo-hournapduringEclipse(“Yousmelllikeme—youshouldalwayssmelllikeme”),andthenwakesupastheafternoonstretchesintoevening,justintimeforBella’sunexpectedpregnancy.
“Thisisatrocious,”hesays,laughingateverysinglethingthecharactersdo.
“Shutup.”
Helaughsharderagainstmynape.
“Shutup—shecoulddie!”
Morelaughter.
“It’saboutthehardshipsandsorrowsoftheuniversalhumanexperience,Jonathan.”
Henibblesonmyearalittletoohard.“Stillbetterthan2001,Elsie.”
“Obviously.”Somethingoccurstome.“Bytheway,isMillicentokay?”
“Yup.Whydoyouask?”
“It’sSunday.Shouldn’tshebecallingyouwithavitalemergency?Isn’tthenewspaperboytossingtheTimesintoherrosebushesorsomething?”
“Prettysurenewspaperdeliveryhasn’tworkedlikethatsincetheearly2000s.Andshedidherweekendroutineyesterday.SentaphotoofanalligatorcomingoutofatoiletinaFloridagasstation.Claimeditwashappeninginherensuite.”
“Sheknowshowtosendpictures?”
“Impressive,right?”Hedrumshisfingersagainstmystomach.“Istoppedbyforlunch.Gaveherthenovel.Gotscoldedfornottakingyou.”
“Oh.”Iflush.With…pleasure?
“Can’trememberthelasttimeshelikedsomeone.Notthatshe’dadmittolikingyou.”
Ilaugh.Then,afterafewseconds,Ihazard,“Shetoldmeshelikedyourmom.”
ThereisachangeinJack,butnotfortheworse.Hedoesn’tstiffen,justseemslessrelaxed,alittlemoreonguardwhenhesays,“Ithinkso.”
I’mencouraged.“Shewasaphysicist,right?”
“Yeah.”
“Theoretical?”
Heletsoutadeep,overactedsighthatliftsmeupanddown.“Unfortunately.”Ipinchhisforearminretaliation.Rudely,hedoesn’tnotice.
I’mtemptedtobringupthearticle.Findouthowhecoulddosomethinglikethattohismother—toallofus—anddemandthathetakeownershipofitsconsequences.ButIalsodon’twanttodisruptthis…fragile,new,radiantthingwehave.Andafterabitofarmwrestling,thelatterpullwins,andwhatIaskis“Doyouhavememoriesofher?”
Ifeelhimshakehishead.“Shediedtooearly.”
“Didshe”—IrollaroundtillI’mfacedownontopofhim—“looklikeyou?”
“Therearen’tmanypictures.Myfamilymostlyscrubbedthehousecleanofthem.”
Ifhe’sbitteraboutit,Icannottell.“Whendidyoutakeherlastname?”
Helaughssoftly.“ThatwasMillicent’sdecision,actually.ShehadmelegallychangeitwhenIwasten.Ithinkshefeltuncharacteristicallyguilty.”Hepushesastrandofhairbehindmyear.“IdoknowthatshewasSwedish.Blond.Hereyeshadthesameweird…”
“Heterochromia?”
“Yeah.Shewastallerthanmyfather.Andkeptsomedetaileddiariesaboutherwork.MillicentgavethemtomewhenIstartedbecomingobsessedwithphysics.”
“Didshehaveanypublications?”
Hisjawworks.“Justtwo.Shegotmarriedhalfwaythroughherdoctorateanddidn’tgobacktoworkaftershehadme.Herdiagnosiscamequicklyafter.”Histoneiswary,likehe’schoosinghiswordscarefully.
“Whydidn’tshegoback?”
Heexhales.“Therewere…issues.Withtheleadresearcherofhergroup.”
“Why?”
“Theyhadsome…disagreementovertheirjointresearch.Hewasintenselycontrolling.Sherefusedtoabide.Youcanimaginetherest.”Hisfaceisblank.“Herdiariesare…Shewasn’twellwhenshefoundoutthatshewouldn’tbeallowedback.”
“That’sbullshit.Howdarehecutheroutofherownresearchgroup?”
Jackdoesn’trespond.Hispausefeelsalittlelongerthannormal.“Herworkwasonsemiconductors.”
Myeyeswiden.It’snotmyfield,butIknowabitaboutit,becauseit’soneofthetopicsmymentorworkson.IwonderifIreadJack’smom’spapersyearsagowithoutevenrealizingit.Aninvisiblestring,tyingustogether.“Goodstuff?”
“Verysolid,yes.”
“Ibetshewasgreat.Imean,shewasatheoreticalphysicist.”
“True.Ontheotherhand,shedidmarrymydad.”
“Goodpoint.Maybeheusedtobemore…engagedwithhissurroundings?”
“Maybe.Maybesheneededagreencard?OrtheSmithmoney.”
“Shewasagradstudent.It’samoveIcanrespect.”
“Forsure.”Hissmileisfond.Andhasmeasking,“Doyoumissher?”
Alongpause.“Idon’tthinkyoucanmisssomeoneyou’venevermet,but…”Heorganizeshisthoughts.Ordershisfeelings.“It’seasytolookathowdysfunctionalmyfamilyisandlaughitoffnowthatIhavemyownlife.ButwhenIwasinmyteens,thereweretimeswhenthingsgotreallybadathome.AndI’dreadherdiariesandthinkthatmaybeifshe’dbeenaround,everythingcouldhavebeen…”Histhroatworks.“Butshewasn’t.”
I’vefeltoutofplacemyentirelife,andnothinganyoneeversaidmademefeelanylessso.SoIstaysilentandjustleanforward,hidemyfaceinJack’sthroat,pressakisstohisAdam’sapplerightasitmoves.Hishandcomesuptocupmyhead,keepitthere,andIfeelhimturntothescreenagain.Bella’spregnancycomplicationsaregettingalien-like,andhegroansintomyhair.
“Elsie.Ican’twatchthis.”
“Butit’sthebestpart.Theemotionalrollercoasterofhertransformation.TheinappropriateJacobplotline.Herfacewhenshedrinksblood.”
“Noway.”
“Fine.Youmayamuseyourselfotherwise.Butstayclose,becauseyou’reaspaceheaterdisguisedasanorganiclife-form.”
“Perfect.”HeliftsmelikeI’mapliantlittlething,flipsusaround,braceshimselfoverme.Icanonlywatchhiminconfusionwhilehelowershimselfdownmybodywithaconcentratedfrownbetweenhisbrowsandthenliftsmyhoodieasthough…
Ishe…
He’snot…
Isheactually?
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Youtoldmetoamusemyself.”
Isituponmyelbows.“Imeanttakeanothernap,ordotoday’sWordle—”
“Justwatchyourmovie,Elsie.”
“But—”
HetakesmyhipswithinhishandsandholdsmelikeI’mapreciousartifact,atoncefirmandgentle.Hiskissesbetweenmylegsarelong,savoring,messy,slowlicksthathavemearchingupagainstthecouchandtremblingintohismouth.Thereissomethingshamelessaboutthis—thewayheenjoysit,thesoundshemakes,thefactthatheseemstogoawayatmoments,likehedoesthisforhispleasuremorethanformyown.
“Oh,”Isay,clawingmynailsintohisscalp.Hisarmswraparoundmythighs,palmsholdingmykneesopen,andforawhileImanagetoswallowdownthebegging,moaningsoundsinmythroat.Thennomore.“Oh.Oh,Jack”andIcomeonce,thenonceagain,thensomemore,andthenhisshirtisoffandhe’saboveandinsideme,patientthrustsashekissesmeendlesslyandtellsmehowbeautifulIam,howmuchhelovesthis.BreathlesslaughteragainstmygaspsasheremindsmeofwhenIwasafraidthatthiswouldn’tbegoodbetweenus—thatthisresplendent,life-altering,unearthlysortofpleasuremightnotbeenough.
“Itwascute,”heraspsinmyear,“howyouthoughtthatfuckingyouoncewouldmakemewanttofuckyouless.”
Iclingtothesweatymusclesofhisback,feelmyentirebodyshake,andwhenheorders,“Eyesonme,”mylidsflutteropenandwebothcome.Thepressureinmybellyandchestisheavy,overwhelming,delicious,andmynailssinkintohisshouldersastheeveningbecomesnight.
“SecondtimewedothiswithTwilightinthebackground,”hesays.
“Ican’tbelievewemissedthepartwhenBellabeatsupJacob.”
“Jesus,Elsie,whatisthismovie?”
TheroomispitchblackexceptfortheglowoftheTV.IlaughintoJack’sskin,anditfeelsjustlikecominghome.
???
Hewon’tletmeleave.Though,tobefair,I’mnottryingveryhard.
“Ihaveclassateighta.m.tomorrow.”
“Doesn’tmatter.”
“AtBostonUniversity.”
“Stilldoesn’tmatter.”
“Ineedtogettomyplace,getdressed,pickupmystuff,takethebus—”
“I’lldriveyou.”
“Drivemewhere?”
“Anywhere.”
I’msittingonthecounterwhilehechopscarrotsforthesoupI’mcraving.Therecipeispulleduponhisphone,abright-redadforacouples’cookingclassblinkingatusfromthecounter.“You’dhavetowakeupat,like,six.Icannotaskyoutodothat.”
Hesetsdowntheknifeandcomestostandbetweenmylegs.Evenlikethis,he’stallerthanme.I’mtryingtoresenthimforthat,butmyhearthasgrownamillionsizesinthespanofthelastsevendays.It’sabouttofloatawayintothesky.
“Youdon’thavetoask.”Hekissesthetipofmynose,thenmymouth,thenmynoseagain.“BecauseI’moffering.”
Myheartswellssomemore.I’mrunningoutofspace.“WhatifIsayno?”
“Don’tdothat.Okay?”Ibreakintoasmile,andhishandslidesundermyhoodieandupmywaist.
Ilovethis.JustasmuchasIthoughtIhatedhim.AndJack’sright:thisisgoingfast—toofast,maybe.ButIwonderifcertainrelationshipsarelivingproofofHeisenberg’suncertaintyprinciple:theirpositionandtheirvelocitysimplycannotbothbemeasuredatthesametime,notevenintheory.AndrightnowI’mtoobusysavoringwherewearetoconsideranythingelse.
“What?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.“Justthinking.”
“Thinkingof…?”
“Youknow,duringmyinterview,IwaspicturinghowitwouldbeifIgotthejob.Workingwithyou.AndIhadthesepainstakinglyintricatefantasies.”
Hisinterestispiqued.“DidIpackyousandwichesinaTwilightlunchbox?”
Ilaugh.“Oh,no.”
“WereyouwearingthatreddressfromMiel,andIbentyou—”
“No.”Icanstillblush—amazing.“Itwasmostlymeharassingyouintoquittingindisgrace.”
“Isee.”Helooksintrigued.“Whatwereyougoingtodo?”
“Oh,youknow.Jell-Oyourofficesupplies.Spreadtherumorthatyoupoopintheurinals.Frameyouforwhite-collarcrimes.Thosekindsofthings.”Hisexpressionisdelighted.“Imean…Icouldstilldoit.”
“Youcould.”
“SomewouldsayIshould.”
“Somewould.”Hekissesthecornerofmysmile.“Maybenextyear,”hesays,anditsoundslowandhopeful,apromisenestledinsideit,andIrealizethatI’dlovetoacceptGeorge’sofferbecauseIwanttoworkwithher,becauseIwanttodedicatemybrainpowertoliquidcrystals,becauseIwanttonotspendeleven-fifteenthsofmytimecommutingbetweencampuses,andbecauseIwanttohaveenoughmoneytosurpriseCecewithlittlehatsforherugly,murderousquill-nugget.Butthisman,whowasgoingtobetheabsoluteworstpartofmydreamjob,mightstillturnouttobethethingIwantthemost.
Tonoone’ssurprise,Iendupstaying.Andbecauseofwhathappensonthefollowingday,itturnsouttobeaprettygooddecision.23FREEZINGPOINT
IgetDr.L.’semail—Unfortunately,Iamoutoftownthisweek,butletusmeetnextMonday—beforeaPhysics101studentambushesmetotellmeaboutthissuper-coolmoviehejustwatchedandaskmeifonecouldtheoreticallyinverttime(damnyou,ChristopherNolan),andafteroneofmychairscallsmetoletmeknowthatyes,thereisanopeningformenextyear,butadjunctswilltakeapaycutbecauseofsomethingsomethingtaxes,somethingsomethingthedean,somethingsomethingtheexploitationofnon-tenure-trackfacultymembersisthebackboneofthecapitalistmodelofacademia.
Aboywithsomethingthatsoundsalotlikethewhoopingcoughhacksonmeonthebus,icy,slipperyrainstartsfallingthesecondIgetoffatmystop,andsomehowonlyoneoftheglovesCeceknitformeinhershort-livedcraftphasecanbefoundinmypocket.Thereisalotgoingon.Alot.ButIdon’tcare.BecauseaboveLance’stoilet-paper-longtextaskingmetofindoutifDanaisgoingtothatU2concertwithLucas,there’sanothermessage:apictureoftheHadronCollidermodelIsawonJack’sdesk,andthenjustfivewords
WouldlookgreatinJell-O.
Ismile.ReplyI’mthinkingcherryandthenmakemywaythroughUMass’sPhysicsDepartment.
JACK:IforgotthateveryfirstMondayofthemonthwedothisthingatGeorge’s.Wanttocome?OrIcanpickyouup,andwecanmakescientificallyaccurategrilledcheeseandwatchtheCullenfamilyfeaturetteatmyplace.
I’mgrinningsohard,Ialmostrunintothewaterfountain.
ELSIE:Ineedtogradetwelvebajillionessays
JACK:DowhatIdo.GivethemallAs.
ELSIE:Doyoureally?
JACK:IsprinkleinfourBsandtwoCsandcallitacurve.
ThistimeIdowalkintothewaterfountain.Adifferentone.
ELSIE:Nowondertheykissyourasssohard.DoesthethingatGeorge’shaveadresscode?
JACK:Ifitdoes,Iplantoignoreit.
ELSIE:Henley?
JACK:What’saHenley?
ELSIE:It’sthenameoftheshirtsyouweareverysingleday.
JACK:Theyhaveaname?
Wow.Men.
ELSIE:TextmeGeorge’saddress.I’llmeetyoutherewhenI’mdone.
???
George’sdooropenstoaroundyoungwomanwithaknockoutsmilewhohugsmewarmlyandwelcomesmeintothelargest,mostbeautifulapartmentI’veeverseen.
“They’reinthelivingroom,”shetellsmeoverthechattercomingfromdownthehallway.Thereisaslightaccent,andIrememberGeorgementioningthatherwifeisaGreekfinanceguru.“I’mgoingupstairstohaveanedibleandlistentoBachwithnoise-cancelingheadphones.Havefun.”
ThefirstpersonIfindisAndrea.She’sinthekitchenwhenIwalkby,transferringtortillachipsintoabigbowl
“Oh.”Shelooksupatme.“You’re…here.”Hersmileissurprised.Vaguelytense.
“Hi.”Idecidetostepinside,hopingtoprojectThisdoesn’tneedtobeawkwardvibes.“Howareyou?”
“Good.”Shecrumplestheemptychipbag.“It’scoolthatyou’reokaywithbeingatGeorge’splace,considering.”
“Oh.”Iflush.Somuchfornotawkward.“Yeah.I—”
“Andy,”someonebehindmeinterrupts,“Georgewantstoknowif—”It’sJack,ofcourse.WhostopsmidsentencejustlikeIdid,asifcompletelylosingtrackoftherestoftheworld.“Dr.Hannaway.You’relate.”Hesaysitlikehe’sbeenwaitingforme.Likehespentourtimeapartthinkingaboutthemomenthecouldteasemeagain,likeI’mthefirstthingonhismindandthelastthingheletsgoof,andbeforeIevenknowit,I’mmatchinghisstepforward,I’mpushinguponmytoes,I’mpressingmylipstohis,I’msmilingagainsthismouth.
It’ssuchasmallkiss,butmyheartpounds,andsodoesJack’swhenIlaymypalmflatagainsthischest.Ipullback,lessthananinch,tolookathiseyes.It’sliketheweekendchangedsomethingaboutthepeopleweare.Somethingfundamentalintheshapeofmybrainandhis,too.Hislashesarefanningdown:he’sstaringatmymouthandanglinghisheadagain,and—
“WhatdidGeorgewanttoknow,Jack?”
Shit.
IfallbackontomyheelsandturntoAndrea,mortified.IglanceatJack,expectingtofindhisusualunbotheredself,buthe’sstillstaringatme,lookingalittleshaken,likeI’mhismagneticnorth.
Heclearshisthroat.“Whatwineyouwant.”
“Whataretheoptions?”
Heseemsconfused.“Ah,red.And…”Heshrugs,onearmwrappingaroundmyshoulders,likebeinginmyspaceissecondnature.Itfeelsright.
“Letmeguess.”Andrearollshereyes.“White?”
“Soundsright.”
Shehuffs,picksupthetortillachipbowl,thenstepsrightbetweenustomarchoutofthekitchen.Wewatchherwalkaway,allblondwavesandexcellentposture,andthen—Jackstepscloseragain.Veryclose.Maybetooclose.Heleansdowntokissmyforehead.
“Hi.”
Ican’tlookawayfromhiseyes.“Hi.”
Westaylikethat,silent,forwhat’sprobablytoolong.Icansmellhiscleanskin,hiswoodsyshampoo,theredflannelIchosethismorningfromhiscloset.Idon’tfeellikesayinganything,soIdon’t,notforalongtime,notuntilheasks,“Youreadytoplay?”
“Oh.Play…what?”
“You’llsee.”Hissmilemakesmyheartvibrate.“You’llloveit,too.”
He’sright.Evenifforamoment,afterJack’sfriendDiegohasexplainedBlitzGotome—“Usualrules,buttensecondspermove”—Iconsideraskingtobeleftoutofthetournament.
“That’sverylittletime.”Ichewonmylip.“MaybeIshouldn’t—”
“Justgowithyourinstincts,”Jackwhispersinmyear.Hecan,becausehe’srightbehindme.Ormaybeit’sviceversa:I’mtheonewho’ssittingbetweenhisopenlegs,becauseI’vecountedeighteenpeopleinhere,andnotnearlyenoughseats.“ShecansitherewithmewhileIplaymyfirstmatch,”hetellsDiego.“Tolearn.”
EverybodycanseehowJack’shandslidesundermyshirtandflattensagainstmyabdomen,asolid,pleasantweightagainstmyskin.Thewayheforgetstomovebecausehe’sbusystaringatme.“Dude,”Diegocallshimoutthesecondtimeithappens.
“Right,”Jacksays,unruffled,andIspendthenexttwoturnsblushingandfidgetinginhislap,tillhisgriptightensonmeandhiswordsinmyearareadistracted“Begood.”
Somethingscaldingandliquidbloomsinsideme.
Jackstillwins.AndImustgetthehangofit,becauseIwinmine,too.IwinapracticematchagainstGeorge,whoboughtfourtypesofcheesebecauseJacktoldherit’sallIeat.IwinagainstSunny.IwinagainstanotherpersonwhosenameIdon’trecall.IwinagainstAndreainjustahandfulofmoves.“Easytoadvancewhenyou’retheonlysoberpersonintheroom,”shemutters,someteethbehindit,butwhenIsay“You’renotwrong,”sheburstsintolaughterandtipsherglassatme,andI’msureIimaginedthehostility.There’swine,beer,shots,academichorrorstories,awhiteboardinfrontofGeorge’sfireplacewiththebracketswrittenonit,andsomewherearoundmidnightBlitzGobecomesmyfavoritethingintheworld.I’mhavingfun.Genuinelyhavinglotsoffun.
WhenSunnyannouncesthefinalmatch,herwordsareslurred.AframewithGeorge’sweddingphotoispoorlybalancedonherhead.“Thetwopeoplewhohaven’tlostagameyetare…Jack,ofcourse—fuckyou,Jack,formakingourlivessoboring,youperiodic-motionposterchild—and,drumrollplease…Elsie!Elsie,please,atleastonceinmylifeIwanttheopportunitytoseethissmug-assfaceloseatsomething.”
“Ilostatnumberofurinesamplejarsonmydesk,”hepointsout.
Theframedropssoftlyintothecarpet.Sunnygraspsmyhand.“Avengeme,Elsie.Please.”
Inodsolemnly,takingaseatonthesideoftheblack.Jackpicksupastoneandleansbackinthechair,eyesgluedonme,theblueasbrightasthesea,asmallsmileonhislips.
“Andsowemeetagain,”hesays,loudenoughforeveryone,andItuneoutthewayhisfriendswhistleandcheerforme,howtheyfallsilentaswesqueezeeverylastsecondfromeachturn.WheneverIlookup,Jack’salreadylookingatme.Irememberthefirsttimeweplayed,atMillicent’shouse,andwonderifitwasthefirstofmany.WonderifJackownsaboard.Wonderifhekeepsitinhisstudy.Wonderwhy,whenhelooksatme,IforgethowscaredIamtobeseen.
WonderwhywhenIwin,heseemsashappyasIfeel.
“Wellplayed,”hesays,ignoringthewayeveryoneisribbinghimforbreakinghiseight-monthstreak.
Inod.Suddenly,again,I’mallheartbeat.
Iduckinsidethebathroom,highonvictory.WhenIslipout,Georgeisrightthere,scaringtheshitoutofme.“Jesus.”
“IfullyownthatIfollowedyou,”shesays,leaningcasuallyagainstthewall.
“Wereyoulisteningtomepee?”
“No.Well,yes.Butitwasn’ttheprimarypurpose.Justapleasantbonus.”Shegrins.“IthoughtI’dharassyouaboutthejoboffer.”
“Oh.”Iclearmythroat.“Idon’thaveanansweryet.Sorry.”
Hereyesnarrow.“IsJacktryingtoinfluenceyouonewayortheother?BecauseIwillusethecattleprodonhim.Oh,whoamIkidding?Ofcoursehe’dtrytoconvinceyoutotakethejob.I’mreasonablysurethatninetypercentofhisspankbankisfantasiesofdrivingyoutoworkandbuyingyoualatteontheway.”
“I’msurehedoesn’t—”
“Whatareyourthoughts?”
Iswallow.ThenIglancearoundthehallway,asthoughGeorge’sniece’smacaroniartmightholdthekeytomyacademicfuture.
Itdoesnot.
“I…”Itakeadeepbreath.“Iwouldlovetosayyes.”
Georgeblinks.Thensmiles.Thenrepeats,“Yes?”
“But”—Iforcemyselftocontinuepastherface-splittinggrin—“Ican’tformallyacceptuntilItalkwithmyadvisor.Don’tworry,though,”Iaddquickly,becausehersmileisfadingfast.“I’msureI’llgethisapprovalnextweek!I’llexplainhowmuchIwanttotakethejob,andhe’llagreethatit’sthebestchoice.”
Georgestaresforasecond,lookingconsiderablylessexcited.“Okay.”Shenods.AndwhenI’mabouttoleave,sheadds,“Fortherecord,I’dlovetocontinuebeingyourfriend.Evenifyouendupnotaccepting.”Hersmileisalittlestrained.“Nowpeaceout.Igottapee,andno,youcan’tlisten,youweirdo.”
I’mmakingmywaybacktothelivingroom,wonderingwhyitfeelslikeGeorgejustresignedherselftomenottakingthejob,whenIoverhearit.
“…slummingitwiththetheoristsnow?”
It’sAndrea’svoicefromthekitchen,andIstopinthehallway.IcanseeonlyabouthalfofJack:broadback,lighthaircurlingonhisneck,largehandsstoringdirtydishesinthedishwasher.Ishouldgoinandhelpcleanup,butsomethingtellsmetoskulkaroundlikeI’mcorporate-espionaginginaBondmovie.
“Excuseme?”hesays,confused.
“So,doessheknow?”
“Who?”
“Elsie.”AquarterofAndreaappearsinmyfieldofview.Justhersmile,smallandprivate,pointedupatJack.“Doessheknowthatyoudespisepeoplelikeher?”
“Andy,areyoudrunk?”
“Abit.”Shelaughsnervously.“Aren’tyou?Elsiemustberubbingoff.Shemustbeagreatlay,ifyoufuckedoverPereiraandCrowleyforher.Iguessshe’shot,inablandway—”
“Theyfuckedoverthemselves.Andyoushouldgobacktotheothers,”Jacksaysfirmly.“You’remorethanabitdrunkifyouthinktellingsomeonethattheirgirlfriendisblandisagoodidea.”
“She’snotyourgirlfriend.”
“Sheisifshewantstobe.Shecanbemydamnwifeifshewantstobe.”Jack’slosinghisusualcool.Forallhiscommandingpresence,he’srarelytrulyirritated,andAndreaknowsthis,too.There’safractureonherface,maskedbyanotherweaklaughthathurtsmyears.
“Atheorist,Jack?Youhavingaslowyear?”
“Areyouserious—”
“YoulosttoheratGo,”shesays,petulantevenasshetriestokeephertonelight.Ishouldbeoffendedbywhatshe’ssaying,butsomething’sstoppingme.Somethingheartbreaking.“YouneverloseatGo.Yousaidyou’dneverloseatGo.”
“Ineversaidthat.”WhateverIrecognizedinhertone,Jackdid,too.Hisvoicesoftens.
“Ibetyoulostonpurpose.Ifthat’showbadyouwanther—”
“Shewonitfairandsquare.”They’retalkingaboutsomethingelsealtogether.SomethingthathasnothingtodowithGooranythingthathappenedtonightShecaresabouthimdeeply,Irealize.Morethanthat.“EvenifIhadlosttoheronpurpose—ithasnothingtodowithyou.”
“Ithinkitdoes.”
“Andy.”Hesighs.“I’vebeenhonestabouthowIfeel.Yousaidyouunderstood—”
“Jesus,Jack.She’satheorist.”
“She’sabetterscientistthanyouorIwilleverbe.You’rehurt,andI’mtryingtocutyousomeslack,butyou’rewayovertheline—”
“Whyareyouherchampionnow?You’reyouand—shemakesupstuff.Isitbecauseyou’resleepingwithher?”
“It’sbecauseIknowherwork.”
“Butyou’vebeensayingshitaboutpeoplelikeherforfifteenyears.You’retheentirereasonherfieldwasdiscredited—youruinedcareers,Jack.Andnowyou’retellingmesheisthepersonyou’rewillingtofeelsomethingfor?”
“That’sit,”Jackorders.“I’mdone.”
“You—”
“I’mserious.Wecantalkaboutthiswhenyou’resober.ButyouneedtogivemesomespacebeforeIsaysomethingIregret.”
“If—”
“Andy.”
Asecondlater,Andreaappearsinthehallway,eyesshiningwithtears.Shelooksatmeforapainful,uncomfortablemoment,thenmovespastwithoutaword.Ipressmyshouldersagainstthewall,tryingtostopthecentrifugeinmybrain.
Doessheknowthatyoudespisepeoplelikeher?
Hedoesn’tdespiseme.Doeshe?No.Honesty,right?No,Jackdoesn’tdespiseme.
Butit’snotsurprisingthatAndreawouldbelievethat.It’sexactlywhereIbelievedhestood,approximatelytwomeltdownsinhisapartmentago.He’sJonathanSmith-Turner.WhathedidtotheoreticalphysicsoneandahalfdecadesagoisintheLibraryofCongressandhasaWikipediaentry.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Georgesays,appearinginthehallway.
“Oh,nothing.Just…lookingatthisart.”Ipointtoaflowerpaintingtomyright.
“Doyouwantit?Mywifemadeitwithherexatoneofthosepaint-and-sipthings.I’vebeentryingtogetridofit.”
Ilaughshakily.“Um,maybenexttime.”
SheentersthelivingroomandIgotoJack,who’sstaringoutthewindow,backstiffandmusclescoiled.
“Grumpybecauseyoulost?”Iask,eventhoughIknowhe’snot.Ijustwanttowatchthetensionleavehisbody.Becausemaybeit’llleavemine,too.
“Elsie.”
Iheardyou,Ishouldsay.Doyoureallydespise—
Yousaid“girlfriend”—
Whatdidshemean,when—
Butthere’snotime.Heleansforward,handsaroundmyneck,andkissesmedeepforalongtime.Peoplewalkby,makejokes,giveuslooks,buthedoesn’tstop.Idon’twanthimto,either.
“Everythingokay?”Iaskwhenhepullsback.
Helooksaway.Grabshisbottlefromthecounteranddrainswhat’sleft.“Wanttoleave?”
“Yeah.Sure.”
Theridetomyplaceisquiet.Ifeelcoldeverywhereexceptonmyknee—whereJack’shandrests,hisgripjustabittighterthancasual.I’mnotsurewhyIinvitehimupstairs.MaybeIknowwhatneedstohappen.MaybeI’mjusttryingtoholdontohim,toprolongthatpointofcontact.
Cece’snothome,probablyoutonFauxbusiness,andI’mvaguelyrelieved.Ourplaceismessy,becausethelasttimewecleanedwaswhenMrs.Tuttlecameovertoconvinceusthatthegreenstuffonthewallwastotallypaint,totallynotmold.ItrytoseetheapartmentthroughJack’seyes,buttohiscredithedoesn’tacttooSmithabouttheconditionsIlivein.Instead,hedoessomethingsoJack,mychestalmostexplodeswithit:hepicksupthetopofthecredenzalikeitweighsnothing.Hisbicepsstrainagainsttheflannelasheputsitwhereitbelongs,perfectlycenteredonthebottompart.
Threeseconds.ForsomethingCeceandIhavebeenputtingoffforthreeyears.
“Niceplace,”hesays,dustingoffhishandsonhisjeans.
Ilaughsoftly.“It’snot.”
HeleansagainstthetablewhereI’veworked,eaten,laughed,criedforthepastsevenyears.“Thenyoureallyshouldmoveinwithme.”
Ilaughagain.Ishouldthankhimforthecredenza.It’sjust…
“Iwasn’tjoking.Thisplaceis…”There’sabug,belly-uponthefloor.“Don’tthoseliveintropicalareas?”
“Mmm.Ourworkingtheoryisthatthisplaceisa4Dnexuswheremultipleclimateregionsexistatonceand…Wereyouserious?Aboutmovingin?”
Heshrugs.“Wouldsaveyoumoney.”
“Prettysurehalfofyourrentismoreexpensivethanhalfofthis.”
“Idon’trent.Soyouwouldn’thavetopayme.Idon’tcareaboutthat.”
Right.Hedoesn’tcareaboutmoney.Becausehehasmoney.“Ican’tleaveCece,”Isaylightly.“Wanttotakeherin,too?”
“Ihaveanextraroom.”
Isnort.Andthenrealizethelookhe’sgivingme.
Likehe’sseriousserious.Andwaitingforananswer.
“Ican’tmoveinwithyou,”Itellhim.“We’renoteven…”We’renotevenwhat?Ilookaway.Ifeelliketotalshit,andIcannotunderstandifhe’sjoking,thoughhemustbe,buthelooksweirdlyearnest,and…
Afewstepsoverthecheapvinylandhe’sstandingrightinfrontofme.I’mtrappedbetweenhimandthekitchensink,andstrongfingerscomeuptomychin,angleitback.
“Ithinkweare.”
Myhearttrembles.Thatblueslicecutsintomelikeaknife,andwhatcomesoutofmeis“Andreawouldn’tagree.”Ididn’tmeantobringherup.Infact,Iactivelymeanttoavoidthetopicforever.ButIguessthishonestythingisalittleaddictive.
Jackcloseshiseyesandswearssoftlyunderhisbreath.“Youheardher.”
“I…”Ifreemychin,andheunderstandsthatIneedspace.Hetakesastepback,butIstillcannotbreathe.“Ididn’tmeanto.I…”Iexhale.“Yes,Idid.”
Jacksighs.“I’msorry.I’lltalktoherwhenshe’scalmeddown.”
Inod,anditshouldbetheendofit—aresolution,nicelywrapped.InsteadIhearmyselfask,“WhataboutCrowleyandPereira?AndCole.Andtherestofyourstudents.Willyoutalktothem,too?”
Hislipspresstogether,expressionshiftingtosomethingopaque.Likehe’sbracingforsomething.“Whatisthis,Elsie?”
Allofasudden,themillionballsthathavebeenlazilyrollingaroundinthebackofmyheadforthepasttwoweeksarebouncingagainstmyskull.Andtheyhurt.“Doyouknowwhattheproblemis?Thatthesepeople—theyadmireyou.Theyreally,reallylikeyou.Yourstudents,yourcolleagues,yourfriends.Theyallwanttopleaseyou.Andformostofthem,pleasingyoumeansshowingthattheydislikewhatyoudislike.Andjustlikethat,everythinggoesbacktothatAnnalsarticle.”
Heexhales.“Elsie—”
“Tobefair,Ididthesame.”Ibeginpacingaroundthekitchen.“Ilikeyousomuch,I’vebeenavoidingthinkingaboutitforaslongasIcould.Andtogiveyoucredit,you’regoodatlettingmeforget.Youneverfeellikethepersonwhowroteit,whichmakesiteasytopretendthatyoudidn’texistbeforeImetyou,thatyourpastactionsdon’tmatter.ButwhatAndreasaidtoday…Ioweittomymentortoremember.Ican’tforgetthatLaurendeauwastheeditoroftheAnnalsatthetime.Thathewascensured.And…”IfeelthesamemixofangerandembarrassmentIalwaysdowhenIthinkaboutwhathappened.“Thethingis,Jack…yougothroughlifewithyourman-with-moneyconfidence,neversecond-guessingyouractions.Buttherewerelotsofunintentionalvictimstowhatyoudid—”
“Laurendeauwasn’tthat,”hesaysflatly.
“Yes,hewas.Hiscareerwashugelyimpactedby—”
“Hewasn’tunintentional.”
“He…”Istoppacing.Thewordsdon’timmediatelysinkin.Andwhentheydo,I’mstillleftconfused.“What?”
Jackwetshislips.“Laurendeauwasthetarget.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“IwrotethearticlebecauseIwantedLaurendeau’scareertobeover.”Histhroatmoves.“Itwaseverythingelsethatwasunintentional.”
Mymindspinsamillioncircles,thenhaltsabruptly.“Everythingelse?”
“Ididn’twanttobecometheposterboyfortheriftbetweentheoristsandexperimentalists.”Hethrowsuponehand,impatient.ForamomentIsensehesitation,buthiseyesharden,stubborninawaythat’salmost…young.Seventeenagain.“Iwasn’tmakingastatement.AllIwantedwasLaurendeauoutofphysics—andIfailed,clearly.Sinceafterscrewingovermymother,he’sbeenbusyfuckingupthelifeofthesinglepersonI’veeverbeeninlovewith.”
Whatdidhe…Hismother?Thesinglepersonhe…
“I—”
“Hewasmymother’smaincollaborator,Elsie.Hewasthereasonshecouldn’tgobacktoworkafterIwasborn.Hewasthereasonshefelt—itwasthemostimportantthingforher,Elsie.Herworkdefinedher,andhetookitawayand—”Hisvoicerisesandrisesandthenabruptlystops,likehesuddenlyrealizedhowloudhehadgotten.
“Whydidhe…?”
“Becausehewasenvious.Becausehefeltsuperior.Becauseofcontrol.He’slikethatwithyou,too.”
“What?”Ishakemyhead.“No.No,hehelpsme.”
“Tothepointthatyoudon’tfeelallowedtoacceptyourdreamjobwithouthispermission?Thisisnotanormalmentor-menteerelationship.”
“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”Jacksimplydoesn’tgetit.Dr.L.istheonlyreasonIwasabletogetintogradschool.ThereasonIwasabletopursuemydreams.ThereasonI’mnotcurrentlyunemployed.
Jacktakesastepforward.“Laurendeauhasisolatedyouandmadeitimpossibleforyoutorealizeit.Justlikehedidwithmymother.”Herubshisforehead,andIwonderwhenhelasttalkedaboutallofthis.“It’sallinherdiaries.”
“OhmyGod.”Icannotbelieveit.“Isthatwhyyouwrotethearticle?Becauseofthosediaries?”
Heexhalesahumorlesslaugh.“No.IwroteitbecauseIwenttoNortheasternandtriedtoreportLaurendeau.IwastoldthatIcouldn’tfileacomplaint,becauseIwasn’tthevictim.Itfizzledintonothing.AndElsie,Iwas…”Hiseyesholdmineforasecond,andIseeeverything.Hewasyoungandhewastired.Hewassad.Hewasangry.Hewaslonely;hewasalone;hewastheoddSmithout.Hewashelpless.Hewantedrevenge.“ThenIwrotethearticle.”Hisbigshouldersriseandfall.“IusedwhatIknewofphysicstomakeitbelievable,andIstilldidn’tthinkit’dgetaccepted.Butsomehowitdid,andwhenIreadthatLaurendeauwasremovedaseditor…”Heshakeshishead.“Itdidn’tmakemefeelanybetteraboutthefactthatIcouldn’tremembershitofmymother,oraboutthethingsCarolinedidtome.”Hiseyesarefullofsorrow.“SoIstoppedthinkingaboutit.Andwheneversomeoneremindedme,Iignoredthem.UntilImetyou.”
Myexpressionhardens.“BecauseIkeptbringingitup.”
“No,Elsie.”Hisvoiceiscalm,firm.“BecausetheideaofLaurendeaudoingtoyouwhathedidtomymotherterrifiedme.”
Iscoff.“Whydidn’tyouwarnme,then?Wetalkedabouthim.Aboutyourmother.Youhadcountlessopportunities.”There’sapieceofme,somewhereinthebackofmyhead,thatknowshowmuchJack’sadmissionofvulnerabilitymusthavecost.Butthelargerpiecethoughtthiswasthefirstrelationshipinmylifebasedonhonesty,andnow…Ifeelincrediblystupid.“Youliedtome.Overandover.”
“WouldyouhavebelievedmeifI’dtoldyou?”heasks,takingasinglestepcloser.“Infact,doyoubelievemenow?”
“I…”Iglanceaway,suddenlyflustered.“Ibelievethatyoubelieveit.But…maybeyoumisinterpretedthediaries.Itmusthavebeenamisunderstanding,becausehewouldnever…Iowehimsomuch,and…”
Jackpinchesthebridgeofhisnose.“ThisispreciselywhyIdidn’ttellyou.Youidolizehimandweren’treadytohearanyofthis.IfI’dbroughtitup,Iwouldhavehurtyou,andyouwouldhavepulledback.”
“That’snotforyoutodecide!Andanyway,whydoyouthinkIspentmylifelyingtopeople,Jack?”Iexplode.“WhydoyouthinkInevertoldLaurendeauthatIhateteaching,orCecethathermoviesareworsethanaWindowsscreensaver,orMomthatI’marealfuckinghumanbeing?BecauseI’mafraidthatifIhurtthemwiththetruth,thenthey’llleaveme.Whyisitonlyagoodexcusewhenitcomestoyou?”
Iwalkawayfromthetable,awayfromJack.Takeadeepbreath,willingmyselftocalmdown,staringatthestreetlightsshiningovertherooftopsnow.
Jackliedtome.Aftereverything,hewastheonetolietome.Notaboutamovieorwantingtogetsushi—heliedtomeaboutsomethinghuge.
“Here’swhatIthink,Jack,”IsayintotheBostonskyline,angry,dejected.“Youenjoycallingpeopleoutontheirbullshit,butnooneevercallsyououtonyours.”
“Mybullshit?”
Iturnaround,notsurewhattosay.AndyetwhenIlookathim,it’srightthereonmytongue.
“Whenyouwereateenager,youdidsomethingimpulsiveoutofanger,andthatthat,Icanunderstand.Butafter,youwentontohaveabrilliantcareerthatgavelegitimacytoyouractions—andyoustillneverbotheredaddressingthem.Evenafteryougrewupandshouldhaveknownbetter.”Iwipemycheekwiththepalmofmyhand,becauseI’mcrying.OfcourseIam.“Youractions…youractionshurtlotsmorepeoplethanLaurendeau.Andwhileyoudidn’tthinkmuchaboutthearticle,Ithoughtaboutiteverydayforoveradecade.IthadterribleconsequencesforsomethingthatIreally,reallylove,andyouknowwhat?I’vedonemybesttoavoidthinkingaboutit,butIdon’tknowifIcankeepondoingthat.Idon’tknowifIcanstopbeingangryatyou.Idon’tknowifI…”Myvoicebreaksandmyeyesflood,andIcannotbeartobehere,withJack,asecondlonger.
“Isthatwhatyouare?Angry?”Hishandcupsmycheek,forcingmyeyestohisblurryface.“Orareyoujustscared?Becauseyou’vebeenmorehonestwithmethaneverbefore?”
“Maybe.”Ipullawayandseeitinthetwitchofhisfingersthathewantstochaseme,butno.No.“MaybeI’mscared.Andmaybeyou’realiar.Wheredoesthatleaveus?”
Hegivesmealong,undecipherablelook.“Idon’tknow.Where?”
Youknowwherewe’regoing,here,hesaid,overandover.AndIsaidno,andthenIsaidyes,anditiswhereIwanttobe.Butheaskedmeforhonestyandliedinreturn,andhedidbeateverythingIstandfortoapulp,andIjust—
Ineedspace.Ineedtothink.
“Youshouldleave,Jack.”
Heletsoutabreathandmovescloser.Likehewantstowraphimselfaroundme.It’sinthewayhismusclescoil,thatimpulsetotakecareofme.“Elsie,comeon.You’renot—”
“Iam.”I’mstartingtosob.Iwanthimtotouchme,butIcannotstandforhimtobehere.“YoualwaystalkaboutwhatIwant,Jack.Youhelpedmelearnhowtoaskforit.Well.”IforcemyselftolookhimsquarelyintheeyeandshowhimthatImeanwhatIsay,eventhoughI’mnotsureIdo.There’saburningheatinmychest,scalding,painful.“Rightnow,Idon’twanttobewithyou.Ineedyoutogivemesomespace.”
Iseeitinhiseyes,themomentherealizesthatI’mtellingthetruth.Andthesecondhe’sgone,Ifeelitinmyboneslikenothingbefore.24ELECTROMAGNETISM
Jackcallsmetwodayslaterduringmyofficehours,butI’mbusyexplainingtoaUMassseniorthatifshetrulymustpasteanentireparagraphfromWikipediaintoheressay,sheshouldatleasttakeouttheembeddedhyperlinks.HetriesagainonFridaynight,whenI’mgradingthethermopapersthatcameinlate,andonelasttimeonSaturdaymorning,whileI’minbedstaringatthepopcornceiling,thinkingabouthimanyway.
Ineverconsiderpickingup.Notonce.NotevenwhenIcannotsleep.Notevenafterbeingsullentempered,distracted,inefficientfortheentireweekbecauseIcannotstopreplayingmyfightwithhim,slicingitintopieces,retracingwhatIsaid,whathesaid,whatourpositionsare,whatalgorithmscouldbeusedtosolvethemesswe’reinandthethingsIfeel.NotevenwhenCececommentsonthenewlywholecredenza,makingmemisshiminanangry,visceralway.
Ineedanswers.OnMondaymorningmyalarmgoesoffatfivethirty,butI’malreadyawake,justasI’vebeenfortherestofthenight.Idressquickly,withoutlookingatmyselfinthemirror,andleaveasquietlyasIcan,stoppingonlytogiveasuspiciousHedgieahandfuloffoodpellets.It’searlyenoughthatthebustoNortheasternissemi-deserted—thedriver,me,andagirlinscrubs.HerfoottapstomusicIcannothear,andfocusingonitmakesthethoughtofwhatI’mabouttodoalmostbearable.
Dr.L.isn’tinhisofficeyet.Hearrivesabouttwentyminuteslaterandfindsmeleaningbesidehisnameplate—afirstinsixyears.Istudyhishandsasheunlocksthedoor,wonderinghowtobringupGretheTurner.
Iheardfromsomeonethat—
I’msureit’sallamisunderstanding—
Iknowtheseareseriousaccusations,but—
Please,youwouldn’t—
“Whatisitthatyouwantedtotellme,Elise?”Thegreenchairfeelspricklyundermythighs.Dr.L.’stoneis,asusual,encouraging.Supportive.“Youmentionedsomethingaboutajobopportunityinyouremail.Wherewouldthatbe?”
Ihad…notquiteforgottenaboutGeorge’soffer,butthetopicseemstrivial,inconsequentialcomparedtomyneedtoknowwhatreallyhappenedbetweenLaurendeauandJack’smother.Still,it’swhyIoriginallyscheduledthismeeting.SinceIhavenoideahowtobringupthetopicIwantto,Iclearmythroatandstartwithwhat’seasy.
“AtMIT.”
“Ah.Isee.”Histhinlipsstretchintoasatisfiedsmile.“Thedepartmentrealizedtheymadeamistake.I’mpleasedtohearthat—”
“No.I…That’snotit.GeorginaSepulvedawantsmetobecomeherpostdoctoralfellow.Thepositionpayswell,comeswithhealthinsurance,andGeorgehasalineofliquidcrystalresearch.”
Hiseyeswiden,theninstantlynarrow.“GeorginaSepulvedastoleyourjob,andyou’rethinkingofworkingforher.”
“Shedidn’tstealmyjob.”Irritationbubblesinsideme,butIquashitdown.“Shedeservedit.AndIcanlearnalotfromher.Honestly,itfeelslikeaperfectmatch,andI’mleaningtowardaccepting.”Dr.L.saysnothingandjuststaresatme.Thesatisfiedsmileisgonenow,andInearlyshiver.“Whatdoyouthink?”
He’squietforafewmoremoments.Thenheleansbackinhischair,lipsthin,andasks,“Whatisitthatyouareherefor,Elise?Myblessingtoacceptthisposition?”
Itakeadeepbreath.Another.Honesty,Itellmyselflikeamantra.HonestyIcanbetruetomyselfPeoplewhocarewillstay,evenwhenI’mnottheElsietheywant.“Yes.Iunderstandyourreticence,andIrespectyourwisdom,but—”
“Ifyoureallyunderstand,youwillstopconsideringitatonce.”
Mybrainstumblesandgoesblankforaminute.“I…What?”
“Settingasidethehumiliationofworkingforsomeonewhobeatyoutoajob,IhaveresearchedGeorginaSepulveda.Notonlyissheanexperimentalist,butshealsofrequentlycollaborateswithJonathanSmith-Turner.”
I’mnotsurewhatfeelsthemostlikeapunch:Dr.L.’scuttingtone,ortheshockofhearinghimsayJack’sname.“Thishasnothingtodowithhim.Georgeisanestablishedscientistinherownright,and—”
“Enough,Elise.”Heliftshishand,asthoughI’mawell-trainedpetwho’llfallsilentatasimplegesture.Suddenlyhelookstired,asthoughexhaustedbyanunrulychild’stantrum.“Youwillnotacceptthisposition.”
Ifrown.Foralongmoment,Ihavenoideawhattodo.Becauseononeside,there’sthesimplesemanticknowledgeofwhatLaurendeau’sElsieshoulddo:Agree.Apologize.Chalkherstubbornnessuptomeningitis,leaveaftersometearygenuflections,andcontinueherlifeasithasbeenforthepastsixyears.Ontheother,there’stheElsieIwanttobe.
Andthethingsshechoosestosay.“Dr.Laurendeau.Iwillacceptthepositionifit’swhatIthinkisbest.”Myvoicecomesoutsurprisinglyfirm.“AndwhileIunderstandyourreservationsandappreciateyourguidance,Iwillultimatelydecide—”
“Yousilly,stubborngirl.”
Histone,atonceharshandcondescending,islikeanicebucketpouringovermyhead.“Youhavenorighttotalktomethisway.”
Dr.L.standsslowly,asheoftendoesduringourconversations.Forthefirsttimeinsixyears,Istand,too.“Asyouracademicadvisor,IcantalktoyouhoweverIchoose.”Heleansforward.Ihavetolockmykneestonotstepback.“Ifyouareadamantthatyouwishtoworkunderanexperimentalist,”hecontinuescoldly,“perhapswemayreviewsomeofthephysicistswhoapproachedmeaboutyouinthepast,but—”
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Iamopentoreviewingotheroffers,butDr.Sepulveda’sisnot—”
“Other…offers?Yousaidtherewerenootheroffers.”
“Thereweresome.Fromexperimentalphysicists.Absolutelyunacceptable.However,theywouldstillbebetterthanworkingwith—”
“Butyounevertoldme.”
“Becausetheydidnotbearcontemplating.”
Theroomspins.Topples.Stopstoacrackwithinme—aneatsplit.“You…”Icannotspeak.Cannotfindthewords.“That—thatwas—itwasformetodecide.YouknewhowmuchIwasstrugglingfinancially.HowlittleresearchIwasabletodothispastyear.Andyoudidn’ttellme?”
Hismouthtwistsintoadownwardline.“Iamyourmentor.Itismyjobtoguideyoutowardwhat’sbestforyou.”
“Youoverstepped,”Isay,soforceful,sodifferentfrommyusualsoftbutsorreluctantyesesthatforamomenthelookstakenaback.Butherecoversquickly,andhissmileischilling.
“Elise,ifitweren’tforme,youwouldn’thaveenteredgraduateschool.Ichoseyou.Whatevercareeryouhave,youoweittome,andyoushouldbeverycarefulnottoforgetit.”
Icannotbelievemyears.ThistimeIdotakeastepback,andanotherone,andallofasuddenitdawnsonmethat
“Jackwasrightaboutyou.”
“IhavenoideawhoJackis,nordoIcare.Now,please,sitdown.Let’sdiscussthiscivilly,and—”
“Youarecontrolling.Andmanipulative.”Itrytoswallowpasttheknotinmythroat.“Jackwasright.YoureallydidruinGretheTurner’scareer.”
Hiseyesnarrowtobitterslits.“Ah.That’swhoJackis,then.”Heshakeshisheadtwice,likeI’vedisappointedhimprofoundly.“YouhavebeenassociatingwithSmith-Turner.Themanwhojeopardizedtheveryexistenceofyourfield.”
“WhatdidyoudotoGrethe?”
“Hismother”—Laurendeaurollshiseyesimpatiently—“doesn’tmatter.GretheTurnerdoesn’tmatterandneverdid.Ifanything,herbehaviorshouldbeawarningtoyou:thereisnoroomforsilly,stubborngirlsinphysics.AndwhywouldyoubelieveanythingSmith-Turnerhastoldyou?”Hisnostrilsflare.“Thearticlehewrotewasamalicioushoaxthatruinedandderailedseveralcareersandmadeitexponentiallyharderfortheoriststohavetheirworkfunded.Webecamethelaughingstockoftheacademicworld.”
“That’strue,”Ibiteout.“Butitdoesn’terasewhatyoudidtoGretheTurner—”
“Donotmentionhertomeagain.”Laurendeau’svoiceisharsherthanIeverrememberhearingit.“Andshowsomegratitudetothepersonwhohasgivenyouacareer.”
Ishakemyhead,feelingclosetotears.Iwon’tcryhere,though.“Ithoughtyouwantedmetobethebestpossiblephysicist.”
“WhatIwant,Elise,isforyoutodoasIsay—”
Aknock.ThedooropensbeforeIcanturnaround.
“Dr.Laurendeau?Ihavesomethingforyoutosign…Oh,Elsie,haven’tseenyouinawhile.How’veyoubeen?”
Irecognizethevoicefrommygradschooldays—Devang,thedepartmentadministrator.Iturnandwaveathim,feelingnumb.Myhanddoesn’tfeellikemine.
“Comein,Devang,”Dr.L.says.
I’mnauseous,dizzy.
Forthepastsixyears,I’vetriedtobetheElsiethatDr.L.wanted.Resourceful,hardworking,tireless.EverythingIneeded—money,insulin,time,rest,mentalfuckingspace—everythingIneededIputaftermywork.Ifollowedhisadvicebeforeanyoneelse’s,thinkingthathehadmybestinterestsinmind,thinkingthathedeservedanElsiewhostroveforbrilliance.
Andallalong,allhewantedwassomeonehecouldcontrol.
“WouldyouratherIcomebacklater?”Devangisasking.
“No,”Dr.L.says,eyeslookingintome,lipspinchedtight,“Elisewasjustabouttoleave.”
Iholdhisgaze,knowingthefirsttimeIwastrulyhonestwithhimislikelygoingtobethelasttimeI’lleverseehim.
“Dr.Laurendeau,”Isaybeforeturningaround,“youshouldreallystartcallingmeElsie.”25DUCTILITY
From:michellehannaway5@gmail.com
Subject:WHYDON’TYOUPICKUPYOURPHONE?IT’SBEENTHREEDAYS.
[thismessagehasnobody]
From:marioluvr666@gmail.com
Subject:Re:Deathinthefamilycan’tcometoclass
heymrs.hannawaywhatdoyoumean,whodied?prettysureyoucan’taskmethat,it’saHIPAAviolation
From:Dupont.Camilla@bu.edu
Subject:Re:NotwhoyouthinkIam
Dr.Hannaway,
Iapologize!ImixedyouupwithDr.Hannaday,whoteachesmyShakespeareAfterDark:IntercoursingtheBardclass.He’sactuallyamaninhisseventieswithbushysideburnsandchronicnostrilboogers,so…Oops&lol.Thankyouverymuchforansweringmyquestionsanyway!IranwithyourideaoflookingathowBreakingDawnbyStephenieMeyerislooselybasedonAMidsummerNight’sDreamandactuallygotanA+!Iattachedthepaperincaseyou’reinterested(It’stitled:Twilightvs.Shakespeare:Maythehorniesttriumph).AlsoIlookedyouupontheBUdatabase,andyouteachIntrotoThermodynamics?I’mthinkingofsigningupforyourclassnextyear!IhaveaSTEMrequirement,andyou’vebeensonice.Ifanyonecanhelpmeunderstandstufflikegravityorlongdivision,that’syou.
Cam
From:GreenbergBern@northeastern.edu
Subject:Formalcomplaint
DearElsie,
Iwantedtothankyouagainforourconversationre:yourformeradvisor.Thepatternofbehavioryouhavehighlightedishighlyconcerning,andaninvestigationonthematterhasstarted.Fornow,IwanttoreassureyouthatpartofmycommitmentasthenewChairofthePhysicsDepartmenthereatNortheasternistocounteractthesecretive,toxic,unregulatedacademicenvironmentthatmadeitpossibleforDr.Laurendeautoisolateyouthroughtheyears
Iwillkeepyouupdated,
Best,
BernardGreenberg,Ph.D.
MydecisionisalreadymadebyTuesdaynight,butit’snotuntilFridaymorningthatIgetonthesubwayandheadtowardCambridge.IwalkthroughHarvardSquare,coatopeninthemiddleofadelightfullysunnysixty-degreeFebruarydaythat’sprobablypaidforbyseveralyardsofcoralbleachingsomewhereintheRedSea.IfeelmuchlikeIhavefortherestoftheweek:raw,delicate,alittlebumbling.AsthoughI’mgingerlytryingonsomeoneelse’slife.
It’smyfirsttimeinthebuilding,butIfindtheofficeeasily.WhenIknock,avoiceyellsfrominside,“I’mnothere!Don’tcomein!Goaway!”
Ilaughandopenthedooranyway.
“OhmyGod,Elsie!Comein—Ithoughtyouwereoneofmycolleagues.Orstudents.Orfamilymembers.Basically,anyoneelse.”Georgeseemsoverjoyedtoseeme.Herofficeresemblesher:alittlemessy,butcozyandcomfortable.Shebeginstomoveastackofprintoutsfromthechair,butIshakemyhead.
“Noneed.Idon’treallyhavetimetostay.Iwantedtotalktoyouinperson.Aboutthejob.”
“Oh.”Herexpressionbrieflyshiftsintoawince.Thenrevertsbacktoasmall,reassuringsmile.“Youdidn’thavetocomeallthewayoverhereforthat.Itotallyunderstandthatworkingforanexperimentalistmightnotbeyouridealcareer.AndIhavenodoubtthatyou’llfindatenure-trackpositionsoon.AndlikeIsaid,IthinkyouandIshouldstill—”
“Actually.”Iclearmythroat.“Icameheretoaccept.”
Sheblinks.Manytimes.“To…accept?”
Itakeadeepbreath,smile,andnod.“Yes.”
“Toaccept…thejob?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Tobeclear:you’retakingthejob.”
“Yes.”
Shescreams.Andhugsmetight.Andafterastartledmoment,Ihugherback.Andabouttensecondsintothat,somethingbreaksthroughthefoggyhazeofthepastfewdays:Ifeelselfishly,beautifullyhappy.Ijustchosesomethingonmyown,formyown,withoutfirstbuildingasophisticatedtheoreticalmodelofotherpeople’sadvice,preferences,needs.WithoutthenaggingfeelingthattheonlypathIcouldtakewastheonepre-troddenforme.
Thisdecisionisallmine.
“Iwantedtotellyouinperson,”Isaywhenweletgo.“AndIwantedtothankyoufortheopportunity.”Mysmilewobblesalittle.Icouldgetemotional,butnotyet.First,Ihavethingstosay.“AndI’dlovetosetupameeting,maybeforthenextweek.Idon’tknowifImentionedittoyou,butI’vebeenworkingonseveralalgorithmsregardingthebehaviorsofbidimensionalliquidcrystalsfor…well,yearsnow.LotsofincompleteprojectsIwanttofinishup.I’dlovetotellyoumoreaboutit.Getyourinput.”Ibitemylowerlip.“Maybeitcouldbepartofourcollaborativeresearch,too?”
“Yes.Absolutely,I’dlovetohearallaboutit.”Shegrins.Andthen,almostabruptly,doesn’t.“Ireallydidn’tthinkyouweregoingtoaccept.”
Inod.“Iknow.”Myheartbeatsalittleharder.“Butintheend,itwasaneasychoice.BecauseIwantedto.”
IleavewithapromisetomeetherfordrinksnextweekwhenherfriendBee’sintown.Theridebackhomeisstilldelicate,butalittlelessraw.WhenItapthroughmyphoneinsearchofagoodsong,theoldnotificationsofJack’sunansweredcallsstarebackatme,unflinching.
Hehasn’ttriedtocontactmesincetheweekend,andIwonderifhe’sangryatme.Iwonderifhe’ssad.Iwonderifhe’sdisappointed.
ThenIremember:I’mangry.Andsad.Anddisappointed.Yes,JackwasrightaboutLaurendeau,butI’mstillfurious—atbothofthem.Theylied,withheldinformation,presumedtoknowwhatwasbestforme,andanew,vengefulversionofmerevelsinthewaythesetwomenwhohateeachotherarenowtangleduptogetherintheexpanseofmyrage.Angerisnotanewemotionperse,notforme,butforthefirsttimeinmylife,I’mlettingmyselfexperienceit.
DesirableElsieswereneverallowedtoacknowledgenegativefeelings.ButtheElsieI’mdiscoveringIamisintheeyeofseveral,andinsteadoftryingtochannel,disassemble,toss,forget,bury,transform,choke,erase,disappearthosefeelings—insteadofdoinganyofthat,shejustletsthembe.
Breathesthemin.Thenout.Theninagain.
ThetherapistIoncetalkedwithbutneverwentbackto,becausethecopaywastoosteepevenwithDad’shealthinsurance,wouldprobablycallthiswallowing.Unhealthy.Destructive.ButI’mnotsosure.
Itreasuremynewfoundfeelings.Hoardthem.EveryonceinawhileIstudythem,turnthemaround,squintatthemlikethey’rearipepieceoffruit,pluckedfromamysterioustreethatshouldn’tevenbegrowinginmyyard.WhenIpoptheminmymouthtoswallowthemwhole,theytasteatoncebitteranddelicious.
Forreasonsthatprobablyhavetodowithdopamineandoxytocinandotherstupidchemicalsinmyhead,Jackisubiquitous.AshadowintheWalgreenslinewhileIbuymyinsulin,thetallmanwaitingatthebusstop,thedeepchuckleonmywaytotheUMassfacultymeeting.Solidlynowhere,vanishinglyeverywhere.Butit’sokay.
Forthefirsttime,whenfacedwithaconflictsituationwithsomeoneIcareabout,Idon’tfeeltheurgetosmooththingsover.Andit’sironic,inanAlanissortofway,thatthemainreasonisJack’sveryvoiceinmyhead,asking,Whatdoyouwant,Elsie?
Iwanttoclawatyourface,Jack.AndthenIwanttobiteintoyourshoulderwhileyouholdmetight.ButIwillsettleforjustbeingsustainedly,explosivelyangry.
SoIletmyselfdojustthat,anditbleedsovertootherthings,too.IignoreMom’spanicaboutmybrothersgoingintodebttoout-truckeachother.IsaynotomanningthetableforthePhysicsSocietyattheBostonExtracurricularFair.WhenCeceasksifthere’ssomethingwrong(I’vebeendistracted,toolostinthoughtsofJackactinglikeanentitled,irresponsiblelittleshitforfifteenyearsandthenhavingthegalltoseethroughmeandmakemelaughlikenoonebefore)andofferstowatchDelicatessenwithme—“Torelaxabit!”—Isay,“No,thankyou,”thenslipintomyroomwithablockofcheesetocomfort-readBellicefanfiction.
It’sabalmyWednesdayafternoon,IjustspottedJackinthecrowd(itwasapostmodernclothespinsculpture),myhearthurtswithfuryandsomethingIwon’tallowmyselftoname,andIrealizesomething:thelasttimeIfeltthislowwasafterJ.J.kickedmeoutandmyentirelifecrumbleddownlikeashitcookie.Exceptthatatthetime,IwalkedawayconvincedthatIneededtotryhardertobetheElsieotherswanted.Thistime…
Whatdoyouwant,Elsie?
MaybeI’mnotstumblingthroughsomeoneelse’slife.MaybeI’mjustlivingmineforthefirsttime.
???
WhenIgethome,Ceceiswearing:
ateddy
anapron
asinglekneesock
nothingelse
She’scookingandswayingtothesoundofsomethingIcannothear,occasionallybreakingintooff-keysinginginthedirectionofHedgie,whokeepsonfrolickinginabowlofdrykittenfood.
It’salotofchaoticenergy.Evenforher.
WhenIstepcloser,shetakesoutoneAirPodandgrins.“FoundtenbucksonthebathroomfloorofBoylstonHallandwenttothesupermarket,baby!We’rehavingtartiflette,butwithnobaconandextracheese—”
“Ineedtotellyousomething.”
Hersmilestaysinplace.“Shoot!”
“It’lltakeafewminutes.”
“Okay.”Shetakesouttheotherpod.“Shoot!”
Iopenmymouthand…
Nothinghappens.Aircomesin,doesn’tgobackout.Isqueezemyeyesshut.
“Noneedtoshootifyoudon’twantto.”There’satingeofworryinhervoice.Alinebetweenhereyes.“Youcouldfireordischargeor—”
“Iwantto.It’sjust…”I’mnotmotoricallyableto.
WhichCecemightknow,becauseshecrossesherarms,tiltsherheadinthatcompassionatewayofhers,andtellsme,“Maybeifyousayitinafunnyaccent,it’llbeeasier?MayIsuggestAustralian?Nottobeculturallyinsensitive,butthoseclosede’sarejust—”
“IhatedIntheMoodforLove,”Iblurtout.“AndIfindverylittleenjoymentinWongKar-wai’sfilmography.”
Cecestartles.Physically.Spiritually.“But…buttheyareamazing.”
“Iknow.Well—Idon’tknow.TheylooklikeIshouldfindthemamazing,buttomethey’rejustsadandkindaslow.StillbetterthantheRussianonesfromtheseventies,whichfeellikerubbingbramblesagainstmyeyeballs,andIreallythinkproducersshouldstopgivingmoneytoLarsvonTrierandinsteadpickagoodcharity.Evenjustflushitdownthegarbagedisposal,honestly.Anddon’tgetmestartedabout2001:ASpaceOdyssey—”
Shegaspslikethisisatheaterplay.“Yousaidyoulovedit!”
“I…Maybe.ImostlyrepeatedthingsIfoundonline.”
Shefrownsatthebacksplashtiles.“YourreviewdidsoundverysimilartoRogerEbert’s,”shemumblestoherself.
“Ihateallauteur-stylemovies.”Mymouthfeelslikeadesert.
ThenitgetsevendrierwhenCeceasksmewithascowl,“Whatdoyoulike,then?”
Itrytoswallow.Fail.“Twilight’smyfavorite.”
Cece’seyesbugout.Sheopenshermouth.Closesit.Opensit.Closesit.Opensitonelasttime.“Whichone?”sheasks,soundingconstipated.
“Idon’tknow.”Iwince.“Allofthem.Thefourth?”
Isthatawhimper?Maybe.Yeah.AndIdon’tknowwhatIexpectedherreactionwouldbe,butitwasnotthisone.Notherglaringatmeandthensomethinghittingmehardontheforehead.Andthenagain.Andthen—
“Isthis—”Iliftmyhandsandtakeaprotectivestepback.“Areyouthrowingcheddarcubesat—”
“DamnrightIam!”Shetakesatwo-secondbreaktoturnoffthestoveandstartsagain.Withimprovedaimandvigor.Ibackdowntillthecounterstopsme.“Iknewyouweren’twatchinghentaipornthattime!IknewIsawthatshovel-faceguyonthescreen,Iknewit,Iknewit,I—”
“Notthecheese,Cece!”
Thestoningstops.AndwhenIpeekbetweenmyfingers,Ceceisthere,abagofGreatValuecubedcheddarclutchedinherfist,staringatme.
Hereyesarebrimmingwet.“Why?”sheasks,andmyheartbreaks,andIwanttotakeitallback.Itwasajoke.IloveWongKar-wai,andKubrickisthebest.I’mstilltheElsieshewants,andtonightwecanhaveaJodorowskymarathon.It’ssuchasmalllie,inthegrandschemeofourfriendship.
ExceptthatI’vebuiltmyentirelifeonsmalllies.Andovertime,they’veallgrowntobehuge.AndtheElsiethatCecewantsis,firstandforemost,notaliar.
“BecauseI…”Ishakemyhead.Icannotevensayit.OhGod.
Oh.God.
“Because,”Itryinapoorman’sAustralianaccent,“Ithoughtthatifyouknewweweren’tintothesamemovies,thenyou…”Ican’tmakemyselffinish.
Asingletearslidesdownhercheek.“Pleasetellmeyouweren’tafraidIwouldn’tloveyouanymore.”
Icanonlylookather,apologetic.
“Oh,honey.”
Myeyesareburning,too.“I’msosorry.”
“Elsie.Elsie.”Shetakesoneslowsteptowardme.Thenanother.Thentwomoreandwe’reclutchingeachotherinawaywehaven’tforalongtime,evermaybe,andI’mthinkingthatshesmellslikecheeseandflowersandsomethingineffablyhomeyandcomforting.“Iwillloveyouforever,”shesaysintomyhair.“Evenifyou’reananimalwithnotaste.”
“Iknow.I’mjust…”
Shepullsbacktolookatme.“Incrediblymessedup?”
“Yeah.”Mylaughiswet.“That.”
“It’sokay.It’snotlikeI’manybetter,”shesaysdarkly.Herslightshouldersriseandfall.“Anythingelseyou’vebeenfaking?”
“Notreally.”Iscratchmynose.“Flushablewipesarenotreallyflushable.”
“Oh.”Shecocksherhead.“Isthat…somethingyouwerefaking?”
“Notreally,butyoushouldstopusingthem.”
“Okay.”Shenods.“Mypoorbutt.”
“Oh,andHedgieandIhateeachother.”
Hereyesnarrow.“Nowyou’remakingshitup.”
“Icallherthep-wordwhenyou’regone.”
“Thep-word?”
“Pincushi—”
“Don’tyoudaresayit.We’rehermoms!”
“Iconsidermyselfmoreofanevilstepmother.”
Sheslapsmyarm.“Whoevenareyou?”
Itrytoswallow,butmythroatisstuffedfull.SoIsettleforholdingoutmyhandandmeetCece’seyessquarelyforwhatfeelslikethefirsttime.
“I’mElsie.AndIreallylikecheese,particlephysics,andmovieswithsparklyvampires.”
Shetakesitwithawaterysmile.“I’mCeleste.”Herfingersaresticky,alittlegross.Ilovehersomuch.“I’msurethatwe’llbethebestoffriends.”26LIQUIDCRYSTALS
Irinsethedirtycheddarrescuedfromthefloor,thinking,Weshouldprobablysweepmoreoften;Ihopewedon’tgettetanus—justasCecestandstriumphantlywiththelastthreeblocksinhandandsays,“Thisfloorissurprisinglyclean!”
Ismileintotheswirlingdrain.
“So.”Sheleansagainstthesink,armscrossed.“HowmuchofyoucomingoutasalyingliarhastodowithJack?”
Isoberupandkillthefaucet.“It’snot…”Ishakemyhead.“It’samess.”
“Whatis?”
Myheartwrings.“Everything.”
“Butyouhadyoursex-cationtheotherweekend.”
Iheatup.“Wedidn’treally…”InoticeherraisedeyebrowandabortmyDenytheObviousmission.“HaveyouseenKirkrecently?”
“Thisissuchanunskilleddeflectionattempt,I’mjustgonnapretenditneverhappened.So,whatexactlyisn’tgoingonbetweenyouandtheJackster?”
“Whateveritseemedlike…Whereverweweregoing,we…”Igrabthedishcloth.Weshouldprobablycleanthat,too.“Ithinkthatmightbenowhere.”
“Howcome?”
Idon’treallyfeellikemeetinghereyes.“Heliedtomeaboutsomething.Andbeforeyousayanything—Iknowit’srichofmetocalloutpeopleforlying.But.”
“Hmm.”Shedrumsherfingersagainstthesteelofthesink.“Doesthishavetodowiththearticle?”
“Yeah.”Isigh,foldingtherattycloth.“I’mdonewithsweepingstuffundertherug.Ifsomethingmakesmemad,I’mgoingtoletmyselfbemad.Andthatarticlehasbeentheammopeopleusetomakefunofmyworkforfifteenyears,so—”
“No,Imeant—thearticlehewrotetoday?”
Iliftmyeyes.“Thewhat?”
“Youhaven’tseenit?”
“Seenwhat?”
“TheentiretyofacademicTwitteristalkingaboutit.Eventhehumanities—andyouknowhowbusywearebeggingourboardsofdirectorsnottoshutterourdepartments.Didyoureallynotseeit?Jackpublishedanarticle.Today.InAnnalsofTheoreticalPhysics.”
I’mpositivethatamallardmusthaveflowninandeatenCece’sbrain.
“Wait—Iwaswrong,”sheadmits,andIrelax.“It’snotanarticle.Morelikeoneofthoseop-eds?”
Maybeshe’shigh?HasshebeeninhalingTauronfumes?“Therearenoop-edsaboutscience.”
“Thereareop-edsabouteverything.Troutfishing,plasmacoolant,velvetsuits,theunbearablelightnessofbeing—”
“Okay.Yes.ButJackdidn’twriteanop-ed,andifhehad,hewouldn’thavepublisheditintheAnnals.”
Herbrowfurrowsstubbornly.Shepicksupherphone.Tapsthescreenafewtimes,mutteringsomethingabouttheincredulityofThomas,thenthrustsitinmyface.
“Cece,Ican’treadanythingthat’sonemillimeterfrommynose.”
“Here.”Shedropsthephoneinmypalmandgoesbacktothetartiflette.Iletmyeyesfocusonthewordsand—
Thefloorwobbles.Jerks.Thenitdropsfromunderneathmyfeet.
OnthehomepageofthejournalthatpublishedEinstein,Feynman,Hawking,thereisanopenletterwrittenbyJonathanSmith-Turner.
Anopenletteraddressedtothescientificcommunity.
Itakeafewstepsback,stoppingwhenmythighshitthetable.ThewordsonthescreenfeellikesomethingJackismurmuringinmyears.
ThelasttimeIpublishedinAnnalsofTheoreticalPhysics,Iwasseventeenyearsold,andmotivatedbysomethingthathadnothingtodowithscience:revenge.
Mymother,GretheTurner,haslongsincepassedaway,butshewasabrillianttheoreticalphysicist.WhenIwasinmymid-teensIstarteddevelopinganaffinityforphysicsmyself,andasaconsequenceIreadherdiariesandreachedouttoherformercolleagues,hopingtogetabetterideaofwhatacareerinphysicsmightentail.ThatishowIdiscoveredherawfulexperienceswithherformermentor,whohadforcedhertoleaveacademia.
ThatmanwasChristopheLaurendeau,andatthetimehewastheeditorinchiefofAnnals.WhenItriedtoreporthimforwhathe’ddonetomymother,Iwastoldthattherewerenogroundstoopenaninvestigation.SoItookmattersintomyownhands.
IknewwhatkindofarticleDr.Laurendeauwouldlookuponfavorably,andIknewfromthegrapevinethathewasinfamousforbeinglaxwhenitcametothepeerreviewofworksthathebelievedwouldfurtherhisownscientificagenda.SoIwrotesomethingthatwouldfitthosecriteria.Again:myaimwastosabotageLaurendeau’scareer,andasunethicalasthatmaysound,it’ssomethingIstandby.Hedidsuffersetbacks,andforseveralyearshewasunabletoreceivefundingormentorstudents—anoutcomeIcannotregret.
Butthat’snotallthathappened.AfterIexploitedonespecificweaknesswithinonespecificjournaltotargetonespecificindividual,thescientificcommunitybegantousemyarticleasanexampleofthedeclineoftheoreticalphysics.AndwhatIregretisthatasithappened,Istayedsilent.
ForoverfifteenyearsIdidnothingtodispeltheideathatIbelievedtheoreticalphysicstobeinferior.Ibecameasymboloftheenmitybetweentheoreticalandexperimentalphysics,andofthat,Iamashamed.Iamashamedofhowitmusthavemademytheoristcolleaguesfeel,andIamashamedthatIdidnotquelltheseassumptionsforoveradecade.Aboveall,IamashamedthatIputapersonIdeeplyrespectinthepositionofhavingtoexplaintometheconsequencesofmyownactionsbecauseIwastooproud,tooangry,andtooself-centeredtorealizethem.
Soletmesendamessagetoanyonewhostillcitesmyarticleasaweaponinsomepettywarwithinourdiscipline:don’t.Ineverbelievedthattheoreticalphysicswaslessrigorous,orlessimportantafieldthanexperimentalphysics.Andifyoudobelievethat,youaremistaken,andyoushouldreadsomeofthemostmeaningfultheoryworkofthepastfewdecades.Iamcitingseveralbelow…
“OhmyGod.”Myhandsaretrembling.Mylegs,too.Andthefloor,I’mprettysure.“OhmyGod.”
“Yup.”Ilookup.I’dforgottenCeceexisted.I’dforgottentobreathe.I’dforgottentherestoftheworldwasathing.“That’s,like,thescienceequivalentofproposingwithaflashmob.”
“No.”Ishakemyheadforcefullyenoughtoscrollouteverythingthat’sinsideit.Mashedpotatoes,probably.“He’snotproposing.He’sjust…”Icrumpleinachair.
“Finallyreckoningwithhisdecades-longevillegacybecausehewantsyoutobehisgirlfriendwhosendshimcutelittleheartemojisandsixty-nineswithhimeveryotherday?”
Ishakemyheadagain.Thetruthis,itfeelslikeit.Liketheletterisaddressedtome.“No—he—hedoesn’t—”
“Hedoes.Hehasthatlook.Icanjusttellhe’sintoallsortsoffilthystuff.”Shegrins.“Anyway,justfromreadingthis,MadamePersonHeDeeplyRespects,itdoesn’tfeellikeyoutwoaregoingnowhere.”
Mymindistotteringincircles.No.Yes.“It’scomplicated.”
“Whatis?”
“Jack.Jackiscomplicated.”Imassagemytemples.“Ormaybenot.Maybehe’snot,but—Iamcomplicated.Toocomplicated.”
“Okay.Totally.I’mnotgoingtospareyourfeelingsandfibabouthowcomplicatedyouaren’t.YoudidlietomeaboutlikingDavidLynchforsevensolidyears—unlessyoudolike—”
“No.”
“Right.Well,thismanjustwroteanop-edthat’sgonnagettheSTEMlordstothrowparsnipsathimtillthedayhedies,andI’mprettysurehediditforyou,sothat’ssomethingyoumightwanttoconsider.Imean,hedoeslookprettysturdy.Hecantakeafewparsnips.Hecouldprobablytakeawholecauliflowerfield.Plus,thepoweroflovewillnumbthepain—”
“Jesus.”Icovermyeyes.“Shit.”
“Elsie?”Shekneelsinfrontofme.“What’stheproblem?”
“Everything.”
“Right.Butifyouhadtobespecific…?”
“He’sright.Hewasright.Iwasmadbecausehelied,andhesaidthatIwasscared,and…Iamscared.ThatI’mtoomessedupforhim.”
“ForJack?”
Inodintomyhands.“IlieallthetimeaboutwhoIam.WhileJackisjust—”
“Oh,Elsie.”
“Heseeseverything—”
“Elsie.”
“—andhe’llgetsickofmybullshit—”
“Elsie?”
“—andhe’swaytootallforme—ouch!”Myarmsdrop.Thereisaredbruiseonthebackofmyhand.Anothercheddarcubeonthefloor.“Whatthe—”
“Stopwhiningallovermykitchen,”shecommands.“Fearaside,doyouwanttobewithJack?DoyoulikebeingwithJack?”
Somuch.
So,somuch.
So,so,somuch.
“Ilikeit.ButmaybeIstillshouldn’t.”
“Therearethingslikethat.Thatfeelnicebutarebadforyou.LikeMDMA,orQ-tipsforearcleanings.Idon’tthinkJackqualifies,though.”
“Why?”
Cece’seyesareearnest.Herfingersreachoutformine.
“Youknowme,Elsie:IhategivingcredittoadudewhoprobablywenttokindergartenataFrenchchateau.Butyou’vebeenseeinghimfor,what,weeks?AndIdon’tknowwhatitispreciselythatyoutwohavebeendoingforeachother.Buthejustletgoofaveryshittythinghe’sbeencarryingaroundforhalfhislife.Andyou…IfeellikeIknowyoubetterthanIeverdidbefore.AndI’mthinkingthatmaybe,Ioweitalittlebittohim.”
IlookatCece,lettingherwordsswirlaroundmeinmessy,complicated,unpredictablepatterns.Thentheysettleinsidemybrain,andIcantastetheirtruth.
FourweeksagoIwasadifferentperson
No:fourweeksagoIwasaninfinitenumberofdifferentpeople.I’veputmyselfinahundredtinyboxes,playedathousandroles,sculptedmyselfinamillionsmoothlines.ButforthefirsttimeinmemoryI’mfightingagainstthat,and…
Whatdoyouwant,Elsie?
IsqueezemyhandtightaroundCece’s.ThenIstand,pickupmycoat,andrunoutthedoor.
???
There’ssomethingnewonthedoorofJack’soffice.
Underthe“JonathanSmith-Turner,Ph.D.”plaqueandthe“PhysicsInstitute,Director”subplaque,someonetapedaprintoutoftheAnnalsarticleCeceshowedmeearliertoday.
Alltwopages.
Includingthecitations.
Oneofwhichisanarticleofmine.
“Dr.Hannaway?”
IturntoMichiwalkingdownthehallway.“Oh—hi.”
“Hi!”Shesmileswidelyatme.“CanIhelpyou?”
“Oh,Iwas…”Ipointatthedoor,whichlooksalotlikeI’mpointingatthepaper.Iquicklylowermyhand.“IwaslookingforJack.”
“Ithinkhewentstraighthomeafterthefacultymeeting.”
Shit.
No.Notshit.Thisisgood.Icangotohisplace.Iknowwherehelives.I’vebasicallylivedthere,too,foracoupleofweekends.Sothisisperfect—itgivesmemoretimetothinkaboutwhatI’mgoingtotellhim,sinceIhavenoidea.WhyamIhere?Justsweptbythecurrents,likeasalmonduringmatingseason.
IshootMichiaquicksmileandspeed-walkdownthehallway.IthinksheyellsaftermethatshefollowedmeonTwitter,butIdon’tstoptoinvestigate.InsteadIrehearsemyconversationwithJack.Hi.Hey.Oh,hello.I’veseenthearticlesoundslikeagoodbeginning.ButIcouldalsostartsofter.Iwasjustinthearea,andmydogranaway.Willyouhelpmefindit?It’sablack-and-whiteNewfiewithabiglollingtongue,andyes,ifIhavetomakeupanimaginarypet,I’mgoingtochooseacuteone—
I’mthinkingsohard,Ibarelyregisterthatsomeoneiscallingme.Andittakesa“Dr.Hannaway,isthatyou?”formetorecognizethevoice.
Iturnaround.
It’sVolkov.Andbehindhim,IkagawaandMassey.Attheirside,Monica,Sader,Andrea,halfadozenmorepeoplewhosenamesIdon’trememberfrommyinterview,andbehind,anentireheadtaller,amillionmileswider,onlyjuststeppingoutoftheconferenceroom…
Jack.Ofcourse.
Michiwaswrong.Facultymeetingonlyjustended.
“Dr.Hannaway,”Volkovsaysfondly,likeI’mhisniecewhoshouldvisitmoreoften,andeventhoughtherearetwentypeoplestaringatmeandI’dliketodisappearintothewoods,Iactuallyliftmyhandandsmileweakly.
“Areyouanocean?”heasks.“Becauseyoujust…waved!”
OhGod.Whendidthisbecomemylife?
“Elsie?”Monicabuttsinwarily.“Iseverythingokay?”
Myheartslamswithmortification.Ibetshe’safraidI’llmakeascene.“Um,I…”Igotlost.Forgotmycolonicsparaphernaliainthebathroomafewweeksago.HaveyouseenaNewfie?
No.No.Comeon,Elsie.Honesty.
“IneedtotalktoJack,”Isayinmynewlyfoundfirmvoice.
Jack.
Whohas,bynow,noticedme.
Andiscomingtowardme.
Standinginfrontofme.
Toweringtoweringlywithapuzzled,toweredfrowndirectedatme.
Deepbreaths.It’sokay.Thisisfine.
“Ididn’tknowyoutwotalked,”Monicasays,lookingskepticallybetweenus
“Ilearnedafewyearsago,”Jacktellshercalmly,staringonlyatme.She’slittlemorethanaflybuzzingaroundus.“AndElsie’sintheprocessofmasteringtheartofspeakingforherself.”
Iglare.Hismouthtwitches.
“Elsie,hasJonathanbeenbotheringyou?BecauseI—”
“No.Notatall.We…”I’mbeetred.“Wedotalk.”
Hereyeswideninsurprise,thennarrowinsuspicion.“DoesthistalkingyouhavebeendoinghaveanythingtodowithJonathan’sarticle?”shesays.Towhom,I’mnotsure.
Jackkeepslookingatme,silentforastretchedbeat.“Thearticlewasoverdue.”
“Itcertainlywas.”Monicahuffs.“Still,thisseems…highlyirregular.”
“Nothighly.”Heshrugs.“Morelikemiddleoftheroad.”
Shestiffens.“Jonathan—”
“Monica?”Volkovcallsfrombehind.“Willyouhelpuswiththemeetingminutes?”
SheturnsawaywithathreateninglookatJack,andsuddenlyI’mvery,veryawarethatcomingheremightnothavebeenmybestidea.Foranumberofreasons.
“I’msorry,”Isay.
Hecockshishead.“Whyareyousorry?”
“Idon’tknow—I…”Igesturearoundus,thenlook,andit’sabadidea.Peoplearelingeringinthehallway,andIdon’tthinktheycanhearus,butthey’resurelooking,andIwouldn’twantto—
Wait.
No.Idon’tcareaboutpeopleandwhattheythink.“Ifiguredyou’dbeinyouroffice.”
“Nope.Wecouldgo,”heoffers.“Thoughifwedisappeartogetherintomyoffice…”
Inod.Okay,soIdocareabitaboutwhatpeoplethink.Justtherightamount.MaybeIdon’twantthemtopicturemebentoverJack’sdesk.MaybeI’mstillconfused.I’llthinkmoreonthislater.
“Elsie?”
“Yes?”
He’slaughingatme.AndIhateit.AndIloveit.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Ijust…”Iclearmythroat.“Iknowwehadareallybadfight.AndIdidn’tansweryourcalls,becauseIwasreallymad.AndIknowyouthoughtthatthatwasit,andwewouldnevermeetagain,but…”
“Ididn’t.”
Oh.“Oh?”
“Iwasgivingyouthespaceyouaskedfor.”Helookspatientlyamused.“AndtherewassomethingIneededtodo.”
“Right.Thearticle.Iknowyouwroteitbecauseitwasoverdue,andnotbecauseofme,but—”
“Both.”
“—Istillwantedto…Whatdidyousay?”
“Itwasoverdue.AndIdiditforyou.”
Mymouthissanddry.“Forme.”
Henods,andhisamusementshiftsintosomethingmoreserious.“Whatyousaidwastrue.Anditwastherightthingtodo.Butalso…Elsie,there’sverylittleIwouldn’tdoforyou.”
Mycheeksburnhotandicecold.“I…Jack.Ineedtoexplain.I—”
Myphonechoosestheworstpossibletimetovibrate.Iglancedownatthescreen—Mom—rejectthecall,andimmediatelylookbackupatJack.
“Sorry,I…Honesty.We’redoingthiswithhonesty.”Iinhale.“IcamebecauseIhaveseveralhonestthingstosaytoyou.”
Hismouthtwitches.“Please,do.”
“Right.Okay.Then…firstofall,Ihatethatyoudidn’tlikeTwilight,anditinvalidatesallyourotheropinions—inmoviesespecially,butnotexclusively.”
Morephonebuzzing.WhichIignore.
“Isee.”
“Youneedtobuycurtains,becauseyourapartmentiswaytoobright,waytooearly.Andyourgrilledcheeseisgood,butitcouldbebetterifyouaddedaioli.”
“Ofcourse.”
“And—”
TheiTwatbuzzesagain,and—dammit
“Mom,”Ipickup.“Notnow,please.”
“Elsie.Finally.Yourbrothershavebeengivingmesomanyheadaches,andyou’vebeenAWOL.Ineedyouto—”
“Isaid,notnow,”Irepeatimpatiently.“I’minthemiddleofsomethingimportant.LucasandLanceareadults—iftheywanttoruintheirlives,byallmeans,letthem.Idon’tcare,andIdon’tcarewhatAuntMinniesaysonFacebook.Please,stopcallingmewithanythingrelatedtothat.”Ihangup.
Jackstaresatmewithastony,impenetrableexpression.
“Um,sorryaboutthat.”
“Noproblem.Itwas…”
Isqueezemyeyesshut.“Unhinged?”
“Iwasgoingtosayhot.Elsie,lookatme.”Histoneiscommanding,butinawayIdon’tmind.“Whyareyouhere?”
“BecauseI…”
Iclosemyeyesforamoment.Takeamilliondeepbreaths.
“BecauseIacceptedGeorge’soffer.AndI’llbeworkingherenextyear.”Hissmilewidenswithundeniablehappiness—thenstopsabruptlywhenIadd,“AndbecauseIhateyou,Jack.”Ifeelsomethingwarmonmylips.Salty,too.“Ihateyou,andit’sprettyannoying,sinceIthinkImightalso…”Ishakemyhead.“Andyou’reright—Iamterrified,scaredshitlessthatthemoreyouknowme,thelessyou’lllikeme,andIjust…Iloatheitsometimes.”
Hegivesmeaconfused,curiouslook.LikeheknowsthatI’mcomplicated,buthedoesn’tmind.Likehe’dratherspendtherestofhislifestudyinganinchofmethandiscoveringthemysteriesbehindtheuniverse.“Whatdoyouloathe?”
“Thewayyouseemtoalwaysgetundermyskin.”
“Elsie.”Hiseyescloseforabriefmoment.Whenheopensthem,starsareborn.“Youthinkyoudon’tliveundermine?”
“I…Idon’tknow,really.Idon’treallyunderstandyou.Youdidn’ttellmeaboutLaurendeau,and…youknoweverythingaboutme,butIknownexttonothingaboutyou.I’mconstantlyshowingmyself,butyourarelyreciprocate—some,sure,butsomuchstayshidden,andI’mnotsurewhat…”
Hemovescloser.Cupsmyface.Therearepeopleallaroundus—Monica,Volkov,Andrea.Jack’scurrentandmyfuturecolleaguesaregettingashow,buthebendsdownanyway,likemyspaceishisown.
“Okay,then.Honesty.”Hetiltsmyfacebackward,lipsbrushingagainstmyears.“Iwantyou,Elsie.Allthetime.Ithinkofyou.All.The.Fucking.Time.I’mdistracted.I’mshitatwork.Andmyfirstinstinct,theveryfirsttimeIsawyou,wastorunaway.BecauseIknewthatifwe’dstartdoingthis,wewouldneverstop.Andthat’sexactlyhowitis.ThereisnouniverseinwhichI’mgoingtoletyougo.Iwanttobewithyou,onyou,everysecondofeveryday.Ithink—Idreamofcrazythings.Iwantyoutomarrymetomorrowsoyoucangoonmyhealthinsurance.Iwanttolockyouinmyroomforacoupleofweeks.Iwanttobuygroceriesbasedonwhatyoulike.Iwanttoplayitcool,likeI’mattractedtoyouandnotobsessedoutofmymind,butthat’snotwhereI’mat.Notatall.AndIneedyoutokeepusincheck.Ineedyoutopaceus,becausewhereveritisthatwe’regoing…I’mhere.I’malreadyrighthere.”
Jackstraightens.Hetakesastepback,anintense,calmlookinhiseyes.Likehe’ssaidwhathemeanttoandcouldneverregretit.
“Thatwas…”Iclearmythroat.“Honest.”
He’squietforamomentandthennods.“It’swhatIwanttobe.Withyou.AndI’msorryIlied.”
“I…It’sokay.Thisonce.”Iclearmythroat.“Whatyou—thethings—thefactthat—”Itakeadeep,decisive,mind-clearingbreath.AndthenIfinallysayit.“Iam,too.”
Hisheadtilts.“You’rewhat?”
“Almostthere.Wherewe’regoing…I’mpracticallythere,really.It’slike…aninchaway.Ijustneedto…”Itakeanotherbreath,thistimeshuddering.“Ijustneedtofindmyfooting.Feeltheground.”
Hesmiles,andmyheartthuds.SomewhereintheTadpoleGalaxy,cometsareborn,starsspringintobeing,liquidcrystalstwist,align,queueupintidyformations.
“I’mhere,”Jacksays.We’realoneinthishallway,meandhim.Justthetwoofus,inanywaythatmatters.“Buttakeyourtime,Elsie.I’llwaitforaslongasittakes.”EPILOGUE
Eightmonthslater
IhatchtheplanonaSundaymorning.
Thesunisbright,thecurtainsnonexistent,andJack’seyelidsmustbeasblackoutasever,becauseIgetinatleasttwentyminutesofintenseplottingbeforehewakesuptopullmecloser.Thenhisstubblebrushesagainstmybelly,andItuckmyplansaside,carefullystoredinanunclutteredcornerofmybrain,andletmyselfgiggleinhisarms.“Youseempensive,”hepointsoutlater,inthekitchen,butIdistracthimwithakiss;hismouthissyrupysweet,andthesmellofwafflesthickenstheearly-morningfallair.
Thediversionworks.
It’saplanthatwillrequirepracticeandorganization,atouchoflogisticaltroubleshooting.Thebestoptionwouldbetorecruitsomeoneelsetohelpme,butIdon’tknow.I’dratherdothisonmyown.ExceptthatJackandIspendSundaynightthesamewaywedoeverySunday—fallingasleeponthesectionalwhilecatchinguponarticles.Monday’sspentatMillicent’swiththerestofthefamily,whichinvolvestheusualroutine:GregandIchattingabouttheYAbookswe’vebeenbuddy-reading,JackplayingagainsthisgrandmaattheGoboard,andtherestofthefamily,Carolineincluded,respectfullyavoidingmentioningthatIwentfromdatingonebrothertotheother.I’mnotsurewhatwentdownthere,orwhatpromptedtheSmithCinematicUniversetosuddenlygrowboundaries.Isuspectthatsomeoverduesternconversationswerehad,threatsweremade,andpeoplewereencouragedtoeithershutthehellupornevershowupatMillicent’sagain.
Itworked.
Tuesdaynightisalsoano-go,becauseIhavetherapy,whichInowcanmiraculouslyafford.I’veneverbeenthishealthy—mentallyandphysically.Thewondersofhavinginsurance.
“…andmostofthetimeIreally,trulybelievethatheseesmeforwhatIam,butsometimesthereisthispetrifyingfear,”IexplaintoJada,“thatmaybehedoesn’t.Maybehe’smakingamistake?Maybehe’llchangehismind?Maybethere’sadealbreaker,andhe’sdays,secondsawayfromdiscoveringit?”
“Andwhatdowedowhenwefeellikethat?”
“WebuyfivepoundsofWholeFoodspecorino?”
Jadablinksatme,unamused.
Isigh.“Wearticulateourinsecuritiestoourpartnerandlistentotheiranswer.”
Butit’snoteasy,articulating.Gettingeasier,yes,butafewhourslater,whenI’mlyingonthecouchontopofJack,allthatcomesoutis“You’renotgoingtosuddenlyrealizethatyoudon’treallylikeme,right?”
Hedipshischintolookatme.“Ifmyfeelingsforyouhaven’tchangedafterreadingthatBellaandAlicealphaversefanfiction,I’mprettysurewe’regolden.”
“It’scalledomegaverse—andyousaiditwasgood!”
“Isaiditwashot,”hecorrectsme.Theblueslicedarkens.“Actually,youshouldreadittomeagain.Now.”
Irollmyeyes.“No,it’sjustthat…IpromiseI’musually…ButsometimesIfeellike…I’mnotsurethat…”Ifallsilent.Therearenorightwordstobefoundinme.
“RoughsessionwithJada?”Jackasks.AndInodtillheholdsmetighter.Wewatchoneofhiswhitemaleragemoviesinsilence,andbetweenacarchaseandaweirdCGImonsterandhishandsanchoringmetohim,Ithinkthatmaybethereisnosomething,nodealbreaker,noshoethat’sabouttodrop.
Maybeit’sjustus.
So,Wednesday.WednesdayissupposedtobethedayIexecutemyplan,butIwakeuptothecoolestemailofmylife.
From:editor@naturephysics.com
Subject:ArticleID:89274692
DearDrs.HannawayandSepulveda,
Congratulations.Iampleasedtoinformyouthatfollowingyourrevisions,yourpaperentitled“Supermolecularorganizationinlyotropicliquidcrystals:anewtheoreticalframework”hasbeenacceptedforpublicationinNaturePhysics.Belowyouwillfindadditionalinformation…
ThatnightGeorge’swifemakessouvlakitocelebrate.It’sdelicious,butGeorgeandIaretoobusyreadingandrereadingtheemailandlettingoutannoyinghigh-pitchedscreamstotrulysavorit.Weareobnoxiousbutjustcannothelpourselves.
“Shouldwebreakupwiththem?”IhearDoraask.
“Wecertainlydeservebetter,”Jackanswers.ButthatnighthehugsmefrombehindwhileIbrushmyteethandwhispers,“Youarethemostmagnificentthingthateverhappenedtome,”andIknowittobetrue.
I’mamess.Aworkinprogress.I’mtwostepsforwardandonestepback.Ihoardmycheese,andIcan’tefficientlyloadthedishwasher,andI’mgoingtostrugglewiththetruthuntilthedayIcroak.
Jackknowsallofthis,andhelovesme.Notanyway,butbecause
Sothenextday—that’stheone.Thursday.It’scuttingitclose,butitworks.
“How’sthejob?”MomasksmeonthephonewhileI’monmywaytomyapartment.
“Good.Great,actually.”
“Andthatboyfriendofyours?”Itfeelsalittlerobotic—likealistofquestionsthatshe’swritteninherNotesapp.Butshe’strying.Andshehasn’tdemandedItakecareofLanceandLucasinawhile.“Hasheproposedyet?”
Ilaugh.“Mom,it’sbeenlessthanayear.”
“That’splentyoftime!”
“Idon’tneedhimtoaskmetomarryhim,”Isay,distracted,rummaginginmybagforthekeysthatIalmostneveruseanymore.IhopeIhaven’tleftthematJack’s.
“Whynot?”
“Because…”Ha!Foundthem.“BecauseIalreadyknowthathewantsto.”
Cecearrivesjustacoupleofminutesafterwehangup.“DoesJackknowwhyyou’rehere?”sheasks,cheeksbrightfromthecoolbreeze.
“Nope.Itoldhimwewerejusthangingout.Alasthurrahbeforewemoveoutforrealnextmonth.”
“Goodidea.”Shewatchesmemixthepowderinwater.“MaybeIshouldhavebroughtHedgie?Forgirls’night?ButKirk’llenjoysomeone-on-onetimewithher.”
Hewon’t,sincehe’sasterrifiedofherasIam.Ifinallyfeelseen.
“It’sabitbittersweetthatwewon’trenewthelease,”Isay.
“Don’tworry.”Shegrins.“IwrotedownMrs.Tuttle’sHBOpassword.”
Ilaughandshakemyhead.“It’sjusttheendofanera.”
“It’snot,becauseournewplacesarefiveminutesapart.”
“Still.”Iglancearound.“MaybeI’llmissthecoconutcrabsandtheexposedwires.”Igobacktostirring,andwe’requietforawhile.Thenhershoulderbumpsagainstmine.“Elsie?”
“Yeah?”
“FYI,you’llalwaysbemyfavorite.”
“Youtoo,Cece.”Theredinthepotgetsabitblurryforasecond.“Youtoo.”
Thefollowingmorning,whenJackstepsintohisoffice,I’malreadythere.Waitinginthechairbehindhisdesk.
“Well,well,well,”hesays.Surprised.Delighted.“Lookwho’s—”
Hiseyesfallonthefruitsofmylabor:hislittleHadronCollidermodelis…well,whereitalwaysis.Excepttodayit’strappedincherryJell-O.
“Happybirthday,”Isay.I’malittlebreathless.IstillgetknockedoffmyfeetwhenIseehimafterawhile.Iwonderifit’lleverend.Iwonderifallthesebeautiful,momentousthingsIfeelforhimwilleversettleintosomethingordinary.Ican’timaginetheywill.
“TheJell-Oismybirthdaypresent?”heasks,likehe’dbeoverjoyedifitwere.
“Nope.”Ipointtothecardnexttoit.“That’sthepresent.”
Thedimplemakesmyheartskipabeat.“IsitanotherWayfairgiftcertificate?Tobuymorecurtains?”
Ilaughandswivelaroundinhischair—facultymembersdogetbetterfurniturethanthepostdocs.Ilistentohimtearopentheplainenvelope,andletmyeyesroamoutthewindows,tothetreesthatarejustabouttoturnredandyellow,tothestudentsgoingabouttheirlives,tothebluesky.ThenIclosemyeyesandpictureJack’sfaceashereadsmywords.
DearJack,
IknowI’vebeenslow,butIjustwantedyoutoknowsomething:I’mrighthere.Withyou.AUTHOR’SNOTE
Love,Theoreticallyis,byfar,themost“academic”bookI’vewritten.I’dbeenwantingtotellalovestorysetagainstthebackdropofacademicpoliticsforawhile,andforthisoneIreallyletmyselfgetintotheweeds.Maybealittletoomuch?Sorry!Butasusual,lotsofelementswereinspiredbymyownexperienceintheslightlycesspoolymessoftheacademe.
Academicjobinterviewscanbejustasexhausting,longwinded,andsoulcrushingasElsieperceivesthemtobe.Thefeudswithindisciplines,justaspetty.Thepowermentorshaveovertheirmentees,justasabsolute.Theadjunctificationofhighereducation,whichstrandsinstructorswithnojoborfinancialsecurity,justasterrifying.ThebogusarticleJackwroteisverylooselymodeledafterarealevent:theSokalHoaxhappenedin1996,whenanNYUphysicsprofessorwroteandsubmitteda“nonsense”articletoSocialText,aleadingculturalstudiesacademicjournal,tomakeapointaboutitseditorialsloppinessandlackofintellectualrigor.Thearticlewasaccepted,andthecontroversies,implications,andacademicinfightsthatfollowedarehistory(anddocumentedintheWikipediaentry,ifyoufeellikebustingoutthepopcorn).
Eitherway,Ihopeyouenjoyedthisstory.Andifyou’rewonderingwhyanyonewouldwanttopursueacareerinacademiaafterallofthis…well,therearetonsofacademicsoutthere,lovingtheirjobs—andyetwonderingtheverysame!ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Iswritinghard,oramIjustbadatit?Inthisessay,Iwill—
Tobehonest,thiswholepublishingthingisn’tgettinganyeasierforme,andI’mstillrelyingonseveraltrillionpeopletohelpmegetmyworkinshape.Love,Theoreticallywas,simultaneously,abookIreallywantedtowriteandabookIreallystruggledtowrite(gofigure!).Iowealottomyeditor,SarahBlumenstock(thankyouforlettingmekeepthatchapterbreak;BTW,I’mstillmadyoudidn’ttellmeaboutthatpanel),andtomyagent,ThaoLe(thankyouforbeingtheonlyonewholaughsatmyjokes!),whoconstantlysupportmeinallmywriterlyendeavorsandarethereasonwritingissuchajoyforme.I’mtrulyhonoredtogettoworksocloselywithtwopeopleIlikesomuch.Also,allmyappreciationtoLizSellersforherpreciousinput.TomybelovedJen,Lucy,Margaret,andKelly,whosloggedthroughlacklusterversionsofthismanuscript:thisiswhatyougetforbeingfriendswithme,you’rewelcome(I’msosorry—ILU).
Thankyoutomy(anonymous)authenticityreadersfortheirimportantanddifficultwork.Inaddition,I’mincrediblyf