The Love Hypothesis

PraiseforTheLoveHypothesis
“Contemporaryromance’sunicorn:theelusivemarriageofdeeplybrainyanddelightfullyescapist….TheLoveHypothesishaswildcommercialappeal,butthequietersecretisthatthereisaspecificaudience,madeupofalloftheOlivesintheworld,whohavedeeply,ardentlywaitedforthisexactbook.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorChristinaLauren
“Funny,sexy,andsmart.AliHazelwooddidaterrificjobwithTheLoveHypothesis.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorMarianaZapata
“Thistacklesoneofmyfavoritetropes—GrumpymeetsSunshine—inafunandutterlyendearingway….Ilovedthenodstowardfandomandromancenovels,andIcouldn’tputitdown.Highlyrecommended!”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorJessicaClare
“Abeautifullywrittenromanticcomedywithaheroineyouwillinstantlyfallinlovewith,TheLoveHypothesisisdestinedtoearnaplaceonyourkeepershelf.”
—ElizabethEverett,authorofALady’sFormulaforLoveAJOVEBOOK
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2021byAliHazelwood
ExcerptfromLoveontheBraincopyright?2021byAliHazelwood
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
AJOVEBOOK,BERKLEY,andtheBERKLEY&BcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Hazelwood,Ali,author.
Title:Thelovehypothesis/AliHazelwood.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:Jove,2021.
Identifiers:LCCN2020057346(print)|LCCN2020057347(ebook)|ISBN9780593336823(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593336830(ebook)
Subjects:GSAFD:Lovestories.
Classification:LCCPS3608.A98845L682021(print)|LCCPS3608.A98845(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020057346
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020057347
FirstEdition:September2021
Coverillustrationbylilithsaur
BookdesignbyTiffanyEstreicher,adaptedforebookbyEstelleMalmed
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_5.8.0_c0_r0TomywomeninSTEM:Kate,Caitie,Hatun,andMar.Perasperaadaspera.Contents
Cover
PraiseforTheLoveHypothesis
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
Epilogue
Author’sNote
Acknowledgments
ExcerptfromLOVEONTHEBRAIN
AbouttheAuthorhy·poth·e·sis(noun)
Asuppositionorproposedexplanationmadeonthebasisoflimitedevidence,asastartingpointforfurtherinvestigation.
Example:“Basedontheavailableinformationandthedatahithertocollected,myhypothesisisthatthefartherawayIstayfromlove,thebetteroffIwillbe.”Prologue
Frankly,Olivewasabitonthefenceaboutthiswholegradschoolthing.
Notbecauseshedidn’tlikescience.(Shedid.Shelovedscience.Sciencewasherthing.)Andnotbecauseofthetruckloadofobviousredflags.Shewaswellawarethatcommittingtoyearsofunappreciated,underpaideighty-hourworkweeksmightnotbegoodforhermentalhealth.ThatnightsspenttoilingawayinfrontofaBunsenburnertouncoveratrivialsliceofknowledgemightnotbethekeytohappiness.Thatdevotinghermindandbodytoacademicpursuitswithonlyinfrequentbreakstostealunattendedbagelsmightnotbeawisechoice.
Shewaswellaware,andyetnoneofitworriedher.Ormaybeitdid,atinybit,butshecoulddeal.Itwassomethingelsethatheldherbackfromsurrenderingherselftothemostnotoriousandsoul-suckingcircleofhell(i.e.,aPh.D.program).Heldherback,thatis,untilshewasinvitedtointerviewforaspotinStanford’sbiologydepartment,andcameacrossTheGuy.
TheGuywhosenamesheneverreallygot.
TheGuyshemetafterstumblingblindlyintothefirstbathroomshecouldfind.
TheGuywhoaskedher,“Outofcuriosity,isthereaspecificreasonyou’recryinginmyrestroom?”
Olivesqueaked.Shetriedtoopenhereyesthroughthetearsandonlybarelymanagedto.Herentirefieldofviewwasblurry.Allshecouldseewasawateryoutline—someonetall,darkhaired,dressedinblack,and…yeah.Thatwasit.
“I…isthistheladies’restroom?”shestammered.
Apause.Silence.Andthen:“Nope.”Hisvoicewasdeep.Sodeep.Reallydeep.Dreamydeep.
“Areyousure?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Fairly,sincethisismylab’sbathroom.”
Well.Hehadherthere.“I’msosorry.Doyouneedto…”Shegesturedtowardthestall,orwhereshethoughtthestallswere.Hereyesstung,evenclosed,andshehadtoscrunchthemshuttodulltheburn.Shetriedtodryhercheekswithhersleeve,butthematerialofherwrapdresswascheapandflimsy,nothalfasabsorbentasrealcotton.Ah,thejoysofbeingimpoverished.
“Ijustneedtopourthisreagentdownthedrain,”hesaid,butshedidn’thearhimmove.Maybebecauseshewasblockingthesink.OrmaybebecausehethoughtOlivewasaweirdoandwascontemplatingsiccingthecampuspoliceonher.ThatwouldputabrutallyquickendtoherPh.D.dreams,wouldn’tit?“Wedon’tusethisasarestroom,justtodisposeofwasteandwashequipment.”
“Oh,sorry.Ithought…”Poorly.She’dthoughtpoorly,aswasherhabitandcurse.
“Areyouokay?”Hemustbereallytall.Hisvoicesoundedlikeitcamefromtenfeetaboveher.
“Sure.Whydoyouask?”
“Becauseyouarecrying.Inmybathroom.”
“Oh,I’mnotcrying.Well,Isortofam,butit’sjusttears,youknow?”
“Idonot.”
Shesighed,slumpingagainstthetiledwall.“It’smycontacts.Theyexpiredsometimeago,andtheywereneverthatgreattobeginwith.Theymessedupmyeyes.I’vetakenthemoff,but…”Sheshrugged.Hopefullyinhisdirection.“Ittakesawhile,beforetheygetbetter.”
“Youputinexpiredcontacts?”Hesoundedpersonallyoffended.
“Justalittleexpired.”
“What’s‘alittle’?”
“Idon’tknow.Afewyears?”
“What?”Hisconsonantsweresharpandprecise.Crisp.Pleasant.
“Onlyjustacouple,Ithink.”
“Justacoupleofyears?”
“It’sokay.Expirationdatesarefortheweak.”
Asharpsound—somekindofsnort.“ExpirationdatesaresoIdon’tfindyouweepinginthecornerofmybathroom.”
UnlessthisdudewasMr.Stanfordhimself,hereallyneededtostopcallingthishisbathroom.
“It’sfine.”Shewavedahand.She’dhaverolledhereyes,iftheyhadn’tbeenonfire.“Theburningusuallylastsonlyafewminutes.”
“Youmeanyou’vedonethisbefore?”
Shefrowned.“Donewhat?”
“Putinexpiredcontacts.”
“Ofcourse.Contactsarenotcheap.”
“Neitherareeyes.”
Humph.Goodpoint.“Hey,havewemet?Maybelastnight,attherecruitmentdinnerwithprospectivePh.D.students?”
“No.”
“Youweren’tthere?”
“Notreallymyscene.”
“Butthefreefood?”
“Notworththesmalltalk.”
Maybehewasonadiet,becausewhatkindofPh.D.studentsaidthat?AndOlivewassurethathewasaPh.D.student—thehaughty,condescendingtonewasadeadgiveaway.AllPh.D.studentswerelikethat:thinkingtheywerebetterthaneveryoneelsejustbecausetheyhadthedubiousprivilegeofslaughteringfruitfliesinthenameofscienceforninetycentsanhour.Inthegrim,darkhellscapeofacademia,graduatestudentswerethelowliestofcreaturesandthereforehadtoconvincethemselvesthattheywerethebest.Olivewasnoclinicalpsychologist,butitseemedlikeaprettytextbookdefensemechanism.
“Areyouinterviewingforaspotintheprogram?”heasked.
“Yup.Fornextyear’sbiologycohort.”God,hereyeswereburning.“Whataboutyou?”sheasked,pressingherpalmsintothem.
“Me?”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenhere?”
“Here?”Apause.“Sixyears.Giveortake.”
“Oh.Areyougraduatingsoon,then?”
“I…”
Shepickeduponhishesitationandinstantlyfeltguilty.“Wait,youdon’thavetotellme.Firstruleofgradschool—don’taskaboutothergrads’dissertationtimeline.”
Abeat.Andthenanother.“Right.”
“Sorry.”Shewishedshecouldseehim.Socialinteractionswerehardenoughtobeginwith;thelastthingsheneededwasfewercuestogoby.“Ididn’tmeantochannelyourparentsatThanksgiving.”
Helaughedsoftly.“Youcouldnever.”
“Oh.”Shesmiled.“Annoyingparents?”
“AndevenworseThanksgivings.”
“That’swhatyouAmericansgetforleavingtheCommonwealth.”Sheheldoutherhandinwhatshehopedwashisgeneraldirection.“I’mOlive,bytheway.Likethetree.”Shewasstartingtowonderwhethershe’djustintroducedherselftothedraindisposalwhensheheardhimstepcloser.Thehandthatclosedaroundherswasdry,andwarm,andsolargeitcouldhaveenvelopedherwholefist.Everythingabouthimmustbehuge.Height,fingers,voice.
Itwasnotentirelyunpleasant.
“You’renotAmerican?”heasked.
“Canadian.Listen,ifyouhappentotalkwithanyonewho’sontheadmissionscommittee,wouldyoumindnotmentioningmycontactsmishap?Itmightmakemeseemlikealess-than-stellarapplicant.”
“Youthinkso?”hedeadpanned.
Shewouldhaveglaredathimifshecould.Thoughmaybeshewasdoingadecentjobofitanyway,becausehelaughed—justahuff,butOlivecouldtell.Andshekindoflikedit.
Heletgoofher,andsherealizedthatshe’dbeengrippinghishand.Oops
“Areyouplanningtoenroll?”heasked.
Sheshrugged.“Imightnotgetanoffer.”Butsheandtheprofessorshe’dinterviewedwith,Dr.Aslan,hadreallyhititoff.Olivehadstutteredandmumbledmuchlessthanusual.Plus,herGREscoresandGPAwerealmostperfect.Nothavingalifecameinhandy,sometimes.
“Areyouplanningtoenrollifyougetanoffer,then?”
She’dbestupidnotto.ThiswasStanford,afterall—oneofthebestbiologyprograms.Oratleast,thatwaswhatOlivehadbeentellingherselftocoverthepetrifyingtruth.
Whichwasthat,frankly,shewasabitonthefenceaboutthiswholegradschoolthing.
“I…maybe.Imustsay,thelinebetweenexcellentcareerchoiceandcriticallifescrewupisgettingabitblurry.”
“Seemslikeyou’releaningtowardscrewup.”Hesoundedlikehewassmiling.
“No.Well…Ijust…”
“Youjust?”
Shebitherlip.“WhatifI’mnotgoodenough?”sheblurtedout,andwhy,God,whywasshebaringthedeepestfearsofhersecretlittlehearttothisrandombathroomguy?Andwhatwasthepoint,anyway?Everytimesheairedoutherdoubtstofriendsandacquaintances,theyallautomaticallyofferedthesametrite,meaninglessencouragements.You’llbefine.Youcandoit.Ibelieveinyou.Thisguywassurelygoingtodothesame.
Comingup.
Anymomentnow.
Anysecond—
“Whydoyouwanttodoit?”
Uh?“Do…what?”
“GetaPh.D.What’syourreason?”
Oliveclearedherthroat.“I’vealwayshadaninquisitivemind,andgraduateschoolistheidealenvironmenttofosterthat.It’llgivemeimportanttransferableskills—”
Hesnorted.
Shefrowned.“What?”
“Notthelineyoufoundinaninterviewprepbook.WhydoyouwantaPh.D.?”
“It’strue,”sheinsisted,abitweakly.“Iwanttosharpenmyresearchabilities—”
“Isitbecauseyoudon’tknowwhatelsetodo?”
“No.”
“Becauseyoudidn’tgetanindustryposition?”
“No—Ididn’tevenapplyforindustry.”
“Ah.”Hemoved,alarge,blurryfiguresteppingnexttohertopoursomethingdownthesink.Olivecouldsmellawhiffofeugenol,andlaundrydetergent,andclean,maleskin.Anoddlynicecombination.
“Ineedmorefreedomthanindustrycanoffer.”
“Youwon’thavemuchfreedominacademia.”Hisvoicewascloser,likehehadn’tsteppedbackyet.“You’llhavetofundyourworkthroughludicrouslycompetitiveresearchgrants.You’dmakebettermoneyinanine-to-fivejobthatactuallyallowsyoutoentertaintheconceptofweekends.”
Olivescowled.“Areyoutryingtogetmetodeclinemyoffer?Isthissomekindofanti–expired-contacts-wearerscampaign?”
“Nah.”
Shecouldhearhissmile.
“I’llgoaheadandtrustthatitwasjustamisstep.”
“Iwearthemallthetime,andtheyalmostnever—”
“Inalonglineofmissteps,clearly.”Hesighed.“Here’sthedeal:Ihavenoideaifyou’regoodenough,butthat’snotwhatyoushouldbeaskingyourself.Academia’salotofbucksforverylittlebang.Whatmattersiswhetheryourreasontobeinacademiaisgoodenough.So,whythePh.D.,Olive?”
Shethoughtaboutit,andthought,andthoughtevenmore.Andthenshespokecarefully.“Ihaveaquestion.Aspecificresearchquestion.SomethingthatIwanttofindout.”There.Done.Thiswastheanswer.“SomethingI’mafraidnooneelsewilldiscoverifIdon’t.”
“Aquestion?”
Shefelttheairshiftandrealizedthathewasnowleaningagainstthesink.
“Yes.”Hermouthfeltdry.“Somethingthat’simportanttome.And—Idon’ttrustanyoneelsetodoit.Becausetheyhaven’tsofar.Because…”Becausesomethingbadhappened.BecauseIwanttodomypartsothatitwon’thappenagain.
Heavythoughtstohaveinthepresenceofastranger,inthedarknessofherclosedeyelids.Soshecrackedthemopen;hervisionwasstillblurry,buttheburningwasmostlygone.TheGuywaslookingather.Fuzzyaroundtheedges,perhaps,butsoverythere,waitingpatientlyforhertocontinue
“It’simportanttome,”sherepeated.“TheresearchthatIwanttodo.”Olivewastwenty-threeandaloneintheworld.Shedidn’twantweekends,oradecentsalary.Shewantedtogobackintime.Shewantedtobelesslonely.Butsincethatwasimpossible,she’dsettleforfixingwhatshecould.
Henoddedbutsaidnothingashestraightenedandtookafewstepstowardthedoor.Clearlyleaving.
“Ismineagoodenoughreasontogotogradschool?”shecalledafterhim,hatinghoweagerforapprovalshesounded.Itwaspossiblethatshewasinthemidstofsomesortofexistentialcrisis.
Hepausedandlookedbackather.“It’sthebestone.”
Hewassmiling,shethought.Orsomethinglikeit.
“Goodluckonyourinterview,Olive.”
“Thanks.”
Hewasalmostoutthedooralready.
“MaybeI’llseeyounextyear,”shebabbled,flushingalittle.“IfIgetin.Andifyouhaven’tgraduated.”
“Maybe,”sheheardhimsay.
Withthat,TheGuywasgone.AndOlivenevergothisname.Butafewweekslater,whentheStanfordbiologydepartmentextendedheranoffer,sheacceptedit.Withouthesitating.ChapterOne
HYPOTHESIS:WhengivenachoicebetweenA(aslightlyinconveniencingsituation)andB(acolossalshitshowwithdevastatingconsequences),IwillinevitablyendupselectingB.
Twoyears,elevenmonthslater
InOlive’sdefense,themandidn’tseemtomindthekisstoomuch.
Itdidtakehimamomenttoadjust—perfectlyunderstandable,giventhesuddencircumstances.Itwasanawkward,uncomfortable,somewhatpainfulminute,inwhichOlivewassimultaneouslysmashingherlipsagainsthisandpushingherselfashighashertoeswouldextendtokeephermouthatthesamelevelashisface.Didhehavetobesotall?Thekissmusthavelookedlikesomeclumsyheadbutt,andshegrewanxiousthatshewasnotgoingtobeabletopullthewholethingoff.HerfriendAnh,whomOlivehadspottedcomingherwayafewsecondsago,wasgoingtotakeonelookatthisandknowatoncethatOliveandKissDudecouldn’tpossiblybetwopeopleinthemiddleofadate.
Thenthatagonizinglyslowmomentwentby,andthekissbecame…different.Themaninhaledsharplyandinclinedhisheadatinybit,makingOlivefeellesslikeasquirrelmonkeyclimbingabaobabtree,andhishands—whichwerelargeandpleasantlywarmintheACofthehallway—closedaroundherwaist.Theyslidupafewinches,comingtowraparoundOlive’sribcageandholdinghertohimself.Nottooclose,andnottoofar.
Justso.
Itwasmoreofaprolongedpeckthananything,butitwasquitenice,andforthelifespanofafewsecondsOliveforgotalargenumberofthings,includingthefactthatshewaspressedagainstarandom,unknowndude.Thatshe’dbarelyhadthetimetowhisper“CanIpleasekissyou?”beforelockinglipswithhim.ThatwhathadoriginallydrivenhertoputonthisentireshowwasthehopeoffoolingAnh,herbestfriendinthewholeworld.
Butagoodkisswilldothat:makeagirlforgetherselfforawhile.Olivefoundherselfmeltingintoabroad,solidchestthatshowedabsolutelynogive.Herhandstraveledfromadefinedjawintosurprisinglythickandsofthair,andthen—thensheheardherselfsigh,asifalreadyoutofbreath,andthat’swhenithitherlikeabrickonthehead,therealizationthat—No.No.
Nope,nope,no
Sheshouldnotbeenjoyingthis.Randomdude,andallthat.
Olivegaspedandpushedherselfawayfromhim,franticallylookingforAnh.Inthe11:00p.m.bluishglowofthebiologylabs’hallway,herfriendwasnowheretobeseen.Weird.Olivewassureshehadspottedherafewsecondsearlier.
KissDude,ontheotherhand,wasstandingrightinfrontofher,lipsparted,chestrisingandaweirdlightflickeringinhiseyes,whichwasexactlywhenitdawnedonher,theenormityofwhatshehadjustdone.Ofwhoshehadjust—
Fuckherlife.
Fuck.Her.Life.
BecauseDr.AdamCarlsenwasaknownass.
Thisfactwasnotremarkableinandofitself,asinacademiaeverypositionabovethegraduatestudentlevel(Olive’slevel,sadly)requiredsomedegreeofassnessinordertobeheldforanylengthoftime,withtenuredfacultyattheverypeakoftheasspyramid.Dr.Carlsen,though—hewasexceptional.Atleastiftherumorswereanythingtogoby.
HewasthereasonOlive’sroommate,Malcolm,hadtocompletelyscraptworesearchprojectsandwouldlikelyendupgraduatingayearlate;theonewhohadmadeJeremythrowupfromanxietybeforehisqualifyingexams;thesoleculpritforhalfthestudentsinthedepartmentbeingforcedtopostponetheirthesisdefenses.Joe,whousedtobeinOlive’scohortandwouldtakehertowatchout-of-focusEuropeanmovieswithmicroscopicsubtitleseveryThursdaynight,hadbeenaresearchassistantinCarlsen’slab,buthe’ddecidedtodropoutsixmonthsintoitfor“reasons.”Itwasprobablyforthebest,sincemostofCarlsen’sremaininggraduateassistantshadperenniallyshakyhandsandoftenlookedliketheyhadn’tsleptinayear.
Dr.Carlsenmighthavebeenayoungacademicrockstarandbiology’swunderkind,buthewasalsomeanandhypercritical,anditwasobviousinthewayhespoke,inthewayhecarriedhimself,thathethoughthimselftheonlypersondoingdecentsciencewithintheStanfordbiologydepartment.Withintheentireworld,probably.Hewasanotoriouslymoody,obnoxious,terrifyingdick.
AndOlivehadjustkissedhim.
Shewasn’tsurehowlongthesilencelasted—onlythathewastheonetobreakit.HestoodinfrontofOlive,ridiculouslyintimidatingwithdarkeyesandevendarkerhair,staringdownfromwhoknowshowmanyinchesabovesixfeet—hemusthavebeenoverhalfafoottallerthanshewas.Hescowled,anexpressionthatsherecognizedfromseeinghimattendthedepartmentalseminar,alookthatusuallyprecededhimraisinghishandtopointoutsomeperceivedfatalflawinthespeaker’swork.
AdamCarlsen.Destroyerofresearchcareers,Olivehadonceoverheardheradvisersay.
It’sokay.It’sfine.Totallyfine.Shewasjustgoingtopretendnothinghadhappened,nodathimpolitely,andtiptoeherwayoutofhere.Yes,solidplan.
“Didyou…Didyoujustkissme?”Hesoundedpuzzled,andmaybealittleoutofbreath.Hislipswerefullandplumpand…God.Kissed.TherewassimplynowayOlivecouldgetawaywithdenyingwhatshehadjustdone.
Still,itwasworthatry.
“Nope.”
Surprisingly,itseemedtowork.
“Ah.Okay,then.”Carlsennoddedandturnedaround,lookingvaguelydisoriented.Hetookacoupleofstepsdownthehallway,reachedthewaterfountain—maybewherehe’dbeenheadedinthefirstplace.
Olivewasstartingtobelievethatshemightactuallybeoffthehookwhenhehaltedandturnedbackwithaskepticalexpression.
“Areyousure?”
Dammit.
“I—”Sheburiedherfaceinherhands.“It’snotthewayitlooks.”
“Okay.I…Okay,”herepeatedslowly.Hisvoicewasdeepandlowandsoundedalotlikehewasonhiswaytogettingmad.Likemaybehewasalreadymad.“What’sgoingonhere?”
Therewassimplynowaytoexplainthis.AnynormalpersonwouldhavefoundOlive’ssituationodd,butAdamCarlsen,whoobviouslyconsideredempathyabugandnotafeatureofhumanity,couldneverunderstand.Sheletherhandsfalltohersidesandtookadeepbreath
“I…listen,Idon’tmeantoberude,butthisisreallynoneofyourbusiness.”
Hestaredatherforamoment,andthenhenodded.“Yes.Ofcourse.”Hemustbegettingbackintohisusualgroove,becausehistonehadlostsomeofitssurpriseandwasbacktonormal—dry.Laconic.“I’lljustgobacktomyofficeandbegintoworkonmyTitleIXcomplaint.”
Oliveexhaledinrelief.“Yeah.Thatwouldbegreat,since—Wait.Yourwhat?”
Hecockedhishead.“TitleIXisafederallawthatprotectsagainstsexualmisconductwithinacademicsettings—”
“IknowwhatTitleIXis.”
“Isee.Soyouwillfullychosetodisregardit.”
“I—What?No.No,Ididn’t!”
Heshrugged.“Imustbemistaken,then.Someoneelsemusthaveassaultedme.”
“Assault—Ididn’t‘assault’you.”
“Youdidkissme.”
“Butnotreally.”
“Withoutfirstsecuringmyconsent.”
“IaskedifIcouldkissyou!”
“Andthendidsowithoutwaitingformyresponse.”
“What?Yousaidyes.”
“Excuseme?”
Shefrowned.“IaskedifIcouldkissyou,andyousaidyes.”
“Incorrect.YouaskedifyoucouldkissmeandIsnorted.”
“I’mprettysureIheardyousaidyes.”
Heliftedoneeyebrow,andforaminuteOliveletherselfdaydreamofdrowningsomeone.Dr.Carlsen.Herself.Bothsoundedlikegreatoptions.
“Listen,I’mreallysorry.Itwasaweirdsituation.Canwejustforgetthatthishappened?”
Hestudiedherforalongmoment,hisangularfaceseriousandsomethingelse,somethingthatshecouldn’tquitedecipherbecauseshewastoobusynoticingalloveragainhowdamntoweringandbroadhewas.Justmassive.Olivehadalwaysbeenslight,justthissideoftooslender,butgirlswhoarefiveeightrarelyfeltdiminutive.AtleastuntiltheyfoundthemselvesstandingnexttoAdamCarlsen.She’dknownthathewastall,ofcourse,fromseeinghimaroundthedepartmentorwalkingacrosscampus,fromsharingtheelevatorwithhim,butthey’dneverinteracted.Neverbeenthisclose.
Exceptforasecondago,Olive.Whenyoualmostputyourtongueinhis—
“Istheresomethingwrong?”Hesoundedalmostconcerned.
“What?No.No,thereisn’t.”
“Because,”hecontinuedcalmly,“kissingastrangeratmidnightinasciencelabmightbeasignthatthereis.”
“Thereisn’t.”
Carlsennodded,thoughtful.“Verywell.Expectmailinthenextfewdays,then.”Hebegantowalkpasther,andsheturnedtoyellafterhim.
“Youdidn’tevenaskmyname!”
“I’msureanyonecouldfigureitout,sinceyoumusthaveswipedyourbadgetogetinthelabsareaafterhours.Haveagoodnight.”
“Wait!”Sheleanedforwardandstoppedhimwithahandonhiswrist.Hepausedimmediately,eventhoughitwasobviousthatitwouldtakehimnoefforttofreehimself,andstaredpointedlyatthespotwhereherfingershadwrappedaroundhisskin—rightbelowawristwatchthatprobablycosthalfheryearlygraduatesalary.Orallofit.
Sheletgoofhimatonceandtookonestepback.“Sorry,Ididn’tmeanto—”
“Thekiss.Explain.”
Olivebitintoherlowerlip.Shehadtrulyscrewedherselfover.Shehadtotellhim,now.“AnhPham.”ShelookedaroundtomakesureAnhwasreallygone.“Thegirlwhowaspassingby.She’sagraduatestudentinthebiologydepartment.”
CarlsengavenoindicationofknowingwhoAnhwas.
“Anhhas…”Olivepushedastrandofbrownhairbehindherear.Thiswaswherethestorybecameembarrassing.Complicated,andalittlejuvenilesounding.“Iwasseeingthisguyinthedepartment.JeremyLangley,hehasredhairandworkswithDr….Anyway,wewentoutjustacoupleoftimes,andthenIbroughthimtoAnh’sbirthdayparty,andtheyjustsortofhititoffand—”
Oliveshuthereyes.Whichwasprobablyabadidea,becausenowshecouldseeitpaintedonherlids,howherbestfriendandherdatehadbanteredinthatbowlingalley,asifthey’dknowneachothertheirwholelives;thenever-exhaustedtopicsofconversation,thelaughter,andthen,attheendofthenight,JeremyfollowingAnh’severymovewithhisgaze.Ithadbeenpainfullyclearwhohewasinterestedin.Olivewavedahandandtriedforasmile.
“Longstoryshort,afterJeremyandIendedthingsheaskedAnhout.Shesaidnobecauseof…girlcodeandallthat,butIcantellthatshereallylikeshim.She’safraidtohurtmyfeelings,andnomatterhowmanytimesItoldheritwasfineshewouldn’tbelieveme.”
NottomentionthattheotherdayIoverheardherconfesstoourfriendMalcolmthatshethoughtJeremywasawesome,butshecouldneverbetraymebygoingoutwithhim,andshesoundedsodejected.Disappointedandinsecure,notatalllikethespunky,larger-than-lifeAnhIamusedto.
“SoIjustliedandtoldherthatIwasalreadydatingsomeoneelse.Becauseshe’soneofmyclosestfriendsandI’dneverseenherlikeaguythismuchandIwanthertohavethegoodthingsshedeservesandI’mpositivethatshewoulddothesameformeand—”OliverealizedthatshewasramblingandthatCarlsencouldn’thavecaredless.Shestoppedandswallowed,eventhoughhermouthfeltdry.“Tonight.ItoldherI’dbeonadatetonight.”
“Ah.”Hisexpressionwasunreadable.
“ButI’mnot.SoIdecidedtocomeintoworkonanexperiment,butAnhshowedup,too.Shewasn’tsupposedtobehere.Butshewas.Comingthisway.AndIpanicked—well.”Olivewipedahanddownherface.“Ididn’treallythink.”
Carlsendidn’tsayanything,butitwasthereinhiseyesthathewasthinking,Obviously
“IjustneededhertobelievethatIwasonadate.”
Henodded.“Soyoukissedthefirstpersonyousawinthehallway.Perfectlylogical.”
Olivewinced.“Whenyouputitlikethat,perhapsitwasn’tmybestmoment.”
“Perhaps.”
“Butitwasn’tmyworst,either!I’mprettysureAnhsawus.Nowshe’llthinkthatIwasonadatewithyouandshe’llhopefullyfeelfreetogooutwithJeremyand—”Sheshookherhead.“Listen.I’mso,sosorryaboutthekiss.”
“Areyou?”
“Please,don’treportme.IreallythoughtIheardyousayyes.IpromiseIdidn’tmeanto…”
Suddenly,theenormityofwhatshehadjustdonefullydawnedonher.Shehadjustkissedarandomguy,aguywhohappenedtobethemostnotoriouslyunpleasantfacultymemberinthebiologydepartment.She’dmisunderstoodasnortforconsent,she’dbasicallyattackedhiminthehallway,andnowhewasstaringatherinthatodd,pensiveway,solargeandfocusedandclosetoher,and…
Shit
Maybeitwasthelatenight.Maybeitwasthatherlastcoffeehadbeensixteenhoursago.MaybeitwasAdamCarlsenlookingdownather,likethat.Allofasudden,thisentiresituationwasjusttoomuch.
“Actually,you’reabsolutelyright.AndIamsosorry.Ifyoufeltinanywayharassedbyme,youreallyshouldreportme,becauseit’sonlyfair.Itwasahorriblethingtodo,thoughIreallydidn’twantto…Notthatmyintentionsmatter;it’smorelikeyourperceptionof…”
Crap,crap,crap.
“I’mgoingtoleavenow,okay?Thankyou,and…Iamso,so,sosorry.”Olivespunaroundonherheelsandranawaydownthehallway.
“Olive,”sheheardhimcallafterher.“Olive,wait—”
Shedidn’tstop.ShesprinteddownthestairstothefirstfloorandthenoutthebuildingandacrossthepathwaysofthesparselylitStanfordcampus,runningpastagirlwalkingherdogandagroupofstudentslaughinginfrontofthelibrary.Shecontinueduntilshewasstandinginfrontofherapartment’sdoor,stoppingonlytounlockit,makingabeelineforherroominthehopeofavoidingherroommateandwhoeverhemighthavebroughthometonight.
Itwasn’tuntilsheslumpedonherbed,staringattheglow-in-the-darkstarsgluedtoherceiling,thatsherealizedshehadneglectedtocheckonherlabmice.Shehadalsoleftherlaptoponherbenchandhersweatshirtsomewhereinthelab,andshehadcompletelyforgottentostopatthestoreandbuythecoffeeshe’dpromisedMalcolmshe’dgetfortomorrowmorning.
Shit.Whatadisasterofaday.
ItneveroccurredtoOlivethatDr.AdamCarlsen—knownass—hadcalledherbyhername.ChapterTwo
HYPOTHESIS:Anyrumorregardingmylovelifewillspreadwithaspeedthatisdirectlyproportionaltomydesiretokeepsaidrumorasecret.
OliveSmithwasarisingthird-yearPh.D.studentinoneofthebestbiologydepartmentsinthecountry,onethathousedmorethanonehundredgradsandwhatoftenfeltlikeseveralmillionmajoringundergrads.Shehadnoideawhattheexactnumberoffacultywas,butjudgingfromthemailboxesinthecopyroomshe’dsaythatasafeguesswas:toomany.Therefore,shereasonedthatifshe’dneverhadthemisfortuneofinteractingwithAdamCarlseninthetwoyearsbeforeTheNight(ithadbeenonlyahandfulofdayssincethekissingincident,butOlivealreadyknewthatshe’dthinkoflastFridayasTheNightfortherestofherlife),itwasentirelypossiblethatshemightbeabletofinishgradschoolwithoutcrossingpathswithhimeveragain.Infact,shewasfairlysurethatnotonlydidAdamCarlsenhavenoideawhoshewas,buthealsohadnodesiretolearn—andhadprobablyalreadyforgottenallaboutwhathappened.
Unless,ofcourse,shewascatastrophicallywrongandhedidendupfilingaTitleIXlawsuit.Inwhichcaseshesupposedthatshewouldseehimagain,whenshepleadedguiltyinfederalcourt.
Olivefiguredthatshecouldwastehertimefrettingaboutlegalfees,orshecouldfocusonwhatweremorepressingissues.LiketheapproximatelyfivehundredslidesshehadtopreparefortheneurobiologyclassthatshewasslatedtoTAinthefallsemester,whichwasstartinginlessthantwoweeks.OrthenoteMalcolmhadleftthismorning,tellingherhe’dseenacockroachscurryunderthecredenzaeventhoughtheirapartmentwasalreadyfulloftraps.Orthemostcrucialone:thefactthatherresearchprojecthadreachedacriticalpointandshedesperatelyneededtofindabigger,significantlyricherlabtocarryoutherexperiment.Otherwise,whatcouldverywellbecomeagroundbreaking,clinicallyrelevantstudymightenduplanguishingonahandfulofpetridishesstackedinthecrisperdrawerofherfridge.
Oliveopenedherlaptopwithhalfamindtogoogle“Organsonecanlivewithout”and“Howmuchcashforthem”butgotsidetrackedbythetwentynewemailsshe’dreceivedwhilebusywithherlabanimals.Theywerealmostexclusivelyfrompredatoryjournals,Nigerianprincewannabes,andoneglittercompanywhosenewslettershe’dsignedupforsixyearsagotogetafreetubeoflipstick.Olivequicklymarkedthemasread,eagertogobacktoherexperiments,andthennoticedthatonemessagewasactuallyareplytosomethingshehadsent.Areplyfrom…Holycrap.Holycrap.
Sheclickedonitsohardshealmostsprainedherpointerfinger.
Today,3:15p.m.
FROM:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
TO:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Re:PancreaticCancerScreeningProject
Olive,
Yourprojectsoundsgood.I’llbevisitingStanfordinabouttwoweeks.Whydon’twechatthen?
Cheers,
TB
TomBenton,Ph.D.
AssociateProfessor
DepartmentofBiologicalSciences,HarvardUniversity
Herheartskippedabeat.Thenitstartedgalloping.Thenitsloweddowntoacrawl.Andthenshefeltherbloodpulsateinhereyelids,whichcouldn’tbehealthy,but—Yes.Yes!Shehadataker.Almost.Probably?Maybe.Definitelymaybe.TomBentonhadsaid“good.”Hehadsaidthatitsounded“good.”Ithadtobea“good”sign,right?
Shefrowned,scrollingdowntorereadtheemailshe’dsenthimseveralweeksearlier.
July7,8:19a.m.
FROM:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT:PancreaticCancerScreeningProject
Dr.Benton,
MynameisOliveSmith,andIamaPh.D.studentinthebiologydepartmentofStanfordUniversity.Myresearchfocusesonpancreaticcancer,inparticularonfindingnoninvasive,affordabledetectiontoolsthatcouldleadtoearlytreatmentandincreasesurvivalrates.Ihavebeenworkingonbloodbiomarkers,withpromisingresults.(Youcanreadaboutmypreliminaryworkinthepeer-reviewedpaperIhaveattached.Ihavealsosubmittedmorerecent,unpublishedfindingstothisyear’sSocietyforBiologicalDiscoveryconference;acceptanceispendingbutseetheattachedabstract.)Thenextstepwouldbetocarryoutadditionalstudiestodeterminethefeasibilityofmytestkit.
Unfortunatelymycurrentlab(Dr.AysegulAslan’s,whoisretiringintwoyears)doesnothavethefundingortheequipmenttoallowmetoproceed.SheisencouragingmetofindalargercancerresearchlabwhereIcouldspendthenextacademicyeartocollectthedataIneed.ThenIwouldreturntoStanfordtoanalyzeandwriteupthedata.Iamahugefanoftheworkyouhavepublishedonpancreaticcancer,andIwaswonderingwhethertheremightbeapossibilitytocarryoutmyworkinyourlabatHarvard.
Iamhappytotalkmoreindetailaboutmyprojectifyouareinterested.
Sincerely,
Olive
OliveSmith
Ph.D.Candidate
BiologyDepartment,StanfordUniversity
IfTomBenton,cancerresearcherextraordinaire,cametoStanfordandgaveOlivetenminutesofhistime,shecouldconvincehimtohelpheroutwithherresearchpredicament!
Well…maybe.
Olivewasmuchbetteratactuallydoingresearchthanatsellingitsimportancetoothers.Sciencecommunicationandpublicspeakingofanysortweredefinitelyherbigweaknesses.ButshehadachancetoshowBentonhowpromisingherresultswere.Shecouldlisttheclinicalbenefitsofherwork,andshecouldexplainhowlittlesherequiredtoturnherprojectintoahugesuccess.Allsheneededwasaquietbenchinacornerofhislab,acouplehundredofhislabmice,andunlimitedaccesstohistwenty-million-dollarelectronmicroscope.Bentonwouldn’tevennoticeher.
Oliveheadedforthebreakroom,mentallywritinganimpassionedspeechonhowshewaswillingtousehisfacilitiesonlyatnightandlimitheroxygenconsumptiontolessthanfivebreathsperminute.Shepouredherselfacupofstalecoffeeandturnedaroundtofindsomeonescowlingrightbehindher.
Shestartledsohardthatshealmostburnedherself.
“Jesus!”Sheclutchedherchest,tookadeepbreath,andheldtighterontoherScooby-Doomug.“Anh.Youscaredtheshitoutofme.”
“Olive.”
Itwasabadsign.AnhnevercalledherOlive—never,unlessshewasreprimandingherforbitinghernailstothequickorforhavingvitamingummiesfordinner.
“Hey!Howwasyour—”
“Theothernight.”
Dammit.“—weekend?”
“Dr.Carlsen.”
Dammit,dammit,dammit.“Whatabouthim?”
“Isawthetwoofyoutogether.”
“Oh.Really?”Olive’ssurprisesoundedpainfullyplayacted,eventoherownears.Maybesheshouldhavesignedupfordramaclubinhighschoolinsteadofplayingeverysinglesportavailable.
“Yes.Here,inthedepartment.”
“Oh.Cool.Um,Ididn’tseeyou,orI’dhavesaidhi.”
Anhfrowned.“Ol.Isawyou.IsawyouwithCarlsen.YouknowthatIsawyou,andIknowthatyouknowthatIsawyou,becauseyou’vebeenavoidingme.”
“Ihavenot.”
Anhgaveheroneofherformidableno-bullshitlooks.Itwasprobablytheonesheusedaspresidentofthestudentsenate,asheadoftheStanfordWomeninScienceAssociation,asdirectorofoutreachfortheOrganizationofBIPOCScientists.TherewasnofightAnhcouldn’twin.Shewasfearsomeandindomitable,andOlivelovedthisabouther—butnotrightnow.
“Youhaven’tansweredanyofmymessagesforthepasttwodays.Weusuallytexteveryhour.”
Theydid.Multipletimes.Oliveswitchedthemugtoherlefthand,fornoreasonotherthantobuysometime.“I’vebeen…busy?”
“Busy?”Anh’seyebrowshotup.“BusykissingCarlsen?”
“Oh.Oh,that.Thatwasjust…”
Anhnodded,asiftoencouragehertofinishthesentence.WhenitbecameobviousthatOlivecouldn’t,Anhcontinuedforher.
“Thatwas—nooffense,Ol—butthatwasthemostbizarrekissIhaveeverseen.”
Calm.Staycalm.Shedoesn’tknow.Shecannotknow.“Idoubtthat,”Oliveretortedweakly.“Takethatupside-downSpider-Mankiss.Thatwaswaymorebizarrethan—”
“Ol,yousaidyouwereonadatethatnight.You’renotdatingCarlsen,areyou?”Shetwistedherfaceinagrimace.
Itwouldhavebeensoeasytoconfessthetruth.SincestartinggradschoolAnhandOlivehaddoneheapsofmoronicthings,togetherandseparately;thetimeOlivepanickedandkissednoneotherthanAdamCarlsencouldbecomeoneofthem,onetheylaughedaboutduringtheirweeklybeer-and-s’moresnights.
Ornot.TherewasachancethatifOliveadmittedtolyingnow,Anhmightnevertrustheragain.Orthatshe’dnevergooutwithJeremy.AndasmuchastheideaofherbestfrienddatingherexhadOlivewantingtopukejustabit,thethoughtofsaidbestfriendbeinganythingbuthappyhadherwantingtopukealotmore.
Thesituationwasdepressinglysimple:Olivewasaloneintheworld.Shehadbeenforalongtime,eversincehighschool.Shehadtrainedherselfnottomakeabigdealoutofit—shewassuremanypeoplewerealoneintheworldandfoundthemselveshavingtowritedownmade-upnamesandphonenumbersontheiremergencycontactforms.Duringcollegeandhermaster’s,focusingonscienceandresearchhadbeenherwayofcoping,andshehadbeenperfectlyreadytospendtherestofherlifeholedupinalabwithlittlemorethanabeakerandahandfulofpipettesasherfaithfulcompanions—until…Anh.
Inaway,ithadbeenloveatfirstsight.Firstdayofgradschool.Biologycohortorientation.Oliveenteredtheconferenceroom,lookedaround,andsatinthefirstfreeseatshecouldfind,petrified.Shewastheonlywomanintheroom,virtuallyaloneinaseaofwhitemenwhowerealreadytalkingaboutboats,andwhateversportsballwasonTVthenightbefore,andthebestroutestodriveplaces.Ihavemadeaterriblemistake,shethought.TheGuyinthebathroomwaswrong.Ishouldneverhavecomehere.Iamnevergoingtofitin.
Andthenagirlwithcurlydarkhairandapretty,roundfaceploppedinthechairnexttohersandmuttered,“SomuchfortheSTEMprograms’commitmenttoinclusivity,amIright?”Thatwasthemomenteverythingchanged.
Theycouldhavejustbeenallies.Astheonlytwonon-cis-white-malestudentsintheiryear,theycouldhavefoundsolacetogetherwhensomebitchingwasneededandignoredeachotherotherwise.Olivehadlotsoffriendslikethat—allofthem,actually,circumstantialacquaintanceswhomshethoughtoffondlybutnotveryoften.Anh,though,hadbeendifferentfromthestart.Maybebecausethey’dsoonfoundoutthattheylovedspendingtheirSaturdaynightseatingjunkfoodandfallingasleeptorom-coms.Maybeitwasthewayshe’dinsistedondraggingOlivetoeverysingle“womeninSTEM”supportgrouponcampusandhadwowedeveryonewithherbull’s-eyecomments.Maybeitwasthatshe’dopeneduptoOliveandexplainedhowhardithadbeenforhertogetwhereshewastoday.Thewayherolderbrothershadmadefunofherandcalledheranerdforlovingmathsomuchgrowingup—atanagewhenbeinganerdwasnotquiteconsideredcool.Thattimeaphysicsprofessoraskedherifshewasinthewrongclassonthefirstdayofthesemester.Thefactthatdespitehergradesandresearchexperience,evenheracademicadviserhadseemedskepticalwhenshe’ddecidedtopursueSTEMhighereducation.
Olive,whosepathtogradschoolhadbeenroughbutnotnearlyasrough,wasbefuddled.Thenenraged.Andtheninabsoluteawewhensheunderstoodtheself-doubtthatAnhhadbeenabletoharnessintosheerfierceness.
Andforsomeunimaginablereason,AnhseemedtolikeOlivejustasmuch.WhenOlive’sstipendhadn’tquitestretchedtotheendofthemonth,Anhhadsharedherinstantramen.WhenOlive’scomputerhadcrashedwithoutbackups,Anhhadstayedupallnighttohelpherrewritehercrystallographypaper.WhenOlivehadnowheretogoovertheholidays,AnhwouldbringherfriendhometoMichiganandletherlargefamilyplyOlivewithdeliciousfoodwhilerapidVietnameseflowedaroundher.WhenOlivehadfelttoostupidfortheprogramandhadconsidereddroppingout,Anhhadtalkedheroutofit.
ThedayOlivemetAnh’srollingeyes,alife-changingfriendshipwasborn.Slowly,they’dbeguntoincludeMalcolmandbecomeabitofatrio,butAnh…Anhwasherperson.Family.Olivehadn’teventhoughtthatwaspossibleforsomeonelikeher.
Anhrarelyaskedanythingforherself,andeventhoughthey’dbeenfriendsformorethantwoyears,Olivehadneverseenhershowinterestindatinganyone—untilJeremy.Pretendingthatshe’dbeenonadatewithCarlsenwastheleastOlivecoulddotoensureherfriend’shappiness.
Soshebuckedup,smiled,andtriedtokeephertonereasonablyevenwhileasking,“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imeanthatwetalkeveryminuteofeveryday,andyounevermentionedCarlsenbefore.Myclosestfriendissupposedlyseeingthesuperstarprofessorofthedepartment,andsomehowI’veneverheardofit?Youknowhisreputation,right?Isitsomekindofjoke?Doyouhaveabraintumor?DoIhaveabraintumor?”
ThiswaswhathappenedwheneverOlivelied:sheendeduphavingtotellevenmoreliestocoverherfirst,andshewashorribleatit,whichmeantthateachliegotworseandlessconvincingthantheprevious.TherewasnowayshecouldfoolAnh.Therewasnowayshecouldfoolanybody.Anhwasgoingtogetmad,thenJeremywasgoingtogetmad,thenMalcolm,too,andthenOlivewasgoingtofindherselfutterlyalone.Theheartbreakwasgoingtomakeherflunkoutofgradschool.ShewasgoingtolosehervisaandheronlysourceofincomeandmovebacktoCanada,whereitsnowedallthetimeandpeopleatemooseheartand—
“Hey.”
Thevoice,deepandeven,camefromsomewherebehindOlive,butshedidn’tneedtoturntoknowthatitwasCarlsen’s.Justlikeshedidn’tneedtoturntoknowthatthelarge,warmweightsuddenlysteadyingher,afirmbutbarelytherepressureappliedtothecenterofherlowerback,wasCarlsen’shand.Abouttwoinchesaboveherass.
Holycrap.
Olivetwistedherneckandlookedup.Andup.Andup.Andabitmoreup.Shewasnotashortwoman,buthewasjustbig.“Oh.Um,hey.”
“Iseverythingokay?”Hesaiditlookingintohereyes,inalow,intimatetone.Liketheywerealone.LikeAnhwasnotthere.HesaiditinawaythatshouldhavemadeOliveuncomfortablebutdidn’t.Forsomeinexplicablereasonhispresenceintheroomsoothedher,eventhoughuntilasecondagoshehadbeenfreakingout.Perhapstwodifferenttypesofuneaseneutralizedeachother?Itsoundedlikeafascinatingresearchtopic.Worthpursuing.MaybeOliveshouldabandonbiologyandswitchtopsychology.Maybesheshouldexcuseherselfandgorunaliteraturesearch.Maybesheshouldexpireonthespottoavoidfacingthiscrapfestofasituationshe’dputherselfin.
“Yes.Yes.Everythingisgreat.AnhandIwerejust…chatting.Aboutourweekends.”
CarlsenlookedatAnh,asthoughrealizingforthefirsttimethatshewasintheroom.Heacknowledgedherexistencewithoneofthosebriefnodsdudesusedtogreetothers.HishandslidloweronOlive’sspinejustasAnh’seyeswidened.
“Nicetomeetyou,Anh.I’veheardalotaboutyou,”Carlsensaid,andhewasgoodatthis,Olivehadtoadmit.BecauseshewassurethatfromAnh’sangleitlookedlikehewasgropingher,butinfacthewas…not.Olivecouldbarelyfeelhishandonher.
Justalittle,maybe.Thewarmth,andtheslightpressure,and—
“Nicetomeetyou,too.”Anhlookedthunderstruck.Likeshemightpassout.“Um,Iwasjustabouttoleave.Ol,I’mgoingtotextyouwhen…yeah.”
ShewasoutoftheroombeforeOlivecouldanswer.Whichwasgood,becauseOlivedidn’tneedtocomeupwithmorelies.Butalsoslightlylessgood,becausenowitwasjustherandCarlsen.Standingwaytooclose.Olivewouldhavepaidgoodmoneytosaythatshewastheonetoputsomedistancebetweenthem,buttheembarrassingtruthwasthatitwasCarlsenwhosteppedawayfirst.Enoughtogiveherthespacesheneeded,andthensome.
“Iseverythingokay?”heaskedagain.Histonewasstillsoft.Notsomethingshewouldhaveexpectedfromhim.
“Yes.Yes,Ijust…”Olivewavedherhand.“Thankyou.”
“You’rewelcome.”
“Didyouhearwhatshesaid?AboutFridayand…”
“Idid.That’swhyI…”Helookedather,andthenathishand—theonethathadbeenwarmingherbackafewsecondsago—andOliveimmediatelyunderstood.
“Thankyou,”sherepeated.BecauseAdamCarlsenmighthavebeenaknownass,butOlivewasfeelingprettydamngratefulrightatthemoment.“Also,uh,Icouldn’thelpnoticingthatnoagentsfromtheFederalBureauofInvestigationhaveknockedonmydoortoarrestmeinthepastseventy-twohours.”
Thecornerofhismouthtwitched.Minimally.“Isthatso?”
Olivenodded.“Whichmakesmethinkthatmaybeyouhaven’tfiledthatcomplaint.Eventhoughitwouldhavebeentotallywithinyourrights.So,thankyou.Forthat.And…andforsteppingin,rightnow.Yousavedmealotoftrouble.”
Carlsenstaredatherforalongmoment,lookingsuddenlylikehedidduringseminar,whenpeoplemixeduptheoryandhypothesisoradmittedtousinglistwisedeletioninsteadofimputation.“Youshouldn’tneedsomeonetostepin.”
Olivestiffened.Right.Knownass.“Well,it’snotasifIaskedyoutodoanything.Iwasgoingtohandleitbymyse—”
“Andyoushouldn’thavetolieaboutyourrelationshipstatus,”hecontinued.“Especiallynotsothatyourfriendandyourboyfriendcangettogetherguilt-free.That’snothowfriendshipworks,lastIchecked.”
Oh.Sohe’dactuallybeenlisteningwhenOlivevomitedherlifestoryathim.“It’snotlikethat.”Heliftedaneyebrow,andOliveraisedahandindefense.“Jeremywasn’treallymyboyfriend.AndAnhdidn’taskmeforanything.I’mnotsomesortofvictim,Ijust…wantmyfriendtobehappy.”
“Bylyingtoher,”headdeddrily.
“Well,yeah,but…Shethinkswe’redating,youandI,”Oliveblurtedout.God,theimplicationsweretooridiculoustobear.
“Wasn’tthatthepoint?”
“Yeah.”Shenoddedandthenrememberedthecoffeeinherhandandtookasipfromhermug.Itwasstillwarm.TheconversationwithAnhcouldn’thavelastedmorethanfiveminutes.“Yeah.Iguessitwas.Bytheway—I’mOliveSmith.Incaseyou’restillinterestedinfilingthatcomplaint.I’maPh.D.studentinDr.Aslan’slab—”
“Iknowwhoyouare.”
“Oh.”Maybehehadlookedherup,then.OlivetriedtoimaginehimcombingthroughtheCurrentPh.D.Students’sectiononthedepartmentwebsite.Olive’spicturehadbeentakenbytheprogramsecretaryonherthirddayofgradschool,wellbeforeshehadbecomefullyawareofwhatshewasinfor.Shehadmadeanefforttolookgood:tamedherwavybrownhair,putonmascaratopopthegreenofhereyes,evenattemptedtohideherfreckleswithsomeborrowedfoundation.Ithadbeenbeforeshe’drealizedhowruthless,howcutthroatacademiacouldbe.Beforethesenseofinadequacy,beforetheconstantfearthatevenifshewasgoodatresearch,shemightneverbeabletotrulymakeitasanacademic.Shehadbeensmiling.Areal,actualsmile.
“Okay.”
“I’mAdam.Carlsen.I’mfacultyin—”
Sheburstoutlaughinginhisface.Andthenregretteditimmediatelyasshenoticedhisconfusedexpression,asthoughhe’dseriouslythoughtOlivemightnotknowwhohewas.Asthoughhewasunawareofbeingoneofthemostprominentscholarsinthefield.ThemodestywasnotatalllikeAdamCarlsen.Oliveclearedherthroat.
“Right.Um,Iknowwhoyouare,too,Dr.Carlsen.”
“YoushouldprobablycallmeAdam.”
“Oh.Oh,no.”Thatwouldbewaytoo…No.Thedepartmentwasnotlikethat.Gradsdidn’tcallfacultybytheirfirstnames.“Icouldnever—”
“IfAnhhappenstobearound.”
“Oh.Yeah.”Itmadesense.“Thankyou.Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.”Orofanythingelse,really.Clearly,herbrainhadstoppedworkingthreedaysago,whenshe’ddecidedthatkissinghimtosaveherownasswasagoodidea.“Ifthat’so-okaywithyou.I’mgoingtogohome,becausethiswholethingwaskindofstressfuland…”Iwasgoingtorunanexperiment,butIreallyneedtositonthecouchandwatchAmericanNinjaWarriorforforty-fiveminuteswhileeatingCoolRanchDoritos,whichtastesurprisinglybetterthanyou’dgivethemcreditfor.
Henodded.“I’llwalkyoutoyourcar.”
“I’mnotthatdistraught.”
“IncaseAnh’sstillaround.”
“Oh.”Itwas,Olivehadtoadmit,akindoffer.Surprisinglyso.EspeciallybecauseitcamefromAdam“I’mTooGoodforThisDepartment”Carlsen.Oliveknewthathewasadick,soshecouldn’tquiteunderstandwhytodayhe…didn’tseemtobeone.Maybesheshouldjustblameherownappallingbehavior,whichwouldmakeanyonelookgoodbycomparison.“Thanks.Butnoneed.”
Shecouldtellthathedidn’twanttoinsistbutcouldn’thelphimself.“I’dfeelbetterifyouletmewalkyoutoyourcar.”
“Idon’thaveacar.”I’magradstudentlivinginStanford,California.Imakelessthanthirtythousanddollarsayear.Myrenttakesuptwo-thirdsofmysalary.I’vebeenwearingthesamepairofcontactssinceMay,andIgotoeveryseminarthatprovidesrefreshmentstosaveonmeals,shedidn’tbotheradding.ShehadnoideahowoldCarlsenwas,butitcouldn’thavebeenthatlongagothathewasagradstudent.
“Doyoutakethebus?”
“Ibike.Andmybikeisrightattheentranceofthebuilding.”
Heopenedhismouth,andthenclosedit.Andthenopeneditagain.
Youkissedthatmouth,Olive.Anditwasagoodkiss.
“Therearenobikelanesaroundhere.”
Sheshrugged.“Iliketolivedangerously.”Cheaply,shemeant.“AndIhaveahelmet.”Sheturnedtosethermugonthefirstsurfaceshecouldfind.She’dretrieveitlater.Ornot,ifsomeonestoleit.Whocared?She’dgottenitfromapostdocwho’dleftacademiatobecomeaDJ,anyway.Forthesecondtimeinlessthanaweek,Carlsenhadsavedherass.Forthesecondtime,shecouldn’tstandbeingwithhimaminutelonger.
“I’llseeyouaround,okay?”
Hischestroseasheinhaleddeeply.“Yeah.Okay.”
Olivegotoutoftheroomasfastasshecould.
—
“ISITAprank?Itmustbeaprank.AmIonnationalTV?Wherearethehiddencameras?HowdoIlook?”
“It’snotaprank.Therearenocameras.”Oliveadjustedthestrapofherbackpackonhershoulderandsteppedtothesidetoavoidbeingrunoverbyanundergradonanelectricscooter.“Butnowthatyoumentionit—youlookgreat.Especiallyforseventhirtyinthemorning.”
Anhdidn’tblush,butitwasaclosething.“LastnightIdidoneofthosefacemasksthatyouandMalcolmgotmeformybirthday.Theonethatlookslikeapanda?AndIgotanewsunscreenthat’ssupposedtogiveyouabitofaglow.AndIputonmascara,”sheaddedhastilyunderherbreath.
Olivecouldaskherwhyshe’dgonetheextramiletolookniceonarun-of-the-millTuesdaymorning,butshealreadyknewtheanswer:Jeremy’sandAnh’slabswereonthesamefloor,andwhilethebiologydepartmentwaslarge,chanceencounterswereverymuchapossibility.
Shehidasmile.Asweirdastheideaofabestfrienddatinganexmightsound,shewasgladthatAnhwasstartingtoallowherselftoconsiderJeremyromantically.Mostly,itwasnicetoknowthattheindignityOlivehadputherselfthroughwithCarlsenonTheNightwaspayingoff.That,togetherwithTomBenton’sverypromisingemailaboutherresearchproject,hadOlivethinkingthatthingsmightbefinallylookingup
“Okay.”Anhchewedonherlowerlip,deepinconcentration.“Soit’snotaprank.Whichmeansthattheremustbeanotherexplanation.Letmefindit.”
“Thereisnoexplanationtobefound.Wejust—”
“OhmyGod,areyoutryingtogetcitizenship?AretheydeportingyoubacktoCanadabecausewe’vebeensharingMalcolm’sNetflixpassword?Tellthemwedidn’tknowitwasafederalcrime.No,wait,don’ttellthemanythinguntilwegetyoualawyer.And,Ol,Iwillmarryyou.I’llgetyouagreencardandyouwon’thaveto—”
“Anh.”Olivesqueezedherfriend’shandtightertogethertoshutupforasecond.“Ipromiseyou,I’mnotgettingdeported.IjustwentonasingledatewithCarlsen.”
AnhscrunchedherfaceanddraggedOlivetoabenchonthesideofthepath,forcinghertositdown.Olivecomplied,tellingherselfthatweretheirpositionsinverted,hadshecaughtAnhkissingAdamCarlsen,she’dprobablyhavethesamereaction.Hell,she’dprobablybebusybookingafull-blownpsychiatricevaluationforAnh.
“Listen,”Anhstarted,“doyourememberlastspring,whenIheldyourhairbackwhileyouprojectilevomitedthefivepoundsofspoiledshrimpcocktailyouateatDr.Park’sretirementparty?”
“Oh,yes.Ido.”Olivecockedherhead,pensive.“Youatemorethanmeandnevergotsick.”
“BecauseI’mmadeofsternerstuff,butnevermindthat.Thepointis:Iamhereforyou,andalwayswillbe,nomatterwhat.Nomatterhowmanypoundsofspoiledshrimpcocktailyouprojectilevomit,youcantrustme.We’reateam,youandI.AndMalcolm,whenhe’snotbusyscrewinghiswaythroughtheStanfordpopulation.SoifCarlsenissecretlyanextraterrestriallife-formplanningatakeoverofEarththatwillultimatelyresultinhumanitybeingenslavedbyeviloverlordswholooklikecicadas,andtheonlywaytostophimisdatinghim,youcantellmeandI’llinformNASA—”
“ForGod’ssake”—Olivehadtolaugh—“itwasjustadate!”
Anhlookedpained.“Ijustdon’tunderstand.”
Becauseitdoesn’tmakesense.“Iknow,butthereisnothingtounderstand.It’sjust…Wewentonadate.”
“But…why?Ol,you’rebeautifulandsmartandfunnyandhaveexcellenttasteinkneesocks,whywouldyougooutwithAdamCarlsen?”
Olivescratchedhernose.“Becauseheis…”Itcosther,tosaytheword.Oh,itcosther.Butshehadto.“Nice.”
“Nice?”Anh’seyebrowsshotupsohightheyalmostmergedwithherhairline.
Shedoeslookextracutetoday,Olivereflected,pleased.
“Adam‘Ass’Carlsen?”
“Well,yeah.Heis…”Olivelookedaround,asifhelpcouldcomefromtheoaktrees,ortheundergradsrushingtotheirsummerclasses.Whenitdidn’tseemforthcoming,shejustfinished,lamely,“Heisaniceasshole,Iguess.”
Anh’sexpressionwentstraightupdisbelieving.“Okay,soyouwentfromdatingsomeoneascoolasJeremytogoingoutwithAdamCarlsen.”
Perfect.ThiswasexactlytheopeningOlivehadwanted.“Idid.Andhappily,becauseInevercaredthatmuchaboutJeremy.”Finallysometruthinthisconversation.“Itwasn’tthathardtomoveon,honestly.Whichiswhy—Please,Anh,putthatboyoutofhismisery.Hedeservesit,andaboveall,youdeserveit.Ibethe’soncampustoday.YoushouldaskhimtoaccompanyyoutothathorrormoviefestivalsoIdon’thavetocomewithyouandsleepwiththelightsonforthenextsixmonths.”
ThistimeAnhblushedoutright.Shelookeddownatherhands,pickedatherfingernails,andthenshebegantofiddlewiththehemofhershortsbeforesaying,“Idon’tknow.Maybe.Imean,ifyoureallythinkthat—”
ThesoundofanalarmwentofffromAnh’spocket,andshestraightenedtopulloutherphone.“Crap,I’vegotaDiversityinSTEMmentoringmeetingandthenIhavetoruntwoassays.”Shestood,pickingupherbackpack.“Wanttogettogetherforlunch?”
“Can’t.HaveaTAmeeting.”Olivesmiled.“MaybeJeremy’sfree,though.”
Anhrolledhereyes,butthecornersofhermouthwerecurvingup.ItmadeOlivemorethanalittlehappy.Sohappythatshedidn’tevenflipheroffwhenAnhturnedaroundfromthepathandasked,“Isheblackmailingyou?”
“Huh?”
“Carlsen.Isheblackmailingyou?Didhefindoutthatyou’reanaberrationandpeeintheshower?”
“Firstofall,it’stimeefficient.”Oliveglared.“Second,Ifinditoddlyflatteringthatyou’dthinkCarlsenwouldgototheseridiculouslengthstogetmetodatehim.”
“Anyonewould,Ol.Becauseyou’reawesome.”Anhgrimacedbeforeadding,“Exceptwhenyou’repeeingintheshower.”
—
JEREMYWASACTINGweird.Whichdidn’tmeanmuch,sinceJeremyhadalwaysbeenabitawkward,andhavingrecentlysplitfromOlivetodateherbestfriendwasnotgoingtomakehimanylessso—buttodayheseemedevenweirderthanusual.Hecameintothecampuscoffeeshop,afewhoursafterOlive’sconversationwithAnh,andproceededtostareatherfortwogoodminutes.Thenthree.Thenfive.Itwasmoreattentionthanhe’deverpaidtoOlive—yes,includingtheirdates.
Whenitgotborderlineridiculous,sheliftedhereyesfromherlaptopandwavedathim.Jeremyflushed,grabbedhislattefromthecounter,andfoundatableforhimself.Olivewentbacktorereadinghertwo-lineemailfortheseventiethtime.
Today,10:12a.m.
FROM:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT:Re:PancreaticCancerScreeningProject
Dr.Benton,
Thankyouforyourresponse.Chattinginpersonwouldbefantastic.WhatdaywillyoubeatStanford?Letmeknowwhenit’smostconvenientforyoutomeet.
Sincerely,
Olive
Nottwentyminuteslater,afourth-yearwhoworkedwithDr.HoldenRodriguesoverinpharmacologycameinandtookaseatnexttoJeremy.TheyimmediatelystartedwhisperingtoeachotherandpointingatOlive.Anyotherdayshewouldhavebeenconcernedandalittleupset,butDr.Bentonhadalreadyansweredheremail,whichtookpriorityover
Today,10:26a.m.
FROM:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
TO:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Re:PancreaticCancerScreeningProject
Olive,
I’monsabbaticalfromHarvardthissemester,soI’llbestayingforseveraldays.AStanfordcollaboratorandIwerejustawardedalargegrant,andwe’llbemeetingtotalkaboutsetup,etc.OkayifweplayitbyearonceI’mthere?
Cheers,
TB
SentfrommyiPhone
Yes!Shehadseveraldaystoconvincehimtotakeonherproject,whichwasmuchbetterthanthetenminutesshe’doriginallyanticipated.Olivefist-pumped—whichledtoJeremyandhisfriendstaringatherevenmoreweirdly.Whatwasupwiththem,anyway?Didshehavetoothpasteonherfaceorsomething?Whocared?ShewasgoingtomeetTomBentonandPancreaticcancer,I’mcomingforyou.
Shewasinanexcellentmooduntiltwohourslater,whensheenteredthebiologyTAmeetingandasuddensilencedroppedintheroom.Aboutfifteenpairsofeyesfixedonher—notareactionshewasaccustomedtoreceiving.
“Uh—hi?”
Acoupleofpeoplesaidhiback.Mostavertedtheirgazes.Olivetoldherselfthatshewasjustimaginingthings.Mustbelowbloodsugar.Orhigh.Oneofthetwo.
“Hey,Olive.”Aseventh-yearwhohadneverbeforeacknowledgedherexistencemovedhisbackpackandfreedtheseatnexttohis.“Howareyou?”
“Good.”Shesatdowngingerly,tryingtokeepthesuspicionfromhertone.“Um,you?”
“Great.”
Therewassomethingabouthissmile.Somethingsalaciousandfake.OlivewasconsideringaskingaboutitwhentheheadTAmanagedtogettheprojectortoworkandcalledeveryone’sattentiontothemeeting.
Afterthat,thingsbecameevenweirder.Dr.AslanstoppedbythelabjusttoaskOliveiftherewasanythingshe’dliketotalkabout;Chase,agradinherlab,letherusethePCRmachinefirst,eventhoughheusuallyhoardeditlikeathirdgraderwithhislastpieceofHalloweencandy;thelabmanagerwinkedatOliveashehandedherastackofblankpaperfortheprinter.AndthenshemetMalcolmintheall-genderrestroom,completelybychance,andsuddenlyeverythingmadesense.
“Yousneakymonster,”hehissed.Hisblackeyeswerealmostcomicallynarrow.“I’vebeentextingyouallday.”
“Oh.”Olivepattedthebackpocketofherjeans,andthenthefrontone,tryingtorememberthelasttimeshehadseenherphone.“IthinkImighthaveleftmyphoneathome.”
“Icannotbelieveit.”
“Believewhat?”
“Icannotbelieveyou.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Ithoughtwewerefriends.”
“Weare.”
“Goodfriends.”
“Weare.YouandAnharemybestfriends.What—”
“Clearlynot,ifIhadtohearitfromStella,whohearditfromJess,whohearditfromJeremy,whohearditfromAnh—”
“Hearwhat?”
“—whohearditfromIdon’tevenknowwho.AndIthoughtwewerefriends.”
SomethingicycrawleditswayupOlive’sback.Coulditbe…No.No,itcouldn’tbe.“Hearwhat?”
“I’mdone.I’mlettingthecockroacheseatyou.AndI’mchangingmyNetflixpassword.”
Ohno.“Malcolm.Hearwhat?”
“ThatyouaredatingAdamCarlsen.”
—
OLIVEHADNEVERbeeninCarlsen’slab,butsheknewwheretofindit.Itwasthebiggest,mostfunctionalresearchspaceinthewholedepartment,covetedbyallandanever-endingsourceofresentmenttowardCarlsen.Shehadtoswipeherbadgeonceandthenoncemoretoaccessit(sherolledhereyesbothtimes).Theseconddooropeneddirectlyontothelabspace,andmaybeitwasbecausehewasastallasMountEverestandhisshoulderswerejustaslarge,butCarlsenwastheveryfirstthingshenoticed.HewaspeeringataSouthernblotnexttoAlex,agradwhowasoneyearaheadofOlive,butheturnedtowardtheentrancethemomentshecamein.
Olivesmiledweaklyathim—mainlyoutofreliefathavingfoundhim.
Itwasgoingtobeallright.ShewasgoingtoexplaintohimwhatMalcolmhadtoldher,andwithoutadoubthewasgoingtofindthesituationcategoricallyunacceptableandfixitforthebothofthem,becauseOlivecouldnotspendhernextthreeyearssurroundedbypeoplewhothoughtthatshewasdatingAdamfreakingCarlsen.
Theproblemwas,Carlsenwasn’ttheonlyonetonoticeOlive.Therewereoveradozenbenchesinthelab,andatleasttenpeopleworkingatthem.Mostofthem—allofthem—werestaringatOlive.Probablybecausemostofthem—allofthem—hadheardthatOlivewasdatingtheirboss.
Fuckherlife.
“CanItalktoyouforaminute,Dr.Carlsen?”Rationally,Oliveknewthatthelabwasnotfurnishedinawaythatmadeechoingpossible.Still,shefeltasthoughherwordsbouncedoffthewallsandrepeatedaboutfourtimes.
Carlsennodded,nonplussed,andhandedtheSouthernblottoAlexbeforeheadinginherdirection.Heappearedeitherunawareoruncaringthatapproximatelytwo-thirdsofhislabmembersweregapingathim.Theremainingonesseemedtobeonthevergeofahemorrhagicstroke.
HeledOlivetoameetingroomjustoutsidethemainlabspace,andshefollowedhimsilently,tryingnottodwellonthefactthatalabfullofpeoplewhothoughtthatsheandCarlsenweredatinghadjustseenthementeraprivateroom.Alone.
Thiswastheworst.Theabsoluteworst.
“Everyoneknows,”sheblurtedoutassoonasthedoorclosedbehindher.
Hestudiedherforamoment,lookingpuzzled.“Areyouokay?”
“Everyoneknows.Aboutus.”
Hecockedhishead,crossinghisarmsoverhischest.Ithadbeenbarelyadaysincethey’dlasttalked,butapparentlylongenoughforOlivetohaveforgottenhis…hispresence.Orwhateveritwasthatmadeherfeellikeshewassmallanddelicatewheneverhewasaround.“Us?”
“Us.”
Heseemedconfused,soOliveelaborated.
“Us,dating—notthatwe’redating,butAnhclearlythoughtso,andshetold…”Sherealizedthatthewordsweretumblingoutandforcedherselftoslowdown.“Jeremy.Andhetoldeveryone,andnoweveryoneknows.Ortheythinktheyknow,eventhoughthere’sabsolutelynothingtoknow.AsyouandIknow.”
Hetookitinforamomentandthennoddedslowly.“Andwhenyousayeveryone…?”
“Imeaneveryone.”Shepointedinthedirectionofhislab.“Thosepeople?Theyknow.Theothergrads?Theyknow.Cherie,thedepartmentsecretary?Shetotallyknows.Gossipinthisdepartmentistheworst.AndtheyallthinkthatIamdatingaprofessor.”
“Isee,”hesaid,seemingstrangelyunbotheredbythisclusterfuck.ItshouldhavecalmedOlivedown,butitonlyhadtheeffectofdrivingherpanicupanotch.
“Iamsorrythishappened.Sosorry.Thisisallmyfault.”Shewipedahanddownherface.“ButIdidn’tthinkthat…IunderstandwhyAnhwouldtellJeremy—Imean,gettingthosetwotogetherwasthewholepointofthischarade—but…WhywouldJeremytellanyone?”
Carlsenshrugged.“Whywouldn’the?”
Shelookedup.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Agradstudentdatingafacultymemberseemslikeaninterestingpieceofinformationtoshare.”
Oliveshookherhead.“It’snotthatinteresting.Whywouldpeoplebeinterested?”
Heliftedoneeyebrow.“Someoneoncetoldmethat‘Gossipinthisdepartmentisthewor—’?”
“Okay,okay.Pointtaken.”Shetookadeepbreathandstartedpacing,tryingtoignorethewayCarlsenwasstudyingher,howrelaxedhelooked,armsacrosshischestwhileleaningagainsttheconferencetable.Hewasnotsupposedtobecalm.Hewassupposedtobeincensed.Hewasaknowndickwithareputationforarrogance—theideaofpeoplethinkingthathewasdatinganobodyshouldbemortifyingtohim.TheburdenoffreakingoutshouldnotbefallingonOlivealone.
“Thisis—Weneedtodosomething,ofcourse.Weneedtotellpeoplethatthisisnottrueandthatwemadeitallup.Exceptthatthey’llthinkthatI’mcrazy,andmaybethatyouare,too,sowehavetocomeupwithsomeotherstory.Yes,okay,weneedtotellpeoplewe’renottogetheranymore—”
“AndwhatwillAnhandwhat’s-his-facedo?”
Olivestoppedpacing.“Uh?”
“Won’tyourfriendsfeelbadaboutdatingiftheythinkwe’renottogether?Orthatyouliedtothem?”
Shehadn’tthoughtofthat.“I—Maybe.Maybe,but—”
ItwastruethatAnhhadseemedhappy.MaybeshehadalreadyinvitedJeremytoaccompanyhertothatmoviefestival—possiblyrightaftertellinghimaboutOliveandCarlsen,damnher.ButthiswasexactlywhatOlivehadwanted.
“Areyougoingtotellherthetruth?”
Sheletoutapanickedsound.“Ican’t.Notnow.”God,whydidOliveeveragreetodateJeremy?Shewasn’tevenintohim.Yes,theIrishaccentandthegingerhairwerecute,butnotworthanyofthis.“MaybewecantellpeoplethatIbrokeupwithyou?”
“That’sveryflattering,”Dr.Carlsendeadpanned.Shecouldn’tquitefigureoutifhewasjoking.
“Fine.Wecansaythatyoubrokeupwithme.”
“Becausethatsoundscredible,”hesaiddrily,almostbelowhisbreath.Shewasnotsureshe’dheardhimcorrectlyandhadnoideawhathemightmean,butshewasstartingtofeelveryupset.Fine,shehadbeentheonetokisshimfirst—God,she’dkissedAdamCarlsen;thiswasherlife;thesewereherchoices—buthisactionsinthebreakroomthedaybeforesurelyhadn’thelpedmatters.Hecouldatleastdisplaysomeconcern.Therewasnowayhewasokaywitheveryonebelievingthathewasattractedtosomerandomgirlwithonepointfivepublications—yes,thatpapershehadrevisedandresubmittedthreeweeksagocountedashalf.
“Whatifwetellpeoplethatitwasamutualbreakup?”
Henodded.“Soundsgood.”
Oliveperkedup.“Really?Great,then!We’ll—”
“WecouldaskCherietoaddittothedepartmentalnewsletter.”
“What?”
“Ordoyouthinkapublicannouncementbeforeseminarwouldbebetter?”
“No.No,it’s—”
“MaybeweshouldaskITtoputitontheStanfordhomepage.Thatwaypeoplewouldknow—”
“Okay,okay,fine!Igetit.”
Helookedatherevenlyforamoment,andwhenhespoke,histonewasreasonableinawayshewouldneverhaveexpectedofAdam“Ass”Carlsen.“Ifwhatbothersyouisthatpeoplearetalkingaboutyoudatingaprofessor,thedamageisdone,I’mafraid.Tellingeveryonethatwebrokeupisnotgoingtoundothefactthattheythinkwedated.”
Olive’sshouldersslumped.Shehatedthathewasright.“Okay,then.Ifyouhaveanyideasonhowtofixthismess,byallmeansIamopento—”
“Youcouldletthemgoonthinkingit.”
Foramoment,shethoughtshehadn’theardhimcorrectly.“W-What?”
“Youcanletpeoplegoonthinkingthatwe’redating.Itsolvesyourproblemwithyourfriendandwhat’s-his-face,andyoudon’thavemuchtolose,sinceitsoundslikefroma…reputationstandpoint”—hesaidtheword“reputation”rollinghiseyesalittle,asiftheconceptofcaringaboutwhatothersthoughtwerethedumbestthingsincehomeopathicantibiotics—“thingscannotgetanyworseforyou.”
Thiswas…Outofeverything…Inherlife,Olivehadnever,shehadnever
“What?”sheaskedagain,feebly.
Heshrugged.“Seemslikeawin-wintome.”
Itsodidnot,toOlive.Itseemedlikealose-lose,andthenloseagain,andthenlosesomemore,typeofsituation.Itseemedinsane.
“Youmean…forever?”Shethoughthervoicecameoutwhiny,butitwaspossiblethatitwasjustaneffectofthebloodpoundinginherhead.
“Thatsoundsexcessive.Maybeuntilyourfriendsarenotdatinganymore?Oruntilthey’remoresettled?Idon’tknow.Whateverworksbest,Iguess.”Hewasseriousaboutthis.Hewasnotjoking.
“Areyounot…”Olivehadnoideahowtoevenaskit.“Married,orsomething?”Hemusthavebeeninhisearlythirties.Hehadafantasticjob;hewastallwiththick,wavyblackhair,clearlysmart,evenattractivelooking;hewasbuilt.Yeah,hewasamoodydick,butsomewomenwouldn’tmindit.Somewomenmightevenlikeit.
Heshrugged.“Mywifeandthetwinswon’tmind.”
Oh,shit.
Olivefeltawaveofheatwashoverher.Sheblushedcrimsonandthenalmostdiedofshame,because—God,shehadforcedamarriedman,afather,tokissher.Nowpeoplethoughtthathewashavinganaffair.Hiswifewasprobablycryingintoherpillow.Hiskidswouldgrowupwithhorribledaddyissuesandbecomeserialkillers.
“I…OhmyGod,Ididn’t—Iamsosorry—”
“Justkidding.”
“Ireallyhadnoideathatyou—”
“Olive.Iwasjoking.I’mnotmarried.Nokids.”
Awaveofreliefcrashedintoher.Followedbyjustasmuchanger.“Dr.Carlsen,thisisnotsomethingyoushouldjoke—”
“YoureallyneedtostartcallingmeAdam.Sincewe’vereportedlybeendatingforawhile.”
Oliveexhaledslowly,pinchingthebridgeofhernose.“Whywouldyoueven—Whatwouldyouevengetoutofthis?”
“Outofwhat?”
“Pretendingtodateme.Whydoyoucare?What’sinitforyou?”
Dr.Carlsen—Adam—openedhismouth,andforamomentOlivehadtheimpressionthathewasgoingtosaysomethingimportant.Butthenheavertedhisgaze,andallthatcameoutwas“Itwouldhelpyouout.”Hehesitatedforamoment.“AndIhavemyownreasons.”
Shenarrowedhereyes.“Whatreasons?”
“Reasons.”
“Ifit’scriminal,I’drathernotbeinvolved.”
Hesmiledabit.“It’snot.”
“Ifyoudon’ttellme,Ihavenochoicebuttoassumethatitentailskidnapping.Orarson.Orembezzlement.”
Heseemedpreoccupiedforamoment,fingertipsdrummingagainstalargebiceps.Itconsiderablystrainedhisshirt.“IfItellyou,itcannotleavethisroom.”
“Ithinkwecanbothagreethatnothingthathashappenedinthisroomshouldeverleaveit.”
“Goodpoint,”heconceded.Hepaused.Sighed.Chewedontheinsideofhischeekforasecond.Sighedagain.
“Okay,”hefinallysaid,soundinglikeamanwhoknewthathewasgoingtoregretspeakingthesecondheopenedhismouth.“I’mconsideredaflightrisk.”
“Flightrisk?”God,hewasafelononparole.Ajuryofhispeershadconvictedhimforcrimesagainstgradstudents.He’dprobablywhackedsomeoneontheheadwithamicroscopeformislabelingpeptidesamples.“Soitissomethingcriminal.”
“What?No.ThedepartmentsuspectsthatI’mmakingplanstoleaveStanfordandmovetoanotherinstitution.Normallyitwouldn’tbotherme,butStanfordhasdecidedtofreezemyresearchfunds.”
“Oh.”Notwhatshe’dthought.Notatall.“Canthey?”
“Yes.Well,uptoone-thirdofthem.Thereasoningisthattheydon’twanttofundtheresearchandfurtherthecareerofsomeonewho—theybelieve—isgoingtoleaveanyway.”
“Butifit’sonlyone-third—”
“It’smillionsofdollars,”hesaidlevelly.“ThatIhadearmarkedforprojectsthatIplannedtofinishwithinthenextyear.Here,atStanford.WhichmeansthatIneedthosefundssoon.”
“Oh.”Cometothinkofit,OlivehadbeenhearingscuttlebuttaboutCarlsenbeingrecruitedbyotheruniversitiessinceherfirstyear.AfewmonthsearliertherehadevenbeenarumorthathemightgoworkforNASA.“Whydotheythinkthat?Andwhynow?”
“Anumberofreasons.ThemostrelevantisthatafewweeksagoIwasawardedagrant—averylargegrant—withascientistatanotherinstitution.Thatinstitutionhadtriedtorecruitmeinthepast,andStanfordseesthecollaborationasanindicationthatIamplanningtoaccept.”Hehesitatedbeforecontinuing.“Moregenerally,Ihavebeenmadeawarethatthe…opticsarethatIhavenotputdownrootsbecauseIwanttobeabletofleeStanfordatthedropofahat.”
“Roots?”
“Mostofmygradswillbedonewithintheyear.Ihavenoextendedfamilyinthearea.Nowife,nochildren.I’mcurrentlyrenting—I’dhavetobuyahousejusttoconvincethedepartmentthatI’mcommittedtostaying,”hesaid,clearlyirritated.“IfIwasinarelationship…thatwouldreallyhelp.”
Okay.Thatmadesense.But.“Haveyouconsideredgettingarealgirlfriend?”
Hiseyebrowlifted.“Haveyouconsideredgettingarealdate?”
“Touché.”
Olivefellsilentandstudiedhimforafewmoments,lettinghimstudyherinreturn.Funnyhowsheusedtobescaredofhim.Nowhewastheonlypersonintheworldwhoknewaboutherworstfuckupever,anditwashardtofeelintimidated—evenharder,afterdiscoveringthathewasthekindofpersonwho’dbedesperateenoughtopretendtodatesomeonetogethisresearchfundsback.Olivewassurethatshewoulddotheexactsamefortheopportunitytofinishherstudyonpancreaticcancer,whichmadeAdamseemoddly…relatable.Andifhewasrelatable,thenshecouldgoaheadandfake-datehim,right?
No.Yes.No.What?Shewascrazyforevenconsideringthis.Shewascertifiablymental.Andyetshefoundherselfsaying,“Itwouldbecomplicated.”
“Whatwouldbe?”
“Topretendthatwe’redating.”
“Really?Itwouldbecomplicatedtomakepeoplethinkthatwe’redating?”
Oh,hewasimpossible.“Okay,Iseeyourpoint.Butitwouldbehardtodosoconvincinglyforaprolongedperiod.”
Heshrugged.“We’llbefine,aslongaswesayhitoeachotherinthehallwaysandyoudon’tcallmeDr.Carlsen.”
“Idon’tthinkpeoplewhoaredatingjust…sayhitoeachother.”
“Whatdopeoplewhoaredatingdo?”
ItbeatOlive.Shehadgoneonmaybefivedatesinherlife,includingtheoneswithJeremy,andtheyhadrangedfrommoderatelyboringtoanxietyinducingtohorrifying(mostlywhenaguyhadmonologuedabouthisgrandmother’shipreplacementinfrighteningdetail).Shewouldhavelovedtohavesomeoneinherlife,butshedoubteditwasinstoreforher.Maybeshewasunlovable.Maybespendingsomanyyearsalonehadwarpedherinsomefundamentalwayandthatwaswhysheseemedtobeunabletodevelopatrueromanticconnection,oreventhetypeofattractionsheoftenheardotherstalkabout.Intheend,itdidn’treallymatter.Gradschoolanddatingwentpoorlytogether,anyway,whichwasprobablywhyDr.AdamCarlsen,MacArthurFellowandgeniusextraordinaire,wasstandinghereatthirtysomethingyearsold,askingOlivewhatpeopledidondates.
Academics,ladiesandgentlemen.
“Um…things.Stuff.”Oliverackedherbrain.“Peoplegooutanddoactivitiestogether.Likeapplepicking,orthosePaintandSipthings.”Whichareidiotic,Olivethought.
“Whichareidiotic,”Adamsaid,gesturingdismissivelywiththosehugehandsofhis.“YoucouldjustgotoAnhandtellherthatwewentoutandpaintedaMonet.Soundslikeshe’dtakecareoflettingeveryoneelseknow.”
“Okay,firstofall,itwasJeremy.Let’sagreetoblameJeremy.Andit’smorethanthat,”Oliveinsisted.“Peoplewhodate,they—theytalk.Alot.Morethanjustgreetingsinthehallway.Theyknoweachother’sfavoritecolors,andwheretheywereborn,andthey…theyholdhands.Theykiss.”
Adampressedhislipstogetherasiftosuppressasmile.“Wecouldneverdothat.”
AfreshwaveofmortificationcrashedintoOlive.“Iamsorryaboutthekiss.Ireallydidn’tthink,and—”
Heshookhishead.“It’sfine.”
Hedidseemuncharacteristicallyindifferenttothesituation,especiallyforaguywhowasknowntofreakoutwhenpeoplegottheatomicnumberofseleniumwrong.No,hewasn’tindifferent.Hewasamused
Olivecockedherhead.“Areyouenjoyingthis?”
“?‘Enjoying’isprobablynottherightword,butyouhavetoadmitthatit’squiteentertaining.”
Shehadnoideawhathewastalkingabout.Therewasnothingentertainingaboutthefactthatshehadrandomlykissedafacultymemberbecausehewastheonlypersoninthehallwayandthat,asaconsequenceofthatspectacularlyidioticaction,everyonethoughtshewasdatingsomeoneshe’dmetexactlytwicebeforetoday—
Sheburstintolaughterandfoldedintoherselfbeforehertrainofthoughtwasevenover,overwhelmedbythesheerimprobabilityofthesituation.Thiswasherlife.Theseweretheresultsofheractions.Whenshecouldfinallybreatheagain,herabshurtandshehadtowipehereyes.“Thisistheworst.”
Hewassmiling,staringatherwithastrangelightinhiseyes.Andwouldyoulookatthat:AdamCarlsenhaddimples.Cuteones.“Yep.”
“Andit’sallmyfault.”
“Prettymuch.IkindofyankedAnh’schainyesterday,butyeah,I’dsaythatit’smostlyyourfault.”
Fakedating.AdamCarlsen.Olivewouldhavetobealunatic.“Wouldn’titbeaproblemthatyou’refacultyandI’magraduatestudent?”
Hetiltedhishead,goingserious.“Itwouldn’tlookgreat,butIdon’tthinkso,no.SinceIhavenoauthoritywhatsoeveroveryouandamnotinvolvedinyoursupervision.ButIcanaskaround.”
Itwasanepicallybadidea.Theworstideaeverentertainedintheepicallybadhistoryofbadideas.Exceptthatitreallywouldsolvethiscurrentproblemofhers,aswellassomeofAdam’s,inexchangeforsayinghitohimonceaweekandmakinganeffortnottocallhimDr.Carlsen.Itseemedlikeaprettygooddeal.
“CanIthinkaboutit?”
“Ofcourse,”hesaidcalmly.Reassuringly.
Shehadn’tthoughthe’dbelikethis.Afterhearingallthestories,andseeinghimwalkaroundwiththatperpetualfrownofhis,shereallyhadn’tthoughthe’dbelikethis.Evenifshedidn’tquiteknowwhatthisevenmeant.
“Andthankyou,Iguess.Foroffering.Adam.”Sheaddedthelastwordlikeanafterthought.Tryingitoutonherlips.Itfeltweird,butnottooweird
Afteralongpause,henodded.“Noproblem.Olive.”ChapterThree
HYPOTHESIS:AprivateconversationwithAdamCarlsenwillbecome150percentmoreawkwardaftertheword“sex”isuttered.Byme.
Threedayslater,OlivefoundherselfstandinginfrontofAdam’soffice.
She’dneverbeentherebefore,butshehadnoproblemfindingit.Thestudentscurryingoutwithmistyeyesandaterrifiedexpressionwasadeadgiveaway,nottomentionthatAdam’sdoorwastheonlyoneinthehallwaycompletelydevoidofpicturesofkids,pets,orsignificantothers.NotevenacopyofhisarticlethathadmadethecoverofNatureMethods,whichsheknewaboutfromlookinghimuponGoogleScholarthepreviousday.Justdarkbrownwoodandametalplaquethatread:AdamJ.Carlsen,Ph.D.
MaybetheJstoodfor“Jackass.”
Olivehadfeltabitlikeacreepthenightbefore,scrollingdownhisfacultywebpageandgoingthroughhislistoftenmillionpublicationsandresearchgrants,staringatapictureofhimclearlytakeninthemiddleofahikingtripandnotbyStanford’sofficialphotographer.Still,she’dquicklyquashedthefeeling,tellingherselfthatathoroughacademicbackgroundcheckwasonlylogicalbeforeembarkingonafake-datingrelationship.
ShetookadeepbreathbeforeknockingandthenanotherbetweenAdam’s“Comein”andthemomentshefinallymanagedtoforceherselftoopenthedoor.Whensheenteredtheoffice,hedidn’timmediatelylookupandcontinuedtypingonhisiMac.“Myofficehourswereoverfiveminutesago,so—”
“It’sme.”
Hishandshalted,hoveringhalfaninchorsoabovethekeyboard.Thenheturnedhischairtowardher.“Olive.”
Therewassomethingaboutthewayhetalked.Maybeitwasanaccent,maybejustaqualityofhisvoice.Olivedidn’tquiteknowwhat,butitwasthere,inthewayhesaidhername.Precise.Careful.Deep.Unlikeanyoneelse.Familiar—impossiblyso.
“Whatdidyousaytoher?”sheasked,tryingnottocareabouthowAdamCarlsenspoke.“Thegirlwhoranoutintears?”
Ittookhimamomenttorememberthatlessthansixtysecondsagotherehadbeensomeoneelseintheoffice—someonewhomheclearlymadecry.“Ijustgaveherfeedbackonsomethingshewrote.”
Olivenodded,silentlythankingallthegodsthathewasnotheradviserandneverwouldbe,andstudiedhersurroundings.Hehadacorneroffice,ofcourse.Twowindowsthattogethermusttotalseventythousandsquaremetersofglass,andsomuchlight,juststandinginthemiddleoftheroomwouldcuretwentypeople’sseasonaldepression.Itmadesense,whatwithallthegrantmoneyhebroughtin,whatwiththeprestige,thathe’dbeengivenanicespace.Olive’soffice,ontheotherhand,hadnowindowsandsmelledfunny,probablybecausesheshareditwiththreeotherPh.D.students,eventhoughitwasmeanttoaccommodatetwoatthemost.
“Iwasgoingtoemailyou.Italkedtothedeanearliertoday,”Adamtoldher,andshelookedbackathim.
Hewasgesturingtothechairinfrontofhisdesk.Olivepulleditbackandtookaseat.
“Aboutyou.”
“Oh.”Olive’sstomachdropped.She’dmuchratherthedeandidn’tknowaboutherexistence.Thenagain,she’dalsorathernotbeinthisroomwithAdamCarlsen,havethesemesterbegininahandfulofdays,haveclimatechangebeathing.Andyet.
“Well,aboutus,”heamended.“Andsocializationregulations.”
“Whatdidshesay?”
“There’snothingagainstyouandmedating,sinceI’mnotyouradviser.”
AmixofpanicandrelieffloodedthroughOlive.
“However,therearesomeissuestoconsider.Iwon’tbeabletocollaboratewithyouinanyformalcapacity.AndI’mpartoftheprogram’sawardscommittee,whichmeansthatI’llhavetoexcusemyselfifyouarenominatedforfellowshipsorsimilaropportunities.”
Shenodded.“Fairenough.”
“AndIabsolutelycannotbepartofyourthesiscommittee.”
Olivehuffedoutalaugh.“Thatwon’tbeaproblem.Iwasn’tgoingtoaskyoutobeonmycommittee.”
Henarrowedhiseyes.“Whynot?Youstudypancreaticcancer,right?”
“Yep.Earlydetection.”
“Thenyourworkwouldbenefitfromtheperspectiveofacomputationalmodeler.”
“Yeah,butthereareothercomputationalmodelersinthedepartment.AndI’dliketoeventuallygraduate,ideallywithoutsobbinginabathroomstallaftereachcommitteemeeting.”
Heglaredather.
Oliveshrugged.“Nooffense.I’masimplegirl,withsimpleneeds.”
Tothat,heloweredhisgazetohisdesk,butnotbeforeOlivecouldseethecornerofhismouthtwitch.Whenhelookedupagain,hisexpressionwasserious.“So,haveyoudecided?”
Shepressedherlipstogetherashewatchedhercalmly.Shetookadeepbreathbeforesaying,“Yes.Yes,I…Iwanttodoit.It’sagoodidea,actually.”
Forsomanyreasons.ItwouldgetAnhandJeremyoffherback,butalso…alsoeveryoneelse.Itwasasifsincetherumorhadbeguntospread,peoplehadbeentoointimidatedbyOlivetogivehertheusualshit.TheotherTAshadquittryingtoswitchhernice2:00p.m.sectionswiththeirhorrifying8:00a.m.ones,herlabmateshadstoppedcuttinginfrontofherinthelineforthemicroscope,andtwodifferentfacultymembersOlivehadbeentryingtogetaholdofforweekshadfinallydeignedtoanswerheremails.Itfeltalittleunfairtoexploitthishugemisunderstanding,butacademiawasalawlesslandandOlive’slifeinithadbeennothingbutmiserableforthepasttwoyears.Shehadlearnedtograbwhatevershecouldgetawaywith.Andifsome—okay,ifmostofthegradsinthedepartmentlookedathersuspiciouslybecauseshewasdatingAdamCarlsen,sobeit.Herfriendsseemedtobelargelyfinewiththis,ifalittlebemused.
ExceptforMalcolm.He’dbeenshunningherlikeshehadthepoxforthreesoliddays.ButMalcolmwasMalcolm—he’dcomearound.
“Verywell,then.”Hewascompletelyexpressionless—almosttooexpressionless.Likeitwasnobigdealandhedidn’tcareeitherway;likeifshe’dsaidno,itwouldn’thavechangedanythingforhim.
“Though,I’vebeenthinkingaboutthisalot.”
Hewaitedpatientlyforhertocontinue.
“AndIthinkthatitwouldbebestifwelaiddownsomegroundrules.Beforestarting.”
“Groundrules?”
“Yes.Youknow.Whatweareallowedandnotallowedtodo.Whatwecanexpectfromthisarrangement.Ithinkthat’sprettystandardprotocol,beforeembarkingonafake-datingrelationship.”
Hetiltedhishead.“Standardprotocol?”
“Yup.”
“Howmanytimeshaveyoudonethis?”
“Zero.ButIamfamiliarwiththetrope.”
“The…what?”Heblinkedather,confused.
Oliveignoredhim.“Okay.”Sheinhaleddeeplyandliftedherindexfinger.“Firstofall,thisshouldbeastrictlyon-campusarrangement.NotthatIthinkyou’dwanttomeetmeoffcampus,butjustincaseyouwereplanningtokilltwobirdswithonestone,I’mnotgoingtobeyourlast-minutebackupifyouneedtobringadatehomeforChristmas,or—”
“Hanukkah.”
“What?”
“MyfamilyismorelikelytocelebrateHanukkahthanChristmas.”Heshrugged.“ThoughI’munlikelytocelebrateeither.”
“Oh.”Olivepondereditforamoment.“Iguessthisissomethingyourfakegirlfriendshouldknow.”
Theghostofasmileappearedonhismouth,buthesaidnothing.
“Okay.Secondrule.Actually,itcouldbeinterpretedasanextensionofthefirstrule.But”—Olivebitintoherlip,willingherselftobringitup—“nosex.”
Forseveralmomentshesimplydidn’tmove.Notevenamillimeter.Thenhislipsparted,butnosoundcameout,andthat’swhenOliverealizedthatshehadjustrenderedAdamCarlsenspeechless.Whichwouldhavebeenfunnyanyotherday,butthefactthatheseemeddumbfoundedbyOlivenotwantingtoincludesexintheirfake-datingrelationshipmadeherstomachsink.
Hadheassumedthattheywould?Wasitsomethingshe’dsaid?Shouldsheexplainthatshe’dhadverylittlesexinherlife?Thatforyearsshe’dwonderedwhethershewasasexualandshehadrealizedonlyrecentlythatshemightbeabletoexperiencesexualattraction,butonlywithpeopleshetrusteddeeply?ThatifforsomeinexplicablereasonAdamwantedtohavesexwithher,shewasn’tgoingtobeabletogothroughwithit?
“Listen”—shemadetostandfromthechair,panicrisinginherthroat—“I’msorry,butifoneofthereasonsyouofferedtofake-dateisthatyouthoughtthatwewould—”
“No.”Thewordhalfexplodedoutofhim.Helookedgenuinelyappalled.“I’mshockedthatyou’devenfeeltheneedtobringitup.”
“Oh.”Olive’scheeksheatedattheindignationinhisvoice.Right.Ofcoursehedidn’texpectthat.Orevenwantthat,withher.Lookathim—whywouldhe?“I’msorry,Ididn’tmeantoassume—”
“No,itmakessensetobeup-front.Iwasjustsurprised.”
“Iknow.”Olivenodded.Honestly,shewasalittlesurprised,too.ThatshewassittinginAdamCarlsen’soffice,talkingaboutsex—notthemeiosiskindofsex,butpotentialsexualintercoursebetweenthetwoofthem.“Sorry.Ididn’tmeantomakethingsweird.”
“It’sokay.Thiswholethingisweird.”Thesilencebetweenthemstretched,andOlivenoticedthathewasblushingfaintly.Justadustingofred,buthelookedso…Olivecouldn’tstopstaring.
“Nosex,”heconfirmedwithanod.
Shehadtoclearherthroatandshakeherselfoutofinspectingtheshapeandcolorofhischeekbones.
“Nosex,”sherepeated.“Okay.Third.It’snotreallyarule,butheregoes:Iwon’tdateanyoneelse.Asinrealdating.Itwouldbemessyandcomplicateeverythingand…”Olivehesitated.Shouldshetellhim?Wasittoomuchinformation?Didheneedtoknow?Oh,well.Whynot,atthispoint?Itwasn’tlikeshehadn’tkissedtheman,orbroughtupsexinhisplaceofwork.“Idon’tdate,anyway.Jeremywasanexception.I’venever…I’veneverdatedseriouslybefore,andit’sprobablyforthebest.Gradschoolisstressfulenough,andIhavemyfriends,andmyprojectonpancreaticcancer,andhonestlythere’sbetterthingstousemytimefor.”Thelastfewwordscameoutmoredefensivelythanshe’dintended.
Adamjuststaredandsaidnothing.
“Butyoucandate,ofcourse,”sheaddedhastily.“ThoughI’dappreciateitifyoucouldavoidtellingpeopleinthedepartment,justsoIdon’tlooklikeanidiotandyoudon’tlooklikeyou’recheatingonmeandrumorsdon’tballoonoutofcontrol.Itwouldbenefityou,too,sinceyou’retryingtolooklikeyou’reinacommittedrelationship—”
“Iwon’t.”
“Okay.Great.Thanks.Iknowlyingbyomissioncanbeapain,but—”
“Imean,Iwon’tdatesomeoneelse.”
Therewasacertainty,afinalityinhistonethattookherbysurprise.Shecouldonlynod,eventhoughshewantedtoprotestthathecouldn’tpossiblyknow,eventhoughamillionquestionssurfacedinhermind.Ninety-ninepercentofthemwereinappropriateandnotherbusiness,sosheshooedthemaway.
“Okay.Fourth.Weobviouslycan’tkeepondoingthisforever,soweshouldgiveourselvesadeadline.”
Hislipspressedtogether.“Whenwouldthatbe?”
“I’mnotsure.AmonthorsowouldprobablybeenoughtoconvinceAnhthatI’mfirmlyoverJeremy.Butitmightnotbeenoughonyourend,so…youtellme.”
Hemulledit,andthennoddedonce.“Septembertwenty-ninth.”
Itwasalittleoveramonthfromnow.Butalso…“That’saweirdlyspecificdate.”Oliverackedherhead,tryingtofigureoutwhyitcouldbemeaningful.Theonlythingthatcametomindwasthatshe’dbeinBostonthatweekfortheannualbiologyconference.
“It’sthedayafterthedepartment’sfinalbudgetreview.Iftheydon’treleasemyfundsbythen,theywon’treleasethematall.”
“Isee.Well,then,let’sagreethatonSeptembertwenty-ninthwepartways.I’lltellAnhthatourbreakupwasamicablebutthatI’malittlesadaboutitbecauseIstillhaveabitofacrushonyou.”Shegrinnedathim.“Justsoshewon’tsuspectthatI’mstillhunguponJeremy.Okay.”Shetookadeepbreath.“Fifthandlast.”
Thiswasthetrickyone.Theoneshewasafraidhe’dobjectto.Shenoticedthatshewaswringingherhandsandplacedthemfirmlyinherlap.
“Forthistoworkweshouldprobably…dothingstogether.Everyonceinawhile.”
“Things?”
“Things.Stuff.”
“Stuff,”herepeateddubiously.
“Yep.Stuff.Whatdoyoudoforfun?”Hewasprobablyintosomethingatrocious,likecow-tippingexcursionsorJapanesebeetlefighting.Maybehecollectedporcelaindolls.Maybehewasanavidgeocacher.Maybehefrequentedvapingconventions.OhGod.
“Fun?”herepeated,likehe’dneverheardthewordbefore.
“Yeah.Whatdoyoudowhenyou’renotatwork?”
ThelengthoftimethatpassedbetweenOlive’squestionandhisanswerwasalarming.“SometimesIworkathome,too.AndIworkout.AndIsleep.”
Shehadtoactivelystopherselffromface-palming.“Um,great.Anythingelse?”
“Whatdoyoudoforfun?”heasked,somewhatdefensively.
“Plentyofthings.I…”Gotothemovies.Thoughshehadn’tbeensincethelasttimeMalcolmhaddraggedher.Playboardgames.Buteverysingleoneofherfriendswastoobusylately,sonotthat,either.She’dparticipatedinthatvolleyballtournament,butithadbeenoverayearago.
“Um.Iworkout?”Shewouldhavelovedtowipethatsmugexpressionoffhisface.Somuch.“Whatever.Weshoulddosomethingtogetheronaregularbasis.Idon’tknow,maybegetcoffee?Like,onceaweek?Justfortenminutes,ataplacewherepeoplecouldeasilyseeus.Iknowitsoundsannoyingandlikeawasteoftime,butit’llbesupershort,anditwouldmakethefakedatingmorecredible,and—”
“Sure.”
Oh.
She’dthoughtitwouldtakemoreconvincing.Alotmore.Thenagain,thiswasinhisinterest,too.Heneededhiscolleaguestobelieveintheirrelationshipifhewastocajolethemintoreleasinghisfunding.
“Okay.Um…”Sheforcedherselftostopwonderingwhyhewasbeingsoaccommodatingandtriedtovisualizeherschedule.“HowaboutWednesday?”
Adamangledhischairtofacehiscomputerandpulledupacalendarapp.ItwassofullofcolorfulboxesthatOlivefeltasurgeofvicariousanxiety.
“Itworksbeforeelevena.m.Andaftersixp.m.”
“Ten?”
Heturnedbacktoher.“Ten’sgood.”
“Okay.”Shewaitedforhimtotypeitin,buthemadenomoveto.“Aren’tyougoingtoaddittoyourcalendar?”
“I’llremember,”hetoldherevenly.
“Okay,then.”Shemadeanefforttosmile,anditfeltrelativelysincere.Waymoresincerethananysmileshe’deverthoughtshe’dbeabletomusterinAdamCarlsen’spresence.“Great.Fake-datingWednesdayitis.”
Alineappearedbetweenhiseyebrows.“Whydoyoukeepsayingthat?”
“Sayingwhat?”
“?‘Fakedating.’Likeit’sathing.”
“Becauseitis.Don’tyouwatchrom-coms?”
Hestaredatherwithapuzzledexpression,untilsheclearedherthroatandlookeddownatherknees.“Right.”God,theyhadnothingincommon.They’dneverfindanythingtotalkabout.Theirten-minutecoffeebreaksweregoingtobethemostpainful,awkwardpartsofheralreadypainful,awkwardweeks.
ButAnhwasgoingtohaveherbeautifullovestory,andOlivewouldn’thavetowaitforagestousetheelectronmicroscope.Thatwasallthatmattered.
Shestoodandthrustherhandouttohim,figuringthateveryfake-datingarrangementdeservedatleastahandshake.Adamstudiedithesitantlyforacoupleofseconds.Thenhestoodandclaspedherfingers.Hestaredattheirjoinedhandsbeforemeetinghereyes,andOliveorderedherselfnottonoticetheheatofhisskin,orhowbroadhewas,or…anythingelseabouthim.Whenhefinallyletgo,shehadtomakeaconsciouseffortnottoinspectherpalm.
Hadhedonesomethingtoher?Itsurefeltlikeit.Herfleshwastingling.
“Whendoyouwanttostart?”
“Howaboutnextweek?”ItwasFriday.WhichmeantthatshehadfewerthansevendaystopsychologicallypreparefortheexperienceofgettingcoffeewithAdamCarlsen.Sheknewthatshecoulddothis—ifshehadworkedherwayuptoaninety-seventhpercentileontheverbalportionoftheGRE,shecoulddoanything,orasgoodas—butitstillseemedlikeahorribleidea.
“Soundsgood.”
Itwashappening.OhGod.“Let’smeetattheStarbucksoncampus.It’swheremostofthegradsgetcoffee—someone’sboundtospotus.”Sheheadedforthedoor,pausingtoglancebackatAdam.“IguessI’llseeyouforfake-datingWednesday,then?”
Hewasstillstandingbehindhisdesk,armscrossedonhischest.LookingatOlive.Lookingentirelylessirritatedbythismessthanshe’deverhaveexpected.Looking…nice.“Seeyou,Olive.”
—
“PASSTHESALT.”
Olivewouldhave,butMalcolmlookedlikehewasalreadysaltyenough.Sosheleanedherhipagainstthekitchencounterandfoldedherarmsacrossherchest.“Malcolm.”
“Andthepepper.”
“Malcolm.”
“Andtheoil.”
“Malcolm…”
“Sunflower.Notthatgrape-seedcrap.”
“Listen.It’snotwhatyouthink—”
“Fine.I’llgetthemmyself.”
Tobefair,Malcolmhadeveryrighttobemad.AndOlivedidfeelforhim.Hewasoneyearaheadofher,andthescionofSTEMroyalty.Theproductofgenerationsofbiologists,geologists,botanists,physicists,andwhoknowswhatother-istsmixingtheirDNAandspawninglittlesciencemachines.HisfatherwasadeanatsomestateschoolontheEastCoast.HismotherhadaTEDTalkonPurkinjecellswithseveralmillionviewsonYouTube.DidMalcolmwanttobeinaPh.D.program,headedforanacademiccareer?Probablyno.Didhehaveanyotherchoice,consideringthepressurehisfamilyhadputonhimsincehewasindiapers?Alsono.
NottosaythatMalcolmwasunhappy.HisplanwastogethisPh.D.,findanicecushyindustryjob,andmakelotsofmoneyworkingnine-to-five—whichtechnicallyqualifiedas“beingascientist,”whichinturnwasnotsomethinghisparentswouldbeabletoobjectto.Atleast,nottoostrenuously.Inthemeantime,allhewantedwastohaveagradschoolexperiencethatwasasun-traumatizingaspossible.OutofeveryoneinOlive’sprogram,hewastheonewhobestmanagedtohavealifeoutsideofgradschool.Hedidthingsthatwereunimaginabletomostgrads,likecookingrealfood!Goingforhikes!Meditating!Actinginaplay!DatinglikeitwasanOlympicsport!(“ItisanOlympicsport,Olive.AndIamtrainingforgold.”)
WhichwaswhywhenAdamforcedMalcolmtothrowouttonsofdataandredohalfhisstudy,itmadeforavery,verymiserablefewmonths.Inretrospect,thatmighthavebeenwhenMalcolmstartedwishingaplagueontheCarlsenhouse(hehadbeenrehearsingforRomeoandJulietatthetime).
“Malcolm,canwepleasetalkaboutthis?”
“We’retalking.”
“No,youarecookingandIamjuststandinghere,tryingtogetyoutoacknowledgethatyouaremadbecauseAdam—”
Malcolmturnedawayfromhiscasserole,wagginghisfingerinOlive’sdirection.“Donotsayit.”
“Donotsaywhat?”
“Youknowwhat.”
“AdamCarl—?”
“Donotsayhisname.”
Shethrewherhandsup.“Thisiscrazy.It’sfake,Malcolm.”
Hewentbacktochoppingtheasparagus.“Passthesalt.”
“Areyouevenlistening?It’snotreal.”
“Andthepepper,andthe—”
“Therelationship,it’sfake.We’renotreallydating.We’repretendingsopeoplewillthinkthatwe’redating.”
Malcolm’shandsstoppedmid-chop.“What?”
“Youheardme.”
“Isita…friends-with-benefitsarrangement?Because—”
“No.It’stheopposite.Therearenobenefits.Zerobenefits.Zerosex.Zerofriends,too.”
Hestaredather,narrow-eyed.“Tobeclear,oralandbuttstufftotallycountsassex—”
“Malcolm.”
Hetookastepcloser,grabbingadishragtowipehishands,nostrilsflaring.“I’mscaredtoask.”
“Iknowitsoundsridiculous.He’shelpingmeoutbypretendingwe’retogetherbecauseIliedtoAnh,andIneedhertofeelokayaboutdatingJeremy.It’sallfake.AdamandIhavetalkedexactly”—shedecidedonthespottoomitanyinformationpertinenttoTheNight—“threetimes,andIknownothingabouthim.Exceptthathe’swillingtohelpmehandlethissituation,andIjumpedatthechance.”
Malcolmwasmakingthatface,theonehereservedforpeoplewhoworesandalspairedwithwhitesocks.Hecouldbealittlescary,shehadtoadmit.
“Thisis…wow.”Therewasaveinpulsatingonhisforehead.“Ol,thisisbreathtakinglystupid.”
“Maybe.”Yes.Yes,itwas.“Butitiswhatitis.Andyouhavetosupportmeinmyidiocy,becauseyouandAnharemybestfriends.”
“Isn’tCarlsenyourbestfriendnow?”
“Comeon,Malcolm.He’sanass.Buthe’sactuallybeenprettynicetome,and—”
“I’mnoteven—”Hegrimaced.“I’mnotgoingtoaddressthis.”
Shesighed.“Okay.Don’taddressthis.Youdon’thaveto.Butcanyoujustnothateme?Please?Iknowhe’sbeenanightmaretohalfthegradsintheprogram,youincluded.Buthe’shelpingmeout.YouandAnharetheonlyonesIcareaboutknowingthetruth.ButIcan’ttellAnh—”
“—forobviousreasons.”
“—forobviousreasons,”shefinishedatthesametime,andsmiled.Hejustshookhisheaddisapprovingly,buthisexpressionhadsoftened.
“Ol.You’reamazing.Andkind,waytookind.YoushouldfindsomeonebetterthanCarlsen.Someonetodateforreal.”
“Yeah,right.”Sherolledhereyes.“BecauseitwentsowellwithJeremy.Who,bytheway,Ionlyagreedtodatefollowingyouradvice!‘Givetheboyachance,’yousaid.‘Whatcouldpossiblygowrong?’yousaid.”
Malcolmglared,andshelaughed.
“Listen,I’mclearlybadatrealdating.Maybefakedatingwillbedifferent.MaybeI’vefoundmyniche.”
Hesighed.“DoesithavetobeCarlsen?Therearebetterfacultymemberstofake-date.”
“Likewho?”
“Idon’tknow.Dr.McCoy?”
“Didn’therwifejustgivebirthtotriplets?”
“Oh,yeah.WhataboutHoldenRodrigues?He’shot.Cutesmile,too.Iwouldknow—healwayssmilesatme.”
Oliveburstintolaughter.“Icouldneverfake-dateDr.Rodrigues,notwithhowassiduouslyyou’vebeenthirstingafterhimforthepasttwoyears.”
“Ihave,haven’tI?DidIevertellyouabouttheseriousflirtingthathappenedbetweenusattheundergradresearchfair?I’mprettysurehewinkedatmemultipletimesfromtheothersideoftheroom.Now,somesayhejusthadsomethinginhiseye,but—”
“Me.Isaidthatheprobablyhadsomethinginhiseye.Andyoutellmeaboutiteveryotherday.”
“Right.”Hesighed.“Youknow,Ol,Iwouldhavefake-datedyoumyselfinaheartbeat,tospareyoufromgoddamnedCarlsen.Iwouldhaveheldhandswithyou,andgivenyoumyjacketwhenyouwerecold,andverypubliclygiftedyouchocolaterosesandteddybearsonValentine’sDay.”
Howrefreshing,totalkwithsomeonewho’dwatchedarom-com.Orten.“Iknow.Butyoualsobringhomeadifferentpersoneveryweek,andyouloveit,andIlovethatyouloveit.Idon’twanttocrampyourstyle.”
“Fair.”Malcolmlookedpleased—whetheratthefactthathereallydidgetaroundafairbitoratOlive’sthoroughunderstandingofhisdatinghabits,shewasn’tsure.
“Canyoupleasenothateme,then?”
Hetossedthekitchenclothontothecounterandsteppedcloser.“Ol.Icouldneverhateyou.You’llalwaysbemykalamata.”Hepulledherintohischest,hugginghertight.Atthebeginning,whenthey’djustmet,Olivehadbeenconstantlydisorientedbyhowphysicalhewas,probablybecauseithadbeenyearssinceshe’dexperiencedsuchaffectionatecontact.Now,Malcolm’shugswereherhappyplace.
ShelaidherheadonhisshoulderandsmiledintothecottonofhisT-shirt.“Thanks.”
Malcolmheldhertighter.
“AndIpromiseifIeverbringAdamhome,I’llputasockonmydoor—Ouch!”
“Youevilcreature.”
“Iwaskidding!Wait,don’tleave,Ihavesomethingimportanttotellyou.”
Hepausedbythedoor,scowling.“I’vereachedmymaximumdailyintakeofCarlsen-relatedconversation.Anythingfurtherwillbelethal,so—”
“TomBenton,thecancerresearcherfromHarvard,reachedouttome!It’snotdecidedyet,buthemightbeinterestedinhavingmeinhislabnextyear.”
“OhmyGod.”Malcolmwalkedbacktoher,delighted.“Ol,thisisamazing!Ithoughtnoneoftheresearchersyoucontactedhadgottenbacktoyou?”
“Notforthelongesttime.ButnowBentonhas,andyouknowhowfamousandwell-knownheis.HeprobablyhasmoreresearchfundsthanIcouldeverdreamof.Itwouldbe—”
“Fantastic.Itwouldreallybefantastic.Ol.Iamsoproudofyou.”Malcolmtookherhandsinhis.Hisface-splittinggrinslowlygentled.“Andyourmomwouldbesoproud,too.”
Olivelookedaway,blinkingrapidly.Shedidn’twanttocry,nottonight.“Nothingissetinstone.I’llhavetopersuadehim.Itwillinvolvequiteabitofpolitickingandgoingthroughthewhole‘pitchmeyourresearch’bit.Whichasyouknowisnotmyforte.Itmightstillnotworkout—”
“Itwillworkout.”
Right.Yes.Sheneededtobeoptimistic.Shenodded,attemptingasmile.
“Butevenifitdidn’t…shewouldstillbeproud.”
Olivenoddedagain.Whenasingletearmanagedtoslidedownhercheek,shedecidedtoletitbe.
Forty-fiveminuteslater,sheandMalcolmsatontheirminusculecouch,armspressedtogether,watchingrerunsofAmericanNinjaWarriorwhiletheyateaveryundersaltedveggiecasserole.ChapterFour
HYPOTHESIS:AdamCarlsenandIhaveabsolutelynothingincommon,andhavingcoffeewithhimwillbetwiceaspainfulasarootcanal.Withoutanesthesia.
Olivearrivedtothefirstfake-datingWednesdaylateandinthefoulestofmoods,afteramorningspentgrowlingathercheap,knockoffreagentsfornotdissolving,thennotprecipitating,thennotsonicating,thennotbeingenoughforhertorunherentireassay.
Shepausedoutsidethecoffeeshop’sdoorandtookadeepbreath.Sheneededabetterlabifshewantedtoproducedecentscience.Betterequipment.Betterreagents.Betterbacteriacultures.Bettereverything.Nextweek,whenTomBentonarrived,shehadtobeontopofhergame.Sheneededtoprepareherspiel,notwastetimeonacoffeeshedidn’tparticularlywant,withapersonshemostdefinitelydidn’twanttotalkto,halfwaythroughherexperimentalprotocol.
Ugh.
Whenshesteppedinsidethecafé,Adamwasalreadythere,wearingablackHenleythatlookedlikeitwasideated,designed,andproducedspecificallywiththeupperhalfofhisbodyinmind.Olivewasmomentarilybemused,notsomuchthathisclothesfithimwell,butthatshe’dnoticedwhatsomeonewaswearingtobeginwith.Itwasnotlikeher.She’dbeenseeingAdamtraipsearoundthebiologybuildingforthebetterpartoftwoyears,afterall,nottomentionthatinthepastcoupleofweeksthey’dspokenaninordinateamountoftimes.Theyhadevenkissed,ifonecountedwhathadhappenedonTheNightasaproperkiss.Itwasdizzyingandalittleunsettling,therealizationthatsankintoherastheygotinlinetoordertheircoffee.
AdamCarlsenwashandsome.
AdamCarlsen,withhislongnoseandwavyhair,withhisfulllipsandangularfacethatshouldn’thavefittogetherbutsomehowdid,wasreally,really,reallyhandsome.Olivehadnocluewhyithadn’tregisteredbefore,orwhywhatmadeherrealizeitwashimputtingonaplainblackshirt.
Shewilledherselftostareaheadatthedrinkmenuinsteadofhischest.Inthecoffeeshop,therewereatotalofthreebiologygradstudents,onepharmacologypostdoc,andoneundergraduateresearchassistanteyeingthem.Perfect
“So.Howareyou?”sheasked,becauseitwasthethingtodo.
“Fine.You?”
“Fine.”
ItoccurredtoOlivethatmaybeshehadn’tthoughtthisthroughasthoroughlyassheshouldhave.Becausebeingseentogethermighthavebeentheirgoal,butstandingnexttoeachotherinsilencewasnotgoingtofoolanyoneintothinkingthattheywereblissfullydating.AndAdamwas…well.Heseemedunlikelytoinitiateanykindofconversation.
“So.”Oliveshiftedherweighttotheballsofherfeetacoupleoftimes.“What’syourfavoritecolor?”
Helookedather,confused.“What?”
“Yourfavoritecolor.”
“Myfavoritecolor?”
“Yep.”
Therewasacreasebetweenhiseyes.“I—don’tknow?”
“Whatdoyoumeanyoudon’tknow?”
“They’recolors.They’reallthesame.”
“Theremustbeoneyoulikemost.”
“Idon’tthinkso.”
“Red?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Yellow?Vomitgreen?”
Hiseyesnarrowed.“Whyareyouasking?”
Oliveshrugged.“ItfeelslikesomethingIshouldknow.”
“Why?”
“Because.Ifsomeonetriestofigureoutwhetherwe’rereallydating,itmightbeoneofthefirstquestionstheyask.Topfive,forsure.”
Hestudiedherforafewseconds.“Doesthatseemlikealikelyscenariotoyou?”
“Aboutaslikelyasmefake-datingyou.”
Henodded,asifconcedingherpoint.“Okay.Black,Iguess.”
Shesnorted.“Figures.”
“What’swrongwithblack?”Hefrowned.
“It’snotevenacolor.It’snocolors,technically.”
“It’sbetterthanvomitgreen.”
“No,itisn’t.”
“Ofcourseitis.”
“Yeah,well.Itsuitsyourscion-of-darknesspersonality.”
“Whatdoesthateven—”
“Goodmorning.”Thebaristasmiledatthemcheerfully.“Whatwillyouhavetoday?”
Olivesmiledback,gesturingatAdamtoorderfirst.
“Coffee.”Hedartedaglanceatherbeforeadding,sheepishly,“Black.”
Shehadtoduckherheadtohidehersmile,butwhensheglancedathimagain,thecornerofhismouthwascurvedupward.Which,shereluctantlyadmittedtoherself,wasnotabadlookforhim.Sheignoreditandorderedthemostfatty,sugarythingonthedrinkmenu,askingforextrawhippedcream.Shewaswonderingifsheshouldtrytomakeupforitbybuyinganapple,too,orifsheshouldjustleanintoitandtopitoffwithacookie,whenAdamtookacreditcardoutofhiswalletandheldittothecashier.
“Oh,no.No,no,no.No.”Oliveputherhandinfrontofhisandloweredhervoice.“Youcan’tpayformystuff.”
Heblinked.“Ican’t?”
“That’snotthekindoffakerelationshipwe’rehaving.”
Helookedsurprised.“Itisn’t?”
“Nope.”Sheshookherhead.“Iwouldneverfake-dateadudewhothinksthathehastopayformycoffeejustbecausehe’sadude.”
Heliftedaneyebrow.“Idoubtalanguageexistsinwhichthethingyoujustorderedcouldbereferredtoas‘coffee.’?”
“Hey—”
“Andit’snotaboutmebeinga‘dude’?”—thewordcameoutatouchpained—“butaboutyoustillbeingagradstudent.Andyouryearlyincome.”
Foramomentshehesitated,wonderingifsheshouldbeoffended.WasAdambeinghiswell-knownassself?Washepatronizingher?Didhethinkshewaspoor?Thensherememberedthatshewas,infact,poor,andthatheprobablymadefivetimesasmuchasher.Sheshrugged,addingachocolatechipcookie,abanana,andapackofgumtohercoffee.Tohiscredit,Adamsaidnothingandpaidtheresulting$21.39withoutbattinganeye.
Whiletheywerewaitingfortheirdrinks,Olive’smindbegandriftingofftoherprojectandtowhethershecouldconvinceDr.Aslantobuyherbetterreagentssoon.Shelookeddistractedlyaroundthecoffeeshop,findingthateventhoughtheresearchassistant,thepostdoc,andoneofthestudentsweregone,twograds(oneofwhomserendipitouslyhappenedtoworkinAnh’slab)werestillsittingatatablebythedoor,glancingtowardthemeveryfewminutes.Excellent.
SheleanedherhipagainstthecounterandlookedupatAdam.ThankGodthisthingwasonlygoingtobetenminutesaweek,orshe’ddevelopapermanentcrickinherneck.
“Wherewereyouborn?”sheasked.
“Isthisanotheroneofyourgreencardmarriageinterviewquestions?”
Shegiggled.Hesmiledinresponse,asifpleasedtohavemadeherlaugh.Thoughitwascertainlyforsomeotherreason.
“Netherlands.TheHague.”
“Oh.”
Heleanedagainstthecounter,too,directlyinfrontofher.“Why‘oh’?”
“Idon’tknow.”Oliveshrugged.“IthinkIexpected…NewYork?OrmaybeKansas?”
Heshookhishead.“MymotherusedtobeaUSambassadortotheNetherlands.”
“Wow.”Weird,toimaginethatAdamhadamother.Afamily.Thatbeforebeingtallandscaryandinfamous,he’dbeenakid.MaybehespokeDutch.Maybehehadsmokedherringforbreakfastonthereg.Maybehismotherhadwantedhimtofollowinherfootstepsandbecomeadiplomat,buthisshinypersonalityhademergedandshe’dgivenuponthatdream.Olivefoundherselfacutelyeagertoknowmoreabouthisupbringing,whichwas…weird.Veryweird.
“Hereyougo.”Theirdrinksappearedonthecounter.OlivetoldherselfthatthewaytheblondbaristawasobviouslycheckingoutAdamasheturnedtoretrievealidforhiscupwasnoneofherbusiness.Shealsoremindedherselfthatascuriousasshewasabouthisdiplomatmother,howmanylanguageshespoke,andwhetherhelikedtulips,itwasinformationthatwentwellbeyondtheirarrangement.
Peoplehadseenthemtogether.TheyweregoingtogobacktotheirlabsandtellimprobabletalesofDr.AdamCarlsenandtherandom,unremarkablestudentthey’dspottedhimwith.TimeforOlivetogobacktoherscience.
Sheclearedherthroat.“Well.Thiswasfun.”
Helookedupfromhiscup,surprised.“Isfake-datingWednesdayover?”
“Yep.Greatjob,team,nowhittheshowers.You’refreeuntilnextweek.”Olivestabbedherstrawintoherdrinkandtookasip,feelingthesugarexplodeinhermouth.Whatevershe’dordered,itwasdisgustinglygood.Shewasprobablydevelopingdiabetesasshespoke.“I’llseeyou—”
“Wherewereyouborn?”Adamaskedbeforeshecouldleave.
Oh.Theyweredoingthis,then.Hewasprobablyjusttryingtobepolite,andOlivesighedinwardly,thinkinglonginglyofherlabbench.“Toronto.”
“Right.You’reCanadian,”hesaid,likehe’dalreadyknown.
“Yep.”
“Whendidyoumovehere?”
“Eightyearsago.Forcollege.”
Henodded,asifstoringuptheinformation.“WhytheUS?Canadahasexcellentschools.”
“Igotafullride.”Itwastrue.Ifnotthewholetruth.
Hefidgetedwiththecardboardcupholder.“Doyougobackalot?”
“Notreally,no.”Olivelickedsomewhippedcreamoffherstraw.Shewaspuzzledwhenheimmediatelylookedawayfromher.
“Doyouplantomovebackhomeonceyougraduate?”
Shetensed.“NotifIcanhelpit.”ShehadlotsofpainfulmemoriesinCanada,andheronlyfamily,thepeopleshewantednearby,wereAnhandMalcolm,bothUScitizens.OliveandAnhhadevenmadeapactthatifOlivewaseveronthevergeoflosinghervisa,Anhwouldmarryher.Inhindsight,thisentirefake-datingbusinesswithAdamwasgoingtobegreatpracticeforwhenOliveleveledupandstarteddefraudingtheDepartmentofHomelandSecurityinearnest.
Adamnodded,takingasipofhiscoffee.“Favoritecolor?”
Oliveopenedhermouthtotellhimherfavoritecolor,whichwassomuchbetterthanhis,and…“Dammit.”
Hegaveheraknowinglook.“Difficult,isn’tit?”
“Therearesomanygoodones.”
“Yup.”
“I’mgoingtogowithblue.Lightblue.No,wait!”
“Mmm.”
“Let’ssaywhite.Okay,white.”
Hecluckedhistongue.“Youknow,Idon’tthinkIcanacceptthat.White’snotreallyacolor.Morelikeallcolorsputtogether—”
Olivepinchedhimonthefleshypartofhisforearm.
“Ow,”hesaid,clearlynotinpain.Withaslysmile,hewavedgoodbyeandturnedaway,headingforthebiologybuilding.
“Hey,Adam?”shecalledafterhim.
Hepausedandlookedbackather.
“Thanksforbuyingmethreedays’worthoffood.”
Hehesitatedandthennodded,once.Thatthinghewasdoingwithhismouth—hewasdefinitelysmilingdownather.Alittlebegrudgingly,butstill.
“Mypleasure,Olive.”
—
Today,2:40p.m.
FROM:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
TO:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Re:PancreaticCancerScreeningProject
Olive,
I’llbeflyinginonTuesdayafternoon.HowaboutwemeetonWednesdayaround3:00p.m.inAysegulAslan’slab?Mycollaboratorcanpointmeinitsdirection.
TB
SentfrommyiPhone
—
OLIVEWASLATEforhersecondfake-datingWednesday,too,butfordifferentreasons—allTomBentonrelated.
First,she’doversleptafterstayinguplatethepreviousnightrehearsinghowshewasgoingtosellhimherproject.She’drepeatedherspielsomanytimesthatMalcolmhadstartedfinishinghersentences,andthen,at1:00a.m.,he’dhurledanectarineatherandbeggedhertogopracticeinherroom.Whichshehad,until3:00a.m.
Then,inthemorning,she’drealizedthatherusuallaboutfit(leggings,ratty5KT-shirt,andvery,verymessybun)wouldprobablynotcommunicate“valuablefuturecolleague”toDr.Benton,andspentanexcessiveamountoftimelookingforsomethingappropriate.Dressforsuccessandallthat.
Finally,itoccurredtoherthatshehadnoideawhatDr.Benton—arguablythemostimportantpersoninherlifeatthemoment,andyes,shewasawareofhowsadthatsoundedbutdecidednottodwellonit—evenlookedlike.Shelookedhimuponherphoneandfoundoutthathewassomewhereinhislatethirties,blondwithblueeyes,andhadverystraight,verywhiteteeth.WhenshearrivedatthecampusStarbucks,OlivewaswhisperingtohisHarvardheadshot,“Please,letmecomeworkinyourlab.”ThenshenoticedAdam.
Itwasanuncharacteristicallycloudyday.StillAugust,butitalmostfeltlikelatefall.Oliveglancedathim,andsheimmediatelyknewthathewasinthenastiestofmoods.Thatrumorofhimthrowingapetridishagainstawallbecausehisexperimenthadn’tworkedout,orbecausetheelectronmicroscopeneededrepairs,orbecausesomethingequallyinconsequentialhadhappenedcametomind.Sheconsideredduckingunderthetable.
It’sokay,shetoldherself.Thisisworthit.ThingswithAnhwerebacktonormal.Betterthannormal:sheandJeremywereofficiallydating,andlastweekendAnhhadshoweduptobeers-and-s’moresnightwearingleggingsandanoversizeMITsweatershe’dclearlyborrowedfromhim.WhenOlivehadeatenlunchwiththetwoofthemtheotherday,ithadn’tevenfeltawkward.Plus,thefirst-,second-,andeventhird-yeargradsweretooscaredofAdamCarlsen’s“girlfriend”tostealOlive’spipettes,whichmeantthatshedidn’thavetostufftheminherbackpackandtakethemhomefortheweekendanymore.AndshewasgettingsomegradeAfreefoodoutofthis.ShecouldtakeAdamCarlsen—yes,eventhispitch-black-moodAdamCarlsen.Fortenminutesaweek,attheveryleast.
“Hey.”Shesmiled.Herespondedwithalookthatexudedmoodinessandexistentialangst.Olivetookafortifyingbreath.“Howareyou?”
“Fine.”Histonewasclipped,hisexpressiontenserthanusual.Hewaswearingaredplaidshirtandjeans,lookingmorelikeawood-choppinglumberjackthanascholarponderingthemysteriesofcomputationalbiology.Shecouldn’thelpnoticingthemusclesandwonderedagainifhehadhisclothescustom-made.Hishairwasstillabitlongbutshorterthanthepreviousweek.ItseemedalittlesurrealthatsheandAdamCarlsenwereatapointwhereshewasabletokeeptrackofbothhismoodsandhishaircuts.
“Readytogetcoffee?”shechirped
Henoddeddistractedly,barelylookingather.Onatableintheback,afifth-yearwasglancingatthemwhilepretendingtocleanthemonitorofhislaptop.
“SorryifIwaslate.Ijust—”
“It’sfine.”
“Didyouhaveagoodweek?”
“Fine.”
Okay.“Um…didyoudoanythingfunlastweekend?”
“Iworked.”
Theygotinlinetoorder,anditwasallOlivecoulddotostopherselffromsighing.“Weather’sbeennice,right?Nottoohot.”
Hegruntedinresponse.
Itwasstartingtobeabitmuch.TherewasalimittowhatOlivewoulddoforthisfake-datingrelationship—evenforafreemangoFrappuccino.Shesighed.“Isitbecauseofthehaircut?”
Thatgothisattention.Adamlookeddownather,averticallinedeepbetweenhiseyebrows.“What?”
“Themood.Isitbecauseofthehaircut?”
“Whatmood?”
Olivegesturedbroadlytowardhim.“This.Thebadmoodyou’rein.”
“I’mnotinabadmood.”
Shesnorted—thoughthatwasprobablynottherighttermforwhatshejustdid.Itwastooloudandderisive,morelikealaugh.Asnaugh.
“What?”Hefrowned,unappreciativeofhersnaugh.
“Comeon.”
“What?”
“Youoozemoodiness.”
“Idonot.”Hesoundedindignant,whichstruckherasoddlyendearing.
“Yousodo.Isawthatface,andIimmediatelyknew.”
“Youdidnot.”
“Idid.Ido.Butit’sfine,you’reallowedtobeinabadmood.”
Itwastheirturn,soshetookastepforwardandsmiledatthecashier.
“Goodmorning.I’llhaveapumpkinspicelatte.Andthatcreamcheesedanishoverthere.Yep,thatone,thankyou.And”—shepointedatAdamwithherthumb—“he’llhavechamomiletea.Nosugar,”sheaddedcheerfully.Sheimmediatelytookafewstepstotheside,hopingtoavoiddamageincaseAdamdecidedtothrowapetridishather.Shewassurprisedwhenhecalmlyhandedhiscreditcardtotheboybehindthecounter.Really,hewasn’tasbadastheymadehimouttobe.
“Ihatetea,”hesaid.“Andchamomile.”
Olivebeamedupathim.“Thatisunfortunate.”
“Yousmart-ass.”
Hestaredstraightahead,butshewasalmostcertainthathewasabouttocrackasmile.Therewasalottobesaidabouthimbutnotthathedidn’thaveasenseofhumor.
“So…notthehaircut?”
“Mm?Ah,no.Itwasaweirdlength.GettinginmywaywhileIwasrunning.”
Oh.Sohewasarunner.LikeOlive.“Okay.Great.Becauseitdoesn’tlookbad.”
Itlooksgood.Asin,reallygood.YouwereprobablyoneofthemosthandsomemenI’devertalkedtolastweek,butnowyoulookevenbetter.NotthatIcareaboutthesethings.Idon’tcareatall.Irarelynoticeguys,andI’mnotsurewhyI’mnoticingyou,oryourhair,oryourclothes,orhowtallandbroadyouare.Ireallydon’tgetit.Inevercare.Usually.Ugh.
“I…”Heseemedflusteredforasecond,hislipsmovingwithoutmakingasoundashelookedforanappropriateresponse.Then,outoftheblue,hesaid,“Italkedwiththedepartmentchairthismorning.He’sstillrefusingtoreleasemyresearchfunds.”
“Oh.”Shecockedherhead.“Ithoughttheyweren’tduetodecideuntiltheendofSeptember.”
“Theyaren’t.Thiswasaninformalmeeting,butthetopiccameup.Hesaidthathe’sstillmonitoringthesituation.”
“Isee.”Shewaitedforhimtocontinue.Whenitbecameclearthathewouldn’t,sheasked,“Monitoring…how?”
“Unclear.”Hewasclenchinghisjaw.
“I’msorry.”Shefeltforhim.Shereallydid.Iftherewassomethingshecouldempathizewith,itwasscientificstudiescomingtoanabrupthaltbecauseofalackofresources.“Doesthatmeanthatyoucan’tcontinueyourresearch?”
“Ihaveothergrants.”
“So…theproblemisthatyoucannotstartnewstudies?”
“Ican.Ihadtorearrangedifferentpots,butIshouldbeabletoaffordtostartnewlinesofresearch,too.”
Uh?“Isee.”Sheclearedherthroat.“So…letmerecap.ItsoundslikeStanfordfrozeyourfundsbasedonrumors,whichIagreeisacrappymove.Butitalsosoundslikefornowyoucanaffordtodowhatyouwereplanning,so…it’snottheendoftheworld?”
Adamgaveheranaffrontedglare,suddenlylookingevenmorecross.
Oh,boy.“Don’tgetmewrong,Iunderstandtheprincipleofthematter,andI’dbemad,too.Butyouhave,howmanyothergrants?Actually,don’tanswerthat.I’mnotsureIwanttoknow.”
Heprobablyhadfifteen.Healsohadtenure,anddozensofpublications,andtherewereallthosehonorslistedonhiswebsite.Nottomentionthatshe’dreadonhisCVthathehadonepatent.Olive,ontheotherhand,hadcheapknockoffreagentsandoldpipettesthatregularlygotstolen.Shetriednottodwellonhowmuchfurtheraheadthanherhewasinhiscareer,butitwasunforgettable,howgoodhewasatwhathedid.Howannoyinglygood.
“Mypointis,thisisnotaninsurmountableproblem.Andwe’reactivelyworkingonit.We’reinthistogether,showingpeoplethatyou’regoingtostayhereforeverbecauseofyouramazinggirlfriend.”
Olivepointedtoherselfwithaflourish,andhisglarefollowedherhand.Clearlyhewasnotafanofrationalizingandworkingthroughhisemotions.
“Or,youcouldstaymad,andwecouldgotoyourlabandthrowtesttubesfulloftoxicreagentsateachotheruntilthepainofthird-degreeburnsoverridesyourshittymood?Soundslikefun,no?”
Helookedawayandrolledhiseyes,butshecouldseeitinthecurveofhischeeksthathewasamused.Likelyagainsthiswill.“Youaresuchasmart-ass.”
“Maybe,butI’mnottheonewhogruntedwhenIaskedhowyourweekwas.”
“Ididnotgrunt.Andyouorderedmechamomiletea.”
Shesmiled.“You’rewelcome.”
TheywerequietforafewmomentsasshechewedthroughthefirstbiteofherDanish.Onceshe’dswallowedshesaid,“I’msorryaboutyourfunds.”
Heshookhishead.“I’msorryaboutthemood.”
Oh.“It’sokay.You’refamousforthat.”
“Iam?”
“Yep.It’skindofyourthing.”
“Isthatso?”
“Mmm.”
Hismouthtwitched.“MaybeIwantedtospareyou.”
Olivesmiled,becauseitwasactuallyanicethingtosay.Andhewasnotaniceperson,buthewasverykindtohermostofthetime—ifnotalways.Hewasalmostsmilingback,staringdownatherinawaythatshecouldn’tquiteinterpretbutthatmadeherthinkweirdthoughts,untilthebaristadepositedtheirdrinksonthecounter.Hesuddenlylookedlikehewasabouttoretch.
“Adam?Areyouokay?”
Hestaredathercupandtookastepback.“Thesmellofthatthing.”
Oliveinhaleddeeply.Heaven.“Youhatepumpkinspicelatte?”
Hewrinkledhisnose,movingevenfartheraway.“Gross.”
“Howcanyouhateit?It’sthebestthingyourcountryhasproducedinthepastcentury.”
“Please,standback.Thestench.”
“Hey.IfIhavetochoosebetweenyouandpumpkinspicelatte,maybeweshouldrethinkourarrangement.”
Heeyedhercuplikeitcontainedradioactivewaste.“Maybeweshould.”
Heheldthedooropenforherastheyexitedthecoffeeshop,takingcarenottocometooclosetoherdrink.Outsideitwasstartingtodrizzle.Studentswerehastilypackinguptheirlaptopsandnotebooksfromthepatiotablestoheadtoclassormovetothelibrary.Olivehadbeeninlovewiththerainsinceasfarbackasshecouldremember.Sheinhaleddeeplyandfilledherlungswithpetrichor,stoppingwithAdamunderthecanopy.Hetookasipofhischamomiletea,anditmadehersmile.
“Hey,”shesaid,“Ihaveanidea.Areyougoingtothefallbiosciencespicnic?”
Henodded.“Ihaveto.I’monthebiologydepartment’ssocial-and-networkingcommittee.”
Shelaughedoutloud.“Noway.”
“Yep.”
“Didyouactuallysignupforit?”
“It’sservice.Iwasforcedtorotateintotheposition.”
“Ah.Thatsounds…fun.”Shewincedsympathetically,almostlaughingagainathisappalledexpression.“Well,I’mgoing,too.Dr.Aslanmakesusallgo,saysitpromotesbondingamonglabmates.Doyoumakeyourgradsgo?”
“No.Ihaveother,moreproductivewaysofmakingmygradsmiserable.”
Shechuckled.Hewasfunny,inthatweird,darkwayofhis.“Ibetyoudo.Well,here’smyidea:weshouldhangwhenwe’rethere.Infrontofthedepartmentchair—sincehe’s‘monitoring.’I’llbatmyeyelashesatyou;he’llseethatwe’rebasicallyonestepawayfrommarriage.Thenhe’llmakeaquickphonecallandatruckwilldriveupandunloadyourresearchfundsincashrightthereinfrontof—”
“Hey,man!”
AblondmanapproachedAdam.OlivefellsilentasAdamturnedtosmileathimandexchangedahandshake—aclosebroshandshake.Sheblinked,wonderingifshewasseeingthings,andtookasipofherlatte.
“Ithoughtyou’dsleepin,”Adamwassaying.
“Thetimedifferencescrewedmeup.IfiguredImightaswellcometocampusandgettowork.Somethingtoeat,too.Youhavenofood,man.”
“Thereareapplesinthekitchen.”
“Right.Nofood.”
Olivetookastepback,readytoexcuseherself,whentheblondmanturnedhisattentiontoher.Helookedeerilyfamiliar,eventhoughshewascertainshehadnevermethimbefore.
“Andwho’sthis?”heaskedcuriously.Hiseyeswereaverypiercingblue
“ThisisOlive,”Adamsaid.Therewasabeatafterhername,inwhichheshouldhaveprobablyspecifiedhowheknewOlive.Hedidnot,andshereallycouldn’tblamehimfornotwantingtofeedtheirfake-datingcraptosomeonewhowasclearlyagoodfriend.ShejustkepthersmileinplaceandletAdamcontinue.“Olive,thisismycollaborator—”
“Dude.”Themanpretendedtobristle.“Introducemeasyourfriend.”
Adamrolledhiseyes,clearlyamused.“Olive,thisismyfriendandcollaborator.Dr.TomBenton.”ChapterFive
HYPOTHESIS:ThemoreIneedmybraintobeontopofitsgame,thehighertheprobabilitythatitwillfreezeonme.
“Waitaminute.”Dr.Bentontiltedhishead.Hissmilewasstillinplace,buthisgazebecamealittlesharper,hisfocusonOlivelesssuperficial.“Doyouhappentobe…”
Olivefroze.
Hermindwasnevercalm,ororderly—morelikeagarbledmessofthoughts,really.Andyet,standingthereinfrontofTomBenton,theinsideofherheadwentuncharacteristicallyquiet,andseveralconsiderationsstackedthemselvesneatlyintoplace.
Thefirstwasthatshewascomicallyluckless.Thechancesthatthepersonshedependedontofinishherbelovedresearchprojectwouldbeacquainted—no,friendswiththepersonshedependedontoensureherbelovedAnh’sromantichappinesswerelaughablylow.Andyet.Thenagain,Olive’sspecialbrandofluckwasnonews,soshemovedontothenextconsideration.
SheneededtoadmitwhoshewastoTomBenton.Theywerescheduledtomeetat3:00p.m.,andpretendingnottorecognizehimnowwouldmeanthekissofdeathtoherplanstoinfiltrateherselfintohislab.Academicshadhugeegos,afterall.
Lastconsideration:ifshephrasedthisright,shecouldprobablyavoidDr.Bentonhearingaboutthewholefake-datingmess.Adamhadn’tmentionedit,whichprobablymeantthathewasn’tplanningto.Olivejustneededtofollowhislead.
Yes.Excellentplan.Shehadthisinthebag.
Olivesmiled,heldontoherpumpkinspicelatte,andanswered,“Yes,I’mOliveSmith,the—”
“GirlfriendI’veheardsomuchabout?”
Shit.Shit,shit,shit.Sheswallowed.“Um,actuallyI—”
“Heardfromwhom?”Adamasked,frowning.
Dr.Bentonshrugged.“Everyone.”
“Everyone,”Adamrepeated.Hewasscowlingnow.“InBoston?”
“Yeah.”
“WhyarepeopleatHarvardtalkingaboutmygirlfriend?”
“Becauseyou’reyou.”
“BecauseI’mme?”Adamlookedperplexed.
“Therehavebeentears.Somehair-pulling.Afewbrokenhearts.Don’tworry,they’llgetoverit.”
Adamrolledhiseyes,andDr.BentonreturnedhisattentiontoOlive.Hesmiledather,offeringhishand.“It’sverynicetomeetyou.Ihadwrittenoffthewholegirlfriendthingasrumors,butI’mgladyou…exist.Sorry,Ididn’tcatchyourname—I’mterribleatnames.”
“I’mOlive.”Sheshookhishand.Hehadanicegrip,nottootightandnottoosoft.
“Whichdepartmentdoyouteach,Olive?”
Oh,crap.“Actually,Idon’t.Teach,thatis.”
“Oh,sorry.Ididn’tmeantoassume.”Hesmiled,apologeticandself-effacing.Therewasasmoothcharmtohim.Hewasyoungtobeaprofessor,thoughnotasyoungasAdam.Andhewastall,thoughnotastallasAdam.Andhewashandsome,though…yeah.NotashandsomeasAdam.
“Whatdoyoudo,then?Areyouaresearchfellow?”
“Um,Iactually—”
“She’sastudent,”Adamsaid.
Dr.Benton’seyeswidened.
“Agraduatestudent,”Adamclarified.Therewasahintofwarninginhistone,likehereallywantedDr.Bentontodropthesubject.
Dr.Benton,naturally,didnot.“Yourgraduatestudent?”
Adamfrowned.“No,ofcourseshe’snotmy—”
Thiswastheperfectopening.“Actually,Dr.Benton,IworkwithDr.Aslan.”Maybethismeetingwasstillsalvageable.“Youprobablydon’trecognizemyname,butwe’vecorresponded.We’resupposedtomeettoday.I’mthestudentwho’sworkingonthepancreaticcancerbiomarkers.Theonewhoaskedtocomeworkinyourlabforayear.”
Dr.Benton’seyeswidenedevenmore,andhemutteredsomethingthatsoundedalotlike“Whatthehell?”Thenhisfacestretchedintoawide,openmouthedgrin.“Adam,youabsoluteass.Youdidn’teventellme.”
“Ididn’tknow,”Adammuttered.HisgazewasfixedonOlive.
“Howcouldyounotknowthatyourgirlfriend—”
“Ididn’ttellAdam,becauseIdidn’tknowyoutwowerefriends,”Oliveinterjected.Andthenshethoughtthatmaybeitwasn’tquitebelievable.IfOlivereallywereAdam’sgirlfriend,he’dhavetoldherabouthisfriends.Since,inashockingplottwist,hedidappeartohaveatleastone.
“Thatis,I,um…neverputtwoandtwotogether,anddidn’tknowthatyouweretheTomhealwaystalkedabout.”There,better.Kindof.“I’msorry,Dr.Benton.Ididn’tmeanto—”
“Tom,”hesaid,grinstillinplace.Hisshockseemedtobesettlingintopleasantsurprise.“Please,callmeTom.”HiseyesdartedbetweenAdamandOliveforafewseconds.Thenhesaid,“Hey,areyoufree?”Hepointedatthecoffeeshop.“Whydon’twegoinsideandchataboutyourprojectnow?Nopointinwaitinguntilthisafternoon.”
Shetookasipofherlattetotemporize.Wasshefree?Technically,yes.Shewouldhavelovedtoruntotheedgeofcampusandscreamintothevoiduntilmoderncivilizationcollapsed,butthatwasn’texactlyapressingmatter.AndshewantedtolookasaccommodatingaspossibletoDr.Benton—Tom.Beggarsandchoosersandallthat.
“I’mfree.”
“Great.You,Adam?”
Olivefroze.AndsodidAdam,foraboutasecond,beforepointingout,“Idon’tthinkIshouldbepresent,ifyou’reabouttointerviewher—”
“Oh,it’snotaninterview.JustaninformalchattoseeifOlive’sandmyresearchmatch.You’llwanttoknowifyourgirlfriendismovingtoBostonforayear,right?Comeon.”HemotionedforthemtofollowhimandthensteppedinsidetheStarbucks.
OliveandAdamexchangedasilentlookthatsomehowmanagedtospeakvolumes.Itsaid,Whatthehelldowedo?andHowthehellwouldIknow?andThisisgoingtobeweird,andNo,it’sgoingtobeplainbad.ThenAdamsighed,putonaresignedface,andheadedinside.Olivefollowedhim,regrettingherlifechoices.
“Aslan’sretiring,huh?”Tomaskedafterthey’dfoundasecludedtableintheback.Olivehadnochoicebuttositacrossfromhim—andonAdam’sleft.Likeagood“girlfriend,”shesupposed.Her“boyfriend,”inthemeantime,wassullenlysippinghischamomileteanexttoher.Ishouldsnapapicture,shereflected.He’dmakeforanexcellentviralmeme.
“Inthenextfewyears,”Oliveconfirmed.Shelovedheradviser,whohadalwaysbeensupportiveandencouraging.SincetheverybeginningshehadgivenOlivethefreedomtodevelopherownresearchprogram,whichwasalmostunheardofforPh.D.students.Havingahands-offmentorwasgreatwhenitcametopursuingherinterests,but…
“IfAslan’sretiringsoon,she’snotapplyingforgrantsanymore—understandable,sinceshewon’tbearoundlongenoughtoseetheprojectsthrough—whichmeansthatyourlabisnotexactlyflushwithcashrightnow,”Tomsummarizedperfectly.“Okay,tellmeaboutyourproject.What’scoolaboutit?”
“I…,”Olivebegan—shescrambledtocollectherthoughts.“So,it’s—”Anotherpause.Longerthistime,andmorepainfullyawkward.“Um…”
This,precisely,washerproblem.Oliveknewthatshewasanexcellentscientist,thatshehadthedisciplineandthecritical-thinkingskillstoproducegoodworkinthelab.Unfortunatelysucceedinginacademiaalsorequiredtheabilitytopitchone’swork,sellittostrangers,presentitinpublic,andthatwasnotsomethingsheenjoyedorexcelledat.Itmadeherfeelpanickyandjudged,asthoughpinnedtoamicroscopeslide,andherabilitytoproducesyntacticallycoherentsentencesinvariablyleakedoutofherbrain.
Likerightnow.Olivefelthercheeksheatandhertonguetieand—
“Whatkindofquestionisthat?”Adaminterjected.
Whensheglancedathim,hewasscowlingatTom,whojustshrugged.
“What’scoolaboutyourproject?”Adamrepeatedback.
“Yeah.Cool.YouknowwhatImean.”
“Idon’tthinkIdo,andmaybeneitherdoesOlive.”
Tomhuffed.“Fine,whatwouldyouask?”
AdamturnedtoOlive.Hiskneebrushedherleg,warmandoddlyreassuringthroughherjeans.“Whatissuesdoesyourprojecttarget?Whydoyouthinkit’ssignificant?Whatgapsintheliteraturedoesitfill?Whattechniquesareyouusing?Whatchallengesdoyouforesee?”
Tomhuffed.“Right,sure.Considerallthoselong,boringquestionsasked,Olive.”
SheglancedatAdam,findingthathewasstudyingherwithacalm,encouragingexpression.Thewayhe’dformulatedthequestionshelpedherreorganizeherthoughts,andrealizingthatshehadanswersforeachonemeltedmostofherpanic.Itprobablyhadn’tbeenintentionalonAdam’spart,buthe’ddoneherasolid.
Olivewasremindedofthatguyfromthebathroom,fromyearsago.Ihavenoideaifyou’regoodenough,he’dtoldher.Whatmattersiswhetheryourreasontobeinacademiaisgoodenough.He’dsaidthatOlive’sreasonwasthebestone,andtherefore,shecoulddothis.Sheneededtodothis.
“Okay,”shestartedagainafteradeepbreath,gatheringwhatshe’drehearsedthepreviousnightwithMalcolm.“Here’sthedeal.Pancreaticcancerisveryaggressiveanddeadly.Ithasverypoorprognosis,withonlyoneoutoffourpeoplealiveayearafterdiagnosis.”Hervoice,shethought,soundedlessbreathyandmoreself-assured.Good.“Theproblemisthatit’ssohardtodetect,weareonlyabletodiagnoseitverylateinthegame.Atthatpoint,thecancerhasalreadyspreadsowidely,mosttreatmentscan’tdomuchtocounteractit.Butifdiagnosiswerefaster—”
“Peoplecouldgettreatmentsoonerandhaveahigherchanceofsurvival,”Tomsaid,noddingabitimpatiently.“Yep,I’mwellaware.Wealreadyhavesomescreeningtools,though.Likeimaging.”
Shewasn’tsurprisedhebroughtitup,sinceimagingwaswhatTom’slabfocusedon.“Yes,butthat’sexpensive,time-consuming,andoftennotusefulbecauseofthepancreas’sposition.But…”Shetookanotherdeepbreath.“IthinkIhavefoundasetofbiomarkers.Notfromtissuebiopsy—bloodbiomarkers.Noninvasive,easytoobtain.Cheap.Inmicetheycandetectpancreaticcancerasearlyasstageone.”
Shepaused.TomandAdamwerebothstaringather.Tomwasclearlyinterested,andAdamlooked…alittleweird,tobehonest.Impressed,maybe?Nah,impossible.
“Okay.Thissoundspromising.What’sthenextstep?”
“Collectingmoredata.Runningmoreanalyseswithbetterequipmenttoprovethatmysetofbiomarkersisworthyofaclinicaltrial.ButforthatIneedalargerlab.”
“Isee.”Henoddedwithathoughtfulexpressionandthenleanedbackinhischair.“Whypancreaticcancer?”
“It’soneofthemostlethal,andweknowsolittleabouthow—”
“No,”Tominterrupted.“Mostthird-yearPh.D.studentsaretoobusyinfightingoverthecentrifugetocomeupwiththeirownlineofresearch.Theremustbeareasonyou’resomotivated.Didsomeoneclosetoyouhavecancer?”
Oliveswallowedbeforereluctantlyanswering,“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Tom,”Adamsaid,atraceofwarninginhisvoice.Hiskneewasstillagainstherthigh.Stillwarm.Andyet,Olivefeltherbloodturncold.Shereally,reallydidn’twanttosayit.Andyetshecouldn’tignorethequestion.SheneededTom’shelp.
“Mymother.”
Okay.Itwasouttherenow.She’dsaidit,andshecouldgobacktotryingnottothinkaboutit—
“Didshedie?”
Abeat.Olivehesitatedandthennoddedsilently,notlookingateitherofthemenatthetable.SheknewTomwasn’ttryingtobemean—peoplewerecurious,afterall.Butitwasn’tsomethingOlivewantedtodiscuss.Shebarelyevertalkedaboutit,evenwithAnhandMalcolm,andshehadcarefullyavoidedwritingaboutherexperienceinhergradschoolapplications,evenwheneveryonehadtoldheritwouldgiveheralegup.
Shejust…Shecouldn’t.Shejustcouldn’t.
“Howoldwereyou—”
“Tom,”Adaminterrupted,tonesharp.Hesethisteadownwithmoreforcethannecessary.“Stopharassingmygirlfriend.”Itwaslessofawarningandmoreofathreat.
“Right.Yes.I’maninsensitiveass.”Tomsmiled,apologetic.
Olivenoticedthathewaslookingathershoulder.Whenshefollowedhisgaze,sherealizedthatAdamhadplacedhisarmonthebackofherchair.Hewasn’ttouchingher,buttherewassomething…protectiveabouthisposition.Heseemedtogeneratelargeamountsofheat,whichwasnotatallunwelcome.IthelpedmelttheyuckyfeelingtheconversationwithTomhadleftbehind
“Thenagain,soisyourboyfriend.”Tomwinkedather.“Okay,Olive.Tellyouwhat.”Tomleanedforward,elbowsonthetable.“I’vereadyourpaper.AndtheabstractyousubmittedtotheSBDconference.Areyoustillplanningtogo?”
“Ifit’saccepted.”
“I’msureitwillbe.It’sexcellentwork.Butitsoundslikeyourprojecthasprogressedsinceyousubmittedthat,andIneedtoknowmoreaboutit.IfIdecidethatyoucanworkinmylabnextyear,I’llcoveryoucompletely—salary,supplies,equipment,whateveryouneed.ButIneedtoknowwhereyou’reattomakesurethatyou’reworthinvestingin.”
Olivefeltherheartracing.Thissoundedpromising.Verypromising.
“Here’sthedeal.I’mgoingtogiveyoutwoweekstowriteupareportoneverythingyou’vebeendoingsofar—protocols,findings,challenges.Intwoweeks,sendmethereportandI’llmakeadecisionbasedonit.Doesthatsoundfeasible?”
Shegrinned,noddingenthusiastically.“Yes!”Shecouldabsolutelydothat.She’dneedtopulltheintrofromoneofherpapers,themethodsfromherlabprotocols,thepreliminarydatafromthatgrantshe’dappliedforandnotwon.Andshe’dhavetorerunsomeofheranalyses—justtomakesurethatthereportwasabsolutelyflawlessforTom.Itwouldbelotsofworkinlittletime,butwhoneededsleep?Orbathroombreaks?
“Great.InthemeantimeI’llseeyouaroundandwecanchatmore.AdamandIwillbejoinedatthehipforacoupleofweeks,sincewe’reworkingonthatgrantwejustgot.Areyoucomingtomytalktomorrow?”
Olivehadnoideahewasgivingatalk,letalonewhenorwhere,butshesaid“Ofcourse!Can’twait!”withthecertaintyofsomeonewhohadinstalledacountdownwidgetonhersmartphone.
“AndI’mstayingwithAdam,soI’llseeyouathisplace.”
Ohno.“Um…”SheriskedaglanceatAdam,whowasunreadable.“Sure.Thoughweusuallymeetatmyplace,so…”
“Isee.Youdisapproveofhistaxidermycollection,don’tyou?”Tomstoodwithasmirk.“Excuseme.I’llgetsomecoffeeandberightback.”
Thesecondhewasgone,OliveinstantlyturnedtoAdam.Nowthattheywerealonetherewereabouttenmilliontopicsforthemtodebriefon,buttheonlythingshecouldthinkofwas,“Doyoureallycollecttaxidermiedanimals?”
Hegaveherascathinglookandtookhisarmawayfromaroundhershoulders.Shefeltcoldallofasudden.Bereft
“I’msorry.Ihadnoideahewasyourfriend,orthatyoutwohadagranttogether.Youdosuchdifferentresearch,thepossibilitydidn’tevencrossmymind.”
“Youdidmentionthatyoudon’tbelievecancerresearcherscanbenefitfromcollaboratingwithcomputationalmodelists.”
“You—”Shenoticedthewayhismouthwastwitchingandwonderedwhenexactlythey’dgottenonteasingterms.“Howdoyoutwoknoweachother?”
“Hewasapostdocinmylab,backwhenIwasaPh.D.student.We’vekeptintouchandcollaboratedthroughtheyears.”
SohemustbefourorfiveyearsolderthanAdam.
“YouwenttoHarvard,right?”
Henodded,andaterrifyingthoughtoccurredtoher.“WhatifhefeelsobligedtotakemeonbecauseI’myourfakegirlfriend?”
“Tomwon’t.Heoncefiredhiscousinforbreakingaflowcytometer.He’snotexactlytenderhearted.”
Takesonetoknowone,shethought.“Listen,I’msorrythisisforcingyoutolietoyourfriend.Ifyouwanttotellhimthatthisisfake…”
Adamshookhishead.“IfIdid,I’dneverliveitdown.”
Sheletoutalaugh.“Yeah,Icanseethat.Andhonestlyitwouldn’treflectwellonme,either.”
“But,Olive,ifyoudoendupdecidingthatyouwanttogotoHarvard,I’llneedyoutokeepitasecretuntiltheendofSeptember.”
Shegasped,realizingtheimplicationsofhiswords.“Ofcourse.IfpeopleknowthatI’mleaving,thedepartmentchairwillneverbelievethatyou’renotleaving,too.Ihadn’teventhoughtofit.IpromiseIwon’ttellanyone!Well,exceptforMalcolmandAnh,butthey’regreatatkeepingsecrets,they’dnever—”
Hiseyebrowrose.Olivewinced.
“Iwillmakethemkeepthissecret.Iswear.”
“Iappreciateit.”
ShenoticedthatTomwasonhiswaybacktothetableandleanedclosertoAdamtoquicklywhisper,“Onemorething.Thetalkhementioned,theonehe’sgivingtomorrow?”
“Theoneyou‘can’twait’for?”
Olivebittheinsideofhercheek.“Yes.Whenandwhereisitgoingtobe?”
AdamlaughedsilentlyjustasTomsatdownagain.“Don’tworry.I’llemailyouthedetails.”ChapterSix
HYPOTHESIS:Whencomparedwithmultipletypesandmodelsoffurniture,AdamCarlsen’slapwillberatedinthetopfifthpercentileforcomfort,coziness,andenjoyment.
ThemomentOliveopenedthedooroftheauditoriumsheandAnhexchangedawide-eyedlookandsaid,inunison,“Holyshit.”
InhertwoyearsatStanfordshehadbeentocountlessseminars,trainings,lectures,andclassesinthislecturehall,andyetshe’dneverseentheroomthisfull.MaybeTomwasgivingoutfreebeer?
“Ithinktheymadethetalkmandatoryforimmunologyandpharmacology,”Anhsaid.“AndIoverheardatleastfivepeopleinthehallwaysayingthatBentonis‘aknownsciencehottie.’?”Shestaredcriticallyatthepodium,whereTomwaschattingwithDr.Mossfromimmunology.“Iguesshe’scute.ThoughnotnearlyascuteasJeremy.”
Olivesmiled.Theairintheroomwashotandhumid,smellinglikesweatandtoomanyhumanbeings.“Youdon’thavetostay.Thisisprobablyafirehazardandnotevenremotelyrelevanttoyourresearch—”
“Itbeatsdoingactualwork.”ShegrabbedOlive’swrist,pullingherthroughthethrongofgradsandpostdocscrowdingtheentranceanddownthestairsontheside.Theywerejustaspacked.“AndifthisguyisgoingtotakeyouawayfrommeandtoBostonforanentireyear,Iwanttomakesurethathedeservesyou.”Shewinked.“Considermypresencetheequivalentofafathercleaninghisrifleinfrontofhisdaughter’sboyfriendbeforeprom.”
“Aww,Daddy.”
Therewasnowheretosit,ofcourse,notevenonthefloororonthesteps.OlivespottedAdaminanaisleseatafewmetersaway.HewasbacktohisusualblackHenleyanddeepinconversationwithHoldenRodrigues.WhenAdam’seyesmetOlive’s,shegrinnedandwavedathim.Forsomeyetunknownreasonthatlikelyhadtodowiththefactthattheyweresharingthishuge,ridiculous,unlikelysecret,Adamnowfeltlikeafriendlyface.Hedidn’twaveback,buthisgazeseemedsofterandwarmer,andhismouthcurvedintothattiltthatshe’dlearnedtorecognizeashisversionofasmile.
“Ican’tbelievetheydidn’tswitchthetalktooneofthebiggerauditoriums.Thereisnotnearlyenoughspacefor—Oh,no.No,no,no.”
OlivefollowedAnh’sgaze,andsawatleasttwentynewpeoplearrive.ThecrowdimmediatelystartedpushingOlivetowardthefrontoftheroom.Anhyelpedwhenafirst-yearfromneurosciencewhoweighedaboutfourtimesasmuchasshedidsteppedonhertoe.“Thisisridiculous.”
“Iknow.Ican’tbelievemorepeopleare—”
Olive’shipbumpedagainstsomething—someone.Sheturnedtoapologize,and—itwasAdam.Or,Adam’sshoulder.HewasstillchattingwithDr.Rodrigues,whoworeadispleasedexpressionandwasmuttering,“Whyareweevenhere?”
“Becausehe’safriend,”Adamsaid.
“Notmyfriend.”
AdamsighedandturnedtolookatOlive.
“Hey—sorry.”Shegesturedinthedirectionoftheentrance.“Abunchofnewpeoplejustcameinandapparentlythespaceinthisroomisfinite.Ithinkit’salawofphysics,orsomething.”
“It’sokay.”
“I’dtakeastepback,but…”
Onthepodium,Dr.MosstookthemicandbeganintroducingTom.
“Here,”AdamtoldOlive,makingtostandfromhischair.“Takemyseat.”
“Oh.”Itwasniceofhimtooffer.Notfake-dating-to-save-her-ass,spend-twenty-bucks-on-junk-food-for-hernice,butstillverynice.Olivecouldn’tpossiblyaccept.Plus,Adamwasaprofessor,whichmeantthathewasolderandallthat.Thirtysomething.Hedidlookfit,butheprobablyhadabumkneeandwasonlyafewyearsshortofosteoporosis.“Thankyou,but—”
“Actually,thatwouldbeaterribleidea,”Anhinterjected.HereyesweredartingbetweenOliveandAdam.“Nooffense,Dr.Carlsen,butyou’rethreetimeslargerthanOlive.Ifyoustand,theroom’sgoingtoburst.”
AdamstaredatAnhlikehehadnoideawhetherhe’djustbeeninsulted.
“But,”shecontinued,thistimelookingatOlive,“it’dbegreatifyoucoulddomeasolidandsitonyourboyfriend’slap,Ol.JustsoIdon’thavetostandonmytoes?”
Oliveblinked.Andthensheblinkedagain.Andthensheblinkedsomemore.Nearthepodium,Dr.MosswasstillintroducingTom—“GothisPh.D.fromVanderbiltandthenmovedtoapostdoctoralfellowshipatHarvardUniversity,wherehepioneeredseveraltechniquesinthefieldofimaging”—buthervoicesoundedasifitwascomingfromfar,faraway.PossiblybecauseOlivecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutwhatAnhhadproposed,whichwasjust.
“Anh,Idon’tthinkit’sagoodidea,”Olivemumbledunderherbreath,avoidingglancinginAdam’sdirection.
Anhgaveheralook.“Why?You’retakingupspacewedon’thave,andit’sonlylogicalthatyouuseCarlsenasachair.Iwould,buthe’syourboyfriend,notmine.”
Foramoment,OlivetriedtoimaginewhatAdamwoulddoifAnhdecidedtositonhislap,andfiguredthatitwouldprobablyendupinvolvingsomeonebeingmurderedandsomeonedoingthemurdering—shewasn’tsurewho’dbedoingwhat.Thementalimagewassoridiculousthatshealmostgiggledoutloud.ThenshenoticedthewayAnhwaslookingatherexpectantly.“Anh,Ican’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.Thisisascientifictalk.”
“Psh.Rememberlastyear,whenJessandAlexmadeoutforhalfofthatCRISPRlecture?”
“Ido—anditwasweird.”
“Nah,itwasn’t.Also,Malcolmswearsthatduringaseminarhesawthattallguyfromimmunologygetahandjobfrom—”
“Anh.”
“Thepointis,noonecares.”Anh’sexpressionsoftenedintoaplea.“Andthisgirl’selbowispuncturingmyrightlung,andIhaveaboutthirtysecondsofairleft.Please,Olive.”
OliveturnedtofaceAdam.Whowas,veryunsurprisingly,lookingupatherwiththatnonexpressionofhis,theonethatOlivecouldn’tquitedecipher.Exceptthathisjawwasworking,andshewonderedifmaybethiswasit.Thelaststraw.Themomenthebackedoutoftheirarrangement.Becausemillionsofdollarsinresearchfundscouldn’tbeworthhavingsomegirlhebarelyknewsitonhislapinthemostcrowdedroominthehistoryofcrowdedrooms.
Isthisokay?shetriedtoaskhimwithhereyes.Becausemaybethisisalittletoomuch.Waymorethansayinghitoeachotherandhavingcoffeetogether.
Hegaveherabriefnod,andthen—Olive,oratleastOlive’sbody,wassteppingtowardAdamandgingerlysittingonhisthigh,herkneestuckedbetweenhisspreadlegs.Itwashappening.Ithadhappenedalready.Olivewashere.
Sitting.
On.
Adam.
This.Yep,this
Thiswasherlifenow.
ShewasgoingtomurderAnhforthis.Slowly.Maybepainfully,too.Shewasgoingtobejailedforbestfriendicide,andshewasa-okaywithit.
“I’msorry,”shewhisperedtoAdam.Hewassotall,hermouthwasnotquitelevelwithhisear.Shecouldsmellhim—thewoodsinessofhisshampoo,hisbodywash,andsomethingelseunderneath,darkandgoodandclean.Itallfeltfamiliar,andafterafewsecondsOliverealizedthatitwasbecauseofthelasttimetheyhadbeenthisclose.BecauseofTheNight.Becauseofthekiss.“So,sosorry.”
Hedidn’timmediatelyanswer.Hisjawtensed,andhelookedinthedirectionofthePowerPoint.Dr.Mosswasgone,Tomwastalkingaboutcancerdiagnostics,andOlivewouldhavegobbledthisuponaregularday,butrightnowshejustneededout.Ofthetalk.Oftheroom.Ofherownlife.
ThenAdamturnedhisfacealittleandtoldher,“It’sokay.”Hesoundedabitstrained.Likenothingaboutthissituationwas,infact,okay.
“I’msorry.Ihadnoideashewouldsuggestthis,andIcouldn’tthinkofawayto—”
“Sssh.”Hisarmslidaroundherwaist,hishandcomingtorestonherhipinagesturethatshouldhavebeenunpleasantbutjustfeltreassuring.Hisvoicewaslowwhenheadded,“It’sfine.”Thewordsvibratedinherear,richandwarm.“MorematerialformyTitleIXcomplaint.”
Shit.“God,I’msosorry—”
“Olive.”
Sheliftedhereyestocatchhisandwasshockedtofindhim…notsmiling,butsomethinglikeit.
“Iwaskidding.Youweighnothing.Idon’tmind.”
“I—”
“Ssh.Justfocusonthetalk.Tommightaskyouquestionsaboutit.”
Thiswasjust…Seriously,thiswholebusiness,itwascompletely,utterly
Comfortable.AdamCarlsen’slapwasoneofthemostcomfortableplacesonearth,asitturnedout.Hewaswarmandsolidinapleasant,soothingway,andhedidn’tseemtomindtoomuchhavingOlivehalfdrapedoverhim.Afterashortwhilesherealizedthattheroomwastrulytoofullforanyonetobepayingattentiontothem,exceptforaquickglancefromHoldenRodrigues,whostudiedAdamforalongmomentandthensmiledwarmlyatOlivebeforefocusingonthetalk.ShestoppedpretendingtobeabletoholdherspineuprightformorethanfiveminutesandjustletherselfleanintoAdam’storso.Hedidn’tsayanythingbutangledhimselfalittle,justtohelpherfitmorecomfortably.
SomewherehalfwaythroughthetalksherealizedthatshehadbeenslidingdownAdam’sthigh.Or,tobefair,Adamrealizedandliftedherup,straighteningherinafirm,quickpullthatmadeherfeellikeshereallydidn’tweighanything.Onceshewasstableagain,hedidn’tmovehisarmfromwhereitwassnakedaroundherwaist.Thetalkhadbeenhappeningforthirty-fiveminutesgoingonacentury,sonoonecouldblameOliveifshesankintohimalittlebitmore.
Itwasfine.Itwasmorethanfine,actually.Itwasnice.
“Don’tfallasleep,”hemurmured.Shefelthislipsmoveagainstthetendrilsofhairabovehertemple.ItshouldhavebeenOlive’scuetostraighten,butshecouldn’tquitemakeherself.
“I’mnot.Thoughyou’resocomfy.”
Hisfingerstightenedonher,maybetowakeherup,maybetoholdhercloser.Shewasabouttomeltoffthechairandstartsnoring.
“Youlooklikeyou’reabouttotakeanap.”
“It’sjustthatI’vereadallofTom’sarticles.Ialreadyknowwhathe’ssaying.”
“Yeah,same.Wecitedallthisstuffinourgrantproposal.”Hesighed,andshefelthisbodymoveunderhers.“Thisisdull.”
“Maybeyoushouldaskaquestion.Toliventhisup.”
Adamturnedslightlytoher.“Me?”
Sheangledherheadtospeakinhisear.“I’msureyoucancomeupwithsomething.Justraiseyourhandandmakeameanobservationwiththattoneofyours.Glareathim.Itmightdevolveintoanentertainingoutbreakoffisticuffs.”
Hischeekcurved.“Youaresuchasmart-ass.”
Olivelookedbacktotheslides,smiling.“Hasitbeenweird?HavingtolietoTomaboutus?”
Adamseemedtothinkaboutit.“No.”Hehesitated.“Itlookslikeyourfriendsarebuyingthatwe’retogether.”
“Ithinkso.I’mnotexactlyaconvincingliar,andsometimesIworrythatAnhmightgetsuspicious.ButIwalkedinonherandJeremymakingoutinthegradloungetheotherday.”
Theyfellquietandlistenedtothelastfewminutesofthetalkinsilence.Infrontofthem,Olivecouldseeatleasttwoprofessorstakinganap,andseveralsurreptitiouslyworkingontheirlaptops.NexttoAdam,Dr.RodrigueshadbeenplayingCandyCrushonhisphoneforthepasthalfanhour.Somepeoplehadleft,andAnhhadfoundaseatabouttenminutesago.SohadseveralofthestudentswhohadbeennexttoOlive,whichmeantthatshecouldhavetechnicallystoodupandleftAdamalone.Technically.Technically,therewasanopenchairsomewhereinthethird-to-lastrow.Technically.
InsteadshebroughtherlipstoAdam’searoncemoreandwhispered,“It’sworkingoutwellforme,Ihavetosay.Thiswholefake-datingthing.”Morethanwell.Betterthansheeverthoughtitwould.
Adamblinkedonceandthennodded.Maybehisarmtensedalittlearoundher.Maybeitdidn’t,andOlive’smindwasplayingtricksonher.Itwasstartingtogetlate,afterall.Herlastcoffeehadbeentoolongago,andshewasn’tfullyawake,herthoughtsfuzzyandrelaxed.
“Whataboutyou?”
“Mmm?”Adamwasn’tlookingather
“Isitworkingforyou?”Itcameoutalittleneedy.Olivetoldherselfthatitwasonlybecauseofhowlowshehadtopitchhervoice.“Ordoyoumaybewanttofake–breakupearly?”
Hedidn’treplyforasecond.Then,justasDr.MosstookthemictothankTomandasktheaudienceforquestions,sheheardhimsay,“No.Idon’twanttofake–breakup.”
Hereallydidsmellgood.Andhewasfunnyinaweird,deadpanway,andyes,aknownass,butfriendlyenoughtoherthatshecouldsortofignorethatabouthim.Plus,hewasspendingasmallfortuneonsugarforher.Truly,shehadnothingtocomplainabout.
Olivesettledherselfmorecomfortablyandturnedherattentionbacktothepodium.
—
AFTERTHETALK,OliveconsideredwalkingdowntothepodiumtocomplimentTomandaskhimoneortwoquestionsshealreadyknewtheanswersto.Sadly,thereweredozensofpeoplewaitingtospeaktohim,andshedecidedthattheass-kissingwasn’tworthstandinginline.SoshesaidgoodbyetoAdam,waitedforAnhtowakeupfromhernapwhilecontemplatinggettingrevengebydrawingadickonherface,andthenslowlyheadedwithheracrosscampusbacktothebiologybuilding.
“Isitgoingtobealotofwork,thereportBentonaskedfor?”
“Afairamount.Ineedtorunafewcontrolstudiestomakemyresultsstronger.Plusthere’sotherstuffIshouldbeworkingon—theTA’ing,andmyposterpresentationfortheSBDconferenceinBoston.”Olivebentherheadback,feltthesunwarmherskin,andsmiled.“IfIholeupinthelabeverynightthisweekandthenext,Ishouldbeabletofinishitontime.”
“SBDissomethingtolookforwardto,atleast.”
Olivenodded.Sheusuallywasn’tafanofacademicconferences,givenhowprohibitivelyexpensiveregistration,travel,andlodgingscouldbe.ButMalcolmandAnhweregoingtobeatSBD,too,andOlivewasexcitedtoexploreBostonwiththem.Plus,theintradepartmentaldramathatalwayshappenedatacademicfunctionswithopenbarswassuretobeA+entertainment.
“IamorganizingthisoutreacheventforBIPOCwomeninSTEMfromalloverthecountry—I’mgoingtogetPh.D.studentslikemetotalkface-to-facewithundergradswhoareapplyingandreassurethemthatiftheycometogradschooltheywon’tbealone.”
“Anh,thisisamazing.Youareamazing.”
“Iknow.”Anhwinked,slidingherarmthroughOlive’s.“Wecanallshareahotelroom.Andgetfreegadgetsfromtheexhibitbooths,andgetsloshedtogether.RememberatHumanGenetics,whenMalcolmgotwastedandbeganhittingrandompassersbywithhispostertube—What’sgoingonthere?”
Olivesquintedagainstthesun.Theparkinglotofthebiologybuildingwasuncharacteristicallyjammedwithtraffic.Peoplewereblowingtheirhornsandgettingoutoftheircars,tryingtofigureoutthesourceoftheholdup.SheandAnhwalkedaroundalineofvehiclesstuckinthelot,untiltheyranintoagroupofbiologygrads.
“Someone’sbatterydied,andit’sblockingtheexitline.”Greg,oneofOlive’slabmates,wasrollinghiseyesandbouncingimpatientlyonhisfeet.Hepointedataredtruckstucksidewaysinthemostinconvenientturn.
OliverecognizeditasCherie’s,thedepartmentsecretary.
“Idefendmydissertationproposaltomorrow—Ineedtodrivehometoprepare.Thisisridiculous.AndwhythefuckisCheriejuststandingthere,chattingleisurelywithCarlsen?Dotheywantustobringthemteaandcucumbersandwiches?”
Olivelookedaround,searchingforAdam’stallframe.
“Ohyeah,there’sCarlsen,”Anhsaid.Olivelookedwhereshewaspointing,justintimetoseeCheriegetbackbehindthewheelandAdamjoggingaroundthetruck.
“Whatishe—”wasallOlivemanagedtosay,beforehecametoastop,puthishandsonthebackofthetruckinneutral,andstarted…
Pushing.
HisshouldersandbicepsstrainedhisHenley.Thefirmmusclesofhisupperbackvisiblyshiftedandtensedundertheblackfabricashebentforwardandrolledseveraltonsoftruckacross…quiteabitofadistanceandintotheclosestemptyparkingspace.
Oh.
Therewassomeapplauseandwhistlingfrombystanderswhenthetruckwasoutoftheway,andacoupleoffacultymembersfromneuroscienceclappedAdamontheshoulderasthelineofcarsstarteddrivingoutofthelot.
“Fuckingfinally,”OliveheardGregsayfrombehindher,andshestoodthere,blinking,alittleshocked.Hadshehallucinatedit?HadAdamreallyjustpushedagianttruckallbyhimself?WasheanalienfromplanetKryptonwhomoonlightedasasuperhero?
“Ol,gogivehimakiss.”
Olivewhirledaround,abruptlyremindedofAnh’sexistence.“What?”No.No.“I’mgood.Ijustsaidgoodbyetohimaminuteagoand—”
“Ol,whydon’tyouwanttogokissyourboyfriend?”
Ugh.“I…It’snotthatIdon’twantto.Ijust—”
“Dude,hejustmovedatruck.Byhimself.Onuphillground.Hedeservesadamnkiss.”AnhshovedOliveandmadeashooingmotion.
OliveclenchedherteethandheadedinAdam’sdirection,wishingshe’dgoneaheadanddrawntwentydicksalloverAnh’sface.MaybeshedidsuspectthatOlivewasfakingherrelationshipwithAdam.OrmaybeshejustgotakickoutofpressuringherintoPDA’ing,thatingrate.Eitherway,ifthiswaswhatonegotformastermindinganintricatefake-datingschemethatwassupposedtobenefitafriend’slovelife,thenmaybe—
Olivehaltedabruptly.
Adam’sheadwasbentforward,blackhaircoveringhisforeheadashewipedthesweatfromhiseyeswiththehemofhisshirt.Itleftabroadstripoffleshvisibleonhistorso,and—itwasnothingindecent,really,nothingunusual,justsomefitguy’smidriff,butforsomereasonOlivecouldn’thelpstaringatAdamCarlsen’suncoveredskinlikeitwasaslabofItalianmarble,and—
“Olive?”hesaid,andsheimmediatelyavertedhereyes.Crap,he’dtotallycaughtherstaring.Firstshe’dforcedhimtokissher,andnowshewasoglinghimlikesomepervinthebiologyparkinglotand—
“Didyouneedanything?”
“No,I…”Shefelthercheeksgocrimson.
Hisskin,too,wasflushedfromtheeffortofpushing,andhiseyeswerebrightandclear,andheseemed…well,atleasthedidn’tseemunhappytoseeher.
“Anhsentmetogiveyouakiss.”
Hefrozehalfwaythroughwipinghishandsonhisshirt.Andthenhesaid“Ah”inhisusualneutral,unreadabletone.
“Becauseyoumovedthetruck.I—Iknowhowridiculousthatsounds.Iknow.ButIdidn’twanthertogetsuspicious,andtherearefacultymembershere,too,somaybethey’lltellthedepartmentchairanditwillbetwobirdswithonestoneandIcanleaveifyou—”
“It’sokay,Olive.Breathe.”
Right.Yes.Goodsuggestion.Olivedidbreathe,andtheactmadeherrealizethatshehadn’tdonethatinawhile,whichinturnmadehersmileupatAdam—whodidhismouth-twitchthingbackather.Shewasreallystartingtogetusedtohim.Tohisexpressions,hissize,hisdistinctivewayofbeinginthesamespaceasher.
“Anh’sstaringatus,”hesaid,lookingoverOlive’shead.
Olivesighedandpinchedthebridgeofhernose.“Ijustbetsheis,”shemumbled.
Adamwipedsweatfromhisforeheadwiththebackofhishand.
Olivesquirmed.“So…Shouldwehugorsomething?”
“Oh.”Adamlookedathishandsanddownathimself.“Idon’tthinkyouwanttodothat.I’mprettygross.”
BeforeshecouldstopherselfOlivestudiedhimfromheadtotoe,takinginhislargebody,hisbroadshoulders,thewayhishairwascurlingaroundhisears.Hedidn’tlookgross.NoteventoOlive,whowasusuallynotafanofdudesbuiltliketheyspentadouble-digitpercentageoftheirtimeatthegym.Helooked…
Notgross.
Still,maybeitwasbetteriftheydidn’thug.Olivemightendupdoingsomethingegregiouslystupid.Sheshouldjustsaygoodbyeandleave—yes,thatwasthethingtodo.
Exceptthatsomethingabsolutelyinsanecameoutofhermouth.
“Shouldwejustkiss,then?”sheheardherselfblurtout.Andthensheinstantlywishedastraymeteoritewouldhittheexactspotwhereshewasstanding,because—hadshejustaskedAdamCarlsenforakiss?Wasthatwhatshe’ddone?Wasshealunaticallofasudden?
“Imean,notlikeakisskiss,”shehastenedtoadd.“Butlikethelasttime?Youknow.”
Hedidn’tseemtoknow.Whichmadesense,becausetheirotherkisshaddefinitelybeenakisskiss.Olivetriednottothinkaboutittoomuch,butitflashedinhermindeveryonceinawhile,mostlywhenshewasdoingsomethingimportantthatrequiredherutmostconcentration,likeimplantingelectrodesinsideamouse’spancreasortryingtodecidewhattoorderatSubway.Occasionallyitwouldpopupduringaquietmoment,likewhenshewasinbedandabouttofallasleep,andshewouldfeelamixtureofembarrassmentandincredulityandsomethingelse.Somethingthatshehadnointentionofexaminingtooclosely,notnowandnotever.
“Areyousure?”
Shenodded,eventhoughshewasn’tsureatall.“IsAnhstillstaringatus?”
Hiseyesflickedup.“Yes.She’snotevenpretendingnotto.I…whydoesshecaresomuch?Areyoufamous?”
“No,Adam.”Shegesturedathim.“Youare.”
“AmI?”Helookedperplexed.
“Anyway,noneedtokiss.You’rerightthatitwouldprobablybeabitweird.”
“No.No,Ididn’tmeanthat…”Therewasadropletofsweatrunningdownhistemple,andhewipedhisfaceagain,thistimewiththesleeveofhisshirt.“Wecankiss.”
“Oh.”
“Ifyouthinkthat…Ifyourfriendiswatching.”
“Yeah.”Oliveswallowed.“Butwedon’thaveto.”
“Iknow.”
“Unlessyouwantto.”Olive’spalmsfeltdampandclammy,soshesurreptitiouslywipedthemonherjeans.“Andby‘wantto’Imean,unlessyouthinkit’sagoodidea.”Itsowasnotagoodidea.Itwasahorribleidea.Likeallherideas.
“Right.”HelookedpastOliveandtowardAnh,whowasprobablyinthemiddleofdoinganentireInstagramStoryonthem.“Okay,then.”
“Okay.”
Hesteppedalittlecloser,andreally,hewasnotgross.Howsomeonethissweaty,someonewho’djustpushedatruck,stillmanagedtosmellgoodwasatopicworthyofaPh.D.dissertation,forsure.Earth’sfinestscientistsshouldhavebeenhardatworkonthis.
“Whydon’tI…”Oliveinchedslightlyintohim,andafterlettingherhandhoverforamomentsheresteditoverAdam’sshoulder.Shepusheduponhertoes,anglingherheaduptowardhim.Ithelpedverylittle,asOlivewasstillnottallenoughtoreachhismouth,soshetriedtogetmoreleveragebyputtingherotherhandonhisarm,andimmediatelyrealizedthatshewasbasicallyhugginghim.Whichwastheexactthinghehadaskedhernottodoasecondago.Crap
“Sorry,tooclose?Ididn’tmeanto—”
Shewouldhavefinishedthesentence,ifhehadn’tclosedthedistancebetweenthemandjust—kissedher.Justlikethat.
Itwaslittlemorethanapeck—justhislipspressingagainsthers,andhishandonherwaisttosteadyheralittle.Itwasakiss,butbarely,anditcertainlydidn’twarrantthewayherheartpoundedinherchest,orthefactthattherewassomethingwarmandliquidloopingatthebottomofherbelly.Notunpleasant,butconfusingandabitscarynonetheless,andithadOlivepullbackafteronlyasecond.Whensheeasedbackonherheels,itseemedlikeforafractionofamomentAdamfollowedher,tryingtofillthegapbetweentheirmouths.Thoughbythetimeshe’dblinkedherselffreeofthehazeofthekiss,hewasstandingtallinfrontofher,cheekbonesdustedwithredandchestmovingupanddowninshallowbreaths.Shemusthavedreamedupthatlastbit.
Sheneededtoaverthereyesfromhim,now.Andheneededtolookelsewhere,too.Whyweretheystaringateachother?
“Okay,”shechirped.“That,um…worked.”
Adam’sjawtwitched,buthedidn’treply.
“Well,then.I’mgoingto…um…”Shegesturedbehindhershoulderswithherthumb.
“Anh?”
“Yeah.Yeah,toAnh.”
Heswallowedheavily.“Okay.Yeah.”
Theyhadkissed.Theyhadkissed—twice,now.Twice.Notthatitmattered.Noonecared.But.Twice.Plus,thelap.Earliertoday.Again,notthatitmattered.
“I’llseeyouaround,right?Nextweek?”
Heliftedhisfingerstohislips,thenlethisarmdroptohisside.“Yes.OnWednesday.”
ItwasThursdaynow.Whichmeantthattheyweregoingtoseeeachotherinsixdays.Whichwasfine.Olivewasfine,nomatterwhenorhowoftentheymet.“Yep.SeeyouWed—Hey,whataboutthepicnic?”
“The—Oh.”Adamrolledhiseyes,lookingalittlemorelikehimself.“Right.Thatfu—”Hestoppedshort.“Thatpicnic.”
Shegrinned.“It’sonMonday.”
Hesighed.“Iknow.”
“You’restillgoing?”
Hegaveheralookthatclearlystated:It’snotlikeIhaveachoice,eventhoughI’dratherhavemynailsextractedonebyone.Withpliers.
Olivelaughed.“Well.I’mgoing,too.”
“Atleastthere’sthat.”
“AreyoubringingTom?”
“Probably.Heactuallylikespeople.”
“Okay.Icannetworkwithhimabit,andyouandIcanshowoffhowsteadyandcommittedwearetothedepartmentchair.You’lllooklikeawinglessbird.Noflightriskwhatsoever.”
“Perfect.I’llbringacounterfeitmarriagelicensetocasuallydropathisfeet.”
Olivelaughed,wavedgoodbye,andthenjoggeduptoAnh.Sherubbedthesideofherhandagainstherlips,asiftryingtoscrubhermindcleanofthefactthatshehadjustkissedAdam—Dr.AdamCarlsen—forthesecondtimeinherlife.Which,again,wasfine.Ithadbeenbarelyakiss.Notimportant.
“Well,then,”Anhsaid,tuckingherphoneintoherpocket.“YoureallyjustmadeoutinfrontofthebiologybuildingwithassociateprofessorAdamMacArthurCarlsen.”
Oliverolledhereyesandstartedupthestairs.“I’mprettysurethat’snothismiddlename.Andwedidnot.”
“Butitwasclearthatyouwantedto.”
“Shutup.Whywereyoulookingatus,anyway?”
“Iwasn’t.Ihappenedtoglanceupwhenhewasabouttojumpyou,andIjustcouldn’tlookaway.”
Olivesnorted,pluggingherheadphonesintoherphone’sport.“Right.Ofcourse.”
“He’sreallyintoyou.Icantellfromthewayhestaresat—”
“I’mgonnalistentomusicveryloudlynow.Totuneyouout.”
“—you.”
Itwasn’tuntilmuchlater,afterOlivehadbeenworkingonTom’sreportforseveralhours,thatsherememberedwhatAdamhadsaidwhenshe’dtoldhimshe’dbeatthepicnic.
Atleastthere’sthat.
Oliveduckedherheadandsmiledathertoes.ChapterSeven
HYPOTHESIS:TherewillbeasignificantpositivecorrelationbetweentheamountofsunscreenpouredinmyhandsandtheintensityofmydesiretomurderAnh.
Tom’sreportwasaboutathirddoneandsittingtightatthirty-fourpagessingle-spaced,Arial(11point),nojustification.Itwas11:00a.m.,andOlivehadbeenworkinginthelabsinceaboutfive—analyzingpeptidesamples,writingdownprotocolnotes,takingcovertnapswhilethePCRmachineran—whenGregbargedin,lookingabsolutelyfurious
Itwasunusual,butnottoounusual.Gregwasabitofahotheadtobeginwith,andgradschoolcamewithalotofangryoutburstsinsemipublicplaces,usuallyforreasonsthat,Olivewasfullyaware,wouldappearridiculoustosomeonewho’dneversteppedfootinacademia.They’remakingmeTAIntrotoBioforthefourthtimeinarow;thepaperIneedisbehindapaywall;Ihadameetingwithmysupervisorandaccidentallycalledher“Mom.”
GregandOlivesharedanadviser,Dr.Aslan,andwhilethey’dalwaysgottenalongfine,theyhadneverbeenparticularlyclose.Olivehadhoped,bypickingafemaleadviser,toavoidsomeofthenastinessthatwassooftendirectedatwomeninSTEM.Unfortunatelyshehadstillfoundherselfinanall-malelab,whichwas…aless-than-idealenvironment.ThatwaswhywhenGregcamein,slammedthedoor,andthenthrewafolderonhisbench,Olivewasnotsurewhattodo.Shewatchedhimsitdownandbegintosulk.Chase,anotherlabmate,followedhiminsideamomentlaterwithanuneasyexpressionandstartedgingerlypattinghisback.
OlivelookedlonginglyatherRNAsamples.ThenshesteppedclosertoGreg’sbenchandasked,“What’swrong?”
ShehadexpectedtheanswertobeTheproductionofmyreagenthasbeendiscontinued,orMyp-valueis.06,orGradschoolwasamistake,butnowit’stoolatetobackoutofitbecausemyself-worthisunbreakablytiedtomyacademicperformance,andwhatwouldevenbeleftofmeifIdecidedtodropout?
Insteadwhatshegotwas:“Yourstupidboyfriendiswhat’swrong.”
Bynowthefakedatinghadbeengoingonforovertwoweeks:Olivedidn’tstartleanymorewhensomeonereferredtoAdamasherboyfriend.Still,Greg’swordsweresounexpectedandfullofvenomthatshecouldn’thelpbutanswer,“Who?”
“Carlsen.”Hespatthenameoutlikeacurse.
“Oh.”
“He’sonGreg’sdissertationcommittee,”Chaseexplainedinasignificantlymildertone,notquitemeetingOlive’seyes.
“Oh.Right.”Thiscouldbebad.Verybad.“Whathappened?”
“Hefailedmyproposal.”
“Shit.”Olivebitintoherlowerlip.“I’msorry,Greg.”
“Thisisgoingtosetmebackalot.It’lltakememonthstoreviseit,allbecauseCarlsenhadtogoandnitpick.Ididn’tevenwanthimonmycommittee;Dr.Aslanforcedmetoaddhimbecauseshe’ssoobsessedwithhisstupidcomputationalstuff.”
Olivechewedontheinsideofhercheek,tryingtocomeupwithsomethingmeaningfultosayandfailingmiserably.“I’mreallysorry.”
“Olive,doyouguystalkaboutthisstuff?”Chaseaskedoutoftheblue,eyeinghersuspiciously.“Didhetellyouhewasn’tgoingtopassGreg?”
“What?No.No,I…”ItalktohimforexactlyfifteenminutesaweekAnd,okay,I’vekissedhim.Twice.AndIsatonhislap.Once.Butit’sjustthat,andAdam—hespeaksverylittle.Iactuallywishhespokemore,sinceIknownothingabouthim,andI’dliketoknowatleastsomething.“No,hedoesn’t.Ithinkitwouldbeagainstregulationsifhedid.”
“God.”Gregslammedhispalmagainsttheedgeofthebench,makingherjump.“He’ssuchadick.Whatasadisticpieceofshit.”
Oliveopenedhermouthto—todowhat,precisely?TodefendAdam?Hewasadick.Shehadseenhimbeadick.Infullaction.Maybenotrecently,andmaybenottoher,butifshe’dwantedtocountonherfingersthenumberofacquaintanceswho’dendedupintearsbecauseofhim,well…Shewouldneedbothherhands,andthenhertoes.MaybeborrowsomeofChase’s,too.
“Didhesaywhy,atleast?Whatyouhavetochange?”
“Everything.Hewantsmetochangemycontrolconditionandaddanotherone,whichisgoingtomaketheprojecttentimesmoretime-consuming.Andthewayhesaidit,hisairofsuperiority—heissoarrogant.”
Well.Itwasnonews,really.Olivescratchedhertemple,tryingnottosigh.“Itsucks.I’msorry,”sherepeatedoncemore,atalossforanythingbetterandgenuinelyfeelingforGreg.
“Yeah,well.”Hestoodandwalkedaroundhisbench,comingtoastopinfrontofOlive.“Youshouldbe.”
Shefroze.Surelyshemusthavemisheard.“Excuseme?”
“You’rehisgirlfriend.”
“I…”Reallyamnot.But.Evenifshehadbeen.“Greg,I’monlydatinghim.Iamnothim.HowwouldIhaveanythingtodowith—”
“You’refinewithallofthis.Withhimactinglikethat—likeanassholeonapowertrip.Youdon’tgiveashitaboutthewayhetreatseveryoneintheprogram,otherwiseyouwouldn’tbeabletostomachbeingwithhim.”
Athistone,shetookastepback.
Chaseliftedhishandsinapeacekeepinggesture,comingtostandbetweenthem.“Hey,now.Let’snot—”
“I’mnottheonewhofailedyou,Greg.”
“Maybe.Butyoudon’tcarethathalfofthedepartmentlivesinterrorofyourboyfriend,either.”
Olivefeltangerbubblingup.“Thatisnottrue.Iamabletoseparatemyprofessionalrelationshipsandmypersonalfeelingsforhim—”
“Becauseyoudon’tgiveashitaboutanyonebutyourself.”
“Thatisunfair.WhatamIsupposedtodo?”
“Gethimtostopfailingpeople.”
“Gethim—”Olivesputtered.“Greg,howisthisarationalresponseforyoutohaveaboutAdam’sfailingyou—”
“Ah.Adam,isit?”
Shegrittedherteeth.“Yes.Adam.WhatshouldIcallmyboyfriendtobetterpleaseyou?ProfessorCarlsen?”
“Ifyouwereahalf-decentallytoanyofthegradsinthedepartment,youwouldjustdumpyourfuckingboyfriend.”
“How—Doyouevenrealizehowlittlesenseyouare…”
Noreasontofinishhersentence,sinceGregwasstormingoutofthelabandslammingthedoorbehindhim,clearlyuninterestedinanythingOlivemighthavewantedtoadd.Sheranahanddownherface,unsettledbywhathadjusthappened.
“He’snot…hedoesn’treallymeanit.Notaboutyou,atleast,”Chasesaidwhilescratchinghishead.Anicereminderthathe’dbeenstandingthere,intheroom,fortheentiretyofthisconversation.Front-rowseat.Itwasgoingtotakemaybefifteenminutesbeforeeveryoneintheprogramknewaboutit.“Gregneedstograduateinthespringwithhiswife.Sothattheycanfindpostdocstogether.Theydon’twanttoliveapart,youknow.”
Shenodded—shehadn’tknown,butshecouldimagine.Someofherangerdissipated.“Yeah,well.”Beinghorribletomeisn’tgoingtomakehisthesisworkgoanyfaster,shedidn’tadd.
Chasesighed.“It’snotpersonal.Butyouhavetounderstandthatit’sweirdforus.BecauseCarlsen…Maybehewasn’tonanyofyourcommittees,butyoumustknowthekindofguyheis,right?”
Shewasunsurehowtorespond.
“Andnowyouguysaredating,and…”Chaseshruggedwithanervoussmile.“Itshouldn’tbeamatteroftakingsides,butsometimesitcanfeellikeit,youknow?”
Chase’swordslingeredfortherestoftheday.Olivethoughtaboutthemassheranhermicethroughherexperimentalprotocols,andthenlaterwhileshetriedtofigureoutwhattodowiththosetwooutliersthatmadeherfindingstrickytointerpret.Shemulleditoverwhilebikinghome,hotwindwarminghercheeksandrufflingherhair,andwhileeatingtwoslicesofthesaddestpizzaever.Malcolmhadbeenonahealthkickforweeksnow(somethingaboutcultivatinghisgutmicrobiome)andrefusedtoadmitthatcauliflowercrustdidnottastegood.
Amongherfriends,MalcolmandJeremyhadhadunpleasantdealingswithAdaminthepast,butaftertheinitialshocktheydidn’tseemtoholdOlive’srelationshipwithhimagainsther.Shehadn’tconcernedherselftoomuchwiththefeelingsofothergrads.Shehadalwaysbeenabitofaloner,andfocusingontheopinionofpeopleshebarelyinteractedwithseemedlikeawastefuluseoftimeandenergy
Olivelayonherunmadebed,lookingupattheglow-in-the-darkstars.Ithadbeenmorethantwoyearssinceshe’dborrowedMalcolm’sstepladderandcarefullystuckthemontheceiling;thegluewasstartingtogiveout,andthelargecometinthecornerbythewindowwasgoingtofalloffanyday.Withoutlettingherselfthinkitthroughtoomuch,sherolledoutofbedandrummagedinsidethepocketsofherdiscardedjeansuntilshefoundhercellphone.
Shehadn’tusedAdam’snumbersincehe’dgivenittoherafewdaysago—“Ifanythingcomesuporyouneedtocancel,justgivemeacall.It’squickerthananemail.”Whenshetappedtheblueiconunderhisnameawhitescreenpoppedup,ablankslatewithnohistoryofpreviousmessages.ItgaveOliveanoddrushofanxiety,somuchsothatshetypedthetextwithonehandwhilebitingthethumbnailontheother.
Olive:DidyoujustfailGreg?
Adamwasneveronhisphone.Never.WheneverOlivehadbeeninhiscompany,she’dnotseenhimcheckitevenonce—eventhoughwithalabasbigashisheprobablygotaboutthirtynewemailseveryminute.Truthwas,shedidn’tevenknowthatheownedacellphone.Maybehewasaweirdmodern-dayhippieandhatedtechnology.Maybehe’dgivenherhisofficelandlinenumber,andthat’swhyhe’dtoldhertocallhim.Maybehedidn’tknowhowtotext,whichmeantthatOlivewasnevergoingtogetananswerfrom—
Herpalmvibrated.
Adam:Olive?
ItoccurredtoherthatwhenAdamhadgivenherhisnumber,she’dneglectedtogivehersinreturn.Whichmeantthathehadnowayofknowingwhowastextinghimnow,andthefactthathe’dguessedcorrectlyrevealedanalmostpreternaturalintuition.
Damnhim.
Olive:Yup.Me.
Olive:DidyoufailGregCohen?Iranintohimafterhismeeting.Hewasveryupset.
Atme.Becauseofyou.Becauseofthisstupidthingwe’redoing.
Therewasapauseofaminuteorso,inwhich,Olivereflected,Adammightverywellbecacklingevillyattheideaofallthepainhe’dcausedGreg.Thenheanswered:
Adam:Ican’tdiscussothergrads’dissertationmeetingswithyou.
Olivesighed,exchangingaloadedlookwiththestuffedfoxMalcolmhadgottenherforpassingherqualifyingexaminations.
Olive:I’mnotaskingyoutotellmeanything.Gregalreadytoldme.NottomentionthatI’mtheonetakingtheheatforit,sinceI’myourgirlfriend.
Olive:”Girlfriend.”
Threedotsappearedatthebottomofherscreen.Thentheydisappeared,andthentheyappearedagain,andthen,finally,Olive’sphonevibrated.
Adam:Committeesdon’tfailstudents.Theyfailtheirproposals.
Shesnorted,halfwishinghecouldhearher.
Olive:Yeah,well.TellittoGreg.
Adam:Ihave.Iexplainedtheweaknessesinhisstudy.He’llrevisehisproposalaccordingly,andthenI’llsignoffonhisdissertation.
Olive:Soyouadmitthatyouaretheonebehindthedecisiontofailhim.
Olive:Or,whatever.Tofailhisproposal.
Adam:Yes.Initscurrentstate,theproposalisnotgoingtoproducefindingsofscientificvalue.
Olivebittheinsideofhercheek,staringatherphoneandwonderingifcontinuingthisconversationwasaterribleidea.Ifwhatshewantedtosaywastoomuch.ThensherememberedthewayGreghadtreatedherearlier,muttered,“Fuckit,”andtyped:
Olive:Don’tyouthinkthatmaybeyoucouldhavedeliveredthatfeedbackinanicerway?
Adam:Why?
Olive:Becauseifyouhadmaybehewouldn’tbeupsetnow?
Adam:Istilldon’tseewhy.
Olive:Seriously?
Adam:It’snotmyjobtomanageyourfriend’semotions.He’sinaPh.D.program,notgradeschool.He’llbeinundatedbyfeedbackhedoesn’tlikefortherestofhislifeifhepursuesacademia.Howhechoosestodealwithitishisownbusiness.
Olive:Still,maybeyoucouldtrynottolooklikeyouenjoydelayinghisgraduation.
Adam:Thisisirrational.Thereasonhisproposalneedstobemodifiedisthatinitscurrentstateit’ssettinghimupforfailure.Meandtherestofthecommitteearegivinghimfeedbackthatwillallowhimtoproduceusefulknowledge.Heisascientistintraining:heshouldvalueguidance,notbeupsetbyit.
Olivegrittedherteethasshetypedherresponses.
Olive:Youmustknowthatyoufailmorepeoplethananyoneelse.Andyourcriticismisneedlesslyharsh.Asin,immediately-drop-out-of-grad-school-and-never-look-backharsh.Youmustknowhowgradsperceiveyou.
Adam:Idon’t.
Olive:Antagonistic.Andunapproachable.
Andthatwassugarcoatingit.You’readick,Olivemeant.ExceptthatIknowyoucannotbe,andIcan’tfigureoutwhyyou’resodifferentwithme.I’mabsolutelynothingtoyou,soitdoesn’tmakeanysensethatyou’dhaveapersonalitytransplanteverytimeyou’reinmypresence.
Thethreedotsatthebottomofthescreenbouncedfortenseconds,twenty,thirty.Awholeminute.Oliverereadherlasttextandwonderedifthiswasit—ifshe’dfinallygonetoofar.Maybehewasgoingtoremindherthatbeinginsultedovertextat9:00p.m.onaFridaynightwasnotpartoftheirfake-datingagreement.
Thenabluebubbleappeared,fillingupherentirescreen.
Adam:I’mdoingmyjob,Olive.Whichisnottodeliverfeedbackinapleasantwayortomakethedepartmentgradsfeelgoodaboutthemselves.Myjobistoformrigorousresearcherswhowon’tpublishuselessorharmfulcrapthatwillsetbackourfield.Academiaisclutteredwithterriblescienceandmediocrescientists.Icouldn’tcarelessabouthowyourfriendsperceiveme,aslongastheirworkisuptostandard.Iftheywanttodropoutwhentoldthatit’snot,thensobeit.Noteveryonehaswhatittakestobeascientist,andthosewhodon’tshouldbeweededout.
Shestaredatherphone,hatinghowunfeelingandcalloushesounded.Theproblemwas—OliveunderstoodexactlywhereGregwascomingfrom,becauseshe’dbeeninsimilarsituations.PerhapsnotwithAdam,butheroverallexperienceinSTEMacademiahadbeenpunctuatedbyself-doubt,anxiety,andasenseofinferiority.She’dbarelysleptthetwoweeksbeforeherqualifyingexams,oftenwonderedifherfearofpublicspeakingwasgoingtopreventherfromhavingacareer,andshewasconstantlyterrifiedofbeingthestupidestpersonintheroom.Andyet,mostofhertimeandenergywasspenttryingtobethebestpossiblescientist,tryingtocarveapathforherselfandamounttosomething.Theideaofsomeonedismissingherworkandherfeelingsthiscoldheartedlycutdeep,whichiswhyherresponsewassoimmature,itwasalmostfetal.
Olive:Well,fuckyou,Adam.
Sheimmediatelyregrettedit,butforsomereasonshecouldn’tbringherselftosendanapology.Itwasn’tuntiltwentyminuteslaterthatsherealizedthatAdamwasn’tgoingtoreply.Awarningpoppedupontheupperpartofherscreen,informingherthatherbatterywasat5percent.
Withadeepsigh,Olivestoodupfromherbedandlookedaroundtheroominsearchofhercharger.
—
“NOWGORIGHT.”
“Gotit.”Malcolm’sfingerflickedtheturnsignallever.Aclickingsoundfilledthesmallcar.“Goingright.”
“No,don’tlistentoJeremy.Turnleft.”
JeremyleanedforwardandswattedAnh’sarm.“Malcolm,trustme.Anhhasneverbeentothefarm.It’sontheright.”
“GoogleMapssaysleft.”
“GoogleMapsiswrong.”
“WhatdoIdo?”Malcolmmadeafaceintherearviewmirror.“Left?Right?Ol,whatdoIdo?”
Inthebackseat,Olivelookedupfromthecarwindowandshrugged.“Tryright;ifit’swrong,we’lljustturnaround.”SheshotAnhaquick,apologeticglance,butsheandJeremyweretoobusymock-glaringateachothertonotice.
Malcolmgrimaced.“We’llbelate.God,Ihatethesestupidpicnics.”
“Weare,like”—Oliveglancedatthecar’sclock—“onehourlate,already.Ithinkwecanaddtenminutestothat.”Ijusthopethere’ssomefoodleft.Herstomachhadbeengrowlingforthepasttwohours,andtherewasnowayeveryoneinthecarhadn’tnoticed.
AfterherargumentwithAdamthreedaysago,she’dbeentemptedtojustskipthepicnic.Holeherselfupinthelabandcontinuewithwhatshehadbeendoingthewholeweekend—ignorethefactthatshehadtoldhimtofuckoff,andwithverylittlereason.ShecouldusethetimetoworkonTom’sreport,whichwasprovingtobetrickierandmoretime-consumingthanshe’dinitiallythought—probablybecauseOlivecouldn’tforgethowmuchwasatstakeandkeptrerunninganalysesandagonizingovereverysinglesentence.Butshe’dchangedhermindlastminute,tellingherselfthatshe’dpromisedAdamthatthey’dputonashowforthedepartmentchair.Itwouldbeunfairofhertobackoutafterhe’ddonemorethanhisshareofthedealwhenitcametoconvincingAnh.
Thatwas,ofcourse,intheveryunlikelycasethathestillwantedanythingtodowithOlive.
“Don’tworry,Malcolm,”Anhsaid.“We’llgetthereeventually.Ifanyoneasks,let’sjustsaythatamountainlionattackedus.God,whyisitsohot?Ibroughtsunblock,bytheway.SPFthirtyandfifty.Nooneisgoinganywherebeforeputtingiton.”
InthebackseatOliveandJeremyexchangedaresignedlook,wellacquaintedwithAnh’ssunscreenobsession.
Thepicnicwasinfullswingwhentheyfinallyarrived,ascrowdedasmostacademiceventswithfreefood.OlivemadeabeelineforthetablesandwavedatDr.Aslan,whowassittingintheshadeofagiantoakwithotherfacultymembers.Dr.Aslanwavedback,nodoubtpleasedtonotethatherauthorityextendedtocommandeeringhergrads’freetimeontopoftheeightyhoursaweektheyalreadyspentinthelab.Olivesmiledweaklyinavaliantattemptnottolookresentful,grabbedaclusterofwhitegrapes,andpoppedoneintohermouthwhilelettinghergazewanderaroundthefields.
Anhwasright.ThisSeptemberwasuncommonlyhot.Therewerepeopleeverywhere,sittingonthelawnchairs,lyingdowninthegrass,walkinginandoutofthebarns—allenjoyingtheweather.Afewwereeatingfromplasticplatesonfoldingtablesclosetothemainhouse,andtherewereatleastthreegamesgoingon—aversionofvolleyballwiththeplayersstandinginacircle,asoccermatch,andsomethingthatinvolvedaFrisbeeandoveradozenhalf-dresseddudes.
“Whataretheyevenplaying?”OliveaskedAnh.ShespottedDr.Rodriguestacklesomeonefromimmunologyandlookedbacktothealmostemptytables,cringing.Slimpickingswasallthatwasleft.Olivewantedasandwich.Abagofchips.Anything.
“UltimateFrisbee,Ithink?Idon’tknow.Didyouputonsunblock?You’rewearingatanktopandshorts,soyoureallyshould.”
Olivebitintoanothergrape.“YouAmericansandyourfakesports.”
“I’mprettysurethereareCanadiantournamentsofUltimateFrisbee,too.Youknowwhat’snotfake?”
“What?”
“Melanoma.Putonsomesunscreen.”
“Iwill,Mom.”Olivesmiled.“CanIeatfirst?”
“Eatwhat?There’snothingleft.Oh,there’ssomecornbreadoverthere.”
“Oh,cool.Passitover.”
“Don’teatthecornbread,guys.”Jeremy’sheadpoppedupbetweenOliveandAnh.“Jesssaidthatapharmacologyfirst-yearsneezedalloverit.WheredidMalcolmgo?”
“Parking—Holy.Shit.”
Olivelookedupfromherperusalofthetable,alarmedbytheurgencyinAnh’stone.“What?”
“Just,holyshit.”
“Yeah,what—”
“Holyshit.”
“Youmentionedthatalready.”
“Because—holyshit.”
Sheglancedaround,tryingtofigureoutwhatwasgoingon.“Whatis—Oh,there’sMalcolm.Maybehefoundsomethingtoeat?”
“IsthatCarlsen?”
OlivewasalreadywalkingtowardMalcolmtofindsomethingedibleandskipthewholesunscreennonsensealtogether,butwhensheheardAdam’sname,shestoppeddeadinhertracks.Ormaybeitwasn’tAdam’snamebutthewayAnhwassayingit.“What?Where?”
JeremypointedattheUltimateFrisbeecrowd.“That’shim,right?Shirtless?”
“Holyshit,”Anhrepeated,hervocabularysuddenlyprettylimited,givenhertwentysomethingyearsofeducation.“Isthatasix-pack?”
Jeremyblinked.“Mightevenbeaneight-pack.”
“Arethosehisrealshoulders?”Anhasked.“Didhehaveshoulder-enhancementsurgery?”
“ThatmustbehowheusedtheMacArthurgrant,”Jeremysaid.“Idon’tthinkshoulderslikethatexistinnature.”
“God,isthatCarlsen’schest?”MalcolmleanedhischinoverOlive’sshoulder.“Wasthatthingunderhisshirtwhilehewasrippingmydissertationproposalanewone?Ol.Whydidn’tyousaythathewasshredded?”
Olivejuststoodthere,rootedtotheground,armsdanglinguselesslyathersides.BecauseIdidn’tknow.BecauseIhadnoidea.Ormaybeshehad,abit,fromseeinghimpushthattrucktheotherday—thoughshe’dbeentryingtosuppressthatparticularmentalimage.
“Unbelievable.”AnhpulledOlive’shandtowardherself,overturningittosquirtahealthydoseoflotiononherpalm.“Here,putthisonyourshoulders.Andyourlegs.Andyourface,too—you’reprobablyathighriskforallsortsofskinstuff,FrecklesMcFreckleface.Jer,youtoo.”
Olivenoddednumblyandbegantomassagethesunscreenintoherarmsandthighs.Shebreathedinthesmellofcoconutoil,tryinghardnottothinkaboutAdamandaboutthefactthathereallydidlooklikethat.Mostlyfailing,buthey
“Arethereactualstudies?”Jeremyasked.
“Mmm?”Anhwaspullingherhairupinabun.
“Onthelinkbetweenfrecklesandskincancer.”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Feelsliketherewouldbe.”
“True.Iwannaknownow.”
“Holdon.IsthereWi-Fihere?”
“Ol,doyouhaveinternet?”
Olivewipedherhandsonanapkinthatlookedmostlyunused.“IleftmyphoneinMalcolm’scar.”
SheturnedherheadawayfromAnhandJeremy,whowerenowstudyingthescreenofJeremy’siPhone,untilshehadagoodviewoftheUltimateFrisbeegroup—fourteenmenandzerowomen.ItprobablyhadtodowiththegeneralexcessoftestosteroneinSTEMprograms.Atleasthalftheplayerswerefacultyorpostdocs.Adam,ofcourse,andTom,andDr.Rodrigues,andseveralothersfrompharmacology.Allequallyshirtless.Though,no.Notequalatall.TherewasreallynothingequalaboutAdam.
Olivewasn’tlikethis.Shereallywasnot.Shecouldcountthenumberofguysshe’dbeenthisviscerallyattractedtoononehand.Actually—ononefinger.Andatthemomentsaidguywasrunningtowardher,becauseTomBenton,blesshisheart,hadjustthrowntheFrisbeewaytooclumsily,anditwasnowinapatchofgrassapproximatelytenfeetfromOlive.AndAdam,shirtlessAdam,justhappenedtobetheoneclosesttowhereitlanded.
“Oh,checkoutthispaper.”Jeremysoundedexcited.
“Khalesietal.,2013.It’sameta-analysis.‘Cutaneousmarkersofphoto-damageandriskofbasalcellcarcinomaoftheskin.’InCancerEpidemiology,Biomarkers&Prevention.”
Jeremyfist-pumped.“Olive,areyoulisteningtothis?”
Nope.No,shewasnot.Shewasmostlytryingtoemptyherbrain,andhereyes,too.Ofherfakeboyfriendandthesuddenwarmacheinherstomach.Shejustwishedshewereelsewhere.Thatsheweretemporarilyblindanddeaf.
“Hearthis:solarlentigineshadweakbutpositiveassociationswithbasalcellcarcinoma,withoddsratiosaround1.5.Okay,Idon’tlikethis.Jeremy,holdthephone.I’mgivingOlivemoresunscreen.Here’sSPFfifty;it’sprobablywhatyouneed.”
OlivetorehereyesfromAdam’schest,nowalarminglyclose,andturnedaround,steppingawayfromAnh.“Wait.Ialreadyputsomeon.”
“Ol,”Anhtoldher,withthatsensible,motherlytonesheusedwheneverOliveslippedandconfessedthatshemostlygotherveggieservingsfromfrenchfries,orthatshewashedhercolorsandwhitesinthesameload.“Youknowtheliterature.”
“Idonotknowtheliterature,andneitherdoyou,youjustknowonelinefromoneabstractand—”
AnhgrabbedOlive’shandagainandpouredhalfagallonoflotioninit.SomuchofitthatOlivehadtouseherleftpalmtopreventitfromspillingover—untilshewasjuststandingtherelikeanidiot,herhandscuppedlikeabeggarasshehalfdrownedingoddamnsunscreen.
“Hereyougo.”Anhsmiledbrightly.“Nowyoucanprotectyourselffrombasalcellcarcinoma.Which,frankly,soundsawful.”
“I…”Olivewouldhaveface-palmed,ifshe’dhadthefreedomtomoveherupperlimbs.“Ihatesunscreen.It’sstickyanditmakesmesmelllikeapi?acoladaand—thisiswaytoomuch.”
“Justputonasmuchasyourskinwillabsorb.Especiallyaroundthefreckledareas.Therest,youcansharewithsomeone.”
“Okay.Anh,then,youtakesome.Youtoo,Jeremy.You’reaginger,forGod’ssake.”
“Aredheadwithnofreckles,though.”Hesmiledproudly,likehe’dcreatedhisgenotypeallonhisown.“AndIalreadyputonaton.Thanks,babe.”HeleaneddownforabriefkisstoAnh’scheek,whichalmostdevolvedintoamake-outsession.
Olivetriednottosigh.“Guys,whatdoIdowiththis?”
“Justfindsomeoneelse.WheredidMalcolmgo?”
Jeremysnorted.“Overthere,withJude.”
“Jude?”Anhfrowned.
“Yeah,thatneurofifth-year.”
“TheMD-Ph.D.?Aretheydatingor—”
“Guys.”IttookOliveallshehadnottoyell.“Ihavenomobility.Please,fixthissunscreenmessyoucreated.”
“God,Ol.”Anhrolledhereyes.“You’resodramaticsometimes.Hangon—”ShewavedatsomeonebehindOlive,andwhenshespoke,hervoicewasmuchlouder.“Hey,Dr.Carlsen!Haveyouputonsunscreenyet?”
InthespanofamicrosecondOlive’sentirebrainburstintoflames—andthencrumbledintoapileofashes.Justlikethat,onehundredbillionneurons,onethousandbillionglialcells,andwhoknewhowmanymillilitersofcerebrospinalfluid,justceasedtoexist.Therestofherbodywasnotdoingverywell,either,sinceOlivecouldfeelallherorgansshutdowninrealtime.FromtheverybeginningofheracquaintancewithAdamtherehadbeenaboutteninstancesofOlivewishingtodropdeadonthespot,fortheearthtoopenandswallowherwhole,foracataclysmtohitandspareherfromtheembarrassmentoftheirinteractions.Thistime,though,itfeltasthoughtheendoftheworldmighthappenforreal.
Don’tturnaround,what’sleftofhercentralnervoussystemtoldher.Pretendyoudidn’thearAnh.Willthisintononexistence.Butitwasimpossible.Therewasthistriangleofsorts,formedbyOlive,andAnhinfrontofher,andAdamprobably—surely—standingbehindher;itwasn’tasifOlivehadachoice.Anychoice.EspeciallywhenAdam,whocouldn’tpossiblyimaginethedepraveddirectionofAnh’sthoughts,whocouldn’tpossiblyseethebucketfulofsunscreenthathadtakenresidenceinOlive’shands,said,“No.”
Well.Shit.
Olivespunaround,andtherehewas—sweaty,holdingaFrisbeeinhislefthand,andsovery,veryshirtless.“Perfect,then!”Anhsaid,soundingsochipper.“Olivehaswaytoomuchandwaswonderingwhattodowithit.She’llputsomeonyou!”
No.No,no,no.“Ican’t,”shehissedatAnh.“Itwouldbehighlyinappropriate.”
“Why?”Anhblinkedatherinnocently.“IputsunscreenonJeremyallthetime.Look”—shesquirtedlotiononherhandandhaphazardlyslappeditacrossJeremy’sface—“Iamputtingsunscreenonmyboyfriend.BecauseIdon’twanthimtogetmelanoma.AmI‘inappropriate’?”
Olivewasgoingtomurderher.Olivewasgoingtomakeherlickeverydropofthisstupidsunscreenandwatchherwritheinpainassheslowlydiedofoxybenzonepoisoning.
Later,though.Fornow,Adamwaslookingather,expressioncompletelyunreadable,andOlivewouldhaveapologized,shewouldhavecrawledunderthetable,shewouldhaveatleastwavedathim—butallshecoulddowasstareandnoticethateventhoughthelasttimethey’dtalkedshe’dinsultedhim,hedidn’treallyseemangry.JustthoughtfulandalittleconfusedashelookedbetweenOlive’sfaceandthesmalllakeofwhitegoopthatnowlivedinherhands,probablytryingtofigureoutiftherewasawaytogetoutofthislatestshitshow—andthen,finally,justgivinguponit.
Henoddedonce,minutely,andturnedaround,themusclesinhisbackshiftingashethrewDr.RodriguestheFrisbeeandyelled,“I’mtakingfive!”
Which,Oliveassumed,meantthattheywereactuallydoingthis.Ofcoursetheydamnwere.Becausethiswasherlife,andthesewereherpoor,moronic,harebrainedchoices.
“Hey,”Adamsaidtoheroncetheywerecloser.Hewaslookingatherhands,atthewayshehadtoholdtheminfrontofherbodylikeasupplicant.Behindher,AnhandJeremywerenodoubtoglingthem.
“Hey.”Shewaswearingflip-flops,andhehadsneakerson,and—hewasalwaystall,butrightnowhetoweredoverher.Itputhereyesrightinfrontofhispecs,and…No.Nope.Notdoingthat.
“Canyouturnaround?”
Hehesitatedforamoment,butthenhedid,uncharacteristicallyobedient.WhichendedupresolvingnoneofOlive’sproblems,sincehisbackwasinnowaylessbroadorimpressivethanhischest.
“Canyou,um…duckabit?”
Adambenthisheaduntilhisshoulderswere…stillabnormallyhighbutsomewhateasiertoreach.Assheliftedherrighthand,someofthelotiondrippedtotheground—Whereitbelongs,shethoughtsavagely—andthenshewasdoingit,thisthingthatshehadneverthoughtshewouldever,everdo.PuttingsunscreenonAdamCarlsen.
Itwasn’therfirsttimetouchinghim.Therefore,sheshouldn’thavebeensurprisedbyhowhardhismuscleswere,orthattherewasnogivetohisflesh.Oliverememberedthewayhe’dpushedthetruck,imaginedthathecouldprobablybench-pressthreetimesherweight,andthenorderedherselftostop,becausethatwasnotanappropriatetrainofthought.Still,theissueremainedthattherewasnothingbetweenherhandandhisskin.Hewashotfromthesun,hisshouldersrelaxedandimmobileunderhertouch.Eveninpublic,closeastheywere,itfeltlikesomethingintimatewashappening.
“So.”Hermouthwasdry.“ThismightbeagoodtimetomentionhowsorryIamthatwekeepgettingstuckinthesesituations.”
“It’sfine.”
“Ireallyam,though.”
“It’snotyourfault.”Therewasanedgeinhisvoice.
“Areyouokay?”
“Yep.”Henodded,thoughthemovementseemedtaut.WhichhadOliverealizingthatmaybehewasnotasrelaxedasshe’dinitiallythought.
“Howmuchdoyouhatethis,onascalefromoneto‘correlationequalscausation’?”
Hesurprisedherbychuckling,thoughhestillsoundedstrained.“Idon’thateit.Andit’snotyourfault.”
“BecauseIknowthisistheworstpossiblething,and—”
“Itisn’t.Olive.”Heturnedabittolookherintheeyes,amixofamusementandthatoddtension.“Thesethingsaregoingtokeeponhappening.”
“Right.”
Hisfingersbrushedsoftlyagainstherleftpalmashestoleabitofhersunscreenforhisfront.Which,allinall,wasforthebest.Shereallydidn’twanttobemassaginglotionintohischestinfrontof70percentofherPh.D.program—nottomentionherboss,sinceDr.Aslanwasprobablywatchingthemlikeahawk.Ormaybeshewasn’t.Olivehadnointentionofturningaroundtocheck.She’dratherliveinless-than-blissfulignorance.“Mostlybecauseyouhangoutwithsomereallynosypeople.”
Sheburstoutlaughing.“Iknow.Believeme,I’mreallyregrettingbefriendingAnhrightnow.Kindofcontemplatingassassinatingher,totellthetruth.”
Shemovedtohisshoulderblades.Hehadalotofsmallmolesandfreckles,andshewonderedexactlyhowinappropriateitwouldbeifsheplayedconnectthedotsonthemwithherfingers.Shecouldjustimaginetheamazingpicturesitwouldreveal.
“Buthey,thelong-termbenefitsofsunscreenhavebeenprovenbyscientists.Andyouareprettypale.Here,duckabitmore,soIcangetyourneck.”
“Mmm.”
Shewalkedaroundhimtogettothefrontpartofhisshoulders.Hewassobig,shewasgoingtohavetouseallthisstupidlotion.MightevenneedtoaskAnhformore.“Atleastthedepartmentchairisgettingashow.Andyoulooklikeyou’rehavingfun.”
Heglancedpointedlyatthewayherhandwasspreadingsunscreenonhiscollarbone.Olive’scheeksburned.“No,Imean—notbecauseIam…Imeant,youlooklikeyou’rehavingagoodtimeplayingFrisbee.Orwhatever.”
Hemadeaface.“Beatschitchatting,forsure.”
Shelaughed.“Thatmakessense.Ibetthat’swhyyou’resofit.Youplayedlotsofsportsgrowingupbecauseitgotyououtoftalkingwithpeople.Italsoexplainswhynowthatyou’reanadultyourpersonalityisso—”Olivestoppedshort.
Adamliftedoneeyebrow.“Antagonisticandunapproachable?”
Crap.“Ididn’tsaythat.”
“Youjusttypedit.”
“I-I’msorry.I’mverysorry.Ididn’tmeanto—”Shepressedherlipstogether,flustered.Thenshenoticedthatthecornersofhiseyeswerecrinkling.“Damnyou.”
Shepinchedhimlightlyontheundersideofhisarm.Heyelpedandsmiledwider,whichmadeherwonderwhathewoulddoifsheretaliatedbywritinghernamewithsunscreenonhischest,justenoughforhimtoonlygetatanaroundit.ShetriedtoimaginehisfaceaftertakingoffhisT-shirt,findingthefivelettersprintedonhisfleshinthereflectionofhisbathroommirror.Theexpressionhe’dmake.Whetherhe’dtouchthemwithhisfingertips.
Crazy,shetoldherself.Thiswholething,it’sdrivingyoucrazy.Sohe’shandsome,andyoufindhimattractive.Bigdeal.Whocares?
Shewipedhermostlylotion-freehandsdownthecolumnsofhisbicepsandtookastepback.“You’regoodtogo,Dr.Antagonistic.”
Hesmelledoffreshsweat,himself,andcoconut.Olivewasn’tgoingtogettotalkwithhimagainuntilWednesday,andwhythethoughtcamewithanoddpanginherchest,shehadnoclue.
“Thanks.AndthankAnh,Iguess.”
“Mm.Whatdoyouthinkshe’llhaveusdonexttime?”
Heshrugged.“Holdhands?”
“Feedeachotherstrawberries?”
“Goodone.”
“Maybeshe’lluphergame.”
“Fakewedding?”
“Fake-buyahousetogether?”
“Fake-signthemortgagepaperwork?”
Olivelaughed,andthewayhelookedather,kindandcuriousandpatient…shemustbehallucinatingit.Herheadwasnotright.Sheshouldhavebroughtasunhat.
“Hey,Olive.”
ShetorehergazefromAdam’sandnoticedTomapproaching.He,too,wasshirtless,andclearlyfit,andhadalargenumberofabsthatweredefinedenoughtobeeasilycounted.Andyet,forsomereason,itdidabsolutelynothingforOlive.
“Hi,Tom.”Shesmiled,eventhoughshewasalittleirritatedbytheinterruption.“Lovedyourtalktheotherday.”
“Itwasgood,wasn’tit?DidAdamtellyouaboutourchangeofplans?”
Shetiltedherhead.“Changeofplans?”
“We’vebeenmakinggreatprogressonthegrant,sowe’regoingtoBostonnextweektofinishsettingupstuffontheHarvardside.”
“Oh,that’sgreat.”SheturnedtoAdam.“Howlongwillyoubegone?”
“Justafewdays.”Histonewasquiet.Olivefeltreliefthatitwasn’tgoingtobelonger.Forindiscerniblereasons.
“WouldyoubeabletosendmeyourreportbySaturday,Olive?”Tomasked.“ThenI’llhavetheweekendtolookitover,andwe’lldiscussitwhileI’mstillhere.”
Herbrainexplodedinaflurryofpanicandbrightred-alertsigns,butshemanagedtokeephersmileinplace.“Yeah,ofcourse.I’llsendittoyouonSaturday.”OhGod.OhGod.Shewasgoingtohavetoworkaroundtheclock.Shewasn’tgoingtogetanysleepthisweek.Shewasgoingtohavetobringherlaptoptothetoiletandwritewhileshepeed.“Noproblematall,”sheadded,leaningevenharderintoherlie.
“Perfect.”Tomwinkedather,ormaybejustsquintedinthesun.“Yougoingbacktoplay?”heaskedAdam,andwhenAdamnodded,Tomspunaroundandheadedbackintothegame.
Adamhesitatedforjustasecondlonger,thenhenoddedatOliveandleft.Shetriedhardnottostareathisbackasherejoinedhisteam,whichseemedtobeoverjoyedtohavehimagain.Clearly,sportswereanotherthingAdamCarlsenexcelledat—unfairlyso.
Shedidn’tevenhavetochecktoknowthatAnhandJeremyandprettymucheveryoneelsehadbeenstaringatthemforthepastfiveminutes.Shefishedaseltzercanoutofthenearestcooler,remindingherselfthatthiswasexactlywhattheywantedfromthisarrangement,andthenfoundaspotunderanoaktreenexttoherfriends—allthissunscreenfuss,andnowtheyweresittingintheshade.Gofigure.
Shewasn’teventhathungryanymore,asmallmiraclecourtesyofhavingtoapplysunscreentoherfakeboyfriendverypublicly.
“So,what’shelike?”Anhasked.ShewaslyingdownwithherheadonJeremy’slap.Aboveher,MalcolmwasstaringattheFrisbeeplayers,probablyswooningoverhowprettyHoldenRodrigueslookedinthesun.
“Mm?”
“Carlsen.Oh,actually”—Anhsmirked—“ImeanttosayAdam.YoucallhimAdam,right?OrdoyoupreferDr.Carlsen?Ifyouguysrole-playwithschoolgirluniformsandrulers,Itotallywanttohearaboutit.”
“Anh.”
“Yeah,howisCarlsen?”Jeremyasked.“I’massuminghe’sdifferentwithyouthanwithus.Ordoeshealsotellyourepeatedlythatthefontforthelabelsofyourx-andy-axisisirritatinglysmall?”
Olivesmiledintoherknees,becauseshecouldtotallyimagineAdamsayingthat.Couldalmosthearhisvoiceinherhead.“No.Notyet,atleast.”
“What’shelike,then?”
Sheopenedhermouthtoanswer,thinkingitwouldbeeasy.Ofcourse,itwaseverythingbut.“He’sjust…youknow.”
“Wedon’t,”Anhsaid.“Theremustbemoretohimthanmeetstheeye.He’ssomoodyandnegativeandangryand—”
“He’snot,”Oliveinterrupted.Andthenregretteditalittle,becauseitwasn’tentirelytrue.“Hecanbe.Buthecannotbe,too.”
“Ifyousayso.”Anhseemedunconvinced.“Howdidyouevenstartdating?Younevertoldme.”
“Oh.”Olivelookedawayandlethergazewander.Adammusthavejustdonesomethingnoteworthy,becauseheandDr.Rodrigueswereexchangingahighfive.ShenoticedTomstaringatherfromthefieldandwavedathimwithasmile.“Um,wejusttalked.Andthengotcoffee.Andthen…”
“Howdoesthatevenhappen?”Jeremyinterrupted,clearlyskeptical.“HowdoesonedecidetosayyestoadatewithCarlsen?Beforeseeinghimhalf-naked,anyway.”
Youkisshim.Youkisshim,andthen,nextthingyouknow,he’ssavingyourassandhe’sbuyingyousconesandcallingyouasmart-assinaweirdlyaffectionatetone,andevenwhenhe’sbeinghismoodyassholeself,hedoesn’tseemtobethatbad.Orbadatall.Andthenyoutellhimtofuckoffoverthephoneandpossiblyruineverything.
“Hejustaskedmeout.AndIsaidyes.”Thoughitwasobviouslyalie.SomeonewithaLancetpublicationandbackmusclesthatdefinedwouldneverasksomeonelikeOliveout.
“Soyoudidn’tmeetonTinder?”
“What?No.”
“Becausethat’swhatpeoplearesaying.”
“I’mnotonTinder.”
“IsCarlsen?”
No.Maybe.Yes?Olivemassagedhertemples.“Who’ssayingthatwemetonTinder?”
“Actually,rumor’sthattheymetonCraigslist,”Malcolmsaiddistractedly,wavingatsomeone.ShefollowedhisgazeandnoticedthathewasstaringatHoldenRodrigues—whoappearedtobesmilingandwavingback.
Olivefrowned.ThensheparsedwhatMalcolmhadjustsaid.“Craigslist?”
Malcolmshrugged.“NotsayingthatIbelievedit.”
“Whoarepeople?Andwhyaretheyeventalkingaboutus?”
AnhreacheduptopatOliveontheshoulder.“Don’tworry,thegossipaboutyouandCarlsendieddownafterDr.MossandSloanehadthatverypublicargumentaboutpeopledisposingofbloodsamplesintheladies’restroom.Well,forthemostpart.Hey.”
ShesatupandwrappedanarmaroundOlive,pullingherinforanembrace.Shesmelledlikecoconut.Stupid,stupidsunscreen.
“Chill.Iknowsomepeoplehavebeenweirdaboutthis,butJeremyandMalcolmandIarejusthappyforyou,Ol.”Anhsmiledatherreassuringly,andOlivefeltherselfrelax.“Mostlythatyou’refinallygettinglaid.”ChapterEight
HYPOTHESIS:OnaLikertscalerangingfromonetoten,Jeremy’stimingwillbenegativefifty,withastandarderrorofthemeanofzeropointtwo.
Numberthirty-seven—salt-and-vinegarpotatochips—wassoldout.Itwasfranklyinexplicable:Olivehadcomeinat8:00p.m.,andtherehadbeenatleastonebagleftinthebreakroom’svendingmachine.Shedistinctlyrememberedpattingthebackpocketofherjeansforquarters,andthefeelingoftriumphatfindingexactlyfour.Sherecalledlookingforwardtothatmoment,approximatelytwohourslater,bywhichtimesheestimatedthatshe’dhavecompletedexactlyathirdofherworkandwouldthusbeabletorewardherselfwiththeindisputablebestamongthesnacksthatthefourthfloorhadtooffer.Exceptthatthemomenthadcome,andtherewerenochipsleft.Whichwasaproblem,becauseOlivehadalreadyinsertedherpreciousquartersinsidethecoinslot,andshewasveryhungry.
Sheselectednumbertwenty-four(Twix)—whichwasokay,thoughnotherfavoritebyalongshot—andlistenedtoitsdull,disappointingthudasitfelltothebottomshelf.Thenshebenttopickitup,staringwistfullyatthewaythegoldwrappershinedinherpalm.
“Iwishyouweresalt-and-vinegarchips,”shewhisperedatit,atraceofresentmentinhervoice.
“Here.”
“Aaah!”Shestartledandinstantlyturnedaround,handsinfrontofherbodyandreadytodefend—possiblyeventoattack.ButtheonlypersoninthebreakroomwasAdam,sittingononeofthesmallcouchesinthemiddle,lookingatherwithabland,slightlyamusedexpression.
Sherelaxedherposeandclutchedherhandstoherchest,willingherracingheartbeattoslowdown.“Whendidyougethere?!”
“Fiveminutesago?”Heregardedhercalmly.“Iwasherewhenyoucamein.”
“Whydidn’tyousaysomething?”
Hetiltedhishead.“Icouldaskthesame.”
Shecoveredhermouthwithherhand,tryingtorecoverfromthescare.“Ididn’tseeyou.Whyareyousittinginthedarklikeacreep?”
“Light’sbroken.Asusual.”Adamliftedhisdrink—abottleofCokethathilariouslyread“Seraphina”—andOliverememberedJess,oneofhisgrads,complainingabouthowstrictAdamwasaboutbringingfoodanddrinksintohislab.HegrabbedsomethingfromthecushionandhelditouttoOlive.“Here.Youcanhavetherestofthechips.”
Olivenarrowedhereyes.“You.”
“Me?”
“Youstolemychips.”
Hismouthcurved.“Sorry.Youcanhavewhat’sleft.”Hepeekedintothebag.“Ididn’thavemany,Idon’tthink.”
Shehesitatedandthenmadeherwaytothecouch.Shedistrustfullyacceptedthesmallbagandtookaseatnexttohim.“Thanks,Iguess.”
Henodded,takingasipofhisdrink.Shetriednottostareathisthroatashetippedhisheadback,avertinghereyestoherknees.
“Shouldyoubehavingcaffeineat”—Oliveglancedattheclock—“tentwenty-sevenp.m.?”Cometothinkofit,heshouldn’tbehavingcaffeineatall,givenhisbaselineshinypersonality.AndyetthetwoofthemgotcoffeetogethereveryWednesday.Olivewasnothingbutanenabler.
“IdoubtI’llbesleepingmuch,anyway.”
“Why?”
“Ineedtorunasetoflast-minuteanalysesforagrantdueonSundaynight.”
“Oh.”Sheleanedback,findingamorecomfortableposition.“Ithoughtyouhadminionsforthat.”
“Asitturnsout,askingyourgradstopullanall-nighterforyouisfrowneduponbyHR.”
“Whatatravesty.”
“Truly.Whataboutyou?”
“Tom’sreport.”Shesighed.“I’msupposedtosendittohimtomorrowandthere’sasectionthatIjustdon’t…”Shesighedagain.“I’mrerunningafewanalyses,justtomakesurethateverythingisperfect,buttheequipmentI’mworkingwithisnotexactly…ugh.”
“HaveyoutoldAysegul?”
Aysegul,he’dsaid.NaturallyBecauseAdamwasacolleagueofDr.Aslan,nothergrad,anditmadesensethathe’dthinkofherasAysegul.Itwasn’tthefirsttimehe’dcalledherthat;itwasn’teventhefirsttimeOlivehadnoticed.Itwasjusthardtoreconcile,whentheyweresittingaloneandtalkingquietly,thatAdamwasfacultyandOlivewasverymuchnot.Worldsapart,really.
“Idid,butthere’snomoneytogetanythingbetter.She’sagreatmentor,but…lastyearherhusbandgotsickandshedecidedtoretireearly,andsometimesitfeelslikeshe’sstoppedcaring.”Oliverubbedhertemple.Shecouldfeelaheadachecomingupandhadalongnightaheadofher.“AreyougoingtotellherItoldyouthat?”
“Ofcourse.”
Shegroaned.“Don’t.”
“Mightalsotellheraboutthekissesyou’vebeenextorting,andthefake-datingschemeyouropedmeinto,andaboveallaboutthesunscreen—”
“OhGod.”Olivehidherfaceinherknees,armscominguptowraparoundherhead.“God.Thesunscreen.”
“Yeah.”Hisvoicesoundedmuffledfromdownhere.“Yeah,thatwas…”
“Awkward?”sheoffered,sittingbackstraightwithagrimace.Adamwaslookingelsewhere.Shewasprobablyimaginingit,thewayhewasflushing.
Heclearedhisthroat.“Amongotherthings.”
“Yep.”Ithadbeenotherthings,too.Alotofthingsthatshewasnotgoingtomention,becauseherotherthingsweresuretonotbehisotherthings.Hisotherthingswereprobably“terrible”and“harrowing”and“invasive.”Whilehers…
“IsthesunscreengoingintheTitleIXcomplaint?”
Hismouthtwitched.“Rightonthefirstpage.Nonconsensualsunblockapplication.”
“Oh,comeon.Isavedyoufrombasalcellcarcinoma.”
“GropedunderSPFpretense.”
SheswattedhimwithherTwix,andheduckedabittoavoidher,amused.“Hey,youwanthalfofthis?SinceIfullyplantoeatwhat’sleftofyourchips.”
“Nah.”
“Yousure?”
“Can’tstandchocolate.”
Olivestaredathim,shakingherheadindisbelief.“Youwould,wouldn’tyou?Hateeverythingthatisdeliciousandlovelyandcomforting.”
“Chocolate’sdisgusting.”
“Youjustwanttoliveinyourdark,bitterworldmadeofblackcoffeeandplainbagelswithplaincreamcheese.Andoccasionallysalt-and-vinegarchips.”
“Theyareclearlyyourfavoritechips—”
“Notthepoint.”
“—andIamflatteredthatyou’vememorizedmyorders.”
“Itdoeshelpthatthey’realwaysthesame.”
“AtleastI’veneverorderedsomethingcalledaunicornFrappuccino.”
“Thatwassogood.Ittastedliketherainbow.”
“Likesugarandfoodcoloring?”
“Mytwofavoritethingsintheuniverse.Thankyouforbuyingitforme,bytheway.”Ithadmadeforanicefake-datingWednesdaytreatthisweek,eventhoughOlivehadbeensobusywithTom’sreportthatshehadn’tbeenabletoexchangemorethanacoupleofwordswithAdam.Which,shehadtoadmit,hadbeenalittledisappointing.
“Where’sTombytheway,whileyouandIslaveourFridaynightaway?”
“Out.Onadate,Ithink.”
“Onadate?Doeshisgirlfriendlivehere?”
“Tomhaslotsofgirlfriends.Inlotsofplaces.”
“Butareanyofthemfake?”Shebeamedathim,andcouldtellthathewastemptedtosmileback.“Wouldyoulikehalfadollar,then?Forthechips?”
“Keepit.”
“Great.Becauseit’saboutathirdofmymonthlysalary.”
Sheactuallymanagedtomakehimlaugh,and—itdidn’tjusttransformhisface,itchangedtheentirespacetheywereinhabiting.Olivehadtoconvinceherlungsnottostopworking,tokeeptakinginoxygen,andhereyesnottogetlostinthelittlelinesatthecornersofhiseyes,thedimplesinthecenterofhischeeks.“Gladtohearthatgradstudents’stipendshavenotincreasedsinceIwasone.”
“DidyouusetoliveoninstantramenandbananasduringyourPh.D.,too?”
“Idon’tlikebananas,butIrememberhavinglotsofapples.”
“Applesareexpensive,youfiscallyirresponsiblesplurger.”Shetiltedherheadandwonderedifitwasokaytoasktheonethingshe’dbeendyingtoknow.Shetoldherselfthatitwasprobablyinappropriate—andthenwentforitanyway.“Howoldareyou?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Oh.Wow.”She’dthoughtyounger.Orolder,maybe.She’dthoughtheexistedinanagelessdimension.Itwassoweirdtohearanumber.Tohaveayearofbirth,almostawholedecadebeforehers.“I’mtwenty-six.”Olivewasn’tsurewhysheoffereduptheinformation,sincehehadn’tasked.“It’soddtothinkthatyouusedtobeastudent,too.”
“Isit?”
“Yep.Wereyoulikethisasanundergrad,too?”
“Likethis?”
“Youknow.”Shebattedhereyesathim.“Antagonisticandunapproachable.”
Heglared,butshewasstartingtonottakethattooseriously.“Imighthavebeenworse,actually.”
“Ibet.”Therewasabrief,comfortablesilenceasshesatbackandbegantotackleherbagofchips.Itwasallshe’deverwantedfromavendingmachinesnack.“Sodoesitgetbetter?”
“What?”
“This.”Shegesturedinchoatelyaroundherself.“Academia.Doesitgetbetter,aftergradschool?Onceyouhavetenure?”
“No.God,no.”Helookedsohorrifiedbytheassumption,shehadtolaugh
“Whydoyoustickaround,then?”
“Unclear.”TherewasaflashofsomethinginhiseyesthatOlivecouldn’tquiteinterpret,but—nothingsurprisingaboutthat.TherewasalotaboutAdamCarlsenshedidn’tknow.Hewasanass,butwithunexpecteddepths.“There’sanelementofsunk-costfallacy,probably—hardtostepaway,whenyou’veinvestedsomuchtimeandenergy.Butthesciencemakesitworthit.Whenitworks,anyway.”
Shehummed,consideringhiswords,andrememberedTheGuyinthebathroom.He’dsaidthatacademiawasalotofbucksforlittlebang,andthatoneneededagoodreasontostickaround.Olivewonderedwherehewasnow.Ifhe’dmanagedtograduate.Ifheknewthathe’dhelpedsomeonemakeoneofthehardestdecisionsoftheirlife.Ifhehadanyideathattherewasagirl,somewhereintheworld,whothoughtabouttheirrandomencountersurprisinglyoften.Doubtful.
“Iknowgradschoolissupposedtobemiserableforeveryone,butit’sdepressingtoseetenuredfacultyhereonaFridaynight,insteadof,Idon’tknow,watchingNetflixinbed,orgettingdinnerwiththeirgirlfriend—”
“Ithoughtyouweremygirlfriend.”
Olivesmiledupathim.“Notquite.”But,sincewe’reonthetopic:whyexactlydon’tyouhaveone?Becauseit’sgettingharderandharderformetofigurethatoneout.Exceptthatmaybeyoujustdon’twantone.Maybeyoujustwanttobeonyourown,likeeverythingaboutyourbehaviorsuggests,andhereIam,annoyingtheshitoutofyou.Ishouldjustpocketmychipsandmycandyandgobacktomystupidproteinsamples,butforsomereasonyouaresocomfortabletobearound.AndIamdrawntoyou,eventhoughIdon’tknowwhy.
“Doyouplantostayinacademia?”heasked.“Afteryougraduate.”
“Yes.Maybe.No.”
Hesmiled,andOlivelaughed.
“Undecided.”
“Right.”
“It’sjust…therearethingsthatIloveaboutit.Beinginthelab,doingresearch.Comingupwithstudyideas,feelingthatI’mdoingsomethingmeaningful.ButifIgotheacademicroute,thenI’llalsoneedtodoalotofotherthingsthatIjust…”Sheshookherhead.
“Otherthings?”
“Yeah.ThePRstuff,mostly.Writegrantsandconvincepeopletofundmyresearch.Network,whichisaspecialkindofhell.Publicspeaking,orevenone-on-onesituationswhereIhavetoimpresspeople.That’stheworst,actually.Ihateitsomuch—myheadexplodesandIfreezeandeveryoneislookingatmereadytojudgemeandmytongueparalyzesandIstartwishingthatIwasdeadandthenthattheworldwasdeadand—”Shenoticedhissmileandgavehimaruefullook.“Yougetthegist.”
“Therearethingsyoucandoaboutthat,ifyouwant.Itjusttakespractice.Makingsureyourthoughtsareorganized.Stufflikethat.”
“Iknow.AndItrytodothat—IdiditbeforemymeetingwithTom.AndIstillstammeredlikeanidiotwhenheaskedmeasimplequestion.”Andthenyouhelpedme,orderedmythoughts,andsavedmyass,withoutevenmeaningto.“Idon’tknow.Maybemybrainisbroken.”
Heshookhishead.“YoudidgreatduringthatmeetingwithTom,especiallyconsideringthatyouwereforcedtohaveyourfakeboyfriendsitnexttoyou.”Shedidn’tpointoutthathispresencehadactuallymadethingsbetter.“Tomcertainlyseemedimpressed,whichisnosmallfeat.Andifanyonescrewedup,itwasdefinitelyhim.I’msorryhedidthat,bytheway.”
“Didwhat?”
“Forceyoutotalkaboutyourpersonallife.”
“Oh.”Olivelookedaway,towardtheblueglowofthevendingmachine.“It’sokay.It’sbeenawhile.”Shewassurprisedtohearherselfcontinue.Tofeelherselfwantingtocontinue.“Sincehighschool,really.”
“That’s…young.”Therewassomethingabouthistone,maybetheevenness,maybethelackofovertsympathy,thatshefoundreassuring.
“Iwasfifteen.OnedaymymomandIwerethere,just…Idon’tevenknow.Kayaking.Thinkingaboutgettingacat.ArguingoverthewayI’dpilestuffontopofthetrashcanwhenitwasoverflowingandIdidn’twanttotakeitout.AndnextthingIknewshehadherdiagnosis,andthreeweekslatershe’dalready—”Shecouldn’tsayit.Herlips,hervocalfolds,herheart,theyjustwouldn’tformthewords.Sosheswallowedthem.“Thechildwelfaresystemcouldn’tfigureoutwheretosendmeuntilIbecameofage.”
“Yourdad?”
Sheshookherhead.“Neverinthepicture.He’sanasshole,accordingtomymom.”Shelaughedsoftly.“Thenever-takes-out-the-trashgeneclearlycamefromhissideofthefamily.AndmygrandparentshaddiedwhenIwasakid,becauseapparentlythat’swhatpeoplearoundmedo.”Shetriedtosayitjokingly,shereallytried.Tonotsoundbitter.Shethoughtsheevensucceeded.“Iwasjust…alone.”
“Whatdidyoudo?”
“Fosterhomeuntilsixteen,thenIemancipated.”Sheshrugged,hopingtobrushoffthememory.“Ifonlythey’dcaughtitearlier,evenjustbyafewmonths—maybeshe’dbehere.Maybesurgeryandchemowouldhaveactuallydonesomething.AndI…Iwasalwaysgoodatsciencestuff,soIthoughtthattheleastIcoulddowas…”
Adamdugintohispocketsforafewmomentsandheldoutacrumpledpapernapkin.Olivestaredatit,confused,untilsherealizedthathercheekshadsomehowgrownwet.
Oh.
“Adam,didyoujustoffermeausedtissue?”
“I…maybe.”Hepressedhislipstogether.“Ipanicked.”
Shechuckledwetly,acceptinghisgrosstissueandusingittoblowhernose.They’dkissedtwice,afterall.Whynotshareabitofsnot?“I’msorry.I’musuallynotlikethis.”
“Likewhat?”
“Weepy.I…Ishouldn’ttalkaboutthis.”
“Why?”
“Because.”Itwashardtoexplain,themixofpainandaffectionthatalwaysresurfacedwhenshetalkedabouthermother.Itwasthereasonshealmostneverdidit,andthereasonshehatedcancersomuch.Notonlyhaditrobbedherofthepersonshelovedthemost,butithadalsoturnedthehappiestmemoriesofherlifeintosomethingbittersweet.“Itmakesmeweepy.”
Hesmiled.“Olive,youcantalkaboutit.Andyoushouldletyourselfbeweepy.”
Shehadasensethathereallymeantit.Thatshecouldhavetalkedabouthermomforhoweverlongsheliked,andhewouldhavelistenedintentlytoeverysecondofit.Shewasn’tsureshewasreadyforit,though.Sosheshrugged,changingthetopic.“Anyway,nowhereIam.Lovinglabworkandbarelydealingwiththerest—abstracts,conferences,networking.Teaching.Rejectedgrants.”OlivegesturedinAdam’sdirection.“Faileddissertationproposals.”
“Isyourlabmatestillgivingyouahardtime?”
Olivewavedherhanddismissively.“I’mnothisfavoriteperson,butit’sfine.He’llgetoverit.”Shebitintoherlip.“I’msorryabouttheothernight.Iwasrude.Youhaveeveryrighttobemad.”
Adamshookhishead.“It’sokay.Iunderstandwhereyouwerecomingfrom.”
“Idogetwhatyou’resaying.Aboutnotwantingtoformanewgenerationofcrappymillennialscientists.”
“Idon’tbelieveI’veeverusedtheexpression‘crappymillennialscientists.’?”
“ButFYI,Istillthinkthatyoudon’tneedtobethatharshwhenyougivefeedback.Wegetthegistofwhatyou’resaying,evenifyougivecriticismmorenicely.”
Helookedatherforalongtime.Thenhenodded,once.“Noted.”
“Areyougoingtobelessharsh,then?”
“Unlikely.”
Shesighed.“Youknow,whenIhavenomorefriendsandeveryonehatesmebecauseofthisfake-datingthing,I’llbesuperlonelyandyouaregoingtohavetohangoutwithmeeveryday.I’llannoyyouallthetime.Isitreallyworthbeingmeantoeverygradintheprogram?”
“Absolutely.”
Shesighedagain,thistimewithasmile,andletthesideofherheadrestonhisshoulder.Itmighthavebeenabitforward,butitfeltnatural—maybebecausetheyseemedtohaveaknackforgettingthemselvesinsituationsthatrequiredPDAofsomesort,maybebecauseofeverythingthey’dbeentalkingabout,maybebecauseofthehourofthenight.Adam…well,hedidn’tactasifheminded.Hewasjustthere,quiet,relaxed,warmandsolidthroughthecottonofhisblackshirtunderhertemple.Itfeltlikealongtimebeforehebrokethesilence.
“I’mnotsorryforaskingGregtorevisehisproposal.ButIamsorrythatIcreatedasituationthatledhimtotakeitoutonyou.Thataslongasthiscontinues,itmighthappenagain.”
“Well,IamsorryaboutthetextsIsent,”shesaidagain.“Andyou’refine.Evenifyou’reantagonisticandunapproachable.”
“Goodtohear.”
“Ishouldgobacktothelab.”Shesatup,onehandcomingtomassagethebaseofherneck.“Mydisastrousblottingisnotgoingtofixitself.”
Adamblinked,andtherewasagleaminhiseyes,asifhehadn’tthoughtshe’dleavesosoon.Asifhe’dhavelikedforhertostay.“Whydisastrous?”
Shegroaned.“It’sjust…”Shereachedforherphoneandtappedonthehomebutton,pullingupapictureofherlastWesternblot.“See?”Shepointedatthetargetprotein.“This—itshouldn’t…”
Henodded,thoughtful.“You’resurethestartingsamplewasgood?Andthegel?”
“Yep,notrunny,ordriedout.”
“Itlooksliketheantibodymightbetheproblem.”
Shelookedupathim.“Youthinkso?”
“Yep.I’dcheckthedilutionandthebuffer.Ifnotthat,itmightalsobeawonkysecondaryantibody.Comebymylabifitstilldoesn’twork;youcanborrowours.Sameforotherpiecesofequipmentorsupplies.Ifthere’sanythingyouneed,justaskmylabmanager.”
“Oh,wow.Thankyou.”Shesmiled.“NowI’mactuallyabitsorrythatIcan’thaveyouonmydissertationcommittee.Perhapsrumorsofyourcrueltyhavebeengreatlyexaggerated.”
Hismouthtwitched.“Maybeyoujustpulloutthebestinme?”
Shegrinned.“ThenmaybeIshouldstickaround.Just,youknow,tosavethedepartmentfromyourterriblemoods?”
HeglancedatthepictureofthefailedWesternblotinherhand.“Well,itdoesn’tlooklikeyou’regoingtograduateanytimesoon.”
Shehalflaughed,halfgasped.“OhmyGod.Didyoujust—?”
“Objectively—”
“Thisistherudest,meanestthing—”Shewaslaughing.Holdingherstomachasshewavedherfingerathim.
“—basedonyourblotting—”
“—thatanyonecouldeversaytoaPh.D.student.Ever.”
“IthinkIcanfindmeanerthings.IfIreallyputmyselftoit.”
“We’redone.”Shewishedsheweren’tsmiling.Thenmaybehe’dtakeherseriouslyinsteadofjustlookingatherwiththatpatient,amusedexpression.“Seriously.Itwasnicewhileitlasted.”Shemadetostandandleaveindignantly,buthegrabbedthesleeveofhershirtandgentlytuggedatituntilshewassittingdownagain,nexttohimonthenarrowcouch—maybeevenalittlecloserthanbefore.Shecontinuedglaring,butheregardedherblandly,clearlyunperturbed.
“There’snothingbadabouttakingmorethanfiveyearstograduate,”heofferedinaconciliatorytone.
Olivehuffed.“Youjustwantmetostayaroundforever.Untilyouhavethebiggest,fattest,strongestTitleIXcasetoeverexist.”
“Thatwasmyplanallalong,infact.TheoneandonlyreasonIkissedyououtoftheblue.”
“Oh,shutup.”Sheduckedherchinintoherchest,bitingintoherlipandhopinghewouldn’tnoticehergrinningliketheidiotshewas.“Hey,canIaskyousomething?”
Adamlookedatherexpectantly,likeheseemedtoalotlately,soshecontinued,hertonesofterandquieter.
“Whyareyoureallydoingthis?”
“Doingwhat?”
“Thefakedating.Iunderstandthatyouwanttolooklikeyou’renotaflightrisk,but…Whyaren’tyoureallydatingsomeone?Imean,you’renotthatbad.”
“Highpraise.”
“No,comeon,whatImeantwas…Basedonyourfake-datingbehavior,I’msurethatalotofwomen…well,somewomenwouldlovetoreal-dateyou.”Shebitintoherlipagain,playingwiththeholethatwasopeninguponthekneeofherjeans.“We’refriends.Weweren’twhenwestarted,butwearenow.Youcantellme.”
“Arewe?”
Shenodded.Yes.Yes,weare.Comeon.“Well,youdidjustbreakoneofthesacredtenetsofacademicfriendshipsbymentioningmygraduationtimeline.ButI’llforgiveyouifyoutellmeifthisisreallybetterforyouthan…youknow,gettingarealgirlfriend.”
“Itis.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”Heseemedhonest.Hewashonest.Adamwasnotaliar;Olivewouldbetherlifeonit.
“Why,though?Doyouenjoythesunscreen-mediatedfondling?AndtheopportunitytodonatehundredsofyourdollarstothecampusStarbucks?”
Hesmiledfaintly.Andthenhewasn’tsmilinganymore.Notlookingather,either,butsomewhereinthedirectionofthecrumpledplasticwrapperthatshe’dtossedonthetableafewminutesgo.
Heswallowed.Shecouldseehisjawwork.
“Olive.”Hetookadeepbreath.“Youshouldknowthat—”
“OhmyGod!”
Theybothstartled,OliveconsiderablymoresothanAdam,andturnedtowardtheentrance.Jeremystoodthere,onehanddramaticallyclutchinghissternum.“Youguysscaredtheshitoutofme.Whatareyoudoingsittinginthedark?”
Whatareyoudoinghere?Olivethoughtungraciously.“Justchatting,”shesaid.Thoughitdidn’tseemlikeagooddescriptorofwhatwasgoingon.Andyet,shecouldn’tputherfingeronwhy.
“Youscaredme,”Jeremyrepeatedoncemore.“Areyouworkingonyourreport,Ol?”
“Yeah.”ShestoleaquickglanceatAdam,whowasmotionlessandexpressionlessnexttoher.“Justtakingaquickbreak.Iwasabouttogoback,actually.”
“Oh,cool.Metoo.”Jeremysmiled,pointinginthedirectionofhislab.“Ineedtogoisolateabunchofvirginfruitflies.Beforethey’renotvirginsanymore,youknow?”Hewiggledhiseyebrows,andOlivehadtoforceoutasmall,unconvincinglaugh.Sheusuallyenjoyedhissenseofhumor.Usually.Nowshejustwished…Shewasn’tsurewhatshewished.“Youcomingwith,Ol?”
No,I’mfinerighthere,actually.“Sure.”Reluctantly,shestood.Adamdidthesame,gatheringtheirwrappersandhisemptybottleandsortingthemintherecyclingbins.
“Haveagoodnight,Dr.Carlsen,”Jeremysaidfromtheentrance.Adamjustnoddedathim,atouchcurtly.Thesetofhiseyeswasyetagainimpossibletodecipher.
Iguessthat’sit,then,shethought.Wheretheweightinherchesthadcomefrom,shehadnoclue.Shewasprobablyjusttired.Hadeatentoomuch,ornotenough.
“Seeyou,Adam.Right?”shemurmuredbeforehecouldheadfortheentranceandleavetheroom.HervoicewaspitchedlowenoughthatJeremycouldn’tpossiblyhaveheardher.MaybeAdamhadn’t,either.Exceptthathepausedforamoment.Andthen,whenhewalkedpasther,shehadtheimpressionofknucklesbrushingagainstthebackofherhand.
“Goodnight,Olive.”ChapterNine
HYPOTHESIS:ThemoreImentionanattachmentinanemail,thelesslikelyIwillbetoactuallyincludesaidattachment.
SATURDAY,6:34p.m.
FROM:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT:Re:ReportonPancreaticCancerStudy
HiTom,
Hereisthereportyouaskedfor,withadetaileddescriptionofwhatIhavedonesofar,aswellasmythoughtsonfuturedirectionsandtheresourcesIwillneedtoexpand.I’mexcitedtohearyourthoughtsonmywork!
Sincerely,
Olive
SATURDAY,6:35p.m.
FROM:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT:Re:ReportonPancreaticCancerStudy
HiTom,
Oops,forgottheattachment.
Sincerely,
Olive
Today,3:20p.m.
FROM:Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
TO:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Re:ReportonPancreaticCancerStudy
Olive,
Donereadingthereport.DoyouthinkyoucouldcomeovertoAdam’stochataboutit?Maybetomorrowmorning(Tue)atnine?AdamandIwillbeleavingforBostononWedafternoon.
TB
Olive’sheartbeatfaster—whetherattheideaofbeinginAdam’shomeoratthethoughtofgettingheranswerfromTom,shewasn’tsure.SheimmediatelytextedAdam.
Olive:TomjustinvitedmetoyourplacetotalkaboutthereportIsenthim.WoulditbeokayifIcameover?
Adam:Ofcourse.When?
Olive:Tomorrowat9a.m.Willyoubehome?
Adam:Probably.Therearenobikelanestomyhouse.Doyouneedaride?Icanpickyouup.
Shethoughtaboutitforafewmomentsanddecidedthatshelikedtheideaalittletoomuch.
Olive:Myroommatecandriveme,butthanksforoffering.
—
MALCOLMDROPPEDHERoffinfrontofabeautifulSpanishcolonialhousewithstuccowallsandarchedwindowsandrefusedtobackoutofthedrivewayuntilOliveagreedtoslideacanofpeppersprayinherbackpack.Shewalkedoverthebrick-tilepathanduptotheentrance,marvelingatthegreenoftheyardandatthecozyatmosphereoftheporch.Shewasabouttoringthedoorbellwhensheheardhername
Adamwasbehindher,bathedinsweatandclearlyjustbackfromhismorningrun.Hewaswearingsunglasses,shorts,andaPrincetonUndergradMathletesT-shirtthatstucktohischest.Outoftheensemble,theonlynonblackitemsweretheAirPodsinhisears,peekingthroughthedampwavesofhishair.Shefelthercheekscurveintoasmile,tryingtoimaginewhathewaslisteningto.ProbablyCoil,orKraftwerk.TheVelvetUnderground.ATEDTalkonwater-efficientlandscaping.Whalenoises.
Shewouldhavegivenahugechunkofhersalaryinexchangeforfiveminutesalonewithhisphone,justtomesswithhisplaylist.AddTaylorSwift,Beyoncé,maybesomeAriana.Broadenhishorizons.Shecouldn’tseehiseyesbehindthedarklenses,butshedidn’tneedto.Hismouthhadcurvedassoonashe’dnoticedher,hissmileslightbutdefinitelythere.
“Youokay?”heasked.
Oliverealizedthatshe’dbeenstaring.“Um,yeah.Sorry.You?”
Henodded.“Didyoufindthehouseallright?”
“Yes.Iwasjustabouttoknock.”
“Noneed.”Hepassedherandopenedthedoorforher,waitinguntilshe’dsteppedinsidetocloseitafterthem.Shecaughtawhiffofhisscent—sweatandsoapandsomethingdarkandgood—andwonderedanewathowfamiliarithadbecometoher.“Tom’sprobablythisway.”
Adam’splacewaslight,spacious,andsimplyfurnished.“Notaxidermiedanimals?”sheaskedunderherbreath.
HewasclearlyabouttoflipheroffwhentheyfoundTominthekitchen,typingonhislaptop.Helookedupatherandgrinned—which,shehoped,wasagoodsign.
“Thanksforcoming,Olive.Iwasn’tsureI’dhavetimetogotocampusbeforeleaving.Sitdown,please.”Adamdisappearedfromtheroom,probablytogoshower,andOlivefeltherheartpickup.Tomhadmadehisdecision.Herdestinywasgoingtobedefinedbythenextfewminutes.
“Canyouclarifyacoupleofthingsforme?”heasked,turninghislaptoptowardherandpointingatoneofthefiguresshe’dsent.“TomakesureIunderstandyourprotocolscorrectly.”
WhenAdamcamebacktwentyminuteslater,hairdampandwearingoneofhistenmillionblackHenleysthatwereallatinybitdifferentandyetstillmanagedtofithiminthemostirritatinglyperfectway,shewasjustwrappingupanexplanationofherRNAanalyses.Tomwastakingnotesonhislaptop.
“Wheneveryouguysaredone,Icangiveyouaridebacktocampus,Olive,”Adamoffered.“Ineedtodrivein,anyway.”
“We’redone,”Tomsaid,stilltyping.“She’sallyours.”
Oh.Olivenoddedandgingerlystoodup.Tomhadn’tgivenheranansweryet.He’daskedlotsofinteresting,smartquestionsaboutherproject,buthehadn’ttoldherwhetherhewantedtoworkwithhernextyear.Diditmeanthattheanswerwasano,buthe’drathernotcommunicateittoOliveinher“boyfriend’s”home?Whatifhe’dneverreallythoughtthatherworkwasworthfunding?Whatifhe’djustbeenfakingitbecauseAdamwashisfriend?AdamhadsaidthatTomwasn’tlikethat,butwhatifhe’dbeenwrongandnow—
“Youreadytogo?”Adamasked.Shegrabbedherbackpack,tryingtocollectherself.Shewasfine.Thiswasfine.Shecouldcryaboutthislater.
“Sure.”Sherockedonceonherheels,givingTomonelastlook.Sadly,heseemedtakenwithhislaptop.“Bye,Tom.Itwasnicetomeetyou.Haveasafetriphome.”
“Likewise,”hesaid,notevenglancingather.“Ihadlotsofinterestingconversations.”
“Yeah.”Itmusthavebeenthesectionongenome-basedprognostics,shethought,followingAdamoutoftheroom.She’dsuspecteditwastooweak,butshe’dbeenstupidandshe’dsentthereportanyway.Stupid,stupid,stupid.Sheshouldhavebeefeditup.Themostimportantthingnowwastoavoidcryinguntilshewas—
“And,Olive,”Tomadded.
Shepausedunderthedoorframeandlookedbackathim.“Yes?”
“I’llseeyounextyearatHarvard,right?”Hisgazefinallysliduptomeethers.“Ihavetheperfectbenchsetasideforyou.”
Herheartdetonated.Itabsolutelyexplodedwithjoyinherchest,andOlivefeltaviolentwaveofhappiness,pride,andreliefallwashoverher.Itcouldhaveeasilyknockedhertothefloor,butbysomemiracleofbiologyshemanagedtostayuprightandsmileatTom
“Ican’twait,”shesaid,voicethickwithhappytears.“Thankyousomuch.”
Hegaveherawinkandonelastsmile,kindandencouraging.Olivebarelymanagedtowaituntilshewasoutsidetofist-pump,thenjumparoundafewtimes,thenfist-pumpagain.
“Youalldone?”Adamasked.
Sheturnedaround,rememberingthatshewasn’talone.Hisarmswerefoldedonhischest,fingersdrummingagainsthisbiceps.Therewasanindulgentexpressioninhiseyes,and—sheshouldhavebeenembarrassed,butshejustcouldn’thelpit.Olivethrewherselfathimandhuggedhistorsoastightasshecould.Sheclosedhereyeswhen,afterafewsecondsofhesitation,hewrappedhisarmsaroundher.
“Congratulations,”hewhisperedsoftlyagainstherhair.JustlikethatOlivewasonthevergeoftearsalloveragain.
OncetheywereinAdam’scar—aPrius,toexactlynoone’ssurprise—anddrivingtocampus,shefeltsohappyshecouldn’tpossiblybequiet.
“He’lltakeme.Hesaidhe’lltakeme.”
“He’dbeanidiotnotto.”Adamwassmilingsoftly.“Iknewhewould.”
“Hadhetoldyou?”Hereyeswidened.“Youknew,andyoudidn’teventellme—”
“Hehadn’t.Wehaven’tdiscussedyou.”
“Oh?”Shetiltedherhead,turningaroundinthecarseattobetterlookathim.“Why?”
“Unspokenagreement.Itmightbeaconflictofinterest.”
“Right.”Sure.Itmadesense.Closefriendandgirlfriend.Fakegirlfriend,actually.
“CanIaskyousomething?”
Shenodded.
“TherearelotsofcancerlabsintheUS.WhydidyouchooseTom’s?”
“Well,Isortofdidn’t.Iemailedseveralpeople—twoofwhomareatUCSF,whichismuchcloserthanBoston.ButTomwastheonlyonewhoanswered.”Sheleanedherheadagainsttheseat.Itoccurredtoherforthefirsttimethatshewasgoingtohavetoleaveherlifeforanentireyear.HerapartmentwithMalcolm,hernightsspentwithAnh.Adam,even.Sheimmediatelypushedthethoughtaway,notreadytoentertainit.“Whydoprofessorsneveranswerstudents’emails,bytheway?”
“Becausewegetapproximatelytwohundredaday,andmostofthemareiterationsof‘whydoIhaveaCminus?’?”Hewasquietforamoment.“Myadviceforthefutureistohaveyouradviserreachout,insteadofdoingityourself.”
Shenoddedandstoredawaytheinformation.“I’mgladHarvardworkedout,though.It’sgoingtobeamazing.Tomissuchabigname,andtheamountofworkIcandoinhislabislimitless.I’llberunningstudiestwenty-fourseven,andiftheresultsarewhatIthinkthey’llbe,I’llbeabletopublishinhigh-impactjournalsandprobablygetaclinicaltrialstartedinjustafewyears.”Shefelthighontheprospect.“Hey,youandInowhaveacollaboratorincommon,ontopofbeingexcellentfake-datingpartners!”Athoughtoccurredtoher.“WhatisyourandTom’sbiggrantabout,anyway?”
“Cell-basedmodels.”
“Off-lattice?”
Henodded.
“Wow.That’scoolstuff.”
“It’sthemostinterestingprojectI’mworkingon,forsure.Gotthegrantattherightmoment,too.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Hewassilentforabeatwhileheswitchedlanes.“It’sdifferentfrommyothergrants—mostlygeneticstuff.Whichisinteresting,don’tgetmewrong,butaftertenyearsresearchingthesameexactthing,Iwasinarut.”
“Youmean…bored?”
“Todeath.Ibrieflyconsideredgoingintoindustry.”
Olivegasped.Switchingfromacademiatoindustrywasconsideredtheultimatebetrayal.
“Don’tworry.”Adamsmiled.“Tomsavedtheday.WhenItoldhimIwasn’tenjoyingresearchanymore,webrainstormedsomenewdirections,foundsomethingwewerebothenthusiasticabout,andwrotethegrant.”
OlivefeltasuddensurgeofgratitudetowardTom.Notonlywashegoingtorescueherproject,buthewasthereasonAdamwasstillaround.Thereasonshe’dgottentheopportunitytoknowhim.“Itmustbenicetobeexcitedaboutworkagain.”
“Itis.Academiatakesalotfromyouandgivesbackverylittle.It’shardtostickaroundwithoutagoodreasontodoso.”
Shenoddedabsentmindedly,thinkingthatthewordssoundedfamiliar.Notjustthecontent,butthedelivery,too.Notsurprising,though:itwasexactlywhatTheGuyinthebathroomhadtoldherallthoseyearsago.Academia’salotofbucksforverylittlebang.Whatmattersiswhetheryourreasontobeinacademiaisgoodenough.
Suddenly,somethingclickedinherbrain.
Thedeepvoice.Theblurrydarkhair.Thecrisp,precisewayoftalking.CouldTheGuyinthebathroomandAdambe
No.Impossible.TheGuywasastudent—though,hadheexplicitlysaidso?No.No,whathe’dsaidwasThisismylab’sbathroomandthathe’dbeenthereforsixyears,andhehadn’tansweredwhenshe’daskedabouthisdissertationtimeline,and—
Impossible.Improbable.Inconceivable.
JustlikeeverythingelseaboutAdamandOlive.
OhGod.Whatifthey’dreallymetyearsago?Heprobablydidn’tremember,anyway.Surely.Olivehadbeennoone.Stillwasnoone.Shethoughtaboutaskinghim,butwhy?Hehadnoideathatafive-minuteconversationwithhimhadbeentheexactpushOliveneeded.Thatshe’dthoughtabouthimforyears.
Oliverememberedherlastwordstohim—MaybeI’llseeyounextyear—andoh,ifonlyshe’dknown.Shefeltasurgeofsomethingwarmandsoftinthesquishypartofherselfthatsheguardedmostcarefully.ShelookedatAdam,anditswelledevenlarger,evenstronger,evenhotter.
You,shethought.YouYouarejustthemost—
Theworst—
Thebest—
Olivelaughed,shakingherhead.
“What?”heasked,puzzled.
“Nothing.”Shegrinnedathim.“Nothing.Hey,youknowwhat?YouandIshouldgogetcoffee.Tocelebrate.”
“Celebratewhat?”
“Everything!Yourgrant.MyyearatHarvard.Howgreatourfakedatingisgoing.”
Itwasprobablyunfairofhertoask,sincetheywerenotdueforfake-datingcoffeeuntiltomorrow.ButthepreviousWednesdayhadlastedjustafewshortminutes,andsinceFridaynight,therehadbeenaboutthirtytimeswhenOlivehadtoforciblyremoveherphonefromherhandstoavoidtextinghimthingshecouldn’tpossiblycareabout.Hedidn’tneedtoknowthathewasrightandtheproblemwithherWesternblothadbeentheantibody.Therewasnowayhe’dhaveansweredherifonSaturdayat10:00p.m.,whenshe’dbeendyingtoknowifhewasinhisoffice,shehadsentthatHey,whatareyouupto?messagethatshe’dwrittenanddeletedtwice.Andshewasgladshe’dendedupchickeningoutofforwardinghimthatOnionarticleonsun-safetytips.
Itwasprobablyunfairofhertoask,andyettodaywasamomentousday,andshefoundherselfwantingtocelebrate.Withhim.
Hebittheinsideofhischeek,lookingpensive.“Woulditbeactualcoffee,orchamomiletea?”
“Depends.Willyougoallmoodyonme?”
“Iwillifyougetpumpkinstuff.”
Sherolledhereyes.“Youhavenotaste.”Herphonepingedwithareminder.“Oh,weshouldgotoFluchella,too.Beforecoffee.”
Averticallineappearedbetweenhisbrows.“I’mafraidtoaskwhatthatis.”
“Fluchella,”Oliverepeated,thoughitwasclearlynothelpful,judgingfromhowthelinebisectinghisforeheaddeepened.“Massfluvaccinationforfaculty,staff,andstudents.Atnocharge.”
Adammadeaface.“It’scalledFluchella?”
“Yep,likethefestival.Coachella?”
Adamwasclearlynotfamiliar.
“Don’tyougetuniversityemailsaboutthisstuff?There’vebeenatleastfive.”
“Ihaveagreatspamfilter.”
Olivefrowned.“DoesitblockStanfordemails,too?Becauseitshouldn’t.Itmightendupfilteringoutimportantmessagesfromadminandstudentsand—”
Adamarchedoneeyebrow.
“Oh.Right.”
Don’tlaugh.Don’tlaugh.Hedoesn’tneedtoknowhowmuchhemakesyoulaugh.
“Well,weshouldgogetourflushots.”
“I’mgood.”
“Yougotonealready?”
“No.”
“I’mprettysureit’smandatoryforeveryone.”
ThesetofAdam’sshouldersclearlybroadcastedthathewas,infact,noteveryone.“Inevergetsick.”
“Idoubtit.”
“Youshouldn’t.”
“Hey,thefluismoreseriousthanyoumightthink.”
“It’snotthatbad.”
“Itis,especiallyforpeoplelikeyou.”
“Likeme?”
“Youknow…peopleofacertainage.”
Hismouthtwitchedasheturnedintothecampusparkinglot.“Yousmart-ass.”
“Comeon.”Sheleanedforward,pokinghisbicepswithherindexfinger.Theyhadtouchedsomuchatthispoint.Inpublic,andalone,andamixtureofthetwo.Itdidn’tfeelweird.Itfeltgoodandnatural,likewhenOlivewaswithAnh,orMalcolm.“Let’sgotogether.”
Hedidn’tbudge,parallelparkinginaspotthatwouldhavetakenOliveabouttwohoursofmaneuveringtofitinto.“Idon’thavetime.”
“Youjustagreedtogogetcoffee.Youmusthavesometime.”
Hefinishedparkinginlessthanaminuteandpressedhislipstogether.Notansweringher.
“Whydon’tyouwanttogettheshot?”Shestudiedhimsuspiciously.“Areyousomekindofanti-vaxxer?”
Oh,iflookscouldkill.
“Okay.”Shefurrowedherbrow.“Thenwhy?”
“It’snotworththehassle.”Washefidgetingalittle?Washebitingtheinsideofhislip?
“Itliterallytakestenminutes.”Shereachedforhim,tuggingatthesleeveofhisshirt.“Yougetthere,theyscanyouruniversitybadge.Theygiveyoutheshot.”Shefelthismusclestenseunderherfingertipsasshesaidthelastword.“Easypeasy,andthebestpartis,youdon’tgetthefluforawholeyear.Totally—Oh.”Olivecoveredhermouthwithherhand.
“What?”
“OhmyGod.”
“What?”
“Areyou—Oh,Adam.”
“What?”
“Areyouafraidofneedles?”
Hewentstill.Completelyimmobile.Hewasn’tbreathinganymore.“I’mnotafraidofneedles.”
“It’sokay,”shesaid,makinghertoneasreassuringaspossible.
“Iknow,sinceI’mnot—”
“Thisisasafespaceforyouandyourfearofneedles.”
“Thereisnofearof—”
“Igetit,needlesarescary.”
“It’snot—”
“Youareallowedtobescared.”
“Iamnot,”hetoldher,alittletooforcefully,andthenturnedaway,clearinghisthroatandscratchingthesideofhisneck.
Olivepressedherlipstogether,andthensaid,“Well,Iusedtobescared.”
Helookedather,curious,soshecontinued.
“Asachild.My…”Shehadtoclearherthroat.“MymotherwouldhavetoholdmeinabearhugeverytimeIneededashot,orI’dthrasharoundtoomuch.Andshehadtobribemewithicecream,buttheproblemwasthatIwanteditimmediatelyaftermyshot.”Shelaughed.“Soshe’dbuyanicecreamsandwichbeforethedoctor’sappointment,andbythetimeIwasreadytoeat,it’dbeallmeltedinherpurseandmakeahugemessand…”
Dammit.Shewasweepy,again.InfrontofAdam,again
“Shesoundslovely,”Adamsaid.
“Shewas.”
“Andtobeclear,I’mnotafraidofneedles,”herepeated.Thistime,histonewaswarmandkind.“Theyjustfeel…disgusting.”
Shesniffledandlookedupathim.Thetemptationtohughimwasalmostirresistible.Butshe’dalreadydonethattoday,soshemadedowithpattinghimonthearm.“Aww.”
Hepinnedherwithawitheringlook.“Don’tawwme.”
Adorable.Hewasadorable.“No,really,theyaregross.Stuffpokesatyou,andthenyoubleed.Thefeelingofit—yikes.”
Shegotoutofthecarandwaitedforhimtodothesame.Whenhejoinedher,shesmiledathimreassuringly.
“Igetit.”
“Youdo?”Hedidn’tseemconvinced.
“Yep.They’rehorrible.”
Hewasstillalittledistrustful.“Theyare.”
“Andscary.”ShewrappedherhandaroundhiselbowandbegantopullhiminthedirectionoftheFluchellatent.“Still,youneedtogetoverit.Forscience.I’mtakingyoutogetaflushot.”
“I—”
“Thisisnonnegotiable.I’llholdyourhand,during.”
“Idon’tneedyoutoholdmyhand.SinceI’mnotgoing.”Exceptthathewasgoing.Hecouldhaveplantedhisfeetandstoodhisground,andhewouldhaveturnedintoanimmovableobject;Olivewouldhavehadnowayofdragginghimanywhere.Andyet.
Sheletherhandslidedowntohiswristandlookedupathim.“Yousoare.”
“Please.”Helookedpained.“Don’tmakeme.”
Hewassoadorable.“It’sforyourowngood.Andforthegoodoftheelderlypeoplewhomightcomeinanyproximitytoyou.Evenmoreelderlythanyou,thatis.”
Hesighed,defeated.“Olive.”
“Comeon.Maybewe’reluckyandthechairwillspotus.AndI’llbuyyouanicecreamsandwichafterward.”
“WillIbepayingforthisicecreamsandwich?”Hesoundedresignednow.
“Likely.Actually,scratchthat,youprobablydon’tlikeicecreamanyway,becauseyoudon’tenjoyanythingthat’sgoodinlife.”Shekeptonwalking,pensivelychewingonherlowerlip.“Maybethecafeteriahassomerawbroccoli?”
“Idon’tdeservethisverbalabuseontopoftheflushot.”
Shebeamed.“You’resuchatrooper.Eventhoughthebigbadneedleisouttogetyou.”
“Youareasmart-ass.”Andyet,hedidn’tresistwhenshecontinuedtopullhimbehindher.
Itwastenonanearly-Septembermorning,thesunalreadyshiningtoobrightandtoohotthroughthecottonofOlive’sshirt,thesweetgumleavesstilladeepgreenandshowingnosignofturning.Itfeltdifferentfromthepastfewyears,thissummerthatdidn’tseemtowanttoend,thatwasstretchedfullandripepastthebeginningofthesemester.Undergradsmusthavebeeneitherdozingoffintheirmidmorningclassesorstillasleepinbed,becauseforoncethatharriedairofchaosthatalwayscoatedtheStanfordcampuswasmissing.AndOlive—Olivehadalabfornextyear.Everythingshe’dworkedtowardsincefifteen,itwasfinallygoingtohappen.
Lifedidn’tgetmuchbetterthanthis.
Shesmiled,smellingtheflowerbedsandhummingatuneunderherbreathassheandAdamwalkedquietly,sidebyside.Astheymadetheirwayacrossthequad,herfingerssliddownfromhiswristandclosedaroundhispalm.ChapterTen
HYPOTHESIS:IfIfallinlove,thingswillinvariablyendpoorly.
Theknockoutmousehadbeenhangingfromawireforalengthoftimethatshouldhavebeenimpossible,consideringhowithadbeengeneticallymodified.Olivefrownedatitandpressedherlipstogether.ItwasmissingcrucialDNA.Allthehanging-from-a-wireproteinshadbeenerased.Therewasnowayitcouldholdonforthislong.Itwasthewholepointofknockingoutitsstupidgenes—
Herphonelitup,andthecornerofhereyedartedtoitsscreen.Shewasabletoreadthenameofthesender(Adam)butnotthecontentofthemessage.Itwas8:42onWednesday,whichimmediatelyhadherworriedthathemightwanttocanceltheirfakedate.Maybehethoughtthatbecausehe’dletOlivepickoutanicecreamsandwichforhimyesterdayafterFluchella(whichshemayormaynothaveendedupeatingherself)theydidn’tneedtomeettoday.Maybesheshouldn’thaveforcedhimtositonabenchwithherandrecountthemarathonstheyhadrun,andpossiblyshehadcomeoffasannoyingwhenshe’dstolenhisphone,downloadedherfavoriterunningapp,andthenfriendedherselfonit.Hehadseemedtobeenjoyinghimself,butmaybehehadn’tbeen.
Oliveglancedatherglovedhands,andthenbackathermouse,whowasstillholdingontothewire.
“Dude,stoptryingsohard.”Shekneeleduntilshewasateyelevelwiththecage.Themousekickedaroundwithitslittlelegs,itstailfloppingbackandforth.“You’resupposedtobebadatthis.AndI’msupposedtowriteadissertationabouthowbadyouare.Andthenyougetachunkofcheese,andIgetarealjobthatpaysrealmoneyandthejoyofsaying‘I’mnotthatkindofdoctor’whensomeoneishavingastrokeonmyairplane.”
Themousesqueakedandletgoofthewire,floppingonthefloorofthetestingcagewithathud.
“That’lldoit.”Shequicklygotridofherglovesandunlockedherphonewithherthumb.
Adam:Myarmhurts.
Sheinitiallythoughtthathewasgivingherareasonwhytheycouldn’tmeetup.Thensherememberedwakingupandrubbingherownachyarm.
Olive:Fromtheflushot?
Adam:It’sreallypainful.
Shegiggled.Shetrulyhadnotthoughtshewasthetypeto,buthereshewas,coveringhermouthwithherhandand…yes,gigglinglikeafoolinthemiddleofthelab.Hermousewasstaringupather,itstinyredeyesamixofjudgmentandsurprise.Olivehastilyturnedawayandlookedbackatherphone.
Olive:Oh,Adam.I’msosorry.
Olive:ShouldIcomeoverandkissitbetter?
Adam:Youneversaiditwouldhurtsobad.
Olive:Assomeoneoncetoldme,it’snotmyjobtoworkonyouremotionregulationskills.
Adam’sanswerwasonesingleemoji(ayellowhandwitharaisedmiddlefinger),andOlive’scheekspulledwithhowhardshewasgrinning.Shewasabouttoreplywithakissemojiwhenavoiceinterruptedher.
“Gross.”
Shelookedupfromherphone.Anhstoodinthelab’sentrance,stickingouthertongue.
“Hey.Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Borrowinggloves.Andbeinggrossedout.”
Olivefrowned.“Why?”
“We’reoutofthesmallsize.”Anhsteppedinside,rollinghereyes.“Honestly,theyneverbuyenoughbecauseI’mtheonlywomaninthelab,butit’snotlikeIdon’tgothroughglovesasfastas—”
“No,whyareyougrossedout?”
AnhmadeafaceandpluckedtwopurpleglovesfromOlive’sstash.“BecauseofhowinloveyouarewithCarlsen.IsitokayifItakeafewpairs?”
“Whatareyou—”Oliveblinkedather,stillclutchingherphone.WasAnhgoingcrazy?“I’mnotinlovewithhim.”
“Uh-huh,sure.”Anhfinishedstuffingherpocketswithglovesandthenlookedup,finallynoticingOlive’sdistressedexpression.Hereyeswidened.“Hey,Iwaskidding!You’renotgross.IprobablylookthesamewhenI’mtextingJeremy.Andit’sactuallyverysweet,howgoneyouareforhim—”
“ButI’mnot.Gone.”Olivewasstartingtopanic.“Idon’t—It’sjust—”
Anhpressedherlipstogether,asifbitingbackasmile.“Okay.Ifyousayso.”
“No,I’mserious.We’rejust—”
“Dude,it’sokay.”Anh’stonewasreassuringandalittleemotional.“It’sjust,you’resoamazing.Andspecial.Andhonestly,myfavoritepersoninthewholeworld.ButsometimesIgetworriedthatnoonebutMalcolmandmewillevergettoexperiencehowincredibleyouare.Well,untilnow.NowI’mnotworriedanymore,becauseI’veseenyouandAdamtogether,atthepicnic.Andintheparkinglot.And…everyothertime,really.You’rebothcrazyinlove,andoverthemoonaboutit.It’scute!Exceptthatfirstnight,”sheadded,pensive.“Imaintainthatwasprettyawkward.”
Olivestiffened.“Anh,it’snotlikethat.We’rejust…dating.Casually.Hangingout.Gettingtoknoweachother.We’renot…”
“Okay,sure.Ifyousayso.”Anhshrugged,clearlynotbelievingawordofwhatOlivewassaying.“Hey,Igottagobacktomybacterialculture.I’llcomebugyouwhenI’monbreak,okay?”
Olivenoddedslowly,watchingherfriend’sbackassheheadedforthedoor.Olive’sheartskippedabeatwhenAnhpausedandturnedaround,herexpressionsuddenlyserious.
“Ol.Ijustwantyoutoknowthat…IwasveryworriedaboutyougettinghurtfrommydatingJeremy.ButnowI’mnotanymore.BecauseIknowwhatyoureallylooklikewhenyou…Well.”Anhgaveherasheepishgrin.“Iwon’tsayit,ifyoudon’twantmeto.”
Sheleftwithawaveofherhand,andOlivestoodfrozen,watchingthedoorframelongpastthemomentAnhhaddisappeared.Thensheloweredhergazetothefloor,slumpedonthestoolbehindher,andthoughtonesinglething:
Shit
—
ITWASN’TTHEendoftheworld.Thesethingshappened.Eventhebestofpeopledevelopedcrushes—Anhhadsaidlove,ohGod,shehadsaidlove—onthepersontheywerefake-dating.Itdidn’tmeananything.
Exceptthat:Fuck.Fuck,fuck,fuck
Olivelockedthedoorofherofficebehindherandploppedherselfintoachair,hopingtodaywouldn’tbetheonetimeinthesemesterthatherofficematesdecidedtoshowupbefore10:00a.m.
Itwasallherfault.Herstupiddoing.Shehadknown,shehadknown,thatshe’dbeguntofindAdamattractive.Shehadknownalmostfromtheverybeginning,andthenshe’dstartedtalkingwithhim,she’dstartedgettingtoknowhimeventhoughitwasneverpartoftheplan,and—damnhimtohellforbeingsodifferentfromwhatshe’dexpected.Formakingherwanttobewithhimmoreandmore.Damnhim.Ithadbeenthere,staringatOliveforthepastfewdays,andshehadn’tnoticed.Becauseshewasanidiot.
Shestoodabruptlyanddugintoherpocketforherphone,pullingupMalcolm’scontact.
Olive:Wehavetomeet.
BlessMalcolm,becauseittookhimfewerthanfivesecondstoanswer.
Malcolm:Lunch?I’mabouttodigintotheneuromuscularjunctionofajuvenilerat.
Olive:IneedtotalktoyouNOW.
Olive:Please.
Malcolm:Starbucks.In10.
—
“ITOLDYOUso.”
Olivedidn’tbotherliftingherforeheadfromthetable.“Youdidn’t.”
“Well,maybeIdidn’tsay,‘Hey,don’tdothisfake-datingshitbecauseyou’regoingtofallforCarlsen,’butIdidsaythatthewholeideawasidioticandacarwreckwaitingtohappen—whichIbelieveencompassesthecurrentsituation.”
Malcolmwassittingacrossfromher,bythewindowofthecrowdedcoffeeshop.Aroundthemstudentschatted,laughed,ordereddrinks—rudelyunawareofthesuddenmaelstrominOlive’slife.Shepushedupfromthecoldsurfaceofthetableandpressedherpalmsintohereyes,notquitereadytoopenthemyet.Shemightneverbereadyagain.“Howcouldthishappen?Iamnotlikethis.Thisisnotme.HowcouldI—andAdamCarlsen,ofeveryone.WhoisintoAdamCarlsen?”
Malcolmsnorted.“Everyone,Ol.He’satall,broody,sullenhunkwithageniusIQ.Everyonelikestall,broody,sullenhunkswithgeniusIQs.”
“Idon’t!”
“Clearlyyoudo.”
Shesqueezedhereyesshutandwhimpered.“He’sreallynotthatsullen.”
“Oh,heis.Just,youdon’tnotice,becauseyou’rehalfwaygoneforhim.”
“Iamnot—”Shesmackedherforehead.Repeatedly.“Shit.”
Heleanedforwardandgrabbedherhand,hisskindarkandwarmagainsthers.“Hey,”hetoldher,voicepitchedtoacomfortingtone.“Settledown.We’llfigureitout.”Heeventackedonasmile.Olivelovedhimsomuchinthatmoment,evenwithalltheItoldyousos.“Firstofall,howbadisit?”
“Idon’tknow.Isthereascale?”
“Well,thereisliking,andthereisliking.”
Sheshookherhead,feelingutterlylost.“Ijustlikehim.Iwanttospendtimewithhim.”
“Okay,thatdoesn’tmeananything.Youalsowanttospendtimewithme.”
Shegrimaced,feelingherselfblushscarlet.“Notquitelikethat.”
Malcolmwasquietforabeat.“Isee.”HeknewhowbigofadealthiswasforOlive.They’dtalkedaboutitmultipletimes—howrareitwasforhertoexperienceattraction,especiallysexualattraction.Iftherewassomethingwrongwithher.Ifherpasthadstuntedherinsomeway.
“God.”Shejustwantedtoretreatinsideherhoodielikeaturtleuntilitallwentaway.Gorunarace.Startwritingherdissertationproposal.Anythingbutdealwiththis.“Itwasthere,andIdidn’tfigureitout.Ijustthoughthewassmartandattractiveandthathehadanicesmileandthatwecouldbefriendsand—”Sherubbedherpalmsintohereyesockets,wishingshecouldgobackanderaseherlifechoices.Theentirepastmonth.“Doyouhateme?”
“Me?”Malcolmsoundedsurprised.
“Yes.”
“No.WhywouldIhateyou?”
“Becausehe’sbeenhorribletoyou,madeyouthrowoutatonofdata.It’sjust—withmehe’snot—”
“Iknow.Well,”heamended,wavinghishand,“Idon’tknowknow.ButIcanbelievehe’sdifferentwithyouthanwhenhewasinmydamngraduateadvisorycommittee.”
“Youhatehim.”
“Yeah—Ihatehim.Or…Idislikehim.Butyoudon’thavetodislikehimbecauseIdo.ThoughIdoreservetherighttocommentonyourabysmaltasteinmen.Everyotherdayorso.But,Ol,Isawyouguysatthepicnic.Hedefinitelywasn’tinteractingwithyoulikehedoeswithme.Plus,youknow,”headdedbegrudgingly,“he’snotnothot.Icanseewhyyou’dhitthat.”
“ThisisnotwhatyousaidwhenIfirsttoldyouaboutthefakedating.”
“No,butI’mtryingtobesupportivehere.Youweren’tinlovewithhimatthetime.”
Shegroaned.“Canwepleasenotusethatword?Everagain?Itseemsalittlepremature.”
“Sure.”Malcolmbrushednonexistentdustoffhisbutton-down.“Waytobringarom-comtolife,bytheway.So,howareyougoingtobreakthenews?”
Shemassagedhertemple.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,youhaveathingforhim,andyoutwoarefriendly.I’massumingyou’replanningtoinformhimofyour…feelings?CanIusetheword‘feelings’?”
“No.”
“Whatever.”Herolledhiseyes.“You’regoingtotellhim,right?”
“Ofcoursenot.”Shesnortedoutalaugh.“Youcan’ttellthepersonyou’refake-datingthatyou”—herbrainscanneditselfforthecorrectword,didn’tfindit,andthenstumbledon—“likethem.It’sjustnotdone.AdamwillthinkIorchestratedthis.ThatIwasafterhimallalong.”
“That’sridiculous.Youdidn’tevenknowhimatthetime.”
“MaybeIdid,though.DoyouremembertheguyItoldyouabout,whohelpedmedecideaboutgradschool?TheoneImetinthebathroomovermyinterviewweekend?”
Malcolmnodded.
“HemighthavebeenAdam.Ithink.”
“Youthink?Youmeanyoudidn’taskhim?”
“Ofcoursenot.”
“Why‘ofcourse’?”
“Becausemaybeitwasn’thim.Andifhewas,heclearlydoesn’tremember,orhe’dhavementioneditweeksago.”
Hehadn’tbeentheonewearingexpiredcontacts,afterall.
Malcolmrolledhiseyes.“Listen,Olive,”hesaidearnestly,“Ineedyoutoconsidersomething:WhatifAdamlikesyou,too?Whatifhewantssomethingmore?”
Shelaughed.“Thereisnoway.”
“Whynot?”
“Because.”
“Becausewhat?”
“Becausehe’shim.He’sAdamCarlsen,andI…”Shetrailedoff.Noneedtocontinue.AndI’mme.Iamnothingspecial.
Malcolmwasquietforalongmoment.“Youhavenoidea,doyou?”Histonewassad.“You’regreat.You’rebeautiful,andloving.You’reindependent,andageniusscientist,andselfless,andloyal—hell,Ol,lookatthisridiculousmessyoucreatedjustsoyourfriendcoulddatetheguyshelikeswithoutfeelingguilty.There’snowayCarlsenhasn’tnoticed.”
“No.”Shewasresolute.“Don’tgetmewrong,Idothinkhelikesme,buthethinksofmeasafriend.AndifItellhimandhedoesn’twantto…”
“Towhat?Doesn’twanttofake-dateyouanymore?It’snotlikeyouhavemuchtolose.”
Maybenot.Maybeallthetalking,andthoselooksAdamgaveher,andhimshakinghisheadwhensheorderedextrawhippedcream;thewayhelethimselfbeteasedoutofhismoods;thetexts;howheseemedtobesoateasewithher,sonoticeablydifferentfromtheAdamCarlsensheusedtobehalf-scaredof—maybeallofthatwasnotmuch.ButsheandAdamwerefriendsnow,andtheycouldremainfriendsevenpastSeptembertwenty-ninth.Olive’sheartsankatthethoughtofgivingupthepossibilityofit.“Ido,though.”
Malcolmsighed,onceagainenvelopingherhandwithhis.“Youhaveitbad,then.”
Shepressedherlipstogether,blinkingrapidlytopushbackthetears.“MaybeIdo.Idon’tknow—I’veneverhaditbefore.I’veneverwantedtohaveit.”
Hesmiledreassuringly,eventhoughOlivefeltanythingbutreassured.“Listen,Iknowit’sscary.Butthisisnotnecessarilyabadthing.”
OnesingletearwasmakingitswaydownOlive’scheek.Shehastenedtocleanitwithhersleeve.“It’stheworst.”
“You’vefinallyfoundsomeoneyou’reinto.Andokay,it’sCarlsen,butthiscouldstillturnouttobegreat.”
“Itcouldn’t.Itcan’t.”
“Ol,Iknowwhereyou’recomingfrom.Igetit.”Malcolm’shandtightenedonhers.“Iknowit’sscary,beingvulnerable,butyoucanallowyourselftocare.Youcanwanttobewithpeopleasmorethanjustfriendsorcasualacquaintances.”
“ButIcan’t.”
“Idon’tseewhynot.”
“BecauseallthepeopleI’vecaredaboutaregone,”shesnapped.
Somewhereinthecoffeeshop,thebaristacalledforacaramelmacchiato.Oliveimmediatelyregrettedherharshwords.
“I’msorry.It’sjust…it’sthewayitworks.Mymom.Mygrandparents.Myfather—onewayoranother,everyoneisgone.IfIletmyselfcare,Adamwillgo,too.”There.She’dputitintowords,saiditoutloud,anditsoundedallthetruerbecauseofit.
Malcolmexhaled.“Oh,Ol.”HewasoneofthefewpeopletowhomOlivehadopenedupaboutherfears—theconstantfeelingofnotbelonging,thenever-endingsuspicionsthatsincesomuchofherlifehadbeenspentalone,thenitwouldendthesameway.Thatshe’dneverbeworthyofsomeonecaringforher.Hisknowingexpression,acombinationofsorrowandunderstandingandpity,wasunbearabletowatch.Shelookedelsewhere—atthelaughingstudents,atthecoffeecuplidsstackednexttothecounter,atthestickersonagirl’sMacBook—andslidherhandawayfromunderhispalm.
“Youshouldgo.”Sheattemptedasmile,butitfeltwobbly.“Finishyoursurgeries.”
Hedidn’tbreakeyecontact.“Icare.Anhcares—AnhwouldhavechosenyouoverJeremy.Andyoucare,too.Weallcareaboutoneanother,andI’mstillhere.I’mnotgoinganywhere.”
“It’sdifferent.”
“How?”
Olivedidn’tbotheransweringandusedhersleevetodryhercheek.Adamwasdifferent,andwhatOlivewantedfromhimwasdifferent,butshecouldn’t—didn’twanttoarticulateit.Notnow.“Iwon’ttellhim.”
“Ol.”
“No,”shesaid,firm.Withhertearsgone,shefeltmarginallybetter.Maybeshewasnotwhoshehadthought,butshecouldfakeit.Shecouldpretend,eventoherself.“I’mnotgoingtotellhim.It’sahorribleidea.”
“Ol.”
“Howwouldthatconversationevenwork?HowwouldIphraseit?Whataretherightwords?”
“Actuallyyoushouldprobably—”
“DoItellhimthatI’mintohim?ThatIthinkabouthimallthetime?ThatIhaveahugecrushonhim?That—”
“Olive.”
Intheend,whattippedheroffwasnotMalcolm’swords,orhispanickyexpression,orthefactthathewasclearlylookingataspotsomewhereabovehershoulders.Intheend,Anhchosethatexactmomenttotexther,whichdrewOlive’seyestothenumbersonthescreen.
10:00a.m.
Itwasten.OnaWednesdaymorning.AndOlivewascurrentlysittinginthecampusStarbucks,theverysameStarbuckswhereshehadspentherWednesdaymorningsforthepastfewweeks.Shewhirledaroundand—
Shewasn’tevensurprisedtofindAdam.Standingbehindher.Closeenoughthatunlessbothhiseardrumshadrupturedsincethelasttimethey’dtalked,hemusthaveheardeverysinglewordthatcameoutofOlive’smouth.
Shewishedshecouldexpireonthespot.Shewishedshecouldcrawloutsideherbodyandthiscafé,meltinapoolofsweat,andseepbetweenthetilesonthefloor,justvanishintothinair.Butallthesethingswerecurrentlybeyondherskillset,soshefixedaweaksmileonherfaceandlookedupatAdam.ChapterEleven
HYPOTHESIS:WheneverIlie,thingswillgetworsebyafactorof743.
“Didyou…didyouhearthat?”sheblurtedout.
Malcolmhurriedtoclearthetableofhisstuff,mutteringtightly,“Iwasjustabouttogo.”
Olivebarelynoticed,busywatchingAdamslidethechairbacktositacrossfromher.
Shit.
“Yes,”hesaid,blandandeven,andOlivefeltlikeshewasabouttodisintegrateintoamilliontinypieces,here,inthisexactspot.Shewantedhimtotakeitback.Wantedhimtosay“No,heardwhat?”Shewantedtogobacktoearlierthismorningandrewinditall,thishorriblemessofaday.Notlookatthetextsonherphone,notletAnhwalkinonhermooningoverherfakeboyfriend,notpourherheartouttoMalcolmintheworstpossibleplace.
Adamcouldn’tknow.Hesimplycouldn’t.He’dthinkthatOlivehadkissedhimonpurpose,thatshe’dmastermindedthiswholefiasco,thatshe’dmanipulatedhimintothissituation.He’dfeelcompelledtobreakupwithherwellbeforehecouldreapanybenefitsfromtheirarrangement.Andhewouldhateher.
Theprospectwasterrifying,soshesaidtheonethingshecouldthinkof.
“Itwasn’taboutyou.”
Thelierolledoffhertonguelikeamudslide:unpremeditated,quick,andboundtoleaveahugemessbehind.
“Iknow.”Henodded,and…hedidn’tevenlooksurprised.ItwasasthoughithadneveroccurredtohimthatOlivemighthavebeeninterestedinhim.Itmadeherwanttocry—afrequentstateonthisstupidmorning—butinsteadofdoingthat,shejustvomitedoutanotherlie.
“Ijust…Ihaveathing.Foraguy.”
Henoddedagain,thistimeslowly.Hiseyesdarkened,andthecornerofhisjawtwitched,justforamoment.Sheblinked,andhisexpressionwasblankagain.“Yeah.Igatheredthat.”
“Thisguy,he’s…”Sheswallowed.Whatwashe?Quick,Olive,quick.Animmunologist?Icelandic?Agiraffe?Whatwashe?
“Youdon’thavetoexplainifyoudon’twant.”Adam’svoiceseemedslightlyoffbeat,butalsocomforting.Tired.Oliverealizedthatshewaswringingherhands,andinsteadofstoppingshesimplyhidthemunderthetable.
“I…It’sjustthat…”
“It’sokay.”Heofferedherareassuringsmile,andOlive—shecouldn’tpossiblylookathim.Notasecondlonger.Sheavertedhereyes,desperatelywishingshehadsomethingtosay.Somethingtofixthis.Rightoutsidethecafé’swindow,agroupofundergradswerehuddlingtogetherinfrontofalaptop,laughingatsomethingplayingonthescreen.Agustofwindscatteredastackofnotes,andaboyscrambledtoretrievethem.Inthedistance,Dr.RodrigueswaswalkinginthedirectionofStarbucks.
“This…ourarrangement.”Adam’svoicepulledherbackinside.Totheliesandthetablebetweenthem;tothegentle,softwayhewastalkingtoher.Kind,he’dbeensokind.
Adam.Iusedtothinktheworstofyou,andnow…
“It’ssupposedtohelpbothofus.Ifitstopsdoingso…”
“No.”Oliveshookherhead.“No.I…”Sheforcedherfaceintoasmile.“It’scomplicated.”
“Isee.”
Sheopenedhermouthtosaythatno,hecouldn’tpossiblysee.Hecouldn’tpossiblyseeanything,becauseOlivehadjustmadeallofthisup.Thisclusterfuckofasituation.“Idon’t—”Shewetherlips.“Thereisnoneedtostopourarrangementearly,becauseIcan’ttellhimthatIlikehim.BecauseI—”
“Dude.”AhandclappedonAdam’sshoulder.“Sincewhenareyounotinyouroffi—Oh.Isee.”Dr.Rodrigues’sgazeslidfromAdamtoOliveandsettledonher.Forasecond,hejuststoodbythetableandtookherin,surprisedtofindherthere.Thenhismouthwidenedintoaslowgrin.“Hey,Olive.”
DuringOlive’sfirstyearofgradschool,Dr.Rodrigueshadbeenonherpreassignedgraduateadvisorycommittee—anadmittedlyoddchoice,givenhisrelativelackofrelevancetoherresearch.Andyet,Olivehadmostlypleasantmemoriesofherinteractionswithhim.Whenshe’dstammeredherwaythroughhercommitteemeetings,he’dalwaysbeenthefirsttosmileather,andoncehe’devencomplimentedherStarWarsT-shirt—andthenproceededtohumtheDarthVaderthemeunderhisbreatheverytimeDr.MosswouldstartoneofherrantsagainstOlive’smethods.
“Hey,Dr.Rodrigues.”Shewaspositivethathersmilewasnotnearlyasconvincingasitshouldhavebeen.“Howareyou?”
Hewavedahand.“Pssh.Please,callmeHolden.You’renotmystudentanymore.”HepattedAdamonthebackwithrelish.“Andyouhavetheverydubiouspleasureofdatingmyoldest,mostsociallyimpairedfriend.”
ItwasallOlivecoulddonottoletherjawdrop.Theywerefriends?Charming,devil-may-careHoldenRodriguesandsurly,taciturnAdamCarlsenwereoldfriends?Wasthissomethingshewassupposedtoknow?Adam’sgirlfriendwouldhaveknown,right?
Dr.Rodrigues—Holden?God,Holden.Shewasnevergoingtogetusedtothefactthatprofessorswererealpeopleandhadfirstnames—turnedtoAdam,whoappeareduntroubledbyhavingbeendecreedsociallyimpaired.
Heasked,“You’releavingforBostontonight,right?”andhisspeechpatternchangedalittle—pitchedlowerandfaster,morecasual.Comfortable.Theyreallywereoldfriends.
“Yeah.CanyoustillgiveTomandmearidetotheairport?”
“Depends.”
“Onwhat?”
“IsTomgoingtobegaggedandtiedupinthetrunk?”
Adamsighed.“Holden.”
“I’llallowhiminthebackseat,butifhedoesn’tkeephismouthshut,I’llditchhimonthehighway.”
“Fine.I’lllethimknow.”
Holdenseemedsatisfied.“Anyway,Ididn’tmeantointerrupt.”HepattedAdam’sshoulderoncemore,buthewaslookingatOlive.
“It’sokay.”
“Really?Well,then.”Hissmilebroadenedandhepulledupachairfromanearbytable.Adamclosedhiseyes,resigned.
“So,whatarewetalkingabout?”
Why,Iwasjustinthemiddleoflyingmyassoff,thankyouforasking.“Ah…nothingmuch.Howdoyoutwo…”Shelookedbetweenthem,clearingherthroat.“Sorry,IforgothowyouandAdamknoweachother.”
Athud—HoldenkickingAdamunderthetable.“Youlittleshit.Youdidn’ttellheraboutourdecades-deephistory?”
“Justtryingtoforget.”
“Youwish.”Holdenturnedtogrinather.“Wegrewuptogether.”
ShefrownedatAdam.“IthoughtyougrewupinEurope?”
Holdenwavedhishand.“Hegrewupallovertheplace.AndsodidI,sinceourparentsworkedtogether.Diplomats—theworstkindofpeople.ButthenourfamiliessettledinDC.”Heleanedforward.“Guesswhowenttohighschool,college,andgradschooltogether.”
Olive’seyeswidened,andHoldennoticed,atleastjudgingbyhowhekickedAdamagain.
“Youreallyhaven’ttoldhershit.Iseeyou’restillgoingforbroodingandmysterious.”Herolledhiseyesfondlyandlookedatmeagain.“DidAdamtellyouthathealmostdidn’tgraduatehighschool?HegotsuspendedforpunchingaguywhoinsistedthattheLargeHadronColliderwoulddestroytheplanet.”
“Interestinghowyou’renotmentioningthatyougotsuspendedalongsidemefordoingtheexactsamething.”
Holdenignoredhim.“MyparentswereoutofthecountryonsomekindofassignmentandbrieflyforgotthatIexisted,sowespenttheweekatmyplaceplayingFinalFantasy—itwasglorious.WhataboutwhenAdamappliedtolawschool?Hemusthavetoldyouaboutthat.”
“Inevertechnicallyappliedtolawschool.”
“Lies.Alllies.Didheatleasttellyouthathewasmypromdate?Itwasphenomenal.”
OlivelookedatAdam,expectinghimtodenythat,too.ButAdamjusthalfsmiled,metHolden’seyes,andsaid,“Itwasquitephenomenal.”
“Picturethis,Olive.Earlytwothousands.Preppy,ridiculouslyexpensiveall-maleDCschool.Twogaystudentsingradetwelve.Well,twoofusthatwereout,anyway.RichieMullerandIdatefortheentiretyofsenioryear—andthenhedumpsmethreedaysbeforepromforsomeguyhe’dbeenhavingathingwithformonths.”
“Hewasaprick,”Adammuttered.
“Ihavethreechoices.Notgotothedanceandmopeathome.Goaloneandmopeatschool.Or,havemybestfriend—whowasplanningonstayinghomeandmopingovergamma-aminobutyricacids—comeasmydate.Guesswhich?”
Olivegasped.“Howdidyouconvincehim?”
“That’sthething,Ididn’t.WhenItoldhimaboutwhatRichiedid,heoffered!”
“Don’tgetusedtoit,”Adammumbled.
“Canyoubelieveit,Olive?”
ThatAdamwouldpretendtobeinarelationshipwithsomeonetogetthemoutofamiserablesituation?“Nope.”
“Weheldhands.Weslow-danced.WemadeRichiespitouthispunchandregreteverysingleoneofhiswretchedchoices.ThenwewenthomeandplayedevenmoreFinalFantasy.Itwastheshit.”
“Itwassurprisinglyfun,”Adamconceded,almostreluctantly.
Olivelookedathim,andarealizationdawnedonher:HoldenwasAdam’sAnh.Hisperson.ItwasobviousthatAdamandTomwereveryclose,too,buttherelationshipAdamhadwithHoldenwassomethingelse,and…andOlivehadnoideawhattodowiththispieceofinformation.
MaybesheshouldtellMalcolm.He’deitherhaveafielddayorgocompletelyberserk.
“Well,”Holdensaid,standingup.“Thiswasfantastic.I’llgogetcoffee,butweshouldhangoutsoon,thethreeofus.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIhadthepleasureofembarrassingAdaminfrontofagirlfriend.Fornow,though,he’sallyours.”Hefollowedtheword“yours”withasmirkthathadOliveblushing.
AdamrolledhiseyeswhenHoldenleftforthecoffeecounter.Fascinated,Olivefollowedhimwithhergazeforseveralmoments.“Um,thatwas…?”
“Holdenforyou.”Adamseemedbarelyannoyed.
Shenodded,stillalittledazed.“Ican’tbelieveI’mnotyourfirst.”
“Myfirst?”
“Yourfirstfakedate.”
“Right.Iguesspromqualifies.”Heseemedtomullitover.“Holdenhashadsome…badluckwithrelationships.Undeservedbadluck.”
Itwarmedherchest,theprotectiveconcerninhistone.Madeherwonderifhewasevenawareofit.
“DidheandTomever…?”
Heshookhishead.“Holdenwouldbeoutragedifheknewyouasked.”
“Whydoesn’thewanttodriveTomtotheairport,then?”
Adamshrugged.“Holdenhasalwayshadaverydeep,veryirrationaldislikeofTom,eversincegradschool.”
“Oh.Why?”
“Notsure.NotsureHoldenknows,either.Tomsayshe’sjealous.Ithinkit’sjustapersonalitything.”
Olivefellsilent,absorbingtheinformation.“Youdidn’ttellHoldenaboutus,either.Thatit’snotreal.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Adamlookedaway.“Idon’tknow.”Hisjawtensed.“IthinkIjustdidn’t…”Hisvoicetrailedoff,andheshookhisheadbeforegivingherasmile,smallandalittleforced.“Hespeaksveryhighlyofyou,youknow?”
“Holden?Ofme?”
“Ofyourwork.Andyourresearch.”
“Oh.”Shehadnoideawhattosaytothat.Whendidyoutalkaboutme?Andwhy?“Oh,”sherepeateduselessly.
Shewasn’tsurewhynow,inthisverymoment,butthepossibleramificationsoftheirarrangementonAdam’slifehitherinfullforthefirsttime.Theyhadagreedtofake-datebecausetheybothhadsomethingtogainfromit,butitoccurredtoherthatAdamalsohadsignificantlymoretolose.Outofallthepeoplesheloved,Olivewasonlylyingtoone,Anh,andthatwasabsolutelyunavoidable.Shecouldnotcarelessaboutotherstudents’opinions.Adam,though…hewaslyingonadailybasistohiscolleaguesandhisfriends.Hisgradsinteractedwithhimeverydaybelievingthathewasdatingoneoftheirpeers.Didtheythinkhimlecherous?HadhisrelationshipwithOlivechangedtheirperceptionofhim?Andwhataboutotherfacultymembersinthedepartment,orinadjacentprograms?Justbecausedatingagradstudentwasallowed,itdidn’tmeanthatitwasn’tfrownedupon.AndwhatifAdammet—orhadalreadymet—someoneheactuallyliked?Whenthey’dstrucktheirdeal,he’dsaidhewasn’tgoingtodate,butthathadbeenweeksago.Oliveherselfhadbeenconvincedthatshe’dneverbeinterestedindatinganyoneatthetime—anddidn’tthatmakeherwanttolaughnow,inaremarkablyunfunnyway?Nottomentionthatshealonewasbenefittingfromtheirarrangement.AnhandJeremyhadboughtherlie,butAdam’sresearchfundswerestillfrozen.
Andyet,hewasstillhelpingherdespiteallofthis.AndOlivewasrepayinghiskindnessbygettingideasanddevelopingfeelingsthatweresuretomakehimfeeluncomfortable.
“Doyouwanttogetcoffee?”
Olivelookedupfromherhands.“No.”Sheclearedherthroatagainsttheburningsensationlodgedbehindhersternum.Theideaofcoffeemadehernauseous.“IthinkIneedtogobacktothelab.”
Shebentdowntoretrieveherbackpack,meaningtostandandleaveimmediately,buthalfwaythrough,athoughtsweptoverher,andshefoundherselfstaringathim.Hewassittingacrossfromherwithaconcernedexpression,aslightfrowncreasinghisbrow.
Sheattemptedasmile.“Wearefriends,right?”
Hisfrowndeepened.“Friends?”
“Yes.YouandI.”
Hestudiedforalongmoment.Somethingnewpassedthroughhisface,starkandalittlesad.Toofleetingtointerpret.“Yes,Olive.”
Shenodded,unsureastowhethersheshouldbefeelingrelieved.Thiswasnothowshe’dthoughttodaywouldgo,andtherewasastrangepressurebehindhereyelids,whichhadherslidingherarmsthroughthestrapsofherbackpackthatmuchquicker.Shewavedhimgoodbyewithatremuloussmile,andshe’dhavealreadybeenoutofthisdamnStarbucks,ifhehadn’tsaidwiththatvoiceofhis:“Olive.”
Shepausedrightinfrontofhischairandlookeddownathim.Itwassoodd,tobethetalleroneforonce.
“Thismightbeinappropriate,but…”Hisjawshifted,andheclosedhiseyesforasecond.Asiftocollecthisthoughts.“Olive.Youarereally…Youareextraordinary,andIcannotimaginethatifyoutoldJeremyhowyoufeelhewouldn’t…”Hetrailedoffandthennodded.Apunctuationofsorts,ashiswordsandthewayhe’dsaidthembroughtherthatmuchclosertotears.
HethoughtitwasJeremy.AdamthoughtOlivehadbeeninlovewithJeremywhenthey’dbeguntheirarrangement—hethoughtshewasstillinlovewithhim.Becauseshe’djusttoldahalf-assedliethatshewastooafraidtotakebackand—
Itwasgoingtohappen.Shewasgoingtocry,andwhatshewantedmostintheworldwastonotdoitinfrontofAdam.
“I’llseeyounextweek,okay?”Shedidn’twaitforhisresponseandwalkedbrisklytowardtheexit,hershoulderbumpingintosomeonesheshouldhaveapologizedto.Onceshewasoutside,shetookadeepbreathandmarchedtothebiologybuilding,tryingtoemptyhermind,forcingherselftothinkaboutthesectionshewasslatedtoTAlatertoday,thefellowshipapplicationshe’dpromisedDr.Aslanshe’dsendbytomorrow,thefactthatAnh’ssisterwouldbeintownnextweekendandhadmadeplanstocookVietnamesefoodforeveryone.
Achillywindweavedthroughtheleavesofthecampustrees,pushingOlive’ssweateragainstherbody.Shehuggedherselfanddidn’tlookbacktothecafé.Fallhadfinallybegun.ChapterTwelve
HYPOTHESIS:IfIambadatdoingactivityA,mychancesofbeingaskedtoengageinactivityAwillriseexponentially.
CampusfeltstrangelyemptywithAdamgone,evenondaysinwhichshelikelywouldn’thavemethimanyway.Itdidn’tmakemuchsense:Stanfordwasmostdefinitelynotempty,butteemingwithloud,annoyingundergradsontheirwaytoandfromclass.Olive’slife,too,wasfull:hermicewereoldenoughforthebehavioralassaystoberun,she’dfinallygottenrevisionsforapapershe’dsubmittedmonthsearlier,andshehadtostartmakingconcreteplansforhermovetoBostonnextyear;theclassshewasTA’inghadatestcomingup,andundergradsmagicallybegantopopbyduringofficehours,lookingpanickyandaskingquestionsthatwereinvariablyansweredinthefirstthreelinesofthesyllabus.
MalcolmspentacoupleofdaystryingtoconvinceOlivetotellAdamthetruth,andthenbecame—thankfully—toodiscouragedbyherstubbornnessandtoobusytryingtomeditateawayhisowndatingdramatoinsist.Hedidbakeseveralbatchesofbutterscotchcookies,though,patentlylyingthathewas“notrewardingyourself-destructivebehaviors,Olive,butjustperfectingmyrecipe.”Oliveatethemall,andhuggedhimfrombehindwhilehesprinkledseasaltontopofthelastbatch.
OnSaturday,Anhcameoverforbeerands’mores,andsheandOlivedaydreamedaboutleavingacademiaandfindingindustryjobsthatpaidapropersalaryandacknowledgedtheexistenceoffreetime.
“Wecould,like,sleepinonSundaymornings.Insteadofhavingtocheckonourmiceatsixa.m.”
“Yeah.”Anhsighedwistfully.PrideandPrejudiceandZombieswasrunninginthebackground,butneitherofthemwaspayingattention.“WecouldbuyrealketchupinsteadofstealingpacketsfromBurgerKing.AndorderthatwirelessvacuumcleanerIsawonTV.”
Olivegiggleddrunkenlyandturnedtoherside,makingthebedsqueak.“Seriously?Avacuumcleaner?”
“Awirelessone.It’stheshit,Ol.”
“Thatis…”
“What?”
“Just…”Olivegiggledsomemore.“It’sthemostrandomthing.”
“Shutup.”Anhsmiledbutdidn’topenhereyes.“Ihaveseveredustallergies.Youknowwhat,though?”
“AreyougoingtohitmewithaTrivialPursuitvacuumcleanerfact?”
ThecornersofAnh’seyescrinkled.“Nah,”shesaid,“Idon’thaveany.Wait—IthinkthatmaybethefirstfemalecorporateCEOworkedforavacuumcleanercompany.”
“Noway.Thatisactuallycool.”
“ButmaybeI’mmakingitup.”Anhshrugged.“Anyway,whatImeanttosayis…IthinkIstillwantit?”
“Thevacuumcleaner?”Oliveyawnedwithoutbotheringtocoverhermouth.
“No.Anacademicjob.Andeverythingthatcomeswithit.Thelab,thegradstudents,theoutrageousteachingload,theracefortheNIHgrants,thedisproportionatelylowsalary.Thewholeshebang.JeremysaysthatMalcolmhasitright.Thatindustryjobsarewhereit’sat.ButIthinkIwanttostayandbecomeaprofessor.It’llbemiserable,forsure,butit’stheonlywaytocreateagoodenvironmentforwomenlikeus,Ol.Givesomecompetitiontoalltheseentitledwhitemen.”Shegrinned,beautifulandfierce.“JeremycangointoindustryandmakeatonofbloodmoneythatI’llinvestinwirelessvacuumcleaners.”
OlivedrunkenlystudiedthedrunkendeterminationonAnh’sdrunkenface,thinkingthattherewassomethingreassuringinknowingthatherclosestfriendwasstartingtofigureoutwhatshewantedherlifetobelike.Whoshewantedtoliveitwith.ItdidsendapangdeepinOlive’sstomach,inthatspotthatseemedtofeelAdam’sabsencemostacutely,butshepusheditdown,tryingnottothinkaboutittoohard.Insteadshereachedforherfriend’shand,squeezeditonce,andinhaledthesweetscentofapplefromherhair.
“You’llbesogoodatit,Anh.Ican’twaittoseeyouchangetheworld.”
—
ALLINALL,Olive’slifecontinuedasitalwayshad—exceptthatforthefirsttime,therewassomethingelseshe’dratherbedoing.Someoneelseshe’dratherbewith.
So,thisislikingsomeone,shemused.FeelinglikethebiologybuildingwasnotworthgoingtobecauseifAdamwasoutoftown,eventhemostremotechanceofrunningintohimhadbeentakenawayfromher;constantlyspinningaroundaftercatchingaglimpseofjet-blackhair,orwhenhearingadeepvoicethatsoundedasrichasAdam’sbutreallywasn’t;thinkingofhimbecauseherfriendJessmentionedplanningatriptotheNetherlands,orwhenonJeopardy!thecorrectanswerto“Aichmophobia”turnedouttobe“Whatisfearofneedles?”;feelingstuckinanoddlimbo,waiting,justwaiting,waiting…fornothing.Adamwasgoingtocomebackinafewdays,andOlive’sliethatshewasinlovewithsomeoneelsewasstillgoingtobethere.Septembertwenty-ninthwouldarrivealltoosoon,andanyway,theassumptionthatAdamcouldeverseeOliveinanyromanticlightwaspreposterous.Allconsidered,shewasluckyhelikedherenoughtowanttobeherfriend.
OnSunday,herphonepingedwhileshewasrunningatthegym.WhenAdam’snamepoppedupatthetopofthescreen,sheimmediatelyjumpedtoreadit.Exceptthattherewasn’tmuchtoread:justtheimageofahugedrinkinaplasticcup,toppedwithwhatlookedlikeamuffin.Thebottomoftheimageproudlystated“PumpkinPieFrappuccino,”andbelowthat,Adam’stext:
Adam:ThinkIcansmugglethisontheplane?
Shedidn’tneedtobetoldthatshewasgrinningatherphonelikeanidiot.
Olive:Well,TSAisnotoriouslyincompetent.
Olive:Thoughmaybenotthatincompetent?
Adam:Toobad.
Adam:Wishyouwerehere,then.
Olive’ssmilestayedinplaceforalongtime.Andthen,whensherememberedthemessshewasin,itfadedintoaheavysigh.
—
SHEWASCARRYINGatrayoftissuesamplestotheelectronmicroscopelabwhensomeonepattedherontheshoulder,startlingher.Olivenearlytrippedanddestroyedseveralthousanddollars’worthoffederalgrantfunding.Whensheturned,Dr.Rodrigueswasstaringatherwithhisusualboyishgrin—liketheywerebestbuddiesabouttogoforabeerandajollygoodofaPh.D.studentandaformermemberofheradvisorycommitteewho’dneverquitegottenaroundtoreadinganyofthepaperworkshe’dturnedin.
“Dr.Rodrigues.”
Hisbrowwrinkled.“Ithoughtwe’dsettledonHolden?”
Hadthey?“Right.Holden.”
Hesmiled,pleased.“Boyfriend’soutoftown,huh?”
“Oh.Um…Yes.”
“Yougoinginthere?”Hepointedatthemicroscopelabwithhischin,andOlivenodded.“Here,letmegetit.”Heswipedhisbadgetounlockthedoorandhelditopenforher.
“Thankyou.”Shesettledhersamplesonabenchandsmiledgratefully,slidingherhandsintoherbackpockets.“Iwasgoingtogetacart,butIcouldn’tfindone.”
“There’sonlyoneleftonthisfloor.Ithinksomeone’sbringingthemhomeandresellingthem.”
Hegrinned,and—Malcolmwasright.Hadbeenrightforthepasttwoyears:therereallywassomethingeasygoingandeffortlesslyattractiveaboutHolden.NotthatOliveseemedtobeinterestedinanythingbuttall,broody,sullenhunkswithgeniusIQs.
“Can’tblame’em.I’dhavedonethesameinmygradschooldays.So,how’slife?”
“Um,fine.You?”
Holdenignoredherquestionandcasuallyleanedagainstthewall.“Howbadisit?”
“Bad?”
“Adambeinggone.Hell,evenImissthatlittleshit.”Hechuckled.“Howareyouholdingup?”
“Oh.”Shetookherhandsoutofherpockets,crossedherarmsinfrontofherchest,andthenchangedhermindanddroppedthemwoodenlybyhersides.Yep.Perfect.Actingnatural.“Fine.Good.Busy.”
Holdenlookedgenuinelyrelieved.“Great.Haveyouguysbeentalkingonthephone?”
No.Ofcoursenot.Talkingonthephoneisthehardest,moststressfulthingintheworld,andIcan’tdoitwiththeniceladywhoschedulesmydentalcleanings,letalonewithAdamCarlsen.“Ah,mostlytexting,youknow?”
“Yeah,Idoknow.Howeverbuttoned-upandsulkyAdamiswithyou,pleaseknowthathe’smakinganeffortandhe’samilliontimesworsewitheveryoneelse.Meincluded.”Hesighedandshookhishead,buttherewasafondnessbehindit.AneasyaffectionthatOlivecouldn’tmiss.Myoldestfriend,he’dsaidaboutAdam,andclearlyhehadn’tbeenlying.“He’sactuallygottenalotbetter,sinceyouguysstarteddating.”
Olivefeltonthevergeofafull-bodycringe.Unsureofwhattosay,shesettledforasimple,painful,awkward:“Really?”
Holdennodded.“Yep.I’msogladhefinallyscroungedupthecouragetoaskyouout.He’dbeengoingonandonaboutthis‘amazinggirl’foryears,buthewasconcernedaboutbeinginthesamedepartment,andyouknowhowheis…”Heshruggedandwavedhishand.“I’mgladhefinallymanagedtopullhisheadoutofhisass.”
Olive’sbrainstuttered.Herneuronswentsluggishandcold,andittookherseveralsecondstoprocessthatAdamhadbeenwantingtoaskheroutforyears.Shecouldn’twrapherheadaroundit,because…itwasnotpossible.Itdidn’tmakesense.Adamdidn’tevenrememberOliveexistedbeforeshe’dTitle-IXedhiminthehallwayafewweeksago.Themoreshethoughtaboutit,themoreshegrewconvincedthatifhe’dhadanyrecollectionoftheirbathroommeeting,hewouldhavesaidasmuch.Adamwasfamouslydirect,afterall.
Holdenmusthavebeenreferringtosomeoneelse.AndAdammusthavefeelingsforthatsomeone.Someoneheworkedwith,someonewhowasintheirdepartment.Someonewhowas“amazing.”
Olive’smind,halffrozenuntilafewsecondsago,begantospiralwiththeknowledge.SettingasidethefactthatthisconversationwasanutterinvasionofAdam’sprivacy,Olivecouldn’tstopherselffromconsideringtheimplicationsoftheirarrangementforhim.IfthepersonHoldenwastalkingaboutwasoneofAdam’scolleagues,therewasnochancethatshehadn’theardaboutAdamandOlivedating.Itwaspossiblethatshe’dseenthetwoofthemgetcoffeetogetheronaWednesday,orOlivesittingonAdam’slapduringTom’stalk,or—God,Oliveslatheringhimwithsunblockatthatgodforsakenpicnic.Whichcouldn’tbegoodforhisprospects.UnlessAdamdidn’tmind,becausehewassurebeyondanydoubtthathisfeelingswereunrequited—andoh,wouldn’tthatbefunny?AboutasfunnyasaGreektragedy.
“Anyway.”Holdenpushedawayfromthewall,hishandcominguptoscratchhisnape.“Ithinkweshouldgoonadoubledateoneofthesedays.I’vebeentakingabreakfromdating—toomuchheartache—butmaybeit’stimetodipmytoesinagain.HopefullyI’llsnatchmyselfaboyfriendsoon.”
TheweightinOlive’sstomachsankevenlower.“Thatwouldbelovely.”Sheattemptedasmile.
“Right?”Hegrinned.“Adamwouldhateitwiththeintensityofathousandsuns.”
Hereallywould.
“ButIcouldtellyousomanyjuicystoriesabouthim,approximatelyagedtentotwenty-five.”Holdenwasdelightedattheprospect.“He’dbemortified.”
“Aretheyabouttaxidermy?”
“Taxidermy?”
“Nothing.JustsomethingTomhadsaidabout…”Shewavedherhand.“Nothing.”
Holden’sgazeturnedsharp.“AdamsaidyoumightbegoingtoworkwithTomnextyear.Isthattrue?”
“Oh…yeah.That’stheplan.”
Henodded,pensive.Thenseemedtocometosomesortofdecisionandadded,“Watchyourbackwhileyou’rearoundhim,okay?”
“Myback?”What?Why?DidthishaveanythingtodowithwhatAdamhadmentioned—HoldennotlikingTom?“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Adam’sback,too.EspeciallyAdam’sback.”Holden’sexpressionremainedintenseforamoment,andthenlightenedup.“Anyway.TomonlymetAdamingradschool.ButIwasthereinhisteenageyears—that’swhenthegoodstoriesarefrom.”
“Oh.Youprobablyshouldn’ttellme.Since…”Sincehe’sfakingarelationshipwithmeandsurelydoesn’twantmeinhisbusiness.Also,he’sprobablyinlovewithsomeoneelse.
“Oh,ofcourse.I’llwaituntilhe’spresent.IwanttoseehisfacewhenItellyoueverythingabouthisnewsboy-capphase.”
Sheblinked.“His…?”
Henoddedsolemnlyandsteppedout,closingthedoorbehindhimandleavingheraloneinthechilly,semidarklab.Olivehadtotakeseveraldeepbreathsbeforeshecouldfocusonherwork.
—
WHENSHERECEIVEDtheemail,sheinitiallythoughtitmustbeanerror.Maybeshe’dmisread—shehadn’tbeensleepingwell,andasitturnedout,havinganunwanted,unreciprocatedcrushcamewithallsortsofscatter-headedness—thoughafterasecondlook,thenathirdandafourth,sherealizedthatwasn’tthecase.SomaybethemistakewasontheSBDconference’sside.Becausetherewasnoway—absolutelynoway—thatthey’dreallymeanttoinformherthattheabstractshe’dsubmittedhadbeenselectedtobepartofapanel.
Apanelwithfaculty.
Itwasjustnotpossible.Graduatestudentswererarelyselectedfororalpresentations.Mostofthetimetheyjustmadeposterswiththeirfindings.Talkswereforscholarswhosecareerswerealreadyadvanced—exceptthatwhenOliveloggedintotheconferencewebsiteanddownloadedtheprogram,hernamewasthere.Andoutofallthespeakers’names,herswastheonlyonenotfollowedbyanyletters.NoMD.NoPh.D.NoMD-Ph.D.
Crap.
Sheranoutofthelabclutchingherlaptoptoherchest.Greggaveheradirtylookwhenshealmostcrashedintohiminthehallway,butsheignoredhimandstormedinsideDr.Aslan’sofficeoutofbreath,herkneessuddenlymadeofjelly.
“Canwetalk?”Sheclosedthedoorwithoutwaitingforananswer.
Heradviserlookedupfrombehindherdeskwithanalarmedexpression.“Olive,whatis—”
“Idon’twanttogiveatalk.Ican’tgiveatalk.”Sheshookherhead,tryingtosoundreasonablebutonlymanagingpanic-strickenandfrantic.“Ican’t.”
Dr.Aslancockedherheadandsteepledherhands.Theveneerofcalmheradviserprojectedwasusuallycomforting,butnowitmadeOlivewanttoflipthenearestpieceoffurniture.
Calmdown.Deepbreaths.UseyourmindfulnessandallthatstuffMalcolm’salwaysyappinghismouthabout.“Dr.Aslan,mySBDabstractwasacceptedasatalk.Notasaposter,atalk.Outloud.Onapanel.Standing.Infrontofpeople.”Olive’svoicehadmadeitswaytoashriek.Andyet,forreasonsbeyondunderstanding,Dr.Aslan’sfacesplitintoagrin.
“Thisiswonderfulnews!”
Oliveblinked.Andthenblinkedagain.“It’s…not?”
“Nonsense.”Dr.Aslanstoodandwalkedaroundherdesk,runningherhandupanddownOlive’sarminwhatsheclearlyintendedasacongratulatorygesture.“Thisisfantastic.Atalkwillgiveyoumuchmorevisibilitythanaposter.Youmightbeabletonetworkforapostdoctoralposition.Iamso,sohappyforyou.”
Olive’sjawdropped.“But…”
“But?”
“Icannotgiveatalk.Ican’ttalk.”
“You’retalkingrightnow,Olive.”
“Notinfrontofpeople.”
“Iampeople.”
“You’renotmanypeople.Dr.Aslan,Ican’ttalkinfrontofalotofpeople.Notaboutscience.”
“Why?”
“Because.”BecausemythroatwilldryupandmybrainwillshutdownandIwillbesobadthatsomeonefromtheaudiencewilltakeoutacrossbowandshootmeinthekneecap.“I’mnotready.Tospeak.Inpublic.”
“Ofcourseyouare.You’reagoodpublicspeaker.”
“I’mnot.Istammer.Iblush.Imeander.Alot.Especiallyinfrontoflargecrowds,and—”
“Olive,”Dr.Aslaninterruptedherwithasterntone.“WhatdoIalwaystellyou?”
“Um…‘Don’tmisplacethemultichannelpipette’?”
“Theotherthing.”
Shesighed.“?‘Carryyourselfwiththeconfidenceofamediocrewhiteman.’?”
“Morethanthat,ifpossible.Sincethereisabsolutelynothingmediocreaboutyou.”
Oliveclosedhereyesandtookenoughdeepbreathstopullbackfromthevergeofapanicattack.Whensheopenedthem,heradviserwassmilingencouragingly.
“Dr.Aslan.”Olivegrimaced.“Ireallydon’tthinkIcandothis.”
“Iknowyoudon’t.”Therewassomesadnessinherexpression.“Butyoucan.Andwe’llworktogetheruntilyoufeeluptothetask.”Thistime,sheputbothherhandsonOlive’sshoulders.Olivewasstillhuggingherlaptoptoherchest,likeshewouldalifebuoyintheopensea,butthetouchwasoddlycomforting.“Don’tworry.Wehaveacoupleofweekstogetyouready.”
Yousaythat.Yousay“we,”butI’llbetheonetospeakinfrontofhundredsofpeople,andwhensomeoneasksathree-minute-longquestionmeanttogetmetoadmitthatdeepdownmyworkispoorlystructuredanduseless,I’llbetheonetocrapherpants.“Right.”Olivehadtoforceherheadintoanup-and-downmotionandtakeadeepbreath.Sheexhaledslowly.“Okay.”
“Whydon’tyouputtogetheradraft?Youcouldpracticeduringthenextlabmeeting.”Anotherreassuringsmile,andOlivewasnoddingagain,notfeelingreassuredintheleast.“Andifyouhaveanyquestions,I’malwayshere.Oh,IamsodisappointedthatIwon’tgettoseeyourtalk.Youmustpromisetorecorditforme.ItwillbejustasifIwasthere.”
Exceptthatyouwon’tbethere,andI’llbealone,shethoughtbitterlywhileclosingthedoorofDr.Aslan’sofficebehindher.Sheslumpedagainstthewallandsqueezedhereyesshut,tryingtoquiettheagitatedmessofthoughtsflutteringinsideherhead.AndthensheopenedthemagainwhensheheardhernameinMalcolm’svoice.HewasstandinginfrontofherwithAnh,studyingherwithahalf-amused,half-worriedexpression.TheywereholdingStarbuckscups.Thesmellofcaramelandpeppermintwaftedover,makingherstomachchurn.
“Hey.”
Anhtookasipofherdrink.“Whyareyoutakingastandingnapnexttoyouradviser’soffice?”
“I…”OlivepushedawayfromthewallandwalkedafewstepsawayfromDr.Aslan’sdoor,rubbinghernosewiththebackofherhand.“Myabstractgotaccepted.TheSBDone.”
“Congrats!”Anhsmiled.“Butthatwasprettymuchagiven,right?”
“Itwasacceptedasatalk.”
Forafewseconds,twopairsofeyesjuststaredatherinsilence.OlivethoughtthatMalcolmmightbewincing,butwhensheturnedtocheck,therewasjustavaguesmilepastedonhisface.“That’s…awesome?”
“Yeah.”Anh’seyesdartedtoMalcolmandbacktoOlive.“That’s,um,great.”
“It’sadisasterofepicproportions.”
AnhandMalcolmexchangedaworriedglance.TheyknewverywellhowOlivefeltaboutpublicspeaking.
“WhatisDr.Aslansayingaboutit?”
“Theusual.”Sherubbedhereyes.“Thatitwillbefine.Thatwe’llworkonittogether.”
“Ithinkshe’sright,”Anhsaid.“I’llhelpyoupractice.We’llmakesureyouknowitbyheart.Anditwillbefine.”
“Yeah.”Oritwon’t.“Also,theconferenceisinlessthantwoweeks.Weshouldbookthehotel—orarewedoingAirbnb?”
Somethingoddhappenedthemomentsheaskedthequestion.NotwithAnh—shewasstillpeacefullysippingonhercoffee—butMalcolm’scupfrozehalfwaytohismouth,andhebithislipwhilestudyingthesleeveofhissweater.
“Aboutthat…,”hebegan.
Olivefrowned.“What?”
“Well.”Malcolmshuffledhisfeetalittle,andmaybeitwasaccidental,thewayheseemedtobedriftingawayfromOlive—butshedidn’tthinkso.“Wealreadyhave.”
“Youalreadybookedsomething?”
Anhnoddedcheerfully.“Yes.”Shedidn’tappeartonoticethatMalcolmwasabouttohaveastroke.“Theconferencehotel.”
“Oh.Okay.LetmeknowwhatIoweyouthen,since—”
“Thethingis…”Malcolmseemedtomoveevenfartheraway.
“Whatthing?”
“Well.”Hefidgetedwiththecardboardholderofhiscup,andhiseyesdartedtoAnh,whoseemedblissfullyoblivioustohisdiscomfort.“Jeremy’shotelroomispaidforbecauseofthatfellowshiphe’son,andheaskedAnhtostaywithhim.AndthenJess,Cole,andHikaruofferedformetostaywiththem.”
“What?”OliveglancedatAnh.“Seriously?”
“Itwillsaveallofusalotofmoney.AnditwillbemyfirsttripwithJeremy,”Anhinterjecteddistractedly.Shewastypingsomethingonherphone.“OhmyGod,guys,IthinkIfoundit!AlocationfortheBostoneventforBIPOCwomeninSTEM!IthinkI’vegotit!”
“That’sgreat,”Olivesaidweakly.“ButIthought…Ithoughtwe’droomtogether.”
Anhglancedup,lookingcontrite.“Yeah,Iknow.That’swhatItoldJeremy,buthepointedoutthatyou…youknow.”Olivetiltedherhead,confused,andAnhcontinued,“Imean,whywouldyouwanttospendmoneyonaroomwhenyoucouldstaywithCarlsen?”
Oh.“Because.”Because.Because,because,because.“I…”
“I’llmissyou,butit’snotasifwe’llbeintheroomsforanythingotherthansleeping.”
“Right….”Shepressedherlipstogether,andadded,“Sure.”
Anh’sgrinmadeherwanttogroan.“Awesome.We’llgetmealstogetherandhangoutforpostersessions.Andatnight,ofcourse.”
“Ofcourse.”ItwasallOlivecoulddonottosoundbitter.“Ilookforwardtoit,”sheaddedwithasgoodasmileasshecouldmuster.
“Okay.Great.Igottago—theWomeninScienceoutreachcommitteeismeetinginfive.Butlet’sgettogetherthisweekendtoplanfunactivitiesforBoston.Jeremysaidsomethingaboutaghosttour!”
OlivewaiteduntilAnhwasoutofearshotbeforeturningtofaceMalcolm.Hewasalreadyraisinghishandsdefensively.
“Firstofall,AnhcameupwiththisplanwhileIwasmonitoringthattwenty-four-hourexperiment—worstdayofmylife,Icannotgraduatesoonenough.Andafterthat—whatwasIsupposedtodo?Informherthatyou’renotgoingtostaywithCarlsenbecauseyou’refake-dating?Oh,butwait—nowthatyou’vegotahugecrushonhimmaybeit’ssortofreal—”
“Okay,Igetit.”Herstomachwasstartingtoache.“Youstillcouldhavetoldme.”
“Iwasgoingto.AndthenIdumpedNeuroJudeandhewentcrazyandeggedmycar.Andafterthatmydadcalledmetosayhiandaskedmeabouthowmyprojectsaregoing,whichdevolvedintohimgrillingmeonwhyI’mnotusingaC.elegansmodel,and,Ol,youknowhowincrediblynosyandmicromanaginghecanbe,whichledtoushavinganargumentandmymomgotinvolvedand—”Hestoppedandtookadeepbreath.“Well,youwerethere.Youheardthescreams.Bottomlineis,ittotallyslippedmymind,andI’msosorry.”
“It’sfine.”Shescratchedhertemple.“I’mgoingtohavetofindsomeplacetostay.”
“I’llhelpyou,”Malcolmtoldhereagerly.“Wecanlookonlinetonight.”
“Thanks,butdon’tworryaboutit.I’llmanage.”Ornot.Probably.Likely.Sincetheconferencewasinlessthantwoweeks,andeverythingwaslikelyalreadybookedup.Whatwasleftwasundoubtedlysooutofherpricerange,she’dhavetosellakidneytobeabletoaffordit.Whichcouldbeanoption—shedidhavetwo.
“You’renotmad,right?”
“I…”Yes.No.Maybealittle.“No.It’snotyourfault.”ShehuggedMalcolmbackwhenheleanedintoher,reassuringhimwithafewawkwardpatsontheshoulder.Asmuchasshe’dhavelikedtoblamehimforthis,sheonlyhadtolookatherself.Thecruxofherproblems—mostofthem,atleast—washermoronic,harebraineddecisiontolietoAnhinthefirstplace.Tobeginthisfake-datingsham.Nowshewasgivingatalkatthisstupidconference,probablyaftersleepingatabusstationandeatingmossforbreakfast,anddespiteallofthisshecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutAdam.Justperfect.
Laptopunderherarm,Oliveheadedbacktothelab,theprospectofgettingherslidesinorderforhertalksimultaneouslydauntinganddepressing.Therewassomethingleadenandunpleasantweighingonherstomach,andonimpulseshemadeadetourtotherestroomandenteredthestallfarthestfromthedoor,leaningagainstthewalluntilthebackofherheadhitthecoldtilesurface.
Whentheweightinherbellybegantofeeltooheavy,herkneesgaveoutonherandherbacksliddownuntilshesatonthefloor.Olivestayedlikethatforalongtime,tryingtopretendthatthiswasn’therlife.ChapterThirteen
HYPOTHESIS:Approximatelytwooutofthreefake-datingsituationswilleventuallyinvolveroom-sharing;50percentofroom-sharingsituationswillbefurthercomplicatedbythepresenceofonlyonebed.
TherewasanAirbnbtwenty-fiveminutesfromtheconferencecenter,butitwasaninflatablemattressonthefloorofastorageroom,charging180buckspernight,andevenifshecouldhaveaffordedit,oneofthereviewsreportedthatthehosthadapenchantforrole-playingVikingwiththeguests,so…No,thankyou.Shefoundamoreaffordableoneforty-fiveminutesawaybysubway,butwhenshewenttoreservetheroom,shediscoveredthatsomeonehadbeatenhertoitbymereseconds,andshewastemptedtohurlherlaptopacrossthecoffeeshop.Shewastryingtodecidebetweenaseedymotelandacheapcouchinthesuburbswhenashadowcastoverher.Shelookedupwithafrown,expectinganundergradwantingtousetheoutletshe’dbeenhoarding,andinsteadfound…
“Oh.”
Adamwasstandinginfrontofher,thelate-afternoonsunlighthaloinghishairandshoulders,fingersclosedaroundaniPadashelookeddownatherwithasomberexpression.Ithadbeenlessthanaweeksinceshe’dlastseenhim—sixdaystobeprecise,whichwasjustahandfulofhoursandminutes.Nothing,consideringthatshe’dbarelyknownhimamonth.Andyetitwasasifthespaceshewasin,thewholecampus,theentirecitywastransformedbyknowingthathewasback.
Possibilities.That’swhatAdam’spresencefeltlike.Ofwhat,shewasnotcertain.
“You’re…”Hermouthwasdry.Aneventofgreatscientificinterest,consideringthatshe’dtakenasipfromherwaterbottlemaybetensecondsago.“You’reback.”
“Iam.”
Shehadn’tforgottenhisvoice.Orhisheight.Orthewayhisstupidclothesfithim.Shecouldn’thave—shehadtwomedialtemporallobes,fullyfunctioningandtuckednicelyinsideherskull,whichmeantthatshewasperfectlyabletoencodeandstorememories.Shehadn’tforgottenanything,andshewasn’tsurewhyrightnowitfeltasifshehad.“Ithought…Ididn’t—”Yes,Olive.Wonderful.Veryeloquent.“Ididn’tknowthatyouwereback.”
Hisfacewasalittleclosedoff,buthenodded.“Iflewinlastnight.”
“Oh.”Sheshouldhaveprobablypreparedsomethingtosay,butshehadn’texpectedtoseehimuntilWednesday.Ifshehad,maybeshewouldn’thavebeenwearingheroldestleggingsandmosttatteredT-shirt,andherhairwouldn’thavebeenamess.NotthatshewasunderanyillusionthatAdamwouldhavenoticedherifshe’dbeenwearingaswimsuitoragaladress.Butstill.“Doyouwanttosit?”Sheleanedforwardtogatherherphoneandnotebook,makingroomontheothersideofthesmalltable.Itwasonlywhenhehesitatedbeforetakingaseatthatitoccurredtoherthatmaybehehadnointentionofstaying,thatnowhemightfeelforcedtodoso.Hefoldedhimselfintothechairgracefully,likeabigcat.
Greatjob,Olive.Whodoesn’tloveaneedypersonwhohoundsthemforattention?
“Youdon’thaveto.Iknowyou’rebusy.MacArthurgrantstowinandgradstobrutalizeandbroccolitoeat.”He’dprobablyratherbeanywhereelse.Shebitherthumbnail,feelingguilty,startingtopanic,and—
Andthenhesmiled.Andsuddenlythereweregroovesaroundhismouthanddimplesinhischeeksandhisfacewascompletelyalteredbythem.Theairatthetablethinned.Olivecouldn’tquitebreathe.
“Youknow,there’samiddlegroundbetweenlivingoffbrowniesandexclusivelyeatingbroccoli.”
Shegrinned,fornoreasonotherthan—Adamwashere,withher.Andhewassmiling.“That’salie.”
Heshookhishead,mouthstillcurved.“Howareyou?”
Betternow.“Good.HowwasBoston?”
“Good.”
“I’mgladyou’reback.I’mprettysurethebiologydropoutrateshaveseenasteepreduction.Wecan’thavethat.”
Hegaveherapatient,put-uponlook.“Youlooktired,smart-ass.”
“Oh.Yeah,I…”Sherubbedhercheekwithherhand,orderingherselfnottofeelself-consciousaboutherlooks,justlikeshe’dalwaysmadeapointnotto.ItwouldbeanequallystupidideatowonderwhatthewomanHoldenmentionedtheotherdaylookedlike.Probablystunning.Probablyfeminine,withcurves;someonewhoactuallyneededtowearabra,someonewhowasnothalfcoveredinfreckles,whohadmasteredtheartofapplyingliquideyelinerwithoutmakingamessofherself.
“I’mfine.It’sbeenaweek,though.”Shemassagedhertemple.
Hecockedhishead.“Whathappened?”
“Nothing…Myfriendsarestupid,andIhatethem.”Shefeltinstantlyguiltyandmadeaface.“Actually,Idon’thatethem.IdohatethatIlovethem,though.”
“Isthisthesunscreenfriend?Anh?”
“Theoneandonly.Andmyroommate,too,whoreallyshouldknowbetter.”
“Whatdidtheydo?”
“They…”Olivepressedintobotheyeswithherfingers.“It’salongstory.TheyfoundalternativeaccommodationsforSBD.WhichmeansthatnowIhavetofindaplaceonmyown.”
“Whydidtheydothat?”
“Because…”Shebrieflyclosedhereyesandsighed.“BecausetheyassumedthatI’dwanttostaywithyou.Sinceyou’remy…youknow.‘Boyfriend.’?”
Hewentstillforacoupleofseconds.Andthen:“Isee.”
“Yep.Aprettyboldassumption,but…”Shespreadherarmsandshrugged.
Hebittheinsideofhischeek,lookingpensive.“I’msorryyouwon’tgettoroomwiththem.”
Shewavedherhand.“Oh,that’snotit.Thatwouldhavebeenfun,butit’sjustthatnowIneedtofindsomethingelsenearby,andtherearenoaffordableoptions.”Hereyesfellonthescreenofherlaptop.“I’mthinkingofbookingthismotelthat’sanhourawayand—”
“Won’ttheyknow?”
Shelookedupfromthegrainy,shady-lookingpictureoftheplace.“Mm?”
“Won’tAnhknowthatyou’renotstayingwithme?”
Oh.“Whereareyoustaying?”
“Theconferencehotel.”
Ofcourse.“Well.”Shescratchedhernose.“Iwouldn’ttellher.Idon’tthinkshe’llpaytoomuchattention.”
“Butshe’llnoticeifyou’restayingonehouraway.”
“I…”Yes.Theywouldnotice,andaskquestions,andOlivewouldhavetocomeupwithabunchofexcusesandevenmorehalf-truthstodealwithit.AddafewblockstothisJengatowerofliesshe’dbeenbuildingforweeks.“I’llfigureitout.”
Henoddedslowly.“I’msorry.”
“Oh,it’snotyourfault.”
“Onecouldarguethatitis,infact,myfault.”
“Notatall.”
“Iwouldoffertopayforyourhotelroom,butIdoubtthere’sanythingleftinaten-mileradius.”
“Oh,no.”Sheshookherheademphatically.“AndIwouldn’tacceptit.It’snotacupofcoffee.Andascone.Andacookie.AndapumpkinFrappuccino.”Shebattedhereyesathimandleanedforward,tryingtochangethetopic.“Which,bytheway,isnewonthemenu.Youcouldtotallybuyitforme,andthatwouldmakemyday.”
“Sure.”Helookedslightlynauseous.
“Awesome.”Shegrinned.“Ithinkit’scheapertoday,somekindofTuesdaysale,so—”
“Butyoucouldroomwithme.”
Thewayheputitforward,calmandsensible,almostmadeitsoundlikeitwasnobigdeal.AndOlivealmostfellforit,untilherearsandbrainseemedtofinallyconnectwitheachotherandshewasabletoprocessthemeaningofwhathe’djustsaid.
Thatshe.
Couldroom.
Withhim.
Oliveknewfullwellwhatsharingquarterswithsomeoneentailed,evenforaveryshortperiod.Sleepinginthesameroommeantseeingembarrassingpajamas,takingturnstousethebathroom,hearingtheswishofsomeonetryingtofindacomfortablepositionunderthesheetsloudandclearinthedark.Sleepinginthesameroommeant—No.Nope.Itwasaterribleidea.AndOlivewasstartingtothinkthatmaybeshehadmaxedthoseoutforawhile.Sosheclearedherthroat.
“Icouldnot,actually.”
Henoddedcalmly.Butthen,thenheaskedequallycalmly,“Why?”andshewantedtobangherheadagainstthetable.
“Icouldn’t.”
“Theroomisadouble,ofcourse,”heoffered,asifthatpieceofinformationcouldhavepossiblychangedhermind.
“It’snotagoodidea.”
“Why?”
“Becausepeoplewillthinkthatwe…”ShenoticedAdam’slookandimmediatelyhushed.“Okay,fine.Theyalreadythinkthat.But.”
“But?”
“Adam.”Sherubbedherforeheadwithherfingers.“Therewillbeonlyonebed.”
Hefrowned.“No,asIsaidit’sadouble—”
“It’snot.Itwon’tbe.Therewillbeonlyonebed,forsure.”
Hegaveherapuzzledlook.“Igotthebookingconfirmationtheotherday.Icanforwardittoyouifyouwant;itsaysthat—”
“Itdoesn’tmatterwhatitsays.It’salwaysonebed.”
Hestaredather,perplexed,andshesighedandleanedhelplesslyagainstthebackofherchair.He’dclearlyneverseenarom-comorreadaromancenovelinhislife.“Nothing.Ignoreme.”
“Mysymposiumispartofasatelliteworkshopthedaybeforetheconferencestarts,andthenI’llbespeakingonthefirstdayoftheactualconference.Ihavetheroomfortheentireconference,butI’llprobablyneedtoleaveforsomemeetingsafternighttwo,soyou’dbebyyourselffromnightthree.We’donlyoverlapforonenight.”
Shelistenedtothelogical,methodicalwayhelistedsensiblereasonswhysheshouldjustaccepthisofferandfeltawaveofpanicsweepoverher.“Itseemslikeabadidea.”
“That’sfine.Ijustdon’tunderstandwhy.”
“Because.”BecauseIdon’twantto.BecauseIhaveitbad.BecauseI’dprobablyhaveitevenworse,afterthat.Becauseit’sgoingtobetheweekofSeptembertwenty-ninth,andI’vebeentryinghardnottothinkaboutit.
“AreyouafraidthatI’lltrytokissyouwithoutyourconsent?Tositonyourlap,orfondleyouunderthepretextofapplyingsunscreen?BecauseIwouldnever—”
Olivechuckedherphoneathim.Hecaughtitinhislefthand,studieditsglitteramino-acidcasewithapleasedexpression,andthencarefullysetitnexttoherlaptop.
“Ihateyou,”Shetoldhim,sullen.Shemighthavebeenpouting.Andsmilingatthesametime.
Hismouthtwitched.“Iknow.”
“AmIevergoingtolivethatstuffdown?”
“Unlikely.Andifyoudo,I’msuresomethingelsewillcomeup.”
Shehuffed,crossingherarmsoverherchest,andtheyexchangedasmallsmile.
“IcanaskHoldenorTomifIcanstaywiththem,andleaveyoumyroom,”hesuggested.“ButtheyknowthatIalreadyhaveone,soI’dhavetocomeupwithexcuses—”
“No,I’mnotgoingtokickyououtofyourroom.”Sheranahandthroughherhairandexhaled.“You’dhateit.”
Hetiltedhishead.“What?”
“Roomingwithme.”
“Iwould?”
“Yeah.Youseemlikeapersonwho…”Youseemlikeyouliketokeepothersatarm’slength,uncompromisingandeversohardtoknow.Youseemlikeyoucareverylittleaboutwhatpeoplethinkofyou.Youseemlikeyouknowwhatyou’redoing.Youseemequallyhorribleandawesome,andjustthethoughtthatthere’ssomeoneyou’dliketoopenupto,someonewho’snotme,makesmefeellikeIcan’tsitatthistableanylonger.“Likeyou’dwantyourownspace.”
Heheldhergaze.“Olive.IthinkI’llbefine.”
“Butifyouendupnotbeingfine,thenyou’dbestuckwithme.”
“It’sonenight.”Hisjawclenchedandrelaxed,andheadded,“Wearefriends,no?”
Herownwords,thrownbackather.Idon’twanttobeyourfriend,shewastemptedtosay.Thingwas,shealsodidn’twanttonotbehisfriend.Whatshewantedwascompletelyoutsideofherabilitytoobtain,andsheneededtoforgetit.Scrapitfromherbrain.
“Yes.Weare.”
“Then,asafriend,don’tforcemetoworryaboutyouusingpublictransportationlateatnightinacityyou’renotfamiliarwith.Bikingonroadswithoutbikelanesisbadenough,”hemuttered,andsheimmediatelyfeltaweightsinkintoherstomach.Hewastryingtobeagoodfriend.Hecaredforher,andinsteadofbeingsatisfiedwithwhatshecurrentlyhad,shehadtoruinitalland—andwantmore.
Shetookadeepbreath.“Areyousure?Thatitwouldn’tbotheryou?”
Henodded,silent.
“Okay,then.Okay.”Sheforcedherselftosmile.“Doyousnore?”
Hehuffedoutalaugh.“Idon’tknow.”
“Oh,comeon.Howcanyounotknow?”
Heshrugged.“Ijustdon’t.”
“Well,thatprobablymeansyoudon’t.Otherwise,someonewouldhavetoldyou.”
“Someone?”
“Aroommate.”ItoccurredtoherthatAdamwasthirty-fourandlikelyhadn’thadaroommateinaboutadecade.“Oragirlfriend.”
Hesmiledfaintlyandloweredhisgaze.“Iguessmy‘girlfriend’willtellmeafterSBD,then.”Hesaiditinaquiet,unassumingtone,clearlytryingtomakeajoke,butOlive’scheekswarmed,andshecouldn’tquitebeartolookathimanymore.Insteadshepickedatathreadonthesleeveofhercardigan,andsearchedforsomethingtosay.
“Mystupidabstract.”Sheclearedherthroat.“Itwasacceptedasatalk.”
Hemethereyes.“Facultypanel?”
“Yeah.”
“You’renothappy?”
“No.”Shewinced.
“Isitthepublic-speakingthing?”
He’dremembered.Ofcoursehehad.“Yeah.Itwillbeawful.”
Adamstaredatherandsaidnothing.Notthatitwouldbefine,notthatthetalkwouldgosmoothly,notthatshewasoverreactingandundersellingafantasticopportunity.HiscalmacceptanceofheranxietyhadtheexactoppositeeffectofDr.Aslan’senthusiasm:itrelaxedher.
“WhenIwasinmythirdyearofgradschool,”hesaidquietly,“myadvisersentmetogiveafacultysymposiuminhisstead.Hetoldmeonlytwodaysbefore,withoutanyslidesorascript.Justthetitleofthetalk.”
“Wow.”Olivetriedtoimaginewhatthatwouldhavefeltlike,beingexpectedtoperformsomethingsodauntingwithsolittleforewarning.Atthesametime,partofhermarveledatAdamself-disclosingsomethingwithoutbeingaskedadirectquestion.“Whydidhedothat?”
“Whoknows?”Hetiltedhisheadback,staringataspotaboveherhead.Histoneheldatraceofbitterness.“Becausehehadanemergency.Becausehethoughtit’dbeaformativeexperience.Becausehecould.”
Olivejustbetthathecould.Shedidn’tknowAdam’sformeradviser,butacademiawasverymuchanoldboys’club,wherethosewhoheldthepowerlikedtotakeadvantageofthosewhodidn’twithoutrepercussions.
“Wasit?Aformativeexperience?”
Heshruggedagain.“Asmuchasanythingthatkeepsyouawakeinapanicforforty-eighthoursstraightcanbe.”
Olivesmiled.“Andhowdidyoudo?”
“Idid…”Hepressedhislipstogether.“Notwellenough.”Hewassilentforalongmoment,hisgazelockedsomewhereoutsidethecafé’swindow.“Thenagain,nothingwasevergoodenough.”
ItseemedimpossiblethatsomeonemightlookatAdam’sscientificaccomplishmentsandfindthemlacking.Thathecouldeverbeanythinglessthanthebestatwhathedid.Wasthatwhyhewassosevereinhisjudgmentofothers?Becausehe’dbeentaughttosetthesameimpossiblestandardsforhimself?
“Doyoustillkeepintouchwithhim?Youradviser,Imean.”
“He’sretirednow.Tomhastakenoverwhatusedtobehislab.”
Itwassuchanuncharacteristicallyopaque,carefullywordedanswer.Olivecouldn’thelpbeingcurious.“Didyoulikehim?”
“It’scomplicated.”Herubbedahandoverhisjaw,lookingpensiveandfaraway.“No.No,Ididn’tlikehim.Istilldon’t.Hewas…”Ittookhimsolongtocontinue,shealmostconvincedherselfthathewouldn’t.Buthedid,staringatthelate-afternoonsunlightdisappearingbehindtheoaktrees.“Brutal.Myadviserwasbrutal.”
Shechuckled,andAdam’seyesdartedbacktoherface,narrowwithconfusion.
“Sorry.”Shewasstilllaughingalittle.“It’sjustfunny,tohearyoucomplainaboutyouroldmentor.Because…”
“Because?”
“Becausehesoundsexactlylikeyou.”
“I’mnotlikehim,”heretorted,moresharplythanOlivehadcometoexpectfromhim.Itmadehersnort.
“Adam,I’mprettysurethatifweweretoaskanyonetodescribeyouwithoneword,‘brutal’wouldcomeuponeortentimes.”
Shesawhimstiffenbeforeshewasevendonespeaking,thelineofhisshoulderssuddenlytenseandrigid,hisjawtightandwithaslighttwitchtoit.Herfirstinstinctwastoapologize,butshewasnotsureforwhat.Therewasnothingnewtowhatshe’djusttoldhim—they’ddiscussedhisblunt,uncompromisingmentoringstylebefore,andhe’dalwaystakenitinstride.Ownedit,even.Andyethisfistswereclenchedonthetable,andhiseyesweredarkerthanusual.
“I…Adam,didI—”shestammered,butheinterruptedherbeforeshecouldcontinue.
“Everyonehasissueswiththeiradvisers,”hesaid,andtherewasafinalitytohistonethatwarnedhernottofinishhersentence.NottoaskWhathappened?Wheredidyoujustgo?
Sosheswallowedandnodded.“Dr.Aslanis…”Shehesitated.Hisknuckleswerenotquiteaswhiteanymore,andthetensioninhismuscleswasslowlydissolving.Itwaspossiblethatshe’dimaginedit.Yes,shemusthave.“She’sgreat.ButsometimesIfeellikeshedoesn’treallyunderstandthatIneedmore…”Guidance.Support.Somepracticaladvice,insteadofblindencouragement.“I’mnotevensurewhatIneed,myself.Ithinkthatmightbepartoftheproblem—I’mnotverygoodatcommunicatingit.”
Henoddedandappearedtochoosehiswordscarefully.“It’shard,mentoring.Nooneteachesyouhowtodoit.We’retrainedtobecomescientists,butasprofessors,we’realsoinchargeofmakingsurethatstudentslearntoproducerigorousscience.Iholdmygradsaccountable,andIsethighstandardsforthem.They’rescaredofme,andthat’sfine.Thestakesarehigh,andifbeingscaredmeansthatthey’retakingtheirtrainingseriously,thenI’mokaywithit.”
Shetiltedherhead.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Myjobistomakesurethatmyadultgraduatestudentsdon’tbecomemediocrescientists.ThatmeansI’mtheonewho’staskedwithdemandingthattheyreruntheirexperimentsoradjusttheirhypotheses.Itcomeswiththeterritory.”
Olivehadneverbeenapeoplepleaser,butAdam’sattitudetowardothers’perceptionofhimwassocavalier,itwasalmostfascinating.“Doyoureallynotcare?”sheasked,curious.“Thatyourgradsmightdislikeyouasaperson?”
“Nah.Idon’tlikethemverymuch,either.”ShethoughtofJessandAlexandtheotherhalfadozengradsandpostdocsmentoredbyAdamwhomshedidn’tknowverywell.Thethoughtofhimfindingthemasannoyingastheyfoundhimdespoticmadeherchuckle.“Tobefair,Idon’tlikepeopleingeneral.”
“Right.”Don’task,Olive.Donotask.“Doyoulikeme?”
Amillisecondofhesitationashepressedhislipstogether.“Nope.You’reasmart-asswithabysmaltasteinbeverages.”HetracedthecornerofhisiPad,asmallsmileplayingonhislips.“Sendmeyourslides.”
“Myslides?”
“Foryourtalk.I’lltakealookatthem.”
Olivetriednottogapeathim.“Oh—you…I’mnotyourgrad.Youdon’thaveto.”
“Iknow.”
“Youreallydon’thaveto—”
“Iwantto,”hesaid,voicepitchedlowandevenashelookedintohereyes,andOlivehadtoaverthergazebecausesomethingfelttootightinherchest.
“Okay.”Shefinallymanagedtosnapouttheloosethreadonhersleeve.“Howlikelyisitthatyourfeedbackwillcausemetocryundertheshower?”
“Thatdependsonthequalityofyourslides.”
Shesmiled.“Don’tfeellikeyouhavetoholdback.”
“Believeme,Idon’t.”
“Good.Great.”Shesighed,butitwasreassuring,knowingthathewasgoingtobecheckingherwork.“Willyoucometomytalk?”sheheardherselfask,andwasassurprisedbytherequestasAdamseemedtobe.
“I…Doyouwantmeto?”
No.No,it’sgoingtobehorrible,andhumiliating,andprobablyadisaster,andyou’regoingtoseemeatmyworstandweakest.It’sprobablybestifyoulockyourselfintothebathroomfortheentiredurationofthepanel.Justsoyoudon’taccidentallywanderinandseememakingafoolofmyself.
Andyet.Justtheideaofhavinghimthere,sittingintheaudience,madetheprospectseemlikelessofanordeal.Hewasnotheradviser,andhewasn’tgoingtobeabletodomuchifshegotinundatedbyabarrageofimpossiblequestions,oriftheprojectorstoppedworkinghalfwaythroughthetalk.Butmaybethatwasn’twhatsheneededfromhim.
IthitherthenwhatwassospecialaboutAdam.Thatnomatterhisreputation,orhowrockytheirfirstmeeting,sincetheverybeginning,Olivehadfeltthathewasonherside.Overandover,andinwaysthatshecouldneverhaveanticipated,hehadmadeherfeelunjudged.Lessalone.
Sheexhaledslowly.Therealizationshouldhavebeenrattling,butithadanoddlycalmingeffect.“Yes,”shetoldhim,thinkingthatthismightverywellturnouttobeallright.ShemightneverhavewhatshewantedfromAdam,butfornowatleast,hewasinherlife.Thatwasgoingtohavetobeenough.
“Iwill,then.”
Sheleanedforward.“Willyouaskalong-winded,leadingquestionthatwillcausemetorambleincoherentlyandlosetherespectofmypeers,thusforeverunderminingmyplaceinthefieldofbiology?”
“Possibly.”Hewassmiling.“ShouldIbuyyouthatdisgusting”—Adamgesturedtowardtheregister—“pumpkinsludgenow?”
Shegrinned.“Oh,yes.Imean,ifyouwantto.”
“I’dratherbuyyouanythingelse.”
“Toobad.”Olivejumpedtoherfeetandheadedforthecounter,tuggingathissleeveandforcinghimtostandwithher.Adamfollowedmeekly,mumblingsomethingaboutblackcoffeethatOlivechosetoignore.
Enough,sherepeatedtoherself.Whatyouhavenow,itwillhavetobeenough.ChapterFourteen
HYPOTHESIS:Thisconferencewillbetheworstthingtoeverhappentomyprofessionalcareer,generalwell-being,andsenseofsanity.
Thereweretwobedsinthehotelroom.
Twodoublebedstobeprecise,andasshestaredatthem,Olivefelthershoulderssagwithreliefandhadtoresisttheurgetofist-pump.Takethat,youstupidrom-coms.Shemayhavefallenforthedudeshe’dbeguntofake-datelikesomeborn-yesterdayfool,butatleastshewouldn’tbesharingabedwithhimanytimesoon.Givenherdisastrouspastcoupleofweeks,she’dreally,reallyneededthewin.
TherewereanumberoflittlecluesthatAdamhadsleptonthebedclosesttotheentrance—abookonthebedsidetableinalanguagethatlookedlikeGerman,athumbdriveandthesameiPadshe’dseenhimcarryaroundonseveraloccasions,aniPhonechargerdanglingfromthepoweroutlet.Asuitcasetuckedbythefootofthebed,blackandexpensive-looking.UnlikeOlive’s,itprobablyhadn’tbeenfishedoutoftheWalmartbargainbin.
“Iguessthisismine,then,”shemurmured,sittingonthebedclosesttothewindowandbouncingafewtimestotestthefirmnessofthemattress.Itwasaniceroom.Notridiculouslyfancy,butOlivewassuddenlygratefulforthewayAdamhadsnortedandlookedatherlikeshewascrazywhenshe’dofferedtopayforhalfofit.Atleasttheplacewaswideenoughthattheyweren’tgoingtohavetobrushupagainsteachothereverytimetheymovedaround.Stayinginherewithhimwouldn’tfeellikeasingularlysadisticversionofsevenminutesinheaven.
Notthatthey’dbetogethermuch.Shewasgoingtogivehertalkinacoupleofhours—ugh—thengotothedepartment’ssocialandhangoutwithherfriendsuntil…well,aslongasshefeasiblycould.OddswerethatAdamalreadyhadtonsofmeetingsscheduled,andmaybetheywouldn’tevenseeeachother.Olivewouldbeasleepwhenhecamebacktonight,andtomorrowmorningoneofthemwouldpretendnottowakeupwhiletheothergotready.Itwasgoingtobefine.Harmless.Attheveryleast,notmakethingsworsethantheycurrentlywere.
Olive’susualconferenceoutfitwasblackjeansandherleast-frayedcardigan,butafewdaysagoAnhhadmentionedthattheensemblemightbetoocasualforatalk.AftersighingforhoursOlivehaddecidedtobringtheblackwrapdressshe’dboughtonsalebeforeinterviewingforgradschoolandblackpumpsborrowedfromAnh’ssister.Ithadseemedlikeagoodideaatthetime,butassoonassheslippedintothebathroomtoputonthedress,sherealizedthatitmusthaveshrunkthelasttimeshewashedit.Itdidn’tquitehitherkneesanymore,notbyacoupleofinches.ShegroanedandsnappedapictureforAnhandMalcolm,whotextedher,respectively,Stillconferenceappropriateandafireemoji.OliveprayedthatAnhwasrightasshecombedthewavesinherhairandfoughtagainstdried-outmascara—herfaultforbuyingmakeupatthedollarstore,clearly.
Shehadjustgotoutofthebathroom,rehearsinghertalkunderherbreath,whenthedooropenedandsomeone—Adam,ofcourseitwasAdam—enteredtheroom.Hewasholdinghiskeycardandtypingsomethinginhisphone,butstoppedassoonashelookedupandnoticedOlive.Hismouthopened,and—
Thatwasit.Itjuststayedopen.
“Hey.”Oliveforcedherfaceintoasmile.Herheartwasdoingsomethingweirdinherchest.Beatingalittletooquickly.Sheshouldprobablyhaveitcheckedassoonasshegotbackhome.Onecouldneverbetoocarefulaboutcardiovascularhealth.“Hi.”
Hesnappedhismouthclosedandclearedhisthroat.“You’re…”Heswallowedandshiftedonhisfeet.“Here.”
“Yep.”Shenodded,stillsmiling.“Justarrived.Myflightlandedontime,surprisingly.”
Adamseemedalittleslow.Maybejet-laggedfromhisownflight,orperhapslastnighthe’dbeenoutlatewithhisfamousscientistfriends,orwiththemysteriouswomanHoldenhadtalkedabout.HejuststaredatOlive,silentforseveralmoments,andwhenhespoke,itwasonlytosay,“Youlook…”
Sheglanceddownatherdressandheels,wonderingifhereyemakeupwasalreadysmudged.She’dputitonthreewholeminutesago,soitwasmorethanlikely.“Professional?”
“That’snotwhatI…”Adamclosedhiseyesandshookhishead,asifcollectinghimself.“But,yes.Youdo.Howareyou?”
“Good.Fine.Imean,IwishIweredead.Butasidefromthat.”
Helaughedsilentlyandmovedcloser.“You’llbeokay.”Shehadthoughtsweaterswereagoodlookforhim,butonlybecauseshe’dneverseenhimwearablazer.Hehadasecretweaponallalong,shethought,tryingnottostaretoohard.Andnowhe’sunleashingit.Damnhim.
“Agreed.”Shepushedherhairbackandsmiled.“AfterIdie.”
“You’refine.Youhaveascript.Youmemorizedit.Yourslidesaregood.”
“IthinktheywerebetterbeforeyoumademechangethePowerPointbackground.”
“Itwasacidgreen.”
“Iknow.Itmademehappy.”
“Itmademenauseous.”
“Mm.Anyway,thanksagainforhelpingmefigureitout.”Andforansweringthe139questionsIasked.Thankyoufortakinglessthantenminutestoreplytomyemails,everytime,evenwhenitwas5:30a.m.andyoumisspelled“consensus,”whichisunusualofyouandmakesmesuspectthatmaybeyouwerestillhalfasleep.“Andforlettingmecrashwithyou.”
“Noproblem.”
Shescratchedthesideofhernose.“Ifiguredyouwereusingthatbed,soIputmystuffhere,butifyou…”Shegesturedconfusedlyattheroom.
“No,that’swhereIsleptlastnight.”
“Okay.”Shewasnotcountinghowmanyinchestherewerebetweenthetwobeds.Definitelynot.“Sohow’stheconferencesofar?”
“Sameold.IwasmostlyatHarvardforafewmeetingswithTom.Ionlygotbackforlunch.”
Olive’sstomachrumbledloudlyatthementionoffood.
“Youokay?”
“Yeah.IthinkIforgottoeattoday.”
Hiseyebrowsarched.“Ididn’tthinkyoucapable.”
“Hey!”Sheglaredathim.“ThesustainedlevelsofdespairI’vebeenengaginginforthepastweekrequireastaggeringnumberofcalories,incaseyou—Whatareyoudoing?”
Adamwasleaningoverhissuitcase,rummagingforsomethingthatheheldouttoOlive.
“Whatisit?”
“Calories.Tofuelyourdespairhabits.”
“Oh.”Sheaccepteditandthenstudiedtheproteinbarinherhands,tryingnottoburstoutcrying.Itwasjustfood.Probablyasnackhe’dbroughtfortheplanerideandendedupnoteating.Hedidn’tneedtodespair,afterall.HewasDr.AdamCarlsen.“Thanks.Areyou…”Thewrappingofthebarcrinkledassheshifteditfromonehandtoanother.“Areyoustillcomingtomytalk?”
“Ofcourse.Whenisitexactly?”
“Todayatfour,room278.Sessionthree-b.Thegoodnewsisthatitpartiallyoverlapswiththekeynoteaddress,whichmeansthathopefullyonlyahandfulofpeoplewillshowup…”
Hisspinestiffenednoticeably.Olivehesitated.
“Unlessyouwereplanningtogotothekeynoteaddress?”
Adamwethislips.“I…”
Hereyeschosethatprecisemomenttofalltotheconferencebadgedanglingfromhisneck.
AdamCarlsen,Ph.D.
StanfordUniversity
KeynoteSpeaker
Herjawdropped.
“OhmyGod.”Shelookedupathim,wide-eyed,and…OhGod.Atleasthehadthegracetolooksheepish.“Howdidyounottellmethatyouarethekeynotespeaker?”
Adamscratchedhisjaw,oozingdiscomfort.“Ididn’tthinkofit.”
“OhmyGod,”sherepeated.
Tobefair,itwasonher.Thenameofthekeynotespeakerwaslikelyprintedinfontsize300intheprogram,andallthepromotionalmaterial,nottomentiontheconferenceappandtheemails.Olivemusthavehadherheadverymuchupherbutttofailtonotice.
“Adam.”Shemadetorubhereyeswithherfingers,andthenthoughtbetterofit.Damnmakeup.“Ican’tbefake-datingSBD’skeynotespeaker.”
“Well,therearetechnicallythreekeynotespeakers,andtheothertwoaremarriedwomenintheirfiftieswholiveinEuropeandJapan,so—”
Olivecrossedherarmsonherchestandgavehimaflatlookuntilhequieted.Shecouldn’thelplaughing.“Howdidthisnotcomeup?”
“It’snotabigdeal.”Heshrugged.“IdoubtIwastheirfirstchoice.”
“Right.”Sure.Becauseapersonexistedwho’drefusetobekeynotespeakeratSBD.Shetiltedherhead.“DidyouthinkIwasanidiot,whenIstartedcomplainingaboutmyten-minutetalkthatwillbeattendedbyfourteenandahalfpeople?”
“Notatall.Yourreactionwasunderstandable.”Hethoughtaboutitforamoment.“Idosometimesthinkyou’reanidiot,mostlywhenIseeyouputketchupandcreamcheeseonbagels.”
“It’sagreatmix.”
Helookedpained.“Whenareyoupresentinginyourpanel?MaybeIcanstillmakeit.”
“No.I’mexactlyhalfwaythrough.”Shewavedahand,hopingtoseemunconcerned.“It’sfine,really.”Anditwas.“I’mgoingtohavetorecordmyselfwithmyiPhone,anyway.”Sherolledhereyes.“ForDr.Aslan.Shecouldn’tcometotheconference,butshesaidshewantstolistentomyfirsttalk.Icansendittoyou,ifyou’reafanofstammeringandsecondhandembarrassment.”
“I’dlikethat.”
Oliveflushedandchangedthetopic.“Isthatwhyyouhavearoomfortheentirelengthoftheconferenceeventhoughyou’renotstaying?Becauseyou’reabigshot?”
Hefrowned.“I’mnot.”
“CanIcallyou‘bigshot’fromnowon?”
Hesighed,walkingtothebedsidetableandpocketingtheUSBshe’dnoticedearlier.“Ihavetotakemyslidesdownstairs,smart-ass.”
“Okay.”Hecouldleave.Itwasfine.Totallyfine.Olivedidn’tlethersmilefalter.“IguessI’llmaybeseeyouaftermytalk,then?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Andafteryours.Goodluck.Andcongrats.It’ssuchahugehonor.”
Adamdidn’tseemtobethinkingaboutthat,though.Helingeredbythedoor,hishandontheknobashelookedbackatOlive.Theireyesheldforafewmomentsbeforehetoldher,“Don’tbenervous,okay?”
Shepressedherlipstogetherandnodded.“I’lljustdowhatDr.Aslanalwayssays.”
“Andwhat’sthat?”
“Carrymyselfwiththeconfidenceofamediocrewhiteman.”
Hegrinned,and—theretheywere.Theheart-stoppingdimples.“Itwillbefine,Olive.”Hissmilesoftened.“Andifnot,atleastitwillbeover.”
Itwasn’tuntilafewminuteslater,whenshewassittingonherbedstaringattheBostonskylineandchewingonherlunch,thatOliverealizedthattheproteinbarAdamhadgivenherwascoveredinchocolate.
—
SHECHECKEDWHETHERshehadthecorrectroomforthethirdtime—nothingliketalkingaboutpancreaticcancertoacrowdthatexpectedapresentationontheGolgiapparatustomakeanimpression—andthenfeltahandclosearoundhershoulder.Shespunaround,noticedwhoitbelongedto,andimmediatelygrinned.
“Tom!”
Hewaswearingacharcoalsuit.Hisblondhairwascombedback,makinghimlookolderthanhehadinCalifornia,butalsoprofessional.Hewasafriendlyfaceinaseaofunfamiliarones,andhispresencetooktheedgeoffherintensedesiretopukeinherownshoe.
“Hey,Olive.”Heheldthedooropenforher.“IthoughtImightseeyouhere.”
“Oh?”
“Fromtheconferenceprogram.”Helookedatheroddly.“Youdidn’tnoticewe’reonthesamepanel?”
Oh,crap.“Uh—I…Ididn’tevenreadwhoelsewasonthepanel.”BecauseIwastoobusypanicking.
“Noworries.It’smostlyboringpeople.”Hewinked,andhishandslidtoherback,guidinghertowardthepodium.“Exceptforyouandme,ofcourse.”
Hertalkdidn’tgopoorly.
Itdidn’tgoperfectly,either.Shestumbledontheword“channelrhodopsin”twice,andbysomeweirdtrickoftheprojectorherstaininglookedmorelikeablackblobthanaslice.“Itlooksdifferentonmycomputer,”Olivetoldtheaudiencewithastrainedsmile.“Justtrustmeonthisone.”
Peoplechuckled,andsherelaxedmarginally,gratefulthatshe’dspenthoursuponhoursmemorizingeverythingshewassupposedtosay.Theroomwasnotasfullasshe’dfeared,andtherewereahandfulofpeople—likelyworkingonsimilarprojectsatotherinstitutions—whotooknotesandlistenedraptlytohereveryword.Itshouldhavebeenoverwhelmingandanxietyinducing,butabouthalfwaythroughsherealizedthatitmadeheroddlygiddy,knowingthatsomeoneelsewaspassionateaboutthesameresearchquestionsthathadtakenupmostofthepasttwoyearsofherlife.
Inthesecondrow,Malcolmfakedafascinatedexpression,whileAnh,Jeremy,andabunchofothergradsfromStanfordnoddedenthusiasticallywheneverOlivehappenedtolookintheirdirection.Tomalternatedbetweenstaringintenselyatherandcheckinghisphonewithaboredexpression—fair,sincehe’dalreadyreadherreport.Thesessionwasrunninglate,andthemoderatorendedupgivinghertimeforonlyonequestion—aneasyone.Attheend,twooftheotherpanelists—well-knowncancerresearcherswhomOlivehadtorestrainherselfnottofangirlover—shookherhandandaskedherseveralquestionsaboutherwork.Shewassimultaneouslyflusteredandoverjoyed.
“Youweresoamazing,”Anhtoldherwhenitwasover,pushinguptohugher.“Also,youlookhotandprofessional,andwhileyouweretalking,Ihadavisionofyourfutureinacademia.”
OlivewrappedherarmsaroundAnh.“Whatvision?”
“Youwereahigh-poweredresearcher,surroundedbystudentswhohungonyoureveryword.Andyouwereansweringamultiparagraphemailwithanuncapitalizedno.”
“Nice.WasIhappy?”
“Ofcoursenot.”Anhsnorted.“It’sacademia.”
“Ladies,thedepartmentsocialstartsinhalfanhour.”MalcolmleanedintokissOliveonthecheekandsqueezeherwaist.Whenshewaswearingheels,hewasjustatinybitshorterthanher.Shedefinitelywantedapictureofthetwoofthemsidebyside.“WeshouldgocelebratethesingletimeOlivemanagedtopronounce‘channelrhodopsin’rightwithsomefreebooze.”
“Youdick.”
Hepulledherinforatighthugandwhisperedinherear,“Youdidamazing,Kalamata.”Andthen,louder:“Let’sgogetwasted!”
“Whydon’tyouguysgoahead?I’llgetmyUSBandputmystuffbackinthehotel.”
Olivemadeherwaythroughthenow-emptyroomtothepodium,feelinglikeahugeweighthadbeenliftedoffhershoulders.Shewasrelaxedandrelieved.Professionally,thingswerestartingtolookup:asitturnedout,withadequatepreparationshecouldactuallystringtogetherseveralcoherentsentencesinfrontofotherscientists.Shealsohadthemeanstocarryoutherresearchnextyear,andtwobignamesinherfieldhadjustcomplimentedherwork.Shesmiled,lettinghermindwandertowhethersheshouldtextAdamtotellhimthathewasright,shedidmakeitoutalive;sheshouldprobablyaskhowhiskeynoteaddresshadgone,too.IfhisPowerPointhadactedupandhe’dmispronouncedwordslike“microarrays”or“karyotyping,”whetherheplannedtogotothedepartmentsocial.Hewasprobablymeetingupwithfriends,butmaybeshecouldbuyhimathank-youdrinkforallhishelp.Shewouldevenpay,foronce.
“Itwentwell,”someonesaid.
OliveturnedtofindTomstandingbehindher,armsfoldedacrosshischestasheleanedagainstthetable.Helookedasthoughhe’dbeenstaringatherforawhile.“Thankyou.Yours,too.”Histalkhadbeenamorecondensedrepeatoftheonehe’dgivenatStanford,andOlivehadtoadmitthatshe’dspacedoutabit.
“Where’sAdam?”heasked.
“Stillgivinghiskeynote,Ithink.”
“Right.”Tomrolledhiseyes.Probablywithfondness,thoughOlivedidn’tquitecatchitinhisexpression.“Hedoesthat,doesn’the?”
“Doeswhat?”
“Outdoesyou.”Hepushedawayfromthetable,amblingcloser.“Well,outdoeseveryone.It’snotpersonal.”Shefrowned,confused,wantingtoaskTomwhathemeantbythat,buthecontinued,“IthinkyouandIwillgetalonggreatnextyear.”
ThereminderthatTombelievedinherworkenoughtotakeherinhislabquashedherdiscomfort.“Wewill.”Shesmiled.“Thankyousomuchforgivingmeandmyprojectachance.Ican’twaittostartworkingwithyou.”
“You’rewelcome.”Hewassmiling,too.“Ithinktherearealotofthingswecangainfromeachother.Wouldn’tyouagree?”
ItseemedtoOlivelikeshehadmuchmoretogainfromitthanhedid,butshenoddedanyway.“Ihopeso.Ithinkimagingandbloodbiomarkerscomplementeachotherperfectly,andonlybycombiningthemcanwe—”
“AndIhavewhatyouneed,don’tI?Theresearchfunds.Thelabspace.Thetimeandabilitytomentoryouproperly.”
“Yes.Youdo.I…”
Allofasudden,shecouldpickoutthegrayrimofhiscornea.Hadhegottencloser?Hewastall,butnotthatmuchtallerthanher.Hedidn’tusuallyfeelthisimposing.
“I’mgrateful.Sograteful.I’msurethat—”
Shefelthisunfamiliarsmellinhernostrils,andhisbreath,hotandunpleasantagainstthecornerofhermouth,and—fingers,avise-tightgriparoundherupperarm,andwhywashe—whatwashe—
“What—”Heartinherthroat,Olivefreedherarmandtookseveralstepsback.“Whatareyoudoing?”Herhandcameuptoherbicepsand—ithurt,wherehe’dclaspedher.
God—hadhereallydonethat?Triedtokissher?No,shemusthaveimaginedit.Shemustbegoingcrazy,becauseTomwouldnever—
“Apreview,Ithink.”
Shejuststaredathim,toostunnedandnumbtoreact,untilhemovedcloserandbentoncemoretowardher.Thenitwashappeningalloveragain.
Shepushedhimaway.Asforcefullyasshecould,shepushedhimawaywithbothherhandsonhischest,untilhestumbledbackwithacruel,condescendinglaugh.Abruptly,herlungsseizedandshecouldn’tbreathe.
“Apreviewof—what?Areyououtofyourmind?”
“Comeon.”
Whywashesmiling?Whywasthatoily,hatefulexpressiononhisface?Whywashelookingatherlike—
“Aprettygirllikeyoushouldknowthescorebynow.”Helookedatherfromheadtotoe,andthelewdgleaminhiseyesmadeherfeeldisgusting.“Don’tlietomeandsayyoudidn’tpickoutadressthatshortformybenefit.Nicelegs,bytheway.IcanseewhyAdam’swastinghistimewithyou.”
“The—Whatareyou—”
“Olive.”Hesighed,puttinghishandsinhispockets.Heshouldhavelookednonthreatening,lounginglikethat.Buthefeltlikeanythingbut.“Youdon’tthinkIacceptedyouintomylabbecauseyouaregood,doyou?”
Slack-jawed,shetookonemorestepback.Oneofherheelsalmostcaughtinthecarpet,andshehadtoholdontothetabletoavoidfalling.
“Agirllikeyou.Whofiguredoutsoearlyinheracademiccareerthatfuckingwell-known,successfulscholarsishowtogetahead.”Hewasstillsmiling.ThesamesmileOlivehadoncethoughtkind.Reassuring.“YoufuckedAdam,didn’tyou?Webothknowyou’regoingtofuckmeforthesamereason.”
Shewasgoingtovomit.Shewasgoingtovomitinthisroom,afterall,andithadnothingtodowithhertalk.“Youaredisgusting.”
“AmI?”Heshrugged,unperturbed.“Thatmakestwoofus.YouusedAdamtogettomeandtomylab.Tothisconference,too.”
“Ididn’t.Ididn’tevenknowAdamwhenIsubmitted—”
“Oh,please.You’retellingmeyouthoughtyourpitifulabstractwasselectedforatalkbecauseofitsqualityandscientificimportance?”Hemadeadisbelievingface.“Someoneherehasaveryhighopinionofherself,consideringthatherresearchisuselessandderivativeandthatshecanbarelyputtogethertwowordswithoutstutteringlikeanidiot.”
Shefroze.Herstomachsankandtwisted,herfeetcementedtotheground.“It’snottrue,”shewhispered.
“No?Youthinkit’snottruethatscientistsinthefieldwanttoimpressthegreatAdamCarlsenenoughtokisstheassofwhoeverhe’sfuckingatthemoment?IcertainlydidwhenItoldhisverymediocregirlfriendthatshecouldcomeworkforme.Butmaybeyou’reright,”hesaid,allmockingaffability.“MaybeyouknowSTEMacademiabetterthanIdo.”
“I’mgoingtotellAdamaboutthis.I’mgoingto—”
“Byallmeans.”Tomwidenedhisarms.“Goahead.Bemyguest.Doyouneedtoborrowmyphone?”
“No.”Hernostrilsflared.Awaveoficyangersweptoverher.“No.”Sheturnedaroundandmarchedtotheentrance,fightingthenauseaandbileclimbingupherthroat.ShewasgoingtofindAdam.ShewasgoingtofindtheconferenceorganizersandreportTom.Shewasnevergoingtoseehisfaceagain.
“Quickquestion.WhodoyouthinkAdamwillbelieve,Olive?”
Shehaltedabruptly,justafewfeetfromthedoor.
“Somebitchhe’sbeenfuckingforabouttwoweeks,orsomeonewho’sbeenaclosefriendforyears?Someonewhohelpedhimgetthemostimportantgrantofhiscareer?Someonewho’shadhisbacksincehewasyoungerthanyouare?Someonewho’sactuallyagoodscientist?”
Shespunaround,shakingwithrage.“Whyareyoudoingthis?”
“BecauseIcan.”Tomshruggedagain.“BecauseasadvantageousasmycollaborationwithAdamhasbeen,sometimesit’sabitannoyinghowheneedstobebestateverything,andIliketheideaoftakingsomethingawayfromhimforonce.Becauseyouareverypretty,andIlookforwardtospendingmoretimewithyounextyear.WhowouldhaveguessedthatAdamhadsuchgoodtaste?”
“Youarecrazy.IfyouthinkthatI’llworkinyourlab,youare—”
“Oh,Olive.Butyouwill.Becauseyousee—whileyourworkisnotparticularlybrilliant,itdoescomplementnicelytheongoingprojectsinmylab.”
Sheletoutasingle,bitterlaugh.“AreyoureallysodeludedthatyouthinkIwouldevercollaboratewithyouafterthis?”
“Mmm.It’smorethatyoudon’thaveachoice.Becauseifyouwanttofinishyourproject,mylabisyouronlyopportunity.Andifyoudon’t…well.Yousentmeinformationonallyourprotocols,whichmeansthatIcaneasilyreplicatethem.Butdon’tworry.MaybeI’llmentionyouintheacknowledgmentsection.”
Shefeltthegroundflipunderherfeet.“Youwouldn’t,”shewhispered.“It’sresearchmisconduct.”
“Listen,Olive.Myfriendlyadviceis:suckitup.KeepAdamhappyandinterestedaslongaspossible,andthencometomylabtofinallydosomedecentwork.Ifyoukeepmehappy,I’llmakesureyoucansavetheworldfrompancreaticcancer.Yournicelittlesobstoryaboutyourmomoryourauntoryourstupidkindergartenteacherdyingfromitisonlygoingtogetyousofar.You’remediocre.”
Oliveturnedaroundandranfromtheroom.
—
WHENSHEHEARDthebeepofthekeycard,sheimmediatelywipedherfacewiththesleevesofherdress.Itdidn’tquitedothetrick:she’dbeencryingforasolidtwentyminutes,andevenanentirepapertowelrollwouldn’thavebeenenoughtohidewhatshe’dbeenupto.Really,though,itwasn’tOlive’sfault.She’dbeensureAdamhadtoattendtheopeningceremony,oratleastthedepartmentsocialafterhistalk.Wasn’theonthesocial-and-networkingcommittee?Heshouldhavebeenelsewhere.Socializing.Networking.Committeeing.
Butherehewas.Oliveheardstepsashewalkedinside,thenhimstoppingattheentranceofthebedroom,and.
Shecouldn’tconvincehereyestomeethis.Shewasamessafterall,amiserable,disastrousmess.ButsheshouldatleastattempttodivertAdam’sattention.Maybebysayingsomething.Anything.
“Hey.”Shetriedasmile,butcontinuedtostaredownatherownhands.“Howdidyouraddressgo?”
“Whathappened?”Hisvoicewascalm,pitchedlow.
“Didyouonlyjustfinish?”Hersmilewasholding.Good.Good,thatwasgood.“HowwastheQandA—”
“Whathappened?”
“Nothing.I…”
Shedidn’tmanagetofinishthesentence.Andthesmile—which,ifshewashonestwithherself,hadn’tbeenmuchofasmiletobeginwith—wascrumbling.OliveheardAdamcomecloserbutdidn’tlookathim.Herclosedeyelidswereallthatwaskeepingthefloodgatesshut,andtheyweren’tdoingagoodjobofit,either.
Shestartledwhenshefoundhimkneelinginfrontofher.Rightbyherchair,hisheadlevelwithhers,studyingherwithaworriedfrown.Shemadetohideherfaceinherpalms,buthishandcameuptoherchinandlifteditup,untilshehadnochoicebuttomeethiseyes.Thenhisfingerssliduptohercheek,cuppingitasheasked,yetagain,“Olive.Whathappened?”
“Nothing.”Hervoiceshook.Itkeptdisappearingsomewhere,meltinginthetears.
“Olive.”
“Really.Nothing.”
Adamstaredather,questioning,anddidn’tletgo.“Didsomeonebuythelastbagofchips?”
Alaughbubbledoutofher,wetandnotwhollyunderhercontrol.“Yes.Wasityou?”
“Ofcourse.”Histhumbswipedacrosshercheekbone,stoppingafallingtear.“Iboughtallofthem.”
Thissmilefeltbetterthantheoneshe’dcobbledtogetherearlier.“Ihopeyouhavegoodhealthinsurance,becauseyou’resogettingtype2diabetes.”
“Worthit.”
“Youmonster.”Shemusthavebeenleaningintohishand,becausehisthumbwasstrokingheragain.Eversogently.
“Isthathowyoutalktoyourfakeboyfriend?”Helookedsoworried.Hiseyes,thelineofhismouth.Andyet—sopatient.“Whathappened,Olive?”
Sheshookherhead.“Ijust…”
Shecouldn’ttellhim.Andshecouldn’tnottellhim.Butaboveall,shecouldn’ttellhim.
WhodoyouthinkAdamwillbelieve,Olive?
Shehadtotakeadeepbreath.PushTom’svoiceoutofherheadandcalmherselfbeforecontinuing.Comeupwithsomethingtosay,somethingthatwouldn’tmaketheskyfallinthishotelroom.
“Mytalk.Ithoughtitwentokay.Myfriendssaiditdid.ButthenIheardpeopletalkingaboutit,andtheysaid…”Adamreallyshouldstoptouchingher.Shemustbegettinghiswholehandwet.Thesleeveofhisblazer,too.
“Whatdidtheysay?”
“Nothing.Thatitwasderivative.Boring.ThatIstammered.TheyknewthatI’myourgirlfriendandsaidthatwastheonlyreasonIwaschosentogiveatalk.”Sheshookherhead.Sheneededtoletitgo.Toputitoutofherhead.Tothinkcarefullyaboutwhattodo.
“Who?Whowerethey?”
Oh,Adam.“Someone.I’mnotsure.”
“Didyouseetheirbadges?”
“I…didn’tpayattention.”
“Weretheyonyourpanel?”Therewassomethingunderneathhistone.Somethingpressingthathintedatviolenceandrageandbrokenbones.Adam’shandwasstillgentleonhercheek,buthiseyesnarrowed.Therewasanewtensioninhisjaw,andOlivefeltashiverrundownherspine.
“No,”shelied.“Itdoesn’tmatter.It’sokay.”
Hislipspressedintoastraightline,hisnostrilsflared,sosheadded,“Idon’tcarewhatpeoplethinkofme,anyway.”
“Right,”hescoffed.
ThisAdam,righthere,wasthemoody,irascibleAdamwhogradsinherprogramcomplainedabout.Oliveshouldn’thavebeensurprisedtoseehimthisangry,buthe’dneverbeenlikethiswithherbefore.
“No,really,Idon’tcarewhatpeoplesay—”
“Iknowyoudon’t.Butthat’stheproblem,isn’tit?”Hestaredather,andhewassoclose.Shecouldseehowtheyellowsandgreensmixedintotheclearbrownofhiseyes.“It’snotwhattheysay.It’swhatyouthink.It’sthatyouthinkthey’reright.Don’tyou?”
Hermouthwasfullofcotton.“I…”
“Olive.Youareagreatscientist.Andyouwillbecomeanevenbetterone.”Thewayhewaslookingather,soearnestandserious—itwasgoingtobreakher.“Whateverthisassholesaid,itspeaksnothingofyouandawholelotofthem.”Hisfingersshiftedonherskintoweavethroughthehairbehindherear.“Yourworkisbrilliant.”
Shedidn’teventhinkitthrough.Andevenifshehad,sheprobablycouldn’thavestoppedherself.Shejustleanedforwardandhidherfaceinhisneck,hugginghimtight.Aterribleidea,stupidandinappropriate,andAdamwassurelygoingtopushheraway,anyminutenow,exceptthat…
Hispalmslidtohernape,almostasiftopressherintohim,andOlivejuststayedthereforlongminutes,cryingwarmtearsintothefleshofhisthroat,feelinghowgrounding,howwarm,howsolidhewas—underherfingersandinherlife.
Youjusthadtogoandmakemefallforyou,shethought,blinkingagainsthisskin.Youabsoluteass.
Hedidn’tlethergo.Notuntilshepulledbackandwipedhercheeksagain,feelinglikemaybethistimearoundshe’dbeabletoholdittogether.Shesniffled,andheleanedovertogrababoxoftissuesfromtheTVtable.“Ireallyamfine.”
Hesighed.
“Okay,maybe…maybeI’mnotfinerightnow,butIwillbe.”Sheacceptedthetissuethathepluckedforherandblewhernose.“Ijustneedawhileto…”
Hestudiedherandnodded,hiseyesunreadableagain.
“Thankyou.Forwhatyousaid.Forlettingmesnotalloveryourhotelroom.”
Hesmiled.“Anytime.”
“Andyourjacket,too.Areyou…Areyougoingtothedepartmentsocial?”sheasked,dreadingthemomentshewouldhavetogetoutofthischair.Ofthisroom.Behonest,thatsensible,ever-knowingvoiceinsideherwhispered.It’shispresencethatyoudon’twanttobeoutof.
“Areyou?”
Sheshrugged.“IsaidIwould.ButIdon’tfeelliketalkingtoanyonerightnow.”Shedriedhercheeksoncemore,butmiraculouslytheflowhadstopped.AdamCarlsen,responsiblefor90percentofthedepartment’stears,hadactuallymanagedtomakesomeonestopcrying.Whowould’vethought?“ThoughIfeellikethefreealcoholcouldreallyhelp.”
Hestaredatherpensivelyforamoment,bitingtheinsideofhischeek.Thenhenodded,seemingtoreachsomesortofdecision,andstoodwithhishandheldouttoher.“Comeon.”
“Oh.”Shehadtocranehernecktolookupathim.“IthinkI’mgoingtowaitabitbeforeI—”
“We’renotgoingtothesocial.”
We?“What?”
“Comeon,”herepeated,andthistimeOlivetookhishandanddidn’tletgo.Shecouldn’t,withthewayhisfingerswereclosingaroundhers.Adamlookedpointedlyathershoes,untilshegotthehintandslippedthemon,usinghisarmtokeepherbalance.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“Togetsomefreealcohol.Well”—heamended—“freeforyou.”
Shealmostgaspedwhensherealizedwhathemeant.“No,I—Adam,no.Youhavetogotothedepartmentsocial.Andtotheopeningceremony.You’rethekeynotespeaker!”
“AndIkeynote-spoke.”Hegrabbedherreddufflecoatfromthebedandpulledhertowardtheentrance.“Canyouwalkinthoseshoes?”
“I—yes,but—”
“Ihavemykeycard;wedon’tneedyours.”
“Adam.”Shegrabbedhiswrist,andheimmediatelyturnedtolookather.“Adam,youcan’tskipthoseevents.Peoplewillsaythatyou—”
Hissmilewaslopsided.“ThatIwanttospendtimewithmygirlfriend?”
Olive’sbrainstopped.Justlikethat.Andthenitstartedagain,and—
Theworldwasalittledifferent.
Whenhetuggedherhandagain,shesmiledandsimplyfollowedhimoutoftheroom.ChapterFifteen
HYPOTHESIS:Thereisnomomentinlifethatcannotbeimprovedbyfooddeliveredbyconveyorbelt.
Everyonesawthem.
PeoplewhomOlivehadnevermetbefore,peoplewhomsherecognizedfromblogpostsandscienceTwitter,peoplefromherdepartmentwho’dbeenherteachersinpreviousyears.PeoplewhosmiledatAdam,whoaddressedhimbyhisfirstnameorasDr.Carlsen,whotoldhim“Greattalk”or“Seeyouaround.”PeoplewhocompletelyignoredOlive,andpeoplewhostudiedhercuriously—her,andAdam,andtheplacewheretheirhandswerejoined.
Adammostlynoddedback,onlystoppingtochatwithHolden.
“Youguysskippingtheboringshit?”heaskedwithaknowingsmile.
“Yep.”
“I’llmakesuretodrinkyourbooze,then.Andtoextendyourapologies.”
“Noneed.”
“I’lljustsayyouhadafamilyemergency.”Holdenwinked.“Perhapsfuture-familyemergency,howdoesthatsound?”
AdamrolledhiseyesandpulledOliveoutside.Shehadtohurrytokeepupwithhim,notbecausehewaswalkingparticularlyfast,butbecausehislegsweresolong,oneofhisstrideswasworthaboutthreeofhers.
“Um…I’mwearingheels,here.”
Heturnedtoher,hiseyestravelingdownherlegsandthenrapidlymovingaway.“Iknow.You’relessverticallychallengedthanusual.”
Hereyesnarrowed.“Hey,I’mfive-eight.That’sactuallyprettytall.”
“Hm.”Adam’sexpressionwasnoncommittal.
“What’sthatface?”
“Whatface?”
“Yourface.”
“Justmyregularface?”
“No,that’syour‘you’renottall’face.”
Hesmiled,justasmidge.“Aretheshoesokayforwalking?Shouldwegoback?”
“They’refine,butcanweslowdown?”
Hefeignedasigh,buthedid.Hishandletgoofhersandpushedagainstherlowerbacktosteerhertotheright.Shehadtohideasmallshiver.
“So…”Shestuffedherfistsinthepocketsofhercoat,tryingtoignorehowthetipsofherfingerswerestilltingling.“Thosefreedrinksyoumentioned?Dotheycomewithfood?”
“I’llgetyoudinner.”Adam’slipscurvedalittlemore.“You’renotacheapdate,though.”
Sheleanedintohissideandbumpedhershoulderagainsthisbiceps.Itwashardnottonoticethattherewasnogive.“Ireallyamnot.Ifullyplantoeatanddrinkmyfeelings.”
Hissmilewasmoreuneventhanever.“Wheredoyouwanttogo,smart-ass?”
“Let’ssee…Whatdoyoulike?Asidefromtapwaterandhard-boiledspinach?”
Hegaveheradirtyside-look.“Howaboutburgers?”
“Meh.”Sheshrugged.“Iguess.Ifthere’snothingelse.”
“What’swrongwithburgers?”
“Idon’tknow.Theytastelikefoot.”
“Theywhat?”
“WhataboutMexican?DoyoulikeMexican?”
“Burgersdon’ttastelike—”
“OrItalian?Pizzawouldbegreat.Andmaybethere’ssomethingcelery-basedthatyoucouldorder.”
“Burgersitis.”
Olivelaughed.“WhataboutChinese?”
“Haditforlunch.”
“Well,peopleinChinahaveChinesefoodmultipletimesaday,soyoushouldn’tletthatstopyoufrom—Oh.”
IttookAdamtwowholestepstorealizethatOlivehadstoppedinthemiddleofthesidewalk.Hewhirledaroundtolookather.“What?”
“There.”Shepointedtothered-and-whitesignacrosstheroad.
Adam’sgazefollowed,andforalongmomenthesimplystared,blinkingseveraltimes.Andthen:“No.”
“There,”sherepeated,feelinghercheekswidenintoagrin.
“Olive.”Therewasadeepverticallinebetweenhiseyebrows.“No.Therearewaybetterrestaurantswecan—”
“ButIwanttogotothatone.”
“Why?There’s—”
Shemovedclosertohimandgraspedthesleeveofhisblazer.“Please.Please?”
Adampinchedhisnose,sighed,andpursedhislips.Butnotfivesecondslaterheputhishandbetweenhershoulderbladestoguideheracrossthestreet.
—
THEPROBLEM,HEexplainedinhushedtonesastheywaitedtobeseated,wasnotthesushitrain,buttheall-you-can-eatfortwentydollars.
“It’sneveragoodsign,”hetoldher,buthisvoicesoundedmoreresignedthancombative,andwhentheserverusheredtheminside,hefollowedhermeeklytothebooth.Olivemarveledattheplatestravelingontheconveyorbeltweavingacrosstherestaurant,unabletostopheropenmouthedgrin.WhensherememberedAdam’spresenceandturnedherattentionbacktohim,hewasstaringatherwithanexpressionhalfwaybetweenexasperatedandindulgent.
“Youknow,”hetoldher,eyeingaseaweedsaladpassingbyhisshoulder,“wecouldgotoarealJapaneserestaurant.Iamveryhappytopayforhowevermuchsushiyouwanttoeat.”
“Butwillitmovearoundme?”
Heshookhishead.“Itakeitback:youareadisturbinglycheapdate.”
Sheignoredhimandliftedtheglassdoor,grabbingarollandachocolatedoughnut.Adammutteredsomethingthatsoundedalotlike“veryauthentic,”andwhenthewaitressstoppedbyheorderedthembothabeer.
“Whatdoyouthinkthisis?”Olivedippedapieceofsushiinhersoysauce.“Tunaorsalmon?”
“Probablyspidermeat.”
Shepoppeditintohermouth.“Delicious.”
“Really.”Helookedskeptical.
Itwasn’t,inalltruth.Butitwasokay.Andthis,well,thiswassomuchfun.Exactlywhatsheneededtoemptyhermindof…everything.Everythingbuthereandnow.WithAdam.
“Yep.”Shepushedtheremainingpiecetowardhim,silentlydaringhimtotryit.
Hebrokeaparthischopstickswithalong-sufferingexpressionandpickeditup,chewingforalongtime.
“Ittasteslikefoot.”
“Noway.Here.”Shegrabbedabowlofedamamefromthebelt.“Youcanhavethis.It’sbasicallybroccoli.”
Hebroughtonetohismouth,managingtolooklikehedidn’thateit.“Wedon’thavetotalk,bytheway.”
Olivetiltedherhead.
“Yousaidyoudidn’twanttotalktoanyonebackatthehotel.Sowedon’thaveto,ifyou’drathereatthis”—heglancedattheplatesshehadaccumulatedwithobviousdistrust—“foodinsilence.”
You’renotjustanyone,seemedlikeadangerousthingtosay,soshesmiled.“Ibetyou’regreatatsilences.”
“Isthatadare?”
Sheshookherhead.“Iwanttotalk.Just,canwenottalkabouttheconference?Orscience?Orthefactthattheworldisfullofassholes?”Andthatsomeofthemareyourclosefriendsandcollaborators?
Hishandclosedintoafistonthetable,jawclenchedtightashenodded.
“Awesome.Wecouldchatabouthownicethisplaceis—”
“It’sappalling.”
“—orthetasteofthesushi—”
“Foot.”
“—orthebestmovieintheFastandFuriousfranchise—”
“FastFive.ThoughIhaveafeelingyou’regoingtosay—”
“TokyoDrift.”
“Right.”Hesighed,andtheyexchangedasmallsmile.Andthen,thenthesmilefadedandtheyjuststaredateachother,somethingthickandsweetcoloringtheairbetweenthem,magneticandjusttherightsideofbearable.Olivehadtoriphergazefromhis,because—no.No.
Sheturnedaway,andhereyesfellonacoupleatatableafewfeettotheirright.TheywerethemirrorimageofAdamandOlive,sittingoneachsideoftheirbooth,allwarmglancesandtentativesmiles.“Doyouthinkthey’reonafakedate?”sheasked,leaningbackagainstherseat.
Adamfollowedhergazetothecouple.“Ithoughtthosemostlyinvolvedcoffeeshopsandsunscreenapplications?”
“Nah.Onlythebestones.”
Helaughedsilently.“Well.”Hefocusedonthetable,andonanglinghischopstickssothattheywereparalleltoeachother.“Icandefinitelyrecommendit.”
Olivedippedherchintohideasmileandthenleanedforwardtostealoneedamame.
—
INTHEELEVATORsheheldontohisbicepsandtookoffherheels,failingdisastrouslyatbeinggracefulashestudiedherandshookhishead.“Ithoughtyousaidtheydidn’thurt?”Hesoundedcurious.Amused?Fond?
“Thatwasagesago.”Olivepickedthemupandletthemdanglefromherfingers.Whenshestraightened,Adamwasagainimpossiblytall.“NowIamveryreadytochopoffmyfeet.”
Theelevatorpinged,andthedoorsopened.“Thatseemscounterproductive.”
“Oh,youhavenoidea—Hey,whatareyou—?”
HerheartskippedwhatfeltlikeadozenbeatswhenAdamsweptherupintoafullbridalcarry.Sheyelped,andhecarriedhertotheirroom,allbecauseshehadablisteronherpinkietoe.Withoutmuchofachoice,sheclosedherarmsaroundhisneckandsankagainsthim,tryingtomakesureshe’dsurviveifhedecidedtodropher.Hishandswerewarmaroundherbackandknee,forearmstightandstrong.
Hesmelledamazing.Hefeltevenbetter.
“Youknow,theroom’sonlytwentymetersaway—”
“Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.”
“Adam.”
“WeAmericansthinkinfeet,Canada.”
“I’mtooheavy.”
“Youreallyare.”Theeasewithwhichheshiftedherinhisarmstoslidethekeycardbeliedhiswords.“Youshouldcutpumpkin-flavoreddrinksfromyourdiet.”
Shepulledhishairandsmiledintohisshoulder.“Never.”
TheirnametagswerestillontheTVtable,exactlywherethey’dleftthem,andtherewasaconferenceprogramhalf-openonAdam’sbed,nottomentiontotebagsandamountainofuselessflyers.Olivenoticedthemimmediately,anditwaslikehavingathousandlittlesplinterspresseddeepintoafreshwound.ItbroughtbackeverysinglewordTomhadsaidtoher,allhisliesandhistruthsandhismockinginsults,and
Adammusthaveknown.Assoonasheputherdown,hegatheredeverythingthatwasconferencerelatedandstuckitonachairfacingthewindows,whereitwashiddenfromtheirsight,andOlive…Shecouldhavehuggedhim.Shewasn’tgoingto—shealreadyhad,twicetoday—butshereallycouldhave.Insteadsheresolutelypushedallthoselittlesplintersoutofhermind,ploppedherselfdownonherbedbellyup,andstaredattheceiling.
She’dthoughtitwouldbeawkward,beingwithhiminsuchasmallspaceforawholenight.Anditwasalittlebit,oratleastithadbeenwhenshe’dfirstarrivedearliertoday,butnowshefeltcalmandsafe.Likeherworld,constantlyhecticandmessyanddemanding,wasslowingdown.Easingup,justabit.
ThebedcoverrustledunderherheadwhensheturnedtolookatAdam.Heseemedrelaxed,too,ashedrapedhisjacketagainstthebackofachair,thentookoffhiswatchandsetitneatlyonthedesk.Thecasualdomesticityofit—thethoughtthathisdayandherswouldendinthesameplace,atthesametime—soothedherlikeaslowcaressdownherspine.
“Thankyou.Forbuyingmefood.”
Heglancedather,crinklinghisnose.“Idon’tknowthattherewasanyfoodinvolved.”
Shesmiled,rollingtoherside.“You’renotgoingoutagain?”
“Out?”
“Yeah.Tomeetotherveryimportantsciencepeople?Eatanothersevenpoundsofedamame?”
“IthinkI’vehadenoughnetworkingandedamameforthisdecade.”Hetookoffhisshoesandsocks,andsetthemneatlybythebed.
“You’restayingin,then?”
Hepausedandlookedather.“Unlessyou’dratherbealone?”
No,Iwouldnot.Sheproppedherselfuponherelbow.“Let’swatchamovie.”
Adamblinkedather.“Sure.”Hesoundedsurprisedbutnotdispleased.“Butifyourtasteinmoviesisanythinglikeyourtasteinrestaurants,it’llprobably—”
Hedidn’tseethepillowcomingathim.Itbouncedoffhisfaceandthenfelltothefloor,makingOlivegiggleandspringoffthebed.“YoumindifIshower,before?”
“Yousmart-ass.”
Shestartedrummagingthroughhersuitcase.“Youcanpickthemovie!Idon’tcarewhichone,aslongastherearenoscenesinwhichhorsesarekilled,becauseit—Crap.”
“What?”
“Iforgotmypajamas.”Shelookedforherphoneinthepocketsofhercoat.Itwasn’tthere,andsherealizedthatshehadn’tbroughtitwithhertotherestaurant.“Haveyouseenmy—Oh,thereitis.”
Thebatterywasalmostdead,probablybecauseshehadforgottentoturnofftherecordingafterhertalk.Shehadn’tcheckedhermessagesinafewhours,andfoundseveralunreadtexts—mostlyfromAnhandMalcolm,askingherwhereshewasandifshestillplannedtocometothesocial,tellinghertogetherassthereASAPbecause“theboozeisflowinglikeariver,”andthen,finally,justinformingherthattheywereallgoingdowntowntoabar.Anhmusthavebeenwellonherwaytowastedbythatpoint,becauseherlastmessageread:Clallifuwanttpjoin?us,Olvie
“IforgotmypajamasandwantedtoseeifIcouldborrowsomethingfrommyfriends,butIdon’tthinkthey’llbebackforhours.ThoughmaybeJessdidn’tgowiththem,letmetextandseeif—”
“Here.”Adamsetsomethingblackandneatlyfoldedonherbed.“Youcanusethisifyouwant.”
Shestudieditskeptically.“Whatisit?”
“AT-shirt.Isleptinityesterday,butit’sprobablybetterthanthedressyou’rewearing.Tosleepin,Imean,”headded,afaintflushonhischeeks.
“Oh.”Shepickeditup,andtheT-shirtunfolded.Sheimmediatelynoticedthreethings:itwaslarge,solargethatitwouldhithermid-thighorevenlower;itsmelledheavenly,amixofAdam’sskinandlaundrydetergentthathadherwantingtoburyherfaceinitandinhaleforweeks;andonthefront,itsaidinbig,whiteletters…
“?‘BiologyNinja’?”
Adamscratchedthebackofhisneck.“Ididn’tbuyit.”
“Didyou…stealit?”
“Itwasapresent.”
“Well.”Shegrinned.“Thisisonehellofapresent.Doctorninja.”
Hestaredatherflatly.“Ifyoutellanyone,I’lldenyit.”
Shechuckled.“Areyousureit’sokay?Whatwillyouwear?”
“Nothing.”
Shemusthavebeengapingathimalittletoomuch,becausehegaveheranamusedlookandshookhishead.
“I’mkidding.Ihaveateeundermyshirt.”
Shenoddedandhurriedintothebathroom,makingapointnottomeethiseyes.
AloneunderthehotjetoftheshoweritwasmuchhardertoconcentrateonstalesushiandAdam’sunevensmile,andtoforgetwhyhe’dendedupallowinghertoclingtohimforthreewholehours.WhatTomhaddonetohertodaywasdespicable,andshewasgoingtohavetoreporthim.ShewasgoingtohavetotellAdam.Shewasgoingtohavetodosomething.Buteverytimeshetriedtothinkaboutitrationally,shecouldhearhisvoiceinherhead—mediocreandnicelegsanduselessandderivativeandlittlesobstory—soloudthatshewasafraidherskullwouldshatterintopieces.
Soshekepthershowerasquickaspossible,distractingherselfbyreadingthelabelsofAdam’sshampooandbodywash(somethinghypoallergenicandpH-balancedthathadherrollinghereyes)anddryingherselfasfastashumanlypossible.Shetookouthercontacts,thenstoleabitofhistoothpaste.Hergazefellonhistoothbrush;itwascharcoalblack,downtothebristles,andshecouldn’thelpbutgiggle.
Whenshesteppedoutofthebathroom,hewassittingontheedgeofthebed,wearingplaidpajamapantsandawhiteT-shirt.HewasholdingtheTVremoteinonehandandhisphoneintheother,lookingbetweenthetwoscreenswithafrown.
“Youwould.”
“Wouldwhat?”heaskedabsentmindedly.
“Haveablacktoothbrush.”
Hismouthtwitched.“YouwillbeshockedtohearthatthereisnoNetflixcategoryformoviesinwhichhorsesdon’tdie.”
“Anobscenity,isn’tit?It’smuchneeded.”Shecrumpledhertoo-shortdressintoaballandstuffeditinsideherbag,fantasizingthatshewasstuffingTom’sthroat.“IfIwereAmerican,I’dtotallyrunforCongressonthatplatform.”
“Shouldwefake-marry,soyoucangetcitizenship?”
Herheartstumbled.“Oh,yes.Ithinkit’stimewefake-move-to-the-next-level.”
“So”—hetappedathisphone—“I’mjustgoogling‘deadhorse,’plusthetitleofwhatevermoviesoundsgood.”
“That’swhatIusuallydo.”Shepaddedacrosstheroomuntilshewasstandingnexttohim.“Whatdoyouhave?”
“Thisone’saboutalinguisticsprofessorwho’saskedtohelpdecipheranalien—”
Heglancedupfromhisphone,andimmediatelyfellsilent.Hismouthopenedandthenshut,andhiseyesskitteredtoherthighs,herfeet,herunicornkneesocks,andquicklybacktoherface.No,notherface:somepointabovehershoulder.Heclearedhisthroatbeforesaying,“Gladit…fits.”Hewaslookingathisphoneagain.Hisgripontheremotehadtightened.
ItwasalongbeatbeforesherealizedthathewasreferringtohisT-shirt.“Oh,yeah.”Shegrinned.“Exactlymysize,right?”Itwassolargethatitcoveredprettymuchthesameamountofskinherdresshad,butwassoftandcomfortablelikeanoldshoe.“MaybeIwon’tgiveitback.”
“It’sallyours.”
Sherockedonherheels,andwonderedifitwouldbeokayifshesatnexttohimnow.Itwasonlyconvenient,sincetheyhadtochooseamovietogether.“CanIreallysleepinitthisweek?”
“Ofcourse.I’llbegonetomorrow,anyway.”
“Oh.”Sheknewthat,ofcourse.She’dknownthefirsttimehe’dtoldher,acoupleofweeksago;she’dknownthismorningwhenshe’dboardedtheplaneinSanFrancisco,andshe’dknownmerehoursago,whenshe’dusedthatprecisepieceofinformationtocomfortherselfthatnomatterhowawkwardandstressful,herstaywithAdamwouldatleastbeshort-lived.Exceptthatitwasn’tawkwardnow.Anditwasn’tstressful.Notnearlyasmuchastheideaofbeingapartfromhimforseveraldays.Ofbeinghere,ofallplaces,withouthim.“Howbigisyoursuitcase?”
“Hm?”
“CanIcomewithyou?”
Helookedupather,stillsmiling,buthemust’venoticedsomethinginhereyes,behindthejokeandtheattemptathumor.Somethingvulnerableandimploringthatshe’dfailedtoadequatelyburywithinherself.
“Olive.”Hedroppedhisphoneandtheremoteonthebed.“Don’tletthem.”
Shejusttiltedherhead.Shewasnotgoingtocryagain.Therewasnopointinit.Andshewasnotlikethis—thisfragile,defenselesscreaturewhosecond-guessedherselfateveryturn.Atleast,shedidn’tusetobe.God,shehatedTomBenton.
“Letthem?”
“Don’tletthemruinthisconferenceforyou.Orscience.Ormakeyoufeelanylessproudofyouraccomplishments.”
Shelookeddown,studyingtheyellowofhersocksassheburiedhertoesinthesoftcarpet.Andthenuptohimagain.
“Youknowwhat’sreallysadaboutthis?”
Heshookhishead,andOlivecontinued.
“Foramomentthere,duringthetalk…Ireallyenjoyedmyself.Iwaspanicky.Closetopuking,forsure.ButwhileIwastalkingtothishugegroupofpeopleaboutmyworkandmyhypothesesandmyideas,andexplainingmyreasoningandthetrialsanderrorsandwhywhatIresearchissoimportant,I…Ifeltconfident.Ifeltgoodatit.Itallfeltrightandfun.Likescienceissupposedtobewhenyoushareit.”Shewrappedherarmsaroundherself.“LikemaybeIcouldbeanacademic,downtheroad.Arealone.Andmaybemakeadifference.”
Henoddedasthoughheknewexactlywhatshemeant.“IwishIhadbeenthere,Olive.”
Shecouldtellhereallydid.Thatheregrettednotbeingwithher.ButevenAdam—indomitable,decisive,ever-competentAdam—couldn’tbeintwoplacesatonce,andthefactremainedthathehadnotseenhertalk.
Ihavenoideaifyou’regoodenough,butthat’snotwhatyoushouldbeaskingyourself.Whatmattersiswhetheryourreasontobeinacademiaisgoodenough.That’swhathe’dtoldheryearsagointhebathroom.Whatshe’dbeenrepeatingtoherselfforyearswhenevershe’dhitawall.Butwhatifhe’dbeenwrongallalong?Whatiftherewassuchathingasgoodenough?Whatifthatwaswhatmatteredthemost?
“Whatifit’strue?WhatifIreallyammediocre?”
Hedidn’treplyforalongmoment.Hejuststared,ahintoffrustrationinhisexpression,athoughtfullinetohislips.Andthen,lowandeven,hesaid,“WhenIwasinmysecondyearofgradschool,myadvisertoldmethatIwasafailurewhowouldneveramounttoanything.”
“What?”Whatevershe’dexpected,thatwasn’tit.“Why?”
“Becauseofanincorrectprimerdesign.Butitwasn’tthefirsttime,northelast.Anditwasn’tthemosttrivialreasonheusedtoberateme.Sometimeshe’dpubliclyhumiliatehisgradsfornoreason.Butthatspecifictimestuckwithme,becauseIrememberthinking…”Heswallowed,andhisthroatworked.“Irememberbeingsurethathewasright.ThatIwouldneveramounttoanything.”
“Butyou…”HavepublishedarticlesintheLancet.Havetenureandmillionsofdollarsinresearchgrants.Werekeynotespeakeratamajorconference.Olivewasn’tevensurewhattobringup,soshesettledfor,“YouwereaMacArthurFellow.”
“Iwas.”Heexhaledalaugh.“AndfiveyearsbeforetheMacArthurgrant,inthesecondyearofmyPh.D.,IspentanentireweekpreparinglawschoolapplicationsbecauseIwassurethatI’dneverbecomeascientist.”
“Wait—sowhatHoldensaidwastrue?”Shecouldn’tquitebelieveit.“Whylawschool?”
Heshrugged.“Myparentswouldhavelovedit.AndifIcouldn’tbeascientist,Ididn’tcarewhatI’dbecome.”
“Whatstoppedyou,then?”
Hesighed.“Holden.AndTom.”
“Tom,”sherepeated.Herstomachtwisted,leaden.
“IwouldhavedroppedoutofmyPh.D.programifithadn’tbeenforthem.Ouradviserwaswell-knowninthefieldforbeingasadist.LikeIam,Isuppose.”Hismouthcurledintoabittersmile.“IwasawareofhisreputationbeforestartingmyPh.D.Thingis,hewasalsobrilliant.Theverybest.AndIthought…IthoughtthatIcouldtakeit,whateverhe’ddishoutatme,andthatitwouldbeworthit.Ithoughtitwouldbeamatterofsacrificeanddisciplineandhardwork.”TherewasastraintoAdam’svoice,asthoughthetopicwasnotonehewasusedtodiscussing.
Olivetriedtobegentlewhensheasked,“Anditwasn’t?”
Heshookhishead.“Theopposite,inaway.”
“Theoppositeofdisciplineandhardwork?”
“Weworkedhard,allright.Butdiscipline…disciplinewouldpresumespecificallylaid-outexpectations.Idealcodesofbehavioraredefined,andafailuretoadheretothemisaddressedinaproductiveway.That’swhatIthought,atleast.WhatIstillthink.YousaidthatI’mbrutalwithmygrads,andmaybeyou’reright—”
“Adam,I—”
“ButwhatItrytodoissetgoalsforthemandhelpthemachievethem.IfIrealizethatthey’renotdoingwhatwehavemutuallyagreedneedstobedone,Itellthemwhat’swrongandwhattheymustchange.Idon’tbabythem,Idon’thidecriticisminpraises,Idon’tbelieveinthatOreocookiefeedbackcrap,andiftheyfindmeterrifyingorantagonizingbecauseofit,sobeit.”Hetookadeepbreath.“ButIalsodon’tevermakeitaboutthem.It’salwaysaboutthework.Sometimesit’swelldone,othertimesit’snot,andifit’snot…workcanberedone.Itcanimprove.Idon’twantthemtotietheirself-worthtowhattheyproduce.”Hepaused,andhelooked—no,hefeltfaraway.Likethesewerethingshegaveagreatdealofthoughtto,likehewantedthisforhisstudents.“Ihatehowself-importantthisallsounds,butscienceisseriousbusiness,and…it’smydutyasascientist,Ibelieve.”
“I…”Allofasudden,theairinthehotelroomwascold.I’mtheonewhotoldhim,shethought,feelingherstomachflipI’mtheonewhotoldhimrepeatedlythathe’sterrifyingandantagonizing,andthatallhisstudentshatehim.“Andyouradviserdidn’t?”
“Ineverquiteunderstoodwhathethought.WhatIdoknownow,yearslater,isthathewasabusive.Alotofterriblethingshappenedunderhiswatch—scientistswerenotgivencreditfortheirideasorauthorshipofpaperstheydeserved.Peoplewerepubliclybelittledformakingmistakesthatwouldbenormalforexperiencedresearchers—letalonetrainees.Expectationswerestellar,butneverfullydefined.Impossibledeadlinesweresetarbitrarily,outoftheblue,andgradswerepunishedfornotmeetingthem.Ph.D.studentswereconstantlyassignedtothesametasks,thenpittedagainsteachotherandaskedtocompete,formyadviser’samusement.Oncehe
Shetriedtoimaginehowitwouldfeel,ifDr.AslanopenlypromotedacompetitiveenvironmentbetweenOliveandhercohorts.Butno—AdamandHoldenhadbeenclosefriendstheirwholelives,sothesituationwasn’tcomparable.Itwouldhavebeenlikebeingtoldthattoreceiveasalarynextsemester,OlivewouldneedtooutscienceAnh.“Whatdidyoudo?”
Heranahandthroughhishair,andastrandfellonhisforehead.“Wepairedup.Wefiguredthatwehadcomplementaryskills—apharmacologyexpertcanachievemorewiththehelpofacomputationalbiologist,andviceversa.Andwewereright.Weranareallygoodstudy.Itwasexhausting,butalsoelating,stayingupallhourstofigureouthowtofixourprotocols.Knowingthatwewerethefirsttodiscoversomething.”Foramoment,heseemedtoenjoythememory.Butthenhepressedhislipstogether,rollinghisjaw.“Andattheendofthesemester,whenwepresentedourfindingstoouradviser,hetoldusthatwe’dbothbewithoutfunding,becausebycollaboratingwehadn’tfollowedhisguidelines.WespentthefollowingspringteachingsixsectionsofIntroductiontoBiologyperweek—ontopoflabwork.HoldenandIwerelivingtogether.IswearthatIonceheardhimmumble‘mitochondriaarethepowerhouseofthecell’inhissleep.”
“But…yougaveyouradviserwhathewanted.”
Adamshookhishead.“Hewantedapowerplay.Andintheendhegotit:hepunishedusfornotdancingtohistuneandpublishedthefindingswebroughttohimwithoutacknowledgingourroleinobtainingthem.”
“I…”HerfingersfistedintheloosefabricofherborrowedT-shirt.“Adam,I’msosorryIevercomparedyoutohim.Ididn’tmeanto—”
“It’sokay.”Hesmiledather,tightbutreassuring.
Itwasnotokay.Yes,Adamcouldbedirect,painfullyso.Stubbornandbluntanduncompromising.Notalwayskind,butneverdevious,ormalicious.Quitetheopposite:hewashonesttoafault,andrequiredfromothersthesamedisciplineheclearlyimposedonhimself.Asmuchashisgradscomplainedabouthisharshfeedbackorthelonghoursofworktheywereaskedtoputinthelab,theyallrecognizedthathewasahands-onmentorwithoutbeingamicromanager.Mostofthemgraduatedwithseveralpublicationsandmovedontoexcellentacademicjobs.
“Youdidn’tknow.”
“Still,I…”Shebitherlip,feelingguilty.Feelingdefeated.FeelingangryatAdam’sadviserandatTomfortreatingacademialiketheirownpersonalplayground.Atherself,fornotknowingwhattodoaboutit.“Whydidnoonereporthim?”
Heclosedhiseyesbriefly.“Becausehewasshort-listedforaNobelPrize.Twice.Becausehehadpowerfulfriendsinhighplaces,andwethoughtnoonewouldbelieveus.Becausehecouldmakeorbreakcareers.Becausewefeltthattherewasnorealsysteminplacetoaskforhelp.”Therewasasoursettohisjaw,andhewasnotlookingatheranymore.Itwassosurreal,theideaofAdamCarlsenfeelingpowerless.Andyet,hiseyestoldanotherstory.“Wewereterrified,andprobablysomewheredeepdownwewereconvincedthatwe’dsignedupforitandwedeservedit.Thatwewerefailureswhowouldneveramounttoanything.”
Herhearthurtforhim.Forherself.“I’mso,sosorry.”
Heshookhisheadagain,andhisexpressionsomewhatcleared.“WhenhetoldmethatIwasafailure,Ithoughthewasright.IwasreadytogiveupontheonethingIcaredaboutbecauseofit.AndTomandHolden—theyhadtheirownissueswithouradviser,ofcourse.Everyonedid.Buttheyhelpedme.Forsomereasonmyadviseralwaysseemedtoknowwhensomethingwrongwashappeningwithmystudies,butTommediatedalotbetweenus.HetooklotsofcrapsoIwouldn’thaveto.Hewasafavoriteofmyadviser’sandintercededtomakethelablesslikeabattlezone.”
AdamtalkingaboutTomasthoughhewereaheromadehernauseous,butsheremainedsilent.Thiswasn’tabouther
“AndHolden…Holdenstolemylawschoolapplicationsandmadepaperplanesoutofthem.Hewasremovedenoughfromwhatwashappeningtomethathecouldhelpmeseethingsobjectively.JustlikeIamremovedfromwhathappenedtoyoutoday.”Hiseyeswereonher,now.Therewasalightinthemthatshedidn’tunderstand.“Youarenotmediocre,Olive.Youwerenotinvitedtospeakbecausepeoplethinkthatyouaremygirlfriend—thereisnosuchthing,sinceSBD’sabstractsgothroughablindreviewprocess.Iwouldknow,becauseI’vebeenropedintoreviewingtheminthepast.Andtheworkyoupresentedisimportant,rigorous,andbrilliant.”Hetookadeepbreath.Hisshouldersroseandfellintimewiththethuddingofherheart.“IwishyoucouldseeyourselfthewayIseeyou.”
Maybeitwasthewords,ormaybethetone.Maybeitwasthewayhe’djusttoldhersomethingabouthimself,orhowhe’dtakenherhandearlierandsavedherfromhermisery.Herknightinblackarmor.Maybeitwasnoneofit,maybeitwasallofit,maybeitwasalwaysgoingtohappen.Still—itdidn’tmatter.Suddenly,itjustdidn’tmatter,thewhyofit,thehow.TheafterAllOlivecaredaboutwasthatshewantedto,rightnow,andthatseemedenoughtomakeitallright.
Itwasallsoslow:thestepforwardshetooktocometostandbetweenhisknees,theriseofherhandtohisface,thewayherfingerscuppedhisjaw.Slowenoughthathecouldhavestoppedher,hecouldhavepulledoutofreach,hecouldhavesaidsomething—andhedidnot.Hesimplylookedupather,hiseyesaclear,liquidbrown,andOlive’sheartatoncejumpedandquietedwhenhetiltedhisheadandleanedintoherpalm.
Itdidn’tsurpriseher,howsofthisskinwasbeneaththenightstubble,howmuchwarmerthanhers.Andwhenshebent,foroncetallerthanhim,theshapeofhislipsunderherswaslikeanoldsong,familiarandeasy.Itwasn’ttheirfirstkiss,afterall.Though,itwasdifferent.Calmandtentativeandprecious,Adam’shandlightonherwaistashetiltedhischinuptoher,eagerandpressing,likethiswassomethinghe’dthoughtof—likehe’dbeenwantingit,too.Itwasn’ttheirfirstkiss,butitwasthefirstkissthatwastheirs,andOlivesavoreditforlongmoments.Thetexture,thesmell,thecloseness.TheslighthitchinAdam’sbreath,theoddpauses,thewaytheirlipshadtoworkalittlebeforefindingtherightanglesandsomeformofcoordination.
See?Shewantedtosay,triumphant.Towhom,shewasn’tsure.See?Itwasalwaysgoingtobelikethis.Olivegrinnedintohislips.AndAdam—
Adamwasalreadyshakinghisheadwhenshepulledback,likeanohadbeenwaitinginhismouthallalong,evenashereturnedherkiss.Hisfingersclosedtightaroundherwrist,drawingherhandawayfromhisface.“Thisisnotagoodidea.”
Hersmilefaded.Hewasright.Hewascompletelyright.Hewasalsowrong.“Why?”
“Olive.”Heshookhisheadagain.Thenhishandleftherwaistandcameuptohislips,asiftotouchthekissthey’djustshared,makesureithadreallyhappened.“Thisis…no.”
Hereallywasright.But…“Why?”sherepeated.
Adam’sfingerspressedintohiseyes.Hislefthandwasstillholdingherwrist,andshewondereddistractedlyifhewasevenawareofit.Ifheknewthathisthumbwasswipingbackandforthacrossherpulse.“Thisisnotwhatwe’reherefor.”
Shecouldfeelhernostrilsflare.“Thatdoesn’tmeanthat—”
“You’renotthinkingclearly.”Heswallowedvisibly.“You’reupsetanddrunk,and—”
“Ihadtwobeers.Hoursago.”
“You’reagradstudent,currentlydependingonmeforaplacetostay,andevenifnot,thepowerIhaveoveryoucouldeasilyturnthisintoacoercivedynamicthat—”
“I’m—”Olivelaughed.“I’mnotfeelingcoerced,I—”
“You’reinlovewithsomeoneelse!”
Shealmostrecoiled.Thewayhespitoutthewordswasthatheated.Itshouldhaveputheroff,drivenheraway,onceandforalldrilledintoherheadhowridiculousthiswas,howdisastrousanidea.Itdidn’t,though.Bynowthemoody,ill-temperedassAdammeshedsowellwithherAdam,theonewhoboughthercookiesandcheckedherslidesandlethercryintohisneck.Theremighthavebeenatimewhenshecouldn’tquitereconcilethetwo,buttheywereallsoclearnow,themanyfacesofhim.Shewouldn’twanttoleavebehindanyofthem.Notone.
“Olive.”Hesighedheavily,closinghiseyes.TheideathathemightbethinkingofthewomanwhoHoldenmentionedflashedintohermindandslippedaway,toopainfultoentertain.
Sheshouldjusttellhim.Sheshouldbehonestwithhim,admitthatshedidn’tcareaboutJeremy,thattherewasnooneelse.Neverhadbeen.Butshewasterrified,paralyzedwithfear,andafterthedayshe’dhad,herheartfeltsoeasytobreak.Sofragile.Adamcouldshatteritinathousandpieces,andstillbenonethewiser.
“Olive,thisishowyou’refeelingnow.Amonthfromnow,aweek,tomorrow,Idon’twantyoutoregret—”
“WhataboutwhatIwant?”Sheleanedforward,lettingherwordssoakthesilencefordrawn-outseconds.“WhataboutthefactthatIwantthis?Thoughmaybeyoudon’tcare.”Shesquaredhershoulders,blinkingquicklyagainstthepricklingsensationinhereyes.“Becauseyoudon’twantit,right?MaybeI’mjustnotattractivetoyouandyoudon’twantthis—”
Itnearlymadeherloseherbalance,thewayhetuggedatherwristandpulledherhandtohimself,pressingherpalmflushtohisgrointoshowherthat…Oh.
Oh.
Yeah.
Hisjawrolledasheheldhergaze.“YouhavenofuckingideawhatIwant.”
Ittookherbreathaway,allofit.Thelow,gutturaltoneofhisvoice,thethickridgeunderherfingers,theenraged,hungrynoteinhiseyes.Hepushedherhandawayalmostimmediately,butitalreadyfelttoolate.
Itwasn’tthatOlivehadn’t…thekissesthey’dexchanged,theywerealwaysphysical,butnowitwasasifsomethinghadbeenswitchedon.Foralongtimeshe’dthoughtAdamhandsomeandattractive.She’dtouchedhim,satonhislap,consideredthevaguepossibilityofbeingintimatewithhim.She’dthoughtabouthim,aboutsex,abouthimandsex,butithadalwaysbeenabstract.Hazyandundefined.Likelineartinblackandwhite:justthebaseforadrawingthatwassuddenlycoloringontheinside.
Itwasclearnow,inthedampachepoolingbetweenherthighs,inhiseyesthatwereallpupil,howitwouldbebetweenthem.Headyandsweatyandslick.Challenging.Theywoulddothingsforeachother,demandthingsofeachother.Theywouldbeincrediblyclose.AndOlive—nowthatshecouldseeit,shereally,reallywantedit.
Shesteppedclose,evencloser.“Well,then.”Hervoicewaslow,butsheknewhecouldhearher.
Heshuthiseyestight.“ThisisnotwhyIaskedyoutoroomwithme.”
“Iknow.”Olivepushedablackstrandofhairawayfromhisforehead.“It’salsonotwhyIaccepted.”
Hislipswereparted,andhewasstaringdownatherhand,theonethatwasalmostwrappedaroundhiserectionamomentago.“Yousaidnosex.”
Shehadsaidthat.Sherememberedthinkingaboutherrules,listingtheminhisoffice,andsherememberedbeingcertainthatshewouldnever,everbeinterestedinseeingAdamCarlsenforlongerthantenminutesaweek.“Ialsosaiditwasgoingtobeanon-campusthing.Andwejustwentoutfordinner.So.”Hemightknowwhatwasbest,butwhathewantedwasdifferent.Shecouldalmostseethedebrisofhiscontrol,feelitslowlyerode.
“Idon’t…”Hestraightened,infinitesimally.Thelineofhisshoulders,hisjaw—hewassotense,stillavoidinghereyes.“Idon’thaveanything.”
Itwasalittleembarrassing,theamountoftimeittookforhertoparsethemeaningofit.“Oh.Itdoesn’tmatter.I’monbirthcontrol.Andclean.”Shebitintoherlip.“Butwecouldalsodo…otherthings.”
Adamswallowed,twice,andthennodded.Hewasn’tbreathingnormally.AndOlivedoubtedhecouldsaynoatthispoint.Thathewouldevenwantto.Hedidputupagoodeffort,though.“Whatifyouhatemeforthis,after?Whatifwegobackandyouchangeyourmind—”
“Iwon’t.I…”Shestepped—God,evencloser.Shewouldn’tthinkaboutafter.Couldn’t,didn’twantto.“I’veneverbeensurerofanything.Exceptmaybecelltheory.”Shesmiled,hopinghe’dsmileback.
Adam’smouthremainedstraightandserious,butitscarcelymattered:thenexttimeOlivefelthistouchitwasontheslopeofherhipbone,underthecottonoftheT-shirthe’dgivenher.ChapterSixteen
HYPOTHESIS:Despitewhateveryonesays,sexisnevergoingtobeanythingmorethanamildlyenjoyableactivi—Oh.
Oh
Itwaslikealayerpeeledaway.
Adamyankedofftheshirthewaswearinginonefluidmovement,anditwasasthoughthewhitecottonwasonlyoneofmanythingstossedinacorneroftheroom.Olivedidn’thaveanameforwhattheotherthingswere;allsheknewwasthatafewsecondsearlierhe’dseemedreluctant,almostunwillingtotouchher,andnowhewas…not.
Hewasrunningtheshownow.Wrappinghislargehandsaroundherwaist,slidinghisfingertipsundertheelasticofhergreenpolka-dotpanties,andkissingher.
Hekisses,Olivethought,likeamanstarved.Likehe’dbeenwaitingallthistime.Holdingback.Likethepossibilityofthetwoofthemdoingthishadoccurredtohiminthepast,buthe’dsetitaside,storeditawayinadeep,darkplacewhereithadgrownintosomethingfearsomeandoutofcontrol.Olivethoughtsheknewhowitwouldbe—they’dkissedbefore,afterall.Except,sherealizednow,thatshehadalwaysbeentheonetokisshim.
Maybeshewasbeingfanciful.Whatdidsheknowaboutdifferenttypesofkisses,anyway?Still,somethinginherbellythrummedandliquefiedwhenhistonguelickedagainsthers,whenhebitatenderspotonherneck,whenhemadeagutturalnoiseinthebackofhisthroatashisfingerscuppedherassthroughherpanties.Underhershirt,hishandtraveleduptoherribcage.Olivegaspedandsmiledintohismouth.
“Youdidthatbefore.”
Heblinkedather,confused,pupilsblownlargeanddark.“What?”
“ThenightIkissedyouinthehallway.Youdiditthatnight,too.”
“Ididwhat?”
“Youtouchedme.Here.”Herhandslidtoherribstocoverhisthroughthecotton.
Helookedupatherthroughdarklashes,andbegantoliftacornerofhershirt,upherthighsandpastherhipuntilitcaughtrightunderherbreast.Heleanedintoher,pressinghislipsagainstthelowestpartofherribs.Olivegasped.Andgaspedagainwhenhebithersoftly,andthenlickedacrossthesamespot.
“Here?”heasked.Shewasgrowinglight-headed.Itcouldbehowclosehewas,ortheheatintheroom.Orthefactthatshewasalmostnaked,standinginfrontofhiminnothingbutpantiesandsocks.“Olive.”Hismouthtraveledupward,lessthananinch,teethgrazingagainstskinandbone.“Here?”Shehadn’tthoughtshecouldgetthiswetthisquickly.Oratall.Thenagain,shehadn’treallythoughtmuchaboutsexinthepastfewyears.
“Payattention,sweetheart.”Hesuckedtheundersideofherbreast.Shehadtoholdontohisshoulders,orherkneeswouldgiveoutonher.“Here?”
“I…”Ittookamomenttofocus,butshenodded.“Maybe.Yes,there.Itwas…itwasagoodkiss.”Hereyesflutteredclosed,andshedidn’tevenfightitwhenhetooktheshirtcompletelyoffher.Itwashis,afterall.Andthewayhewasstudyingher,itbrookednoself-consciousnessonherpart.“Doyourememberit?”
Hewasthedistractedonenow.Staringatherbreastsliketheyweresomethingspectacular,hislipspartedandbreathquickandshallow.“Rememberwhat?”
“Ourfirstkiss.”
Hedidn’tanswer.Insteadhelookedupanddownather,eyesglazed,andsaid,“Iwanttokeepyouinthishotelroomforaweek.”Hishandcameuptocupherbreast,notexactlygentle.Justthissideoftooforceful,andOlivefeltherselfclencharoundnothing.“Forayear.”
Hepushedhishandagainsthershoulderbladestomakeherarchtowardhim,andthenclosedhismouthagainstherbreast,allteethandtongueandwonderful,delicioussuction.Olivewhimperedagainstthebackofherhand,becauseshehadn’tknown,hadn’tthoughtthatshe’dbesosensitive,buthernipplesweretightandrawandalmostsore,andifhedidn’tdosomething,she’d—
“You’reedible,Olive.”
Hispalmpressedagainstherspine,andOlivearchedalittlemore.Anofferingofsorts.“That’sprobablyaninsult,”shebreathedoutwithasmile,“consideringthatyouonlylikewheatgrassandbroccoli—Oh.”
Hecouldfitherentirebreastinhismouth.Allofit.Hegroanedinthebackofhisthroat,anditwasclearthathe’dlovetoswallowherwhole.Oliveshouldtouchhim,too—shewastheonewho’daskedforthis,anditfollowedthatsheshouldmakesurethatbeingwithherwasnotachoreforhim.Maybeputherhandbackwherehe’ddraggeditearlierandstroke?Hecouldinstructheronhowhelikedit.Maybethiswasaone-timethingandtheywerenevergoingtotalkaboutitagain,butOlivecouldn’thelpherself—shejustwantedhimtolikethis.Tolikeher
“Thisokay?”Shemusthavelingeredtoolonginsideherhead,becausehewaslookingupatherwithafrown,histhumbswipingbackandforthonherhipbone.“You’retense.”Hisvoicewasstrained.Hewascuppinghiscockalmostabsentmindedly,strokingandgrippingeveryonceinawhile—whenhiseyesfellonthehardpointsofhernipples,whensheshivered,whenshesquirmedonherfeettorubherthighstogether.“Wedon’thaveto—”
“Iwantto.IsaidIdid.”
Histhroatbobbed.“Itdoesn’tmatter,whatyousaid.Youcanalwayschangeyourmind.”
“Iwon’t.”Thewayhewaslookingather,Olivewassurehe’dprotestagain.Buthejustrestedhisforeheadonhersternum,hisbreathwarmagainsttheskinhe’djustlicked,andlethisfingertipscoasttheelasticofherpanties,dipunderthethincotton.
“IthinkI’vechangedmymind,”hemurmured.
Shestiffened.“IknowI’mnotdoinganything,butifyoutellmewhatyoulike,Ican—”
“Myfavoritecolormustbegreen,afterall.”
Sheexhaledwhenhisthumbpressedbetweenherlegs,brushingagainstfabricthatwasalreadydarkandwet.Sheexhaledinarushuntiltherewasnoairleft,embarrassmentwashingoverheratthethoughtthatnowhemustknowexactlyhowmuchshewantedthis—andatthepleasureofhisfinger,largeandblunt,runningagainstherseam.
Hedefinitelyknew.Becausehelookedbackupather,glassy-eyedandbreathingfast.“Damn,”hesaid,quiet.“Olive.”
“Doyou…”Hermouthwasasdryasthedesert.“Doyouwantmetotakethemoff?”
“No.”Heshookhishead.“Notyet.”
“Butifwe—”
Hehookedhisfingerontheelasticandpushedthecottontotheside.Shewasglistening,swollenandplumptoherowneyes,waytoofarahead,consideringthatthey’dbarelydoneanything.Tooeager.Thiswasembarrassing.“I’msorry.”Thereweretwokindsofheat,theonecurlingtightatthebottomofherstomach,andtheonerisingtohercheeks.Olivecouldbarelytellthemapart.“Iam…”
“Perfect.”Hewasn’treallytalkingtoher.Moretohimself,marvelingatthewayhisfingertipsanksoeasilybetweenherfolds,partingthemandglidingbackandforthuntilOlivethrewbackherheadandclosedhereyesbecausethepleasurewasstreaming,stretching,thrummingthroughherandshecouldn’t,couldn’t,couldn’t—
“Youaresobeautiful.”Thewordssoundedhushed,rippedoutofhim.Likehewasn’tgoingtosaythem.“MayI?”
Ittookherseveralheartbeatstorealizethathewasreferringtohismiddlefinger,tothewayitwascirclingaroundherentranceandtappingatit.Applyingalightpressurerightagainsttherim.Sowetalready.
Olivemoaned.“Yes.Anything,”shebreathedout.
Helickedhernipple,asilentthank-you,andpushedin.Oratleast,hetried.OlivehissedandsodidAdam,withamuted,hoarse“Fuck.”
Hehadbigfingers—thatmustbewhytheydidn’tfit.Thefirstknucklewasjustshyoftoomuch,apinchingacheandthesensationofdamp,uncomfortablefullness.Sheshiftedonherheels,tryingtoadjustandmakeroom,andthenshiftedsomemore,untilhehadtogripherhipwithhisotherhandtokeepherstill.Oliveheldontohisshoulders,hisskinsweatslickedandscorchinghotunderherpalms.“Shh.”
Histhumbgrazedher,andshewhimpered.“It’sokay.Relax.”
Impossible.Though,ifOlivehadtobehonest,thewayhisfingerwascurvinginsideher—itwasalreadygettingbetter.Notsopainfulnow,andmaybeevenwetter,andifhetouchedherthere…Herheadlolledback.Sheclutchedhismuscleswithhernails.
“There?Isthatagoodspot?”
Olivewantedtotellhimthatno,itwastoomuch,butbeforeshecouldopenhermouth,hediditagain,untilshecouldn’tkeepquietanymore,allgroansandwhimpersandwet,obscenenoises.Untilhetriedtogetalittlefurtherinside,andshecouldn’thelpwincing.
“Whatisit?”Hisvoicewashisregularvoice,butamilliontimesraspier.“Doesithurt?”
“No—Oh.”
Helookedup,allflushedpaleskinagainstdarkwaves.“Whyareyousotense,Olive?You’vedonethisbefore,right?”
“I—yes.”Shewasnotsurewhatcompelledhertocontinue.Anyidiotcouldseefromamileawaythatitwasaterribleidea,buttherewasnoroomleftforliesnowthattheywerestandingsoclose.Sosheconfessed,“Acoupleoftimes.Incollege.”
Adamwentimmobile.Completelymotionless.Hismusclesflexed,coiledstrongunderherpalms,andthentheyjuststayedlikethat,tenseandstillashestaredupather.“Olive.”
“Butitdoesn’tmatter,”shehastenedtoadd,becausehewasalreadyshakinghishead,pullingawayfromher.Itreallydidn’tmatter.NottoOlive,andtherefore,itshouldn’ttoAdam,either.“Icanfigureitout—I’velearnedwhole-cellpatchclampinacoupleofhours;sexcan’tbemuchharder.AndIbetyoudothisallthetime,soyoucantellmehowto—”
“You’dlose.”
Theroomwaschilly.Hisfingerwasnotinsideheranymore,andhishandhadleftherhip.
“What?”
“You’dloseyourbet.”Hesighed,wipingahanddownhisface.Theotherone,theonethathadbeeninsideher,moveddowntoadjusthiscock.Itlookedenormousbynow,andhewincedashetouchedit.“Olive,Ican’t.”
“Ofcourseyoucan.”
Heshookhishead.“I’msorry.”
“What?No.No,I—”
“You’rebasicallyavir—”
“I’mnot!”
“Olive.”
“Iamnot.”
“Butsoclosetoitthat—”
“No,that’snotthewayitworks.Virginityisnotacontinuousvariable,it’scategorical.Binary.Nominal.Dichotomous.Ordinal,potentially.I’mtalkingaboutchi-square,maybeSpearman’scorrelation,logisticregression,thelogitmodelandthatstupidsigmoidfunction,and…”
Ithadbeenweeksanditstilltookherbreathaway,theuneventiltofhissmile.Howunanticipateditalwayswas,thedimplesitformed.Olivewasleftwithoutairashislargepalmcuppedthesideofherfaceandbroughtitdownforaslow,warm,laughingkiss.
“Youaresuchasmart-ass,”hesaidagainsthermouth.
“Maybe.”Shewassmiling,too.Andkissinghimback.Hugginghim,armsdrapedaroundhisneck,andshefeltashiverofpleasurewhenhepulledherdeeperintohimself.
“Olive,”hesaidinchingback,“ifforanyreasonsexissomethingthatyou…thatyou’renotcomfortablewith,orthatyou’drathernothaveoutsideofarelationship,then—”
“No.No,it’snothinglikethat.I—”Shetookadeepbreath,lookingforawaytoexplainherself.“It’snotthatIwanttonothavesex.Ijust…don’tparticularlywanttohaveit.Thereissomethingweirdaboutmybrain,andmybody,and—Idon’tknowwhat’swrongwithme,butIdon’tseemtobeabletoexperienceattractionlikeotherpeople.Likenormalpeople.Itriedtojust…tojustdoit,togetitoverwith,andtheguyIdiditwithwasnice,butthetruthisthatIjustdon’tfeelany…”Sheclosedhereyes.Thiswasdifficulttoadmit.“Idon’tfeelanysexualattractionunlessIactuallygettotrustandlikeaperson,whichforsomereasonneverhappens.Or,almostnever.Ithadn’t,notinalongtime,butnow—Ireallylikeyou,andIreallytrustyou,andforthefirsttimeinamillionyearsIwantto—”
Shecouldn’trambleanymore,becausehewaskissingheragain,thistimehardandbruising,asthoughhewantedtoabsorbherintohimself.“Iwanttodothis,”shesaid,assoonasshewasableto.“Withyou.Ireallydo.”
“Metoo,Olive.”Hesighed.“Youhavenoidea.”
“Then,please.Please,don’tsayno.”Shebitherlip,andthenhis.Andthennippedathisjaw.“Please?”
Hetookadeepbreathandnodded.Shesmiledandkissedthecurveofhisneck,andhishandsplayedagainstherlowerback.
“But,”hesaid,“weshouldprobablygoaboutthisalittledifferently.”
—
ITTOOKHERthelongesttimetorealizehisintentions.Notbecauseshewasstupid,oroblivious,orthatnaiveaboutsex,butbecause…
Maybeshewasalittlenaiveaboutsex.Butshetrulyhadn’tthoughtaboutitforagesbeforeAdam,andeventhen,itwasneverquiteintheseterms—himaboveher,pushingherlegswideopenwithhispalmsonherinnerthighsandthenkneelingbetweenthem.Slidingdown,low.
“Whatareyou—”
Thewayhepartedherwithhistongue,itwasasthoughshewasbutterandhemeanttoslicethroughherlikeahotknife.Hewasslowbutsure,anddidn’tpausewhenOlive’sthighstiffenedagainsthispalm,orwhenshetriedtosquirmaway.Hejustgrunted,richandlow;thenranhisnoseintheskinatthejunctureofherabdomen,inhalingdeeply;andthenhelickedheroncemore.
“Adam—stop,”shepleaded,andforamomenthejustnuzzledhisfaceagainstherfoldslikehehadnointentionofdoinganysuchthing.Thenheliftedhishead,eyesfoggy,asifawarethatheshouldbelisteningtoher.
“Mmm?”Hislipsvibratedagainsther.
“Maybe…maybeyoushouldstop?”
Hewentstill,hishandtighteningaroundherthigh.“Haveyouchangedyourmind?”
“No.Butweshoulddo…otherthings.”
Hefrowned.“Youdon’tlikethis?”
“No.Yes.Well,I’venever…”Thelinebetweenhiseyebrowsdeepened.“ButI’mtheonewhoputyouuptothis,soweshoulddothingsthatyouareinto,andnotstuffforme…”
Thistimeitwastheflatofhistongueagainstherclit,pressingjustenoughtomakeherclenchandexhaleinarush.Thetipwascirclingaroundit,which—suchasmallmovement,andyetitsentherhandstraighttohermouth,hadherbitingthefleshypartofherpalm.
“Adam!”Hervoicesoundedlikesomeoneelse’s.“DidyouhearwhatI…?”
“YousaidtodosomethingI’minto.”Hisbreathwashotagainsther.“Iam.”
“Youcan’tpossiblywantto—”
Hesqueezedherleg.“Ican’trememberamomentIdidn’t.”
Itjustdidn’tfeellikestandardhookupfare,somethingthisintimate.Butitwashardtoprotestwhenhelookedspellbound,staringather,atherfaceandherlegsandtherestofherbodyHishandwaslarge,openoverherabdomenandholdingherdown,inchinghigherandclosertoherbreasts,butnevercloseenough.Lyinglikethis,Olivewasalittleembarrassedofhowconcaveherstomachwas.Ofthewayherribsstuckout.Adam,though,didn’tseemtomind.
“Wouldn’tyourather—”
Anip.“No.”
“Ididn’tevensay—”
Heglancedup.“Thereisn’tanythingI’dratherdo.”
“But—”
Hesuckedononeofherlipswithaloud,wetnoise,andshegasped.Andthenhistonguewasinsideher,andshemoaned,halfinsurprise,halfatthefeelingof—Yes.
Yes
“Fuck,”someonesaid.Itwasn’tOlive,soitmusthavebeenAdam.“Fuck.”Itfeltincredible.Otherworldly.Histongue,dippinginandout,circlingandlapping,andhisnoseagainstherskin,andthequietsoundshemadefromdeepinhischestwhenevershecontracted,andOlivewasgoingto—she..
Shewasn’tsureshewasgoingtocome.Notwithanotherpersonintheroomtouchingher.“Thismighttakeawhile,”shesaidapologetically,hatinghowthinhervoicesounded.
“Fuck,yes.”Histongueswipedtheentiretyofher,along,broadstroke.“Please.”Shedidn’tthinkshe’deverheardhimquitethisenthusiasticaboutanything,notevengrantwritingorcomputationalbiology.Itkickedthewholethingafewnotcheshigherforher,anditgotworsewhenshenoticedhisarm.Theonethatwasn’tcuppingthecheekofherassandholdingheropen.
Hehadn’ttakenhimselfoutofhispantsyet,thatOlivecouldsee,andwasn’tthatunfair,sinceshewasallsplayedopenforhim.Butthewayhisarmwasshifting,howhishandwasmovingupanddownslowly,thatwasjustunbearable.Shearchedfurther,herspineshapingaperfectcurveasthebackofherheadhitthepillow.
“Olive.”Heleanedbackafewcentimetersandkissedtheinsideofhershakingthigh.Tookadeepbreathwithhisnose,asiftoholdthesmellofherwithinhimself.“Youcan’tcomeyet.”Hislipsbrushedagainstherfoldsashistonguedippedinagain,andshesqueezedhereyesshut.Therewasaliquid,burningheatblossominginhertummy,spillingalloverher.Herfingersclawedatthesheets,graspingforananchor.Thiswasimpossible.Unmanageable
“Adam.”
“Don’t.Twomoreminutes.”Hesuckedon—God,yes.There.
“I’m—sorry.”
“Onemore.”
“Ican’t—”
“Focus,Olive.”
Intheend,itwashisvoicethatruinedeverything.Thatquiet,possessivetone,thehintofanorderinthelowraspofhiswords,andthepleasurebrokeoverherlikeanoceanwave.Hermindsnapped,andshewasnotwhollyherselfforseconds,andthenminutes,andwhenshehadasenseoftheworldagain,hewasstilllickingher,exceptmoreslowly,asifwithnopurposebuttosavorher.“Iwanttogodownonyouuntilyoupassout.”Hislipsweresosoftagainstherskin.
“No.”Olivefistedthepillow.“I—youcan’t.”
“Why?”
“Ihaveto…”Shecouldn’tthinkstraight,notquiteyet.Hermindwasaddled,stuttering.
Shealmostscreamedwhenhepushedonefingerinside.Thistimeitsanklikearockintowater,smoothandwithoutobstacle,andherwallsclampedonitasiftowelcomeAdamandholdhiminside.
“Jesus.”Helickedherclitagain,andshewastoosensitiveforthis.Maybe.“Youare”—hehookedhisfingerinsideher,pressingagainsttheroofofherchannel,andthepleasurewelledinher,washingagainstheredges—“sosmallandtightandwarm.”
Theheatfloodedwithinheroncemore,knockedtheairoutofherlungs,leavingheropenmouthed,brightcolorsburstingbehindhereyelids.Hegroanedsomethingthatwasnotquitecoherent,andslidinanotherfingeronthetailendofherorgasm,andthetautstretchofit,itwasruinous.Herbodybloomedintosomethingthatdidn’tbelongtoheranymore,somethingmadeofbright,highpeaksandlushvalleys.Itleftherheavyandboneless,andshewasnotsurehowlongwentbybeforeshecouldbeartoraiseherpalmtohisforeheadandgentlypushhimawaytogethimtostop.Heshotherasullenglancebutcomplied,andOlivetuggedhimup—becausehelookedlikehemightstartagainanymoment,andbecauseitwouldbenice,tohavehimnexttoher.Maybehewasthinkingthesame:heliftedhimselfaboveher,leaninghisweightonhisforearm;hischestpushedagainstherbreast,onelargethighlodgedfirmlybetweenherlegs.
Shewasstillwearingherstupidkneesocks,andGod,Adamwasprobablythinkingthatshewasthelamestlayhe’dever—
“CanIfuckyou?”
Hesaidit,andthenhekissedher,unconcernedwithwherehismouthhadbeenjustsecondsearlier.Shewonderedifsheshouldbeputoffbythat,butshewasstilltwitchingwithpleasure,contractingwithaftershocksatthememoryofwhathe’djustdone.Shecouldn’tmakeherselfcare,anditwasnicetokisshimlikethis.Sonice.
“Mmm.”Herpalmscameuptocuphisface,andshebegantotracehischeekboneswithherthumbs.Theywerered,andhot.“What?”
“CanIfuckyou?”Hesuckedthebaseofherthroat.“Please?”Hebreatheditagainsttheshellofherear,and—itwasn’tasthoughshecouldsayno.Orwantedto.Shenoddedherpermissionandreachedforhiscock,buthebeathertoitandpulleddownhispants,closinghisfistaroundit.Hewasbig.Largerthanshe’dthoughthe’dbe,thanshe’dthoughtanyonecouldbe.Shecouldstillfeelhisheartpoundingrapidlyagainstherchestashealignedhimselftoherandnudgedtheheadagainstheropeningand—
Olivewaslaxnow.Andpliant.Andstillnotlooseenough.“Ah.”Itdidn’tquitehurt,butitwasnearlytoomuch.Definitelynoteasy.Andyet,thatsensation,thepushofhimagainsteverypartofher,itheldapromise.“You’resobig.”
Hegroanedintoherneck.Hisentirebodywasvibratingwithtension.“Youcantakeit.”
“Ican,”shetoldhim,voicereedy,andherbreathcaughthalfwaythroughthesecondword.Womengavebirth,afterall.Exceptthathewasnotin,notreally.Notevenhalf.Andtherewasjustnomoreroom.
Olivelookedupathim.Hiseyeswereclosed,darkhalf-moonsagainsthisskin,andhisjawwastense.“Whatifit’stoomuch?”
Adamloweredhislipstoherear.“Then…”Heattemptedathrust,andmaybeitwastoomuch,butthefrictionwaslovely.“ThenI’llfuckyoulikethis.”Shesqueezedhereyesshutwhenhehitaplacethatmadeherwhimper.“God,Olive.”
Herentirebodywaspulsating.“IstheresomethingIshouldbe…”
“Just…”Hekissedhercollarbone.Theirbreathingwaserraticbynow,loudinthesilenceoftheroom.“Bequietforamoment.SoIdon’tcomealready.”
Olivecantedherhips,andhewasrubbingthatspotagain.Itmadeherthighstremble,andshetriedtoopenthemwider.Toinvitehiminside.“Maybeyoushould.”
“Ishould?”
Shenodded.Theyweretoodazedtokisswithanykindofcoordinationbythispoint,buthislipswerehotandsoftwhentheybrushedagainsthers.“Yes.”
“Insideyou?”
“Ifyou—”
Adam’shandcameupbehindOlive’skneeandangleditjustso,spreadingherlegsinawayshesimplyhadn’tthoughtof.Firmlyholdingheropen.
“Ifyouwantto.”
“You’resoperfect,you’redrivingmeinsane.”
Herinsidesopenedtohimwithoutwarning.Theywelcomedandpulledathimuntilhebottomedout,untilhewaswedgeddeepandstretchinghertoapointthatshouldbebreaking,butjustmadeherfeelfilled,sealed,perfect.
Theybothexhaled.Oliveliftedahand,closeditshakilyaroundAdam’ssweatynape.
“Hey.”Shesmiledupathim.
Hesmiledback,justalittle.“Hey.”
Hiseyeswereopaque,likestainedglass.Hemovedinsideher,justahintofathrust,anditmadeherentirebodyclencharoundhim,untilshecouldfeelhiscocktwitchandpulsateinsideher,likeadrum.Herheadfelltothepillow,andsomeonewasgroaning,somethinggutturalandoutofcontrol.
ThenAdampulledout,pushedbackin,andtheyannihilatedtheno-sexrule.Inthespanofafewsecondshisthrustswentfromtentative,exploratory,tofastandall-eclipsing.Hishandslidtothesmallofherback,liftingherintohimashepiledin,andin,andinagain,rubbinginsideher,againsther,forcingpleasuretovibrateupherspine
“Isthisokay?”heaskedagainstherear,notquitemanagingtostop.
Olivecouldn’tanswer.Notpastthesharphitchofherbreath,thewayherfingersdugdesperatelyintothesheets.Pressurebuiltagaininsideher,swelledlargeandconsuming.
“Youhavetotellme,ifyoudon’tlikeit,”herasped.“WhatI’mdoing.”Hewaseager,alittleclumsy,losingcontrolandslippingoutofher,havingtonudgehiscockbackinside;hewasoutoffocus,butsowasshe,toofloodedbyhowgoodhefelt,howstupefyingthepleasure,howsmoothlyheslidinandout.Howrightthisfelt.
“I—”
“Olive,youhaveto—”Hestoppedwithagrunt,becauseshecantedherhipsandclenchedaroundhim.Grippinghimharder,suckinghimdeeper.
“Ilikeit.”Shereacheduptofistherfingersinhishair.Tocatchhiseyes,makesurehewaspayingattentionasshesaid,“Iloveit,Adam.”
Hiscontrolpouredout.Hemadeacrudenoiseandshuddered,pumpinghardandmutteringnonsenseintoherskin—howperfectshewas,howbeautiful,howlonghe’dwantedthis,howhewouldnever,couldneverletgoofher.Olivefelthisorgasmsoar,theblinding,scaldingpleasureashetrembledontopofher.
Shesmiled.Andwhennewshiversbegantorolldownherspine,shebitAdam’sshoulderandletherselfgounder.ChapterSeventeen
HYPOTHESIS:WhenIthinkI’vehitrockbottom,someonewillhandmeashovel.ThatsomeoneisprobablyTomBenton.
Olivedriftedoffafterthefirsttime,anddreamedofmanystrange,nonsensicalthings.Sushirollsshapedlikespiders.ThefirstsnowfallinToronto,duringherlastyearwithhermother.Adam’sdimples.TomBenton’ssneerashespatthewords“littlesobstory.”Adam,again,thistimeserious,sayinghernameinhisuniqueway.
Thenshefeltthemattressdip,andthesoundofsomethingbeingplacedonthenightstand.Sheslowlyblinkedawake,disorientedinthedimlightoftheroom.Adamwassittingonthesideofthebed,pushingalockofhairbehindherear.
“Hi.”Shesmiled.
“Hey.”
Herhandreachedouttotouchhisthighthroughthepantshe’dnevermanagedtotakeallthewayoff.Hewasstillwarm,stillsolid.Stillthere.
“HowlongdidIsleep?”
“Notlong.Maybethirtyminutes.”
“Hmm.”Shestretchedabitagainstthemattress,armsaboveherhead,andnoticedthefreshglassofwateronthenightstand.“Isthatforme?”
Henodded,handedittoher,andsheproppeduponherelbowtodrinkit,smilinginthanks.Shenoticedhisgazelingeronherbreasts,stilltenderandsorefromhismouth,andthendriftawaytohisownpalms.
Oh.Maybe,nowthattheyhadsex—goodsex,Olivethought,amazingsex,thoughwhoknewaboutAdam?—heneededhisownspace.Maybehewantedhisowndamnpillow.
Shereturnedtheemptyglassandsatup.“Ishouldmovetomybed.”
Heshookhisheadwithanintensitythatsuggestedthathedidn’twanthertogo,notanywhere,notever.Hisfreehandclosedtightaroundherwaist,asiftotetherhertohim.
Olivedidn’tmind.
“Yousure?IsuspectImightbeacoverhog.”
“It’sfine.Irunwarm.”Hebrushedastrandofhairfromherforehead.“Andaccordingtosomeone,IlooklikeImightsnore.”
Shegaspedinmockoutrage.“Howdarethey?TellmewhosaidthatandIwillpersonallyavengeyou—”Sheyelpedwhenheheldtheicy-coolglassagainstherneck,andthendissolvedintolaughter,drawingupherkneesandtryingtotwistawayfromhim.“I’msorry—youdon’tsnore!Yousleeplikeaprince!”
“Damnright.”Hesettheglassonthenightstand,appeased,butOliveremainedcurledup,cheeksflushedandbreathinghardfromfendinghimoff.Hewassmiling.Withdimples,too.Thesamesmilehe’dsmiledintoherneckearlier,againstherskin,theonethathadtickledherandmadeherlaugh.
“I’msorryaboutthesocks,bytheway.”Shewinced.“Iknowit’sacontroversialtopic.”
Adamlookeddownattherainbow-coloredmaterialstretchedaroundhercalves.“Socksarecontroversial?”
“Notsocksperse.Just,keepingthemonduringsex?”
“Really?”
“Totally.AtleastaccordingtotheissueofCosmopolitanwekeepathometoswatcockroaches.”
Heshrugged,likeamanwho’donlyeverreadtheNewEnglandJournalofMedicineandmaybeTruck-PushingDigest.“Whywouldanyonecareonewayortheother?”
“Maybetheydon’twanttounknowinglyhavesexwithpeoplewithhorrible,disfiguredtoes?”
“Doyouhavedisfiguredtoes?”
“Trulygrotesque.Circus-worthy.Antitheticaltosex.Basicallyabuilt-incontraceptive.”
Hesighed,clearlyamused.Hewasstrugglingtoholdontohismoody,broody,intenseact,andOlivelovedit.
“I’veseenyouinflip-flopsmultipletimes.Which,bytheway,arenotlabcompliant.”
“Youmustbemistaken.”
“Really.”
“Idon’tlikewhatyou’reinsinuating,Dr.Carlsen.ItaketheStanfordenvironmentalhealthandsafetyguidelinesveryseriouslyand—Whatareyou—”
Hewassomuchlargerthanher,hecouldholdherdownwithonehandonherbellyashewrestledheroutofhersocks,andforsomereasonshelovedeverymomentofit.Sheputupagoodfight,andmaybehe’dhaveacoupleofbruisestomorrow,butwhenhefinallymanagedtotakethemoff,Olivewasoutofbreathfromlaughing.Adamcaressedherfeetreverently,asthoughtheyweredelicateandperfectlyshapedinsteadofbelongingtosomeonewhorantwomarathonsayear.
“Youwereright,”hesaid.Chestheaving,shelookedathimcuriously.“Yourfeetareprettyhideous.”
“What?”Shegaspedandfreedherself,pushingathisshoulderuntilheendeduponhisbackunderher.Hesurelycouldhaveunseatedher,giantthathewas.Andyet.“Takeitback.”
“Yousaiditfirst.”
“Takeitback.Myfeetarecute.”
“Inahideousway,maybe.”
“That’snotathing.”
Hislaughblewwarmagainsthercheek.“There’sprobablyaGermanwordforthat.Cute,butexceptionallyugly.”
Shebithislipjustenoughtomakehimfeelit,andAdam—heseemedtolosethatgriphealwayshadonhimself.Heseemedtosuddenlywantmore,andheflippedthemuntilshewasunderneathhim,turningthebiteintoakiss.OrmaybeitwasOliveherself,sincehertonguewaslickinghislip,exactlywhereshe’dmadeitsting.
Sheshouldprobablytellhimtostop.Shewassweatyandsticky,andshouldexcuseherselfandgotakeashower.Yes,thatsoundedlikegoodsexetiquette.Buthefeltwarmandstrong,positivelyglowing.Hesmelleddelicious,evenafterallthey’ddone,andshecouldn’thelpgettingsidetrackedandlettingherarmslooparoundhisneck.Pullinghimdown.
“Youweighaton,”shetoldhim.Hemadetomoveupandaway,butshewrappedherlegsaroundhiswaist,holdinghimclose.Shefeltsosafewithhim.Invincible.Atrueslayer.Heturnedherintoapowerful,ferociousperson,onethatcoulddestroyTomBentonandpancreaticcancerbeforebreakfast.
“No,Iloveit.Stay,please.”Shegrinnedupathim,andsawhisbreathingspeedup.
“Youareacoverhog.”Therewasaspotatthebaseofherneckthathe’dfoundearlier,aspotthatmadehersighandarchupandmeltintothepillow.Heattackeditlikeitwashisnewtruenorth.Hehadawayofkissingher,halfcautiousandhalfunrestrained,thathadherwonderingwhysheusedtothinkofkissingassuchaboring,aimlessactivity.
“Ishouldgocleanup,”shesaid,butdidn’tmakeamove.Hesliddown,justacoupleofinches,justenoughtogetdistractedbyhercollarbone,andthenbythecurveofherbreast.“Adam.”
Heignoredherandtracedherjuttinghipbones,andherribs,thetautskinofherbelly.Hekissedeverylastfreckle,asthoughtostorethemupinhismemory,andthereweresomany.“I’mallsticky,Adam.”Shesquirmedalittle.
Inresponse,hispalmmovedtoherass.Tokeepherstill.“Ssh.I’llcleanyouupmyself.”
Heputhisfingerinsideherandshegasped,because—OhGod.Oh.OhGod.Shecouldhearthewetnoisesdownthere,fromherselfandhisowncome,andheshouldbedisgustedbythis,andsheshould,too,andyet—
Shewasn’t.Andhewasgroaning,asifthesatisfactionofhavingmadeamessofher,insideher,ofknowingthatshe’dlethim,wasaheadythingforhim.Oliveclosedhereyesandletherselfgounder,feelinghimlicktheskinbetweenherthighandabdomen,hearinglowmoansandgaspscomingoutofherownmouth,slidingherfingersinhishairtogriphimmoretightlyagainsther.Shewasdefinitelycleanbythetimeshecame,slowcontractionsthatswelledinlargewavesandhadherthighsshakingaroundhishead,andthatwaswhenheasked,“CanIfuckyouagain?”
Shelookedupathim,flushedandhazywithherorgasm,andbitherlip.Shewantedto.Shereallywantedtohavehimontopofher,insideher,chestpushingherintothemattressandarmssnakedaroundherbody.Thatfeelingofsecurity,offinallybelongingthatseemedtogetmoreintensethecloserhegottoher.
“Iwantto.”Herhandcameuptotouchhisarm,theonehewasholdinghimselfupon.“It’sjust—I’mjustsore,andI—”
Heimmediatelyregrettedasking.Shecouldtellbyhowhisbodystilledbeforehegotoffher,asiftonotcrowdher,asiftogiveherspaceshedidn’twant.
“No,”shepanicked.“It’snotthat—”
“Hey.”Henoticedhowflusteredshewasandbentdowntokissher.
“Idowantto—”
“Olive.”Hecurledaroundher.Hiscockrubbedagainstherlowerback,butheinstantlyangledhishipsaway.“You’reright.Let’sgotosleep.”
“What?No.”Shesatup,frowning.“Idon’twanttogotosleep.”
Hewasstruggling,shecouldtell.Tryingtohidehiserection.Tryingnottoglanceathernakedbody.“Yourflightwasearlythismorning.You’reprobablyjet-lagged—”
“Butweonlyhaveonenight.”Onesinglenight.OnenightforOlivetosuspendtheoutsideworld.ToavoidthinkingaboutTom,andwhathadhappenedearliertoday,andthemysteriouswomanAdamwasinlovewith.Onenighttoforgetthatwhateverfeelingsshehadforhim,theywerenotmutual.
“Hey.”Hereachedup,pushingherhairbehindhershoulder.“Youdon’towemeanything.Let’sgetsomesleepand—”
“Wehaveonenight.”Determined,shepressedherpalmonhischest,straddlinghim.Thecottonofhispantswassoftagainstherfolds.“Iwantthewholenight.”Shesmileddownathim,foreheadagainsthis,herhairacurtainbetweenthemandtheoutsideworld.Asanctuaryofsorts.Hegrippedherwaistlikehecouldn’thelphimself,pullingheragainsthim,andoh,theyfitsowelltogether.“Comeon,Adam.Iknowyou’reold,butyoucan’tgotosleepjustyet.”
“I—”Heseemedtoforgetwhathewasabouttosaythemomentherhandslidinsidehispants.Hiseyesclosed,andheexhaledsharply,and—yes.Good.“Olive.”
“Yes?”
Shekeptonslidingdownhisbody.Andtuggingathispants.Andhemadesomehalf-heartedeffortstostopher,buthedidn’tseemtobefullyincontrol,andintheendhelethertakehisremainingclothesoff.Shepulledherhairbackandsatonherheelsbetweenhisthighs.
Adamtriedtolookawayandfailed.“Youaresobeautiful.”Thewordswerelowandhushed,asthoughthey’dslippedoutofhismouth.Looseandunbidden,justlikeeverythingelseaboutthis.
“I’veneverdonethis,”sheconfessed.Shedidn’tfeelshy,probablybecausethiswasAdam.
“No.Comehere.”
“Soitprobablywon’tbeanygood.”
“You—Olive.Youdon’thaveto.Youshouldn’t.”
“Noted.”Shepressedakissagainsthiship,andhegroanedasthoughshe’ddonesomethingspecial.Asthoughthiswasbeyondanything.“Butifyouhaveanywishes.”
“Olive.I’mgoingto—”Grunt.Hewasgoingtogrunt,arumblingnoisecomingfromdeepinhischest.Sheranhernoseontheskinofhisabdomen,seeinghiscocktwitchwiththecornerofhereye.
“Ilovethewayyousmell.”
“Olive.”
Slowly,precisely,shewrappedherhandaroundthebaseofhiserectionandstudieditfromunderneathhereyelashes.Theheadwasshinyalready,and—shedidn’tknowmuch,butheseemedclose.Heseemedveryhard,andaboveherhischestheavedandhislipspartedandhisskinflushed.Heseemedlikeitwouldn’ttakemuch,which…good.Butalso,Olivewantedhertimewithhim.ShewantedsomuchtimewithAdam.“Someonehasdonethistoyou,before?Right?”
Henodded,likeshe’dexpectedhewould.Hishandfistedthesheets,tremblingslightly.
“Good.Soyoucantellme,ifImessitup.”
Shesaidthelastwordagainsttheshaft,anditfeltliketheywereoscillating,vibratingatsomeshort-wavefrequencythatburstandshatteredwhenshetouchedhimforreal.Beforepartingherlipsontheheadofhiscockshelookedupathim,gavehimasmallsmile,andthatseemedtodohimin.Hisbackarched.Hegroaned,andorderedherinhushedtonestoplease,givehimamoment,goslow,notlethimcome,andOlivewonderedifhisspinewasmeltingintothesameliquid,scaldingpleasureshe’dfeltearlier.
Itprobablycouldn’thavebeenmoreobvious,thatshe’dneverdonethis.Andyetitseemedtoturnhimonbeyondbelief.Heclearlycouldn’thelphimself—hethrustforward,threadedhisfingersinherhair,pressedherheaddownuntilherthroatwastightaroundhim.Hegroaned,andtalked,andcaughthereyes,asifconstantlyfascinatedbythewayshewaslookingupathim.Heslurredraspywords,mumbling,“Olive,yes.”“Lickthe…”“Takeitjust—deeper.Makemecome.”Sheheardpraisesandendearmentscomeoutofhismouth—howgoodshewas,howlovely,howperfect;obscenitiesaboutherlipsandbodyandeyes,andmaybeshewouldhavebeenembarrassed,ifithadn’tbeenforthepleasurespillingrichfrombothofthem,overflowingtheirbrains.Itfeltnatural,tohaveAdamaskforwhathewanted.Togiveittohim.
“CanI—?”Herteethgrazedtheundersideofthehead,andhegruntedabruptly.“Inyourmouth.”
Sheonlyhadtosmileathim,andhispleasurelookednuclear,poundingthroughhimandwashingoverhisentirebody.WhatOlivehadfeltearlier,white-hotandjustshyofpainful.Shewasstillsuckinggentlywhenheregainedcontrolofhislimbsandcuppedhercheek.
“ThethingsIwanttodotoyou.Youhavenoidea.”
“IthinkmaybeIdo.”Shelickedherlips.“Some,atleast.”Hiseyeswereglazedashestrokedthecornerofhermouth,andOlivewonderedhowshecouldpossiblybedonewiththis,withhim,injustafewhours.
“Idoubtit.”
Sheleanedforward,hidingasmileintothecreaseofhisthigh.“Youcan,youknow.”Shenibbledonthehardplaneofhisabdomenandthenlookedupathim.“Dothem.”
Shewasstillsmilingwhenhepulledheruptohischest,andforafewminutestheymanagedtosleep.
—
ITREALLYWASanicehotelroom,shesupposed.Thelargewindows,mostly.AndtheviewofBostonafterdark,thetrafficandthecloudsandthefeelingthatsomethingwashappeningoutthere,somethingshedidn’tneedtobepartofbecauseshewashere.WithAdam.
“Whatlanguageisthat?”itoccurredtohertoask.Hecouldn’tquitelookatherface,notwithherheadnestledunderhischin,sohecontinuedtodrawpatternsonherhipwithhisfingertips.
“What?”
“Thebookyou’rereading.Withthetigeronthecover.German?”
“Dutch.”Shefelthisvoicevibrate,fromhischestandthroughherflesh
“Isitamanualontaxidermy?”
Hepinchedherhip,lightly,andshegiggled.“Wasithardtolearn?Dutch,Imean.”
Heinhaledthescentofherhair,thinkingforamoment.“I’mnotsure.Ialwaysknewit.”
“Wasitweird?Growingupwithtwolanguages?”
“Notreally.ImostlythoughtinDutchuntilwemovedbackhere.”
“Howoldwasthat?”
“Mmm.Nine?”
Itmadehersmile,theideaofchildAdam.“DidyouspeakDutchwithyourparents?”
“No.”Hepaused.“Therewereaupairs,mostly.Lotsofthem.”
Olivepushedherselfuptolookathim,restingherchinonherhandsandherhandsonhischest.Shewatchedhimwatchher,enjoyingtheplayofthestreetlightsonhisstrongface.Hewasalwayshandsome,butnow,inthewitchinghours,hetookherbreathaway.
“Wereyourparentsbusy?”
Hesighed.“Theywereverycommittedtotheirjobs.Notverygoodatmakingtimeforanythingelse.”
Shehummedsoftly,conjuringamentalimage:five-year-oldAdamshowingastick-figuredrawingtotall,distractedparentsindarksuitssurroundedbysecretagentsspeakingintotheirheadsets.Sheknewnothingaboutdiplomats.“Wereyouahappychild?”
“It’s…complicated.Itwasabitofatextbookupbringing.Onlychildoffinanciallyrichbutemotionallypoorparents.IcoulddowhateverIwantedbuthadnoonetodoitwith.”Itsoundedsad.Oliveandhermomhadalwayshadverylittle,butshe’dneverfeltalone.Untilthecancer.
“ExceptHolden?”
Hesmiled.“ExceptHolden,butthatwaslater.IthinkIwasalreadysetinmywaysbythen.I’dlearnedtoentertainmyselfwith…things.Hobbies.Activities.School.AndwhenIwassupposedtobewithpeople,Iwas…antagonisticandunapproachable.”Sherolledhereyesandbitsoftlyintohisskin,makinghimchuckle.“I’vebecomelikemyparents,”hemused.“Exclusivelycommittedtomyjob.”
“That’snottrueatall.You’reverygoodatmakingtimeforothers.Forme.”Shesmiled,buthelookedawayasifembarrassed,andshedecidedtochangethetopic.“TheonlythingIcansayinDutchis‘ikhouvanjou.’?”Herpronunciationmusthavebeenpoor,becauseforalongmomentAdamcouldn’tparseit.Thenhedid,andhiseyeswidened.
“Mycollegeroommatehadaposterwith‘Iloveyou’writtenineverylanguage,”Oliveexplained.“Rightacrossfrommybed.FirstthingI’dseeeverymorningafterwakingup.”
“Andattheendofyearfouryoukneweverylanguage?”
“Endofyearone.Shejoinedasororityasasophomore,whichwasforthebest.”Sheloweredhergaze,nuzzledherfaceinhischest,andthenlookedbackupathim.“It’sprettystupid,ifyouthinkaboutit.”
“Stupid?”
“Whoneedstoknowhowtosay‘Iloveyou’ineverylanguage?Peoplebarelyneeditinone.Sometimesnoteveninone.”Shesmoothedhishairbackwithherfingers.“?‘Where’stherestroom?’ontheotherhand…”
Heleanedintohertouch,asifsoothedbyit.“WaarisdeWC?”
Oliveblinked.
“Thatwouldbe‘Where’stherestroom?’?”heexplained.
“Yeah,Ifigured.Just…yourvoice…”Sheclearedherthroat.She’dbeenbetteroffwithoutknowinghowattractivehesoundedwhenspeakinganotherlanguage.“Anyway.Thatwouldbeausefulposter.”Shebrushedherfingeragainsthisforehead.“What’sthisfrom?”
“Myface?”
“Thelittlescar.Theoneaboveyoureyebrow.”
“Ah.Justastupidfight.”
“Afight?”Shechuckled.“Didoneofyourgradstrytokillyou?”
“Nah,Iwasakid.ThoughIcouldseemygradspouringacetonitrileinmycoffee.”
“Oh,totally.”Shenoddedinagreement.“Ihaveone,too.”Shepulledherhairbehindhershoulderandshowedhimthesmall,half-moon-shapedlinerightnexttohertemple.
“Iknow.”
“Youknow?Aboutmyscar?”
Henodded.
“Whendidyounotice?It’sreallyfaint.”
Heshruggedandbegantracingitwithhisthumb.“What’sitfrom?”
“Idon’tremember.ButmymomsaidthatwhenIwasfourtherewasthishugesnowstorminToronto.Inchesuponinchesofsnowpilingup,themostintenseinfivedecades,youknowthedrill.Andeveryoneknewitwascoming,andshe’dbeenpreparingmefordays,tellingmethatwemightendupstuckathomeforafewdays.IwassoexcitedaboutitthatIranoutsideanddoveheadfirstintothesnow—exceptthatIdiditabouthalfanhourafterthestormhadstarted,andendeduphittingmyheadonastone.”Shelaughedsoftly,andsodidAdam.Ithadbeenoneofhermother’sfavoritestories.AndnowOlivewastheonlypersonwhocouldtellit.Itlivedinher,andnooneelse.“Imissthesnow.Californiaisbeautiful,andIhatethecold.ButIreallymissthesnow.”
Hecontinuedstrokingherscar,afaintsmileonhislips.Andthen,whenthesilencehadsettledaroundthem,hesaid,“Bostonwillhavesnow.Nextyear.”
Herheartthudded.“Yeah.”Exceptthatshewouldn’tbegoingtoBoston,notanymore.She’dhavetofindanotherlab.Ornotworkinalabatall.
Adam’shandtraveledupherneck,closinggentlyaroundhernape.“Therearegoodtrailsforhiking,whereHoldenandIusedtogoingradschool.”Hehesitatedbeforeadding,“I’dlovetotakeyou.”
Sheclosedhereyes,andforasecondsheletherselfimagineit.TheblackofAdam’shairagainstthewhitesnowandthedeepgreensofthetrees.Herbootssinkingintothesoftground.Coldairflowinginsideherlungs,andawarmhandwrappingaroundherown.Shecouldalmostseetheflakes,flutteringbehindhereyelids.Bliss.
“You’llbeinCalifornia,though,”shesaiddistractedly.
Apause.Toolong.
Oliveopenedhereyes.“Adam?”
Herolledhistongueinsidehischeek,asifthinkingcarefullyabouthiswords.“ThereisachancethatI’llbemovingtoBoston.”
Sheblinkedathim,confused.Moving?He’dbemoving?“What?”No.Whatwashesaying?AdamwasnotgoingtoleaveStanford,right?He’dneverbeen—theflightriskhadneverbeenreal.Right?
Excepthe’dneversaidthat.Olivethoughtbacktotheirconversations,and—he’dcomplainedaboutthedepartmentwithholdinghisresearchfunds,aboutthemsuspectingthathewasgoingtoleave,abouttheassumptionspeoplehadmadebecauseofhiscollaborationwithTom,but…he’dneversaidthattheywerewrong.He’dsaidthatthefrozenfundshadbeenearmarkedforresearch—forthecurrentyear.That’swhyhe’dwantedthemreleasedassoonaspossible.
“Harvard,”shewhispered,feelingincrediblystupid.“You’removingtoHarvard.”
“It’snotdecidedyet.”Hishandwasstillwrappedaroundherneck,thumbswipingbackandforthacrossthepulseatthebaseofherthroat.“I’vebeenaskedtointerview,butthere’snoofficialoffer.”
“When?Whenwillyouinterview?”sheasked,butdidn’treallyneedhisanswer.Itwasallstartingtomakesenseinherhead.“Tomorrow.You’renotgoinghome.”He’dneversaidhewould.He’donlytoldherhe’dbeleavingtheconferenceearly.OhGod.Stupid,Olive.Stupid.“You’regoingtoHarvard.Tointerviewfortherestoftheweek.”
“Itwastheonlywaytoavoidmakingthedepartmentevenmoresuspicious,”heexplained.“Theconferencewasagoodcover.”
Shenodded.Itwasn’tgood—itwasperfect.AndGod,shefeltnauseous.Andweak-kneed,evenlyingdown.“They’llofferyoutheposition,”shemurmured,eventhoughhemustalreadyknow.HewasAdamCarlsen,afterall.Andhe’dbeenaskedtointerview.Theywerecourtinghim.
“It’snotcertainyet.”
Itwas.Ofcourseitwas.“WhyHarvard?”sheblurted.“Why—whydoyouwanttoleaveStanford?”Hervoiceshookalittle,eventhoughshedidherbesttosoundcalm.
“MyparentsliveontheEastCoast,andwhileIhavemyissueswiththem,they’regoingtoneedmeclosesoonerorlater.”Hepaused,butOlivecouldtellthathewasn’tdone.Shebracedherself.“ThemainreasonisTom.Andthegrant.Iwanttotransitiontodoingmoresimilarwork,butthatwillonlybepossibleifweshowgoodresults.BeinginthesamedepartmentasTomwouldmakeusinfinitelymoreproductive.Professionally,moving’sano-brainer.”
She’dbracedherself,butitstillfeltlikeapunchinthesternumthatlefthervoidofair,causedherstomachtotwistandherhearttodrop.Tom.ThiswasaboutTom
“Ofcourse,”shewhispered.Ithelpedhervoicesoundfirmer.“Itmakessense.”
“AndIcouldhelpyouacclimatize,too,”heoffered,significantlymorebashful.“Ifyouwantto.ToBoston.ToTom’slab.Showyouaround,ifyou…ifyou’refeelinglonely.Buyyouthatpumpkinstuff.”
Shecouldn’tanswerthat.Shereally—shecouldnotanswerthat.Soshehungherheadforafewmoments,orderedherselftobuckthehellup,andlifteditagaintosmileathim.
Shecoulddothis.Shewoulddothis.“Whattimeareyouleavingtomorrow?”Hewasprobablyjustmovingtoanotherhotel,closertotheHarvardcampus.
“Early.”
“Okay.”Sheleanedforwardandburiedherfaceinhisthroat.Theywerenotgoingtosleep,notonesecond.Itwouldbesuchawaste.“Youdon’thavetowakemeup,whenyouleave.”
“You’renotgoingtocarrymybagsdownstairs?”
Shelaughedintohisneckandburroweddeeperintohim.This,shethought,thiswasgoingtobetheirperfectnight.Andtheirlast.ChapterEighteen
HYPOTHESIS:Aheartwillbreakevenmoreeasilythantheweakestofhydrogenbonds.
Itwasn’tthesunhighintheskythatwokeherup,norhousekeeping—thankstoAdam,likely,andaDoNotDisturbsignonthedoor.WhatgotOliveoutofbed,eventhoughshereally,reallydidn’twanttofacetheday,wasthefranticbuzzingonthenightstand.
Sheburiedherfaceinthepillow,extendedherarmtogropeherwaytoherphone,andthenbroughtittoherear.
“Yeah?”shebleated,onlytofindthatitwasn’tacallbutaverylongstringofnotifications.ItincludedoneemailfromDr.Aslancongratulatingheronhertalkandaskingfortherecording,twotextsfromGreg(Haveuseenthemultichannelpipette?Nvmfoundit.),onefromMalcolm(callmewhenyouseethis),and…
Onehundredandforty-threefromAnh
“Whatthe…?”Sheblinkedatthescreen,unlockedherphone,andstartedscrollingup.Coulditbeonehundredandforty-threereminderstowearsunscreen?
Anh:O
Anh:M
Anh:G
Anh:OMG
Anh:OmgomgOMFG
Anh:Wherethehellareyou
Anh:OLIVE
Anh:OLIVELOUISESMITH
Anh:(JKIknowyoudon’thaveamiddlename)
Anh:(ButifyoudiditwouldbeLouiseFIGHTMEyouknowimright)
Anh:WhereAREU?!?!?
Anh:YourmissingsomuchYOUAREMISSINGSO
Anh:WHERETHEHELLISYOURROOMI’MCOMINGTOYOU
Anh:OLweneedtotalkaboutthisINPERSON!!!!!1!!!!!!!!
Anh:AreyouDEAD?
Anh:YoubetterbeIT’STHEONLYWAYI’LLFORGIVEYOUFORMISSINGTHISOL
Anh:OlisthisreallifeisiTjUSTFANTASYSJFGAJHSGFASF
Anh:OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL
Olivegroaned,rubbedherface,anddecidedtoskiptheother125messagesandtextAnhherroomnumber.Shewentintothebathroomandreachedforhertoothbrush,tryingnottonoticethatthespotwhereAdam’shadbeenwasnowempty.WhateverAnhwasfreakingoutabout,Olivewaslikelygoingtobeunderwhelmed.JeremyhadIrishstep-dancedatthedepartmentsocial,orChasehadtiedacherrystemwithhistongue.Greatentertainmentvalue,forsure,butOlivewouldsurvivemissingeither.
Shedriedherface,thinkingthatshewasdoingagreatjobofnotthinkingofhowsoreshewas;ofhowherbodywasbuzzing,vibratinglikeithadnointentionofstopping,nottwo,notthree,notfivehoursfromnow;ofthefaint,comfortingscentofAdamonherskin.
Yeah.Agreatjob.
Whenshesteppedoutofthebathroom,someonewasabouttoteardownthedoor.SheopenedittofindAnhandMalcolm,whohuggedherandstartedtalkingsoloudlyandrapidly,shecouldbarelymakeoutthewords—thoughshedidcatchtheterms“paradigm-shifting,”“life-altering,”and“watershedmomentinhistory.”
TheychatteredtheirwaytoOlive’sunusedbedandsatdown.Afterafewmoremomentsofoverlappingbabbling,Olivedecidedtointerveneandliftedherhands.
“Holdon.”Shewasalreadycomingdownwithaheadache.Todaywasgoingtobeanightmare,forsomanyreasons.“Whathappened?”
“Theweirdestthing,”Anhsaid.
“Coolest,”Malcolminterrupted.“Shemeanscoolest.”
“Wherewereyou,Ol?Yousaidyouweregoingtojoinus.”
“Here.Ijust,um,wastiredaftermytalk,andfellasleepand—”
“Lame,Ol,verylame,butIhavenotimetoberateyouforyourlamenessbecauseIneedtocatchyouupwithwhathappenedlastnight—”
“Ishouldtellher,”MalcolmgaveAnhascathinglook.“Sinceit’saboutme.”
“Fairenough,”sheconcededwithaflourishinggesture.
Malcolmsmiled,pleased,andclearedhisthroat.“Ol,whohaveIbeenwantingtohavesexwithforthepastseveralyears?”
“Uh…”Shescratchedhertemple.Offthetopofherhead,shecouldnameaboutthirtypeople.“VictoriaBeckham?”
“No.Well,yes.Butno.”
“DavidBeckham?”
“Alsoyes.Butno.”
“TheotherSpiceGirl?TheoneintheAdidastracksuit—”
“No.Okay,yes,butdon’tfocusoncelebrities,focusonreallifepeople—”
“HoldenRodrigues,”Anhblurtedoutimpatiently.“HehookedupwithRodriguesatthedepartmentsocial.Ol,itiswithutmostregretthatImustinformyouthatyouhavebeendethronedandarenolongerthepresidentoftheHotforTeacherclub.Willyouretireinshameoracceptthetreasurerposition?”
Oliveblinked.Severaltimes.Aninordinateamountoftimes.Andthenheardherselfsay,“Wow.”
“Isn’tittheweirdest—”
“Coolest,Anh,”Malcolminterjected.“Coolest.”
“Thingscanbeweirdinacoolway.”
“Right,butthisispure,onehundredpercentcool,zeropercentweird—”
“Holdup,”Oliveinterrupted.Herheadachewasgrowingasizeortwo.“Holdenisnoteveninthedepartment.Whywasheatthesocial?”
“Noidea,butyoubringupanexcellentpoint,whichisthatsincehe’sinpharmacology,wecandowhateverwewantwithouthavingtotellanyone.”
Anhtiltedherhead.“Isthatso?”
“Yep.WecheckedStanford’ssocializationregulationsonourwaytoCVStogetcondoms.Basicallyforeplay.”Heclosedhiseyesinbliss.“WillIeverstepinsideapharmacyagainwithoutgettingaboner?”
Oliveclearedherthroat.“I’msohappyforyou.”Shereallywas.Thoughthisdidfeelabitweird.“Howdidithappen?”
“Ihitonhim.Itwasglorious.”
“Hewasshameless,Ol.Andglorious.Itooksomepictures.”
Malcolmgaspedinoutrage.“Okay,that’sillegalandIcouldsueyou.ButifIlookgoodinthem,dosendthemmyway.”
“Willdo,babe.Nowtellusaboutthesex.”
ThefactthatMalcolm,usuallyveryforwardwiththedetailsofhissexlife,justclosedhiseyesandsmiled,spokevolumes.AnhandOliveexchangedalong,impressedglance.
“Andthat’snoteventhebestpart.Hewantstoseemeagain.Today.Adate.Heusedtheword‘date’unprompted.”Hefellbackonthemattress.“He’ssohot.Andfunny.Andnice.Asweet,filthybeast.”
Malcolmlookedsohappy,Olivecouldn’tresist:sheswallowedthelumpthathadtakenresidenceinherthroatsometimelastnightandjumpedonthebednexttohim,hugginghimastightasshecould.Anhfollowedanddidthesame.
“I’msohappyforyou,Malcolm.”
“Same.”Anh’svoicewasmuffledagainsthishair.
“Iamhappyforme,too.Ihopehe’sserious.YouknowwhenIsaidIwastrainingforgold?Well,Holden’splatinum.”
“YoushouldaskCarlsen,Ol,”Anhsuggested.“IfheknowswhatHolden’sintentionsare.”
Sheprobablywasn’tgoingtohavetheopportunityanytimesoon.“Iwill.”
MalcolmshiftedabitandturnedtoOlive.“Didyoureallyfallasleeplastnight?OrwereyouandCarlsencelebratinginunmentionableways?”
“Celebrating?”
“ItoldHoldenthatIwasworriedaboutyou,andhesaidthatyouguyswereprobablycelebrating.SomethingaboutCarlsen’sfundsbeingreleased?Bytheway,younevertoldmeCarlsenandHoldenwerebestfriends—itseemslikeapieceofinformationyou’dwanttosharewithyourHolden-Rodrigues-fan-club-founder-and-most-vocal-memberroommate—”
“Wait.”Olivesatup,wide-eyed.“Thefundsthatwerereleased,arethey…thefrozenones?TheonesStanfordwaswithholding?”
“Maybe?Holdensaidsomethingaboutthedepartmentchairfinallyeasingup.Itriedtopayattention,buttalkingaboutCarlsenisabitofabuzzkill—nooffense.Plus,IkeptgettinglostinHolden’seyes.”
“Andhisbutt,”Anhadded.
“Andhisbutt.”Malcolmsighedhappily.“Suchanicebutt.Hehaslittledimplesonhislowerback.”
“OhmyGod,sodoesJeremy!Iwanttobitethem.”
“Aren’ttheythecutest?”
Olivestoppedlisteningandstoodfromthebed,grabbingherphonetoreadthedate.
Septembertwenty-ninth.
ItwasSeptembertwenty-ninth.
Shehadknown,ofcourse.Shehadknownforoveramonththattodaywascoming,butinthepastweekshe’dbeentoobusyfrettingabouthertalktofocusonanythingelse,andAdamhadn’tremindedher.Witheverythingthathadhappenedinthepasttwenty-fourhours,itwasnosurprisethathe’dforgottentomentionthathisfundshadbeenreleased.Butstill.Theimplicationsofitwere…
Sheclosedhereyes,shuttight,whileAnhandMalcolm’sexcitedchatteringkeptrisinginvolumeinthebackground.Whensheopenedthem,herphonelitupwithanewnotification.FromAdam.
Adam:Ihaveinterviewmeetingsuntil4:30,butI’mfreeforthenight.Wouldyouliketogetdinner?Thereareseveralgoodrestaurantsnearcampus(thoughashamefullackofconveyorbelts).Ifyou’renotbusy,Icouldshowyouaroundcampus,maybeevenTom’slab.
Adam:Nopressure,ofcourse.
Itwasalmosttwointheafternoon.Olivefeltasthoughherbonesweighedtwiceasmuchasthedaybefore.Shetookadeepbreath,straightenedhershoulders,andbegantypingherreplytoAdam.
Sheknewwhatshehadtodo.
—
SHEKNOCKEDONhisdooratfivesharp,andheansweredjustafewsecondslater,stilldressedinslacksandabutton-downthatmusthavebeenhisinterviewattireand.
Smilingather.Notoneofthosehalf-bakedthingsshe’dgottenusedto,butareal,truesmile.Withdimples,andcrinklesaroundhiseyes,andgenuinehappinesstoseeher.Itshatteredherheartinamillionpiecesbeforeheevenspoke.
“Olive.”
Shestillhadn’tfigureditout,whythewayhesaidhernamewassounique.Therewassomethingpackedbehindit,somethingthatdidn’tquitemakeittothesurface.Asenseofpossibilities.Ofdepth.Olivewonderedifitwasreal,ifshewashallucinatingit,ifhewasaware.Olivewonderedalotofthings,andthentoldherselftostop.Itcouldn’tmatterless,now.
“Comein.”
Itwasanevenfancierhotel,andOliverolledhereyes,wonderingwhypeoplefelttheneedtowastethousandsofdollarsinlodgingsforAdamCarlsenwhenhebarelypaidattentiontohissurroundings.Theyshouldjustgivehimacotanddonatethemoneytoworthycauses.Endangeredwhales.Psoriasis.Olive.
“Ibroughtthis—I’massumingit’syours.”Shetookacoupleofstepstowardhimandheldoutaphonecharger,lettingthecableenddangle,makingsurethatAdamwouldn’tneedtotouchher.
“Itis.Thankyou.”
“Itwasbehindthebedsidelamp,probablywhyyouforgotit.”Shepressedherlipstogether.“Ormaybeit’soldage.Maybedementiahasalreadysetin.Allthoseamyloidplaques.”
Heglaredather,andshetriednottosmile,butshealreadywas,andhewasrollinghiseyesandcallingherasmart-ass,and—
Heretheywere.Doingthis,again.Dammit.
Shelethereyeswanderaway,because—no.Notanymore.“Howwastheinterview?”
“Good.Justdayone,though.”
“Ofhowmany?”
“Toomany.”Hesighed.“IhavegrantmeetingswithTomscheduled,too.”
Tom.Right.Ofcourse.Ofcourse—thiswaswhyshewashere.Toexplaintohimthat—
“Thankyouforcomingout,”hesaid,voicequietandearnest.Asthoughbyhoppingonatrainandagreeingtoseehim,Olivehadgivenhimagreatdealofpleasure.“Ifiguredyoumightbebusywithyourfriends.”
Sheshookherhead.“No.Anh’soutwithJeremy.”
“I’msorry,”hesaid,lookinggenuinelyregretfulforher,andittookOliveseveralmomentstorecallherlie,andhisassumptionthatshewasinlovewithJeremy.Onlyafewweeksearlier,butitalreadyseemedsolongago,whenshehadn’tbeenabletoimagineanythingworsethanAdamdiscoveringherfeelingsforhim.Itsoundedsofoolishaftereverythingthathadhappenedinthepastfewdays.Sheshouldreallycomeclean,butwhatwasthepointnow?LetAdamthinkwhatheliked.Itwouldservehimbetterthanthetruth,afterall.
“AndMalcolmiswith…Holden.”
“Ah,yes.”Henodded,lookingexhausted.
OlivebrieflyfantasizedaboutHoldentextingAdamtheequivalentofwhatOliveandAnhhadbeensubjectedtoforthepasttwohours,andsmiled.“Howbadisit?”
“Bad?”
“ThisthingbetweenMalcolmandHolden?”
“Ah.”Adamleanedhisshoulderagainstthewall,foldinghisarmsacrosshischest.“Ithinkitcanbeverygood.ForHolden,atleast.HereallylikesMalcolm.”
“Didhetellyou?”
“Hehasn’tshutupaboutit.”Herolledhiseyes.“DidyouknowthatHoldenissecretlytwelve?”
Shelaughed.“SoisMalcolm.Hedatesalot,andhe’susuallygoodatmanagingexpectations,butthisthingwithHolden—IhadasandwichforlunchandherandomlyvolunteeredthatHoldenisallergictopeanuts.Itwasn’tevenPBandJ!”
“He’snotallergic,hefakesitbecausehedoesn’tlikenuts.”Hemassagedhistemple.“ThismorningIwokeuptoahaikuaboutMalcolm’selbows.Holdenhadtexteditatthreea.m.”
“Wasitgood?”
Heliftedoneeyebrow,andshelaughedagain.
“Theyare…”
“Theworst.”Adamshookhishead.“ButIthinkHoldenmightneedit.Someonetocareabout,whoalsocaresabouthim.”
“Malcolm,too.I’mjust…concernedthathemightwantmorethanHoldeniswillingtooffer?”
“Believeme,Holdenisveryreadytofiletaxesjointly.”
“Good.I’mglad.”Shesmiled.Andthenfelthersmilefade,justasquickly.“One-sidedrelationshipsarereally…notgood.”Iwouldknow.Andmaybeyouwould,too.
Hestudiedhisownpalm,undoubtedlythinkingaboutthewomanHoldenhadmentioned.“No.No,they’renot.”
Itwasaweirdkindofache,thejealousy.Confusing,unfamiliar,notsomethingshewasusedto.Halfcutting,halfdisorientingandaimless,sodifferentfromthelonelinessshe’dfeltsinceshewasfifteen.Olivemissedhermothereveryday,butwithtimeshe’dbeenabletoharnessherpainandturnitintomotivationforherwork.Intopurpose.Jealousy,though…themiseryofitdidn’tcomewithanygain.Onlyrestlessthoughts,andsomethingsqueezingatherchestwheneverhermindturnedtoAdam.
“Ineedtoaskyousomething,”hesaid.Theseriousnessofhistonemadeherlookup.
“Sure.”
“Thepeopleyouoverheardattheconferenceyesterday…”
Shestiffened.“I’drathernot—”
“Iwon’tforceyoutodoanything.Butwhoevertheywere,Iwant…Ithinkyoushouldconsiderfilingacomplaint.”
OhGod.God.Wasthissomecrueljoke?“Youreallylikecomplaints,don’tyou?”Shelaughedonce,aweakattemptathumor.
“I’mserious,Olive.Andifyoudecideyouwanttodoit,I’llhelpyouhoweverIcan.IcouldcomewithyouandtalkwithSBD’sorganizers,orwecouldgothroughStanford’sTitleIXoffice—”
“No.I…Adam,no.I’mnotgoingtofileacomplaint.”Sherubbedhereyeswiththetipsofherfingers,feelingasthoughthiswasonegiant,painfulprank.ExceptthatAdamhadnoidea.Heactuallywantedtoprotecther,whenallOlivewantedwas…toprotecthim.“I’vealreadydecided.Itwoulddomoreharmthangood.”
“Iknowwhyyouthinkthat.Ifeltthesameduringgradschool,withmymentor.Wealldid.Buttherearewaystodoit.Whoeverthispersonis,they—”
“Adam,I—”Sheranonehanddownherface.“Ineedyoutodropthis.Please.”
Hestudiedher,silentforseveralminutes,andthennodded.“Okay.Ofcourse.”Hepushedawayfromthewallandstraightened,clearlyunhappytoletthesubjectgobutmakinganefforttodoso.“Wouldyouliketogotodinner?There’saMexicanrestaurantnearby.Orsushi—realsushi.Andamovietheater.Maybethereareoneortwomoviesplayinginwhichhorsesdon’tdie.”
“I’mnot…I’mnothungry,actually.”
“Oh.”Hisexpressionwasteasing.Gentle.“Ididn’tknowthatwaspossible.”
“Meneither.”Shechuckledweakly,andthenforcedherselftocontinue.“TodayisSeptembertwenty-ninth.”
Abeat.Adamstudiedher,patientandcurious.“Itis.”
Shebitintoherlowerlip.“Doyouknowwhatthechairhasdecidedaboutyourfunds?”
“Oh,right.Thefundswillbeunfrozen.”Heseemedhappy,hiseyesbrilliantinanalmostboyishway.Itbrokeherheartalittle.“Imeanttotellyoutonightatdinner.”
“That’sgreat.”Shemanagedasmile,smallandpitifulinhermountinganxiety.“That’sreallygreat,Adam.I’mhappyforyou.”
“Musthavebeenyoursunscreenskills.”
“Yeah.”Herlaughsoundedfake.“I’llhavetoputthemonmyCV.Fakegirlfriendwithextensiveexperience.MicrosoftOfficeandexcellentsunscreenskills.Availableimmediately,onlyseriouscallers.”
“Notimmediately.”Helookedathercuriously.Tenderly.“Notforawhile,I’dsay.”
Theweight,theonethathadbeenpressingintoherstomachsinceshe’drealizedwhatneededtobedone,sankheavier.Now—thiswasit.Thecoda.Themomentitallended.Olivecoulddothis,andshewould,andthingswouldbeallthebetterforit.
“IthinkIshouldbe.”Sheswallowed,anditwaslikeaciddownherthroat.“Available.”Shescannedhisface,noticedhisconfusion,andclenchedherfistinthehemofhersweater.“Wegaveourselvesadeadline,Adam.Andweaccomplishedeverythingwewanted.JeremyandAnharesolid—IdoubttheyevenrememberthatJeremyandIusedtodate.Andyourfundshavebeenreleased,whichisamazing.Thetruthis…”
Hereyesstung.Sheclosedthemtight,managingtopushthetearsback.Barely.
Thetruth,Adam,isthatyourfriend,yourcollaborator,apersonyouclearlyloveandarecloseto,ishorridanddespicable.Hetoldmethingsthatmightbetruths,ormaybelies—Idon’tknow.I’mnotsure.I’mnotsureofanythinganymore,andIwouldlovetoaskyou,sobadly.ButI’mterrifiedthathemightberight,andthatyouwon’tbelieveme.AndI’mevenmoreterrifiedthatyouwillbelieveme,andthatwhatItellyouwillforceyoutogiveupsomethingthatisveryimportanttoyou:yourfriendshipandyourworkwithhim.I’mterrifiedofeverything,asyoucansee.So,insteadoftellingyouthattruth,Iwilltellyouanothertruth.Atruththat,Ithink,willbebestforyou.Atruththatwilltakemeoutoftheequation,butwillmakeitsresultbetter.BecauseI’mstartingtowonderifthisiswhatbeinginloveis.Beingokaywithrippingyourselftoshreds,sotheotherpersoncanstaywhole
Sheinhaleddeeply.“Thetruthis,wedidgreat.Andit’stimewecallitquits.”
Shecouldtellfromhowhislipsparted,fromhisdisorientedeyessearchinghers,thathewasn’tyetparsingwhatshe’dsaid.“Idon’tthinkwe’llneedtoexplicitlytellanyone,”shecontinued.“Peoplewon’tseeustogether,andafterawhilethey’llthinkthat…thatitdidn’tworkout.Thatwebrokeup.Andmaybeyou…”Thiswasthehardestpart.Buthedeservedtohearit.He’dtoldherthesame,afterall,whenhe’dbelievedherinlovewithJeremy.“Iwishyouallthebest,Adam.AtHarvard,and…withyourrealgirlfriend.Whoeveryoumaychoose.Icannotimagineanyonenotreciprocatingyourfeelings.”
Shecouldpinpointtheexactmomentitdawnedonhim.Shecouldteaseapartthefeelingsstrugglinginhisface—thesurprise,theconfusion,ahintofstubbornness,asplitsecondofvulnerabilitythatallmeltedinablank,emptyexpression.Thenshecouldseehisthroatwork.
“Right,”hesaid.“Right.”Hewasstaringathisshoes,absolutelymotionless.Slowlyacceptingherwords.
Olivetookastepbackandrockedonherheels.Outside,aniPhonerang,andafewsecondslatersomeoneburstintolaughter.Normalnoises,onanormalday.Normal,allofthis.
“It’sforthebest,”shesaid,becausethesilencebetweenthem—that,shejustcouldn’tstand.“It’swhatweagreedon.”
“Whateveryouwant.”Hisvoicewashoarse,andheseemed…absent.Retreatedtosomeplaceinsidehimself.“Whateveryouneed.”
“Ican’tthankyouenoughforeverythingyou’vedoneforme.NotjustaboutAnh.Whenwemet,Ifeltsoalone,and…”Foramomentshecouldn’tcontinue.“Thankyouforallthepumpkinspice,andforthatWesternblot,andforhidingyourtaxidermiedsquirrelswhenIvisited,and…”
Shecouldn’tbringherselftogoonanymore,notwithoutchokingonherwords.Thestinginginhereyeswasburningnow,threateningtospillover,soshenoddedonce,decisively,aperiodtothisdanglingsentencewithnoendinsight.
Andthatwouldhavebeenit.Itwouldhavesurelybeentheend.Theywouldhaveleftitatthat,ifOlivehadn’tpassedhimonherwaytothedoor.Ifhehadn’treachedoutandstoppedherwithahandonherwrist.Ifhehadn’timmediatelypulledthathandbackandstaredatitwithanappalledexpression,asifshockedthathe’ddaredtotouchherwithoutaskingforpermissionfirst.
Ifhehadn’tsaid,“Olive.Ifyoueverneedanything,anythingatall.Anything.Whenever.Youcancometome.”Hisjawworked,liketherewereotherwords,wordshewaskeepinginside.“Iwantyoutocometome.”
Shealmostdidn’tregisterwipingwetnessoffhercheekwiththebackofherhand,ormovingclosertohim.Itwashisscentthatjoltedheralert—soapandsomethingdark,subtlebutohsofamiliar.Herbrainhadhimmappedout,storedawayacrossallsenses.Eyestohisalmostsmile,handstohisskin,thesmellofhiminhernostrils.Shedidn’tevenneedtothinkaboutwhattodo,justpushuponhertoes,pressherfingersagainsthisbiceps,andkisshimgentlyonthecheek.Hisskinwassoftandwarmandalittleprickly;unexpected,butnotunwelcome.
Anaptgoodbye,shethought.Appropriate.Acceptable.
Andsowashishandcominguptoherlowerback,pullingherintohisbodyandstoppingherfromslidingbackonherheels,orthewayhisheadturned,untilherlipswerenotbrushingtheskinofhischeekanymore.Herbreathhitched,achuffagainstthecornerofhismouth,andforafewprecioussecondsshejustsavoredit,thedeeppleasurethatranthroughthembothastheyclosedtheireyesandletthemselvesjustbe,here,witheachother.
Quiet.Still.Onelastmoment.
ThenOliveopenedhermouthandturnedherhead,breathingagainsthislips,“Please.”
Adamgroaneddeepinhischest.Butshewastheonewhoclosedthespacebetweenthem,whodeepenedthekiss,whocombedherhandsintohishair,shortnailsscrapingagainsthisscalp.Shewastheonewhopulledhimevencloser,andhewastheonewhopushedherbackagainstthewallandmoanedintohermouth.
Itwasfrightening.Frightening,howgoodthisfelt.Howeasyitwouldbetoneverstop.Tolettimestretchandunbend,forgetabouteverythingelse,andsimplystayinthismomentforever.
ButAdampulledbackfirst,holdinghereyesashetriedtocollecthimself
“Itwasgood,wasn’tit?”Oliveasked,withasmall,wistfulsmile.
Shewasn’therselfsurewhatshewasreferringto.Maybehisarmsaroundher.Maybethislastkiss.Maybeeverythingelse.Thesunscreen,hisridiculousanswersonhisfavoritecolor,thequietconversationslateatnight…allofithadbeensoverygood.
“Itwas.”Adam’svoicesoundedtoodeeptobehisown.Whenhepressedhislipsagainstherforeheadonelasttime,shefeltherloveforhimswellfullerthanariverinflood.
“IthinkIshouldleave,”shetoldhimgently,withoutlookingathim.Helethergowordlessly,soshedid.
Whensheheardtheclickofthedoorclosingbehindher,itwaslikefallingfromagreatheight.ChapterNineteen
HYPOTHESIS:Whenindoubt,askingafriendwillsavemyass.
Olivespentthefollowingdayinthehotel,sleeping,crying,anddoingtheverythingthathadgottenherintothismesstobeginwith:lying.ShetoldMalcolmandAnhthatshe’dbebusywithfriendsfromcollegefortheentireday,pulledtheblackoutcurtainstogether,andthenburiedherselfinherbed.Which,technically,wasAdam’sbed.
Shedidn’tletherselfthinkaboutthesituationtoomuch.Somethinginsideher—herheart,verypossibly—wasbrokeninseverallargepieces,notshatteredasmuchasneatlysnappedinhalf,andtheninhalfagain.Allshecoulddowassitdownamidthedebrisofherfeelingsandwallow.Sleepingthroughmostofthedayhelpeddullthepainagreatdeal.Numb,shewasrapidlystartingtorealize,wasgood.
Sheliedthedayafter,too.Feignedalast-minuterequestfromDr.AslanwhenaskedtojoinherfriendsattheconferenceoronexcursionsaroundBoston,andthentookadeep,fortifyingbreath.Shedrewthecurtainsopen,forcedherbloodtostartflowingagain(withfiftycrunches,fiftyjumpingjacks,andfiftypush-ups,thoughshecheatedonthelastbygoingonherknees),thenshoweredandbrushedherteethforthefirsttimeinthirty-sixhours.
Itwasn’teasy.SeeingAdam’sBiologyNinjaT-shirtinthemirrormadehertearup,butsheremindedherselfthatshe’dmadeherchoice.She’ddecidedtoputAdam’swell-beingfirst,andshedidn’tregretit.Butshe’dbedamnedifsheletTomFuckingBentontakecreditforaprojectshehadworkedonforyears.Aprojectthatmeanttheworldtoher.Maybeherlifewasnothingbutalittlesobstory,butitwasherlittlesobstory.
Herheartmaybebroken,butherbrainwasdoingjustfine.
Adamhadsaidthatthereasonmostprofessorshadn’tbotheredtoreply,perhapsevenreadheremail,wasthatshewasastudent.Soshefollowedhisadvice:sheemailedDr.AslanandaskedhertointroduceOlivetoalltheresearchersshe’dpreviouslycontacted,plusthetwopeoplewho’dbeenonherpanelandhadshowninterestinherwork.Dr.Aslanwasclosetoretirement,andhadmoreorlessgivenuponproducingscience,butshewasstillafullprofessoratStanford.Ithadtomeansomething.
ThenOlivegoogledextensivelyaboutresearchethics,plagiarism,andtheftofideas.Theissuewasalittlemurky,giventhatOlivehad—quiterecklessly,shenowrealized—describedallherprotocolsindetailinherreportforTom.Butonceshebeganexaminingthesituationwithaclearerhead,shedecidedthatitwasn’tasdireasshe’dinitiallythought.Thereportshe’dwritten,afterall,waswell-structuredandthorough.Withafewtweaksshecouldturnitintoascholarlypublication.Itwouldhopefullygoquicklythroughpeerreview,andthefindingswouldbecreditedunderhername.
Whatshedecidedtofocusonwasthatdespiteallhisinsultsandrudecomments,Tom,oneofthetopcancerresearchersintheUnitedStates,hadexpressedinterestinstealingherresearchideas.Shetookitasavery,verybackhandedcompliment.
ShespentthenextseveralhourscarefullyavoidingthoughtsofAdamandinsteadresearchingotherpotentialscientistswhomightbeabletosupportherthefollowingyear.Itwasalongshot,butshehadtotry.Whensomeoneknockedonherdoor,itwasalreadythemiddleoftheafternoon,andshe’daddedthreenewnamestoherlist.Shequicklyputonclothestoanswer,expectinghousekeeping.WhenAnhandMalcolmstormedinside,shecursedherselffornevercheckingthepeephole.Shetrulydeservedtobeaxedbyaserialkiller.
“Okay,”Anhsaid,throwingherselfontoOlive’sstill-madebed,“youhavetwosentencestoconvincemethatIshouldn’tbemadatyouforforgettingtoaskhowmyoutreacheventwent.”
“Shit!”Olivecoveredhermouthwithherhand.“Iamsosorry.Howdiditgo?”
“Perfect.”Anh’seyeswereshinywithhappiness.“Wehadsuchgreatattendanceandeveryonelovedit.We’rethinkingofmakingthisayearlything,andformallyestablishinganorganization.Peer-to-peermentoring!Hearthis:everygradisassignedtwoundergrads.Oncetheygetintogradschool,theymentortwomoreundergradseach.Andintenyearswetakeovertheentiredamnworld.”
Olivelookedather,speechless.“Thisis…you’reamazing.”
“Iam,aren’tI?Okay,now’syourturntogrovel.Aaand,go.”
Oliveopenedhermouth,butforalongtimenothingreallycameout.“Idon’treallyhaveanexcuse.Iwasjustbusywith…somethingDr.Aslanaskedmetofinish.”
“Thisisridiculous.YouareinBoston.YoushouldbeoutthereinanIrishpubpretendingyoulovetheRedSoxandeatingDunkies,notdoingwork.Foryourboss.”
“We’retechnicallyhereforaworkconference,”Olivepointedout.
“Conferenceshmonference.”MalcolmjoinedAnhonthebed.
“Canwepleasegoout,thethreeofus?”Anhbegged.“Let’sdotheFreedomTrail.Withicecream.Andbeer.”
“Where’sJeremy?”
“Presentinghisposter.AndI’mbored.”Anh’sgrinwasimpish.
Olivewasnotinthemoodforsocializing,orbeer,orfreedomtrails,butatsomepointshewasgoingtohavetolearntoproductivelynavigatesocietywithabrokenheart.
Shesmiledandsaid,“Letmecheckmyemail,andthenwecango.”Shehad,inexplicably,accumulatedaboutfifteenmessagesinthethirtyminutessinceshe’dlastchecked,onlyoneofwhichwasn’tspam.
Today,3:11p.m.
FROM:Aysegul-Aslan@stanford.edu
TO:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Reachingouttoresearchersforpancreaticcancerproject
Olive,
I’dbehappytointroduceyouandaskscholarsaboutopportunitiesforyouintheirlabs.Iagreethattheymightbemorewelcomingiftheemailcomesfromme.Sendmeyourlist,please.
BTW,youstillhaven’tsenttherecordingofyourtalk.Icannotwaittolistentoit!
Warmly,
AysegulAslan,Ph.D.
Olivedidsomementalcalculationstodeterminewhetheritwaspolitetosendthelistandnottherecording(probablynot),sighed,andstartedAirDroppingthefiletoherlaptop.Whensherealizedthatitwasseveralhourslong,becauseshe’dforgottentostopherphoneafterhertalk,hersighmorphedintoagroan.“This’lltakeawhile,guys.IhavetosendDr.Aslananaudiofile,andI’llneedtoedititbeforehand.”
“Fine,”Anhhuffed.“Malcolm,wouldyouliketoentertainuswithtalesofyourdatewithHolden?”
“Okay,first,heworethecutestbaby-bluebutton-down.”
“Baby-blue?”
“Shutyourmouthwiththatskepticaltone.Thenhegotmeoneflower.”
“Wheredidhegettheflower?”
“Notsure.”
OlivepokedaroundtheMP3,tryingtofigureoutwheretocutthefile.Theendingwasjustminuteafterminuteofsilence,fromwhenshe’dleftherphoneinthehotelroom.“Maybehestoleitfromthebuffet?”shesaidabsentmindedly.“IthinkIsawpinkcarnationsdownstairs.”
“Wasitapinkcarnation?”
“Maybe.”
Anhcackled.“Andtheysayromanceisdead.”
“Shutup.Then,towardthebeginningofthedate,somethinghappened.Somethingcatastrophicthatcouldonlyeverhappentome,giventhatmyentiredamnfamilyisobsessedwithscienceand,therefore,attendsalltheconferences.Allofthem.”
“No.Tellmeyoudidn’t—”
“Yes.Whenwegottotherestaurant,wefoundmymother,father,uncle,andgrandfather.Whoinsistedonusjoiningthem.WhichmeansthatmyfirstdatewithHoldenwasafreakingThanksgivingdinner.”
OlivelookedupfromherlaptopandsharedanappalledlookwithAnh.“Howbadwasit?”
“Funnythatyouask,becauseitiswiththeutmostdisconcertthatImustsay:itwasfuckingspectacular.Theylovedhim—becausehe’sabadassscientistandbecauseheissmootherthananorganicsmoothie—andinthespanoftwohourshesomehowmanagedtohelpmeconvincemyparentsthatmyplanofbeinganindustryscientistisbomb.I’mnotkidding—thismorningmymothercalledandwasallabouthowIhavegrownasapersonandamfinallyincontrolofmyfutureandhowmydatingchoicesreflectthat.ShesaidthatDadagrees.Canyoubelieveit?Anyway.AfterdinnerwegoticecreamandthenwewentbacktoHolden’shotelroomandsixty-ninedliketheworldwasabouttoend—”
“Agirllikeyou.Whofiguredoutsoearlyinheracademiccareerthatfuckingwell-known,successfulscholarsishowtogetahead.YoufuckedAdam,didn’tyou?Webothknowyou’regoingtofuckmeforthesamereas—”
Oliveslammedthespacebar,immediatelystoppingthereplayoftherecording.Herheartwaspoundinginherchest—firstfromconfusion,thenfromtherealizationofwhatshe’dinadvertentlyrecorded,andfinallyfromangerathearingthewordsagain.Shebroughtatremblinghandtoherlips,tryingtopurgeTom’svoicefromherhead.Shehadspenttwodaystryingtorecover,andnow—
“Thehellwasthat?”Malcolmasked
“Ol?”Anh’stentativevoiceremindedherthatshewasnotaloneintheroom.Shelookedupandfoundthatherfriendshadsatup.Theywerestaringather,wide-eyedwithconcernandshock.
Oliveshookherhead.Shedidn’twantto—no,shedidn’thavethestrengthtoexplain.“Nothing.Just…”
“Irecognizeit,”Anhsaid,comingtositnexttoher.“Irecognizethevoice.Fromthattalkwewentto.”Shepaused,searchingOlive’seyes.“ThatwasTomBenton,wasn’tit?”
“Whatthe—”Malcolmstood.Therewasrealalarmbloominginhisvoice.Anger,too.“Ol,whydoyouhavearecordingofTomBentonsayingshitlikethat?Whathappened?”
Olivelookedupathim,thenatAnh,thenathimagain.Theywerestudyingherwithworried,incredulousexpressions.AnhmusthavetakenOlive’shandatsomepoint.Shetoldherselfthatsheneededtobestrong,tobepragmatic,tobenumb,but…
“Ijust…”
Shetried.Shereallydidtry.Butherfacecrumpled,andthelastfewdayscrashedandburnedintoher.Oliveleanedforward,buriedherheadinAnh’slap,andletherselfburstintotears.
—
OLIVEHADNOintentionofhearingTomspouthispoisonagain,soshegaveherfriendsherheadphones,wenttothebathroom,andletthefaucetrununtilthey’dfinishedlistening.Ittooklessthantenminutes,butshesobbedthroughout.WhenMalcolmandAnhcamein,theysatnexttoheronthefloor.Anhwascrying,too,fat,angrydropsslidingdownhercheeks.
Atleastthere’sabathtubwecanflood,Olivethoughtwhilehandingherthetoiletpaperrollshe’dbeenhoarding.
“He’sthemostdisgusting,detestable,shameful,disgracefulhumanbeing,”Malcolmsaid.“Ihopehehasexplosivediarrheaaswespeak.Ihopehegetsgenitalwarts.Ihopehehastolivesaddledbythelargest,mostpainfulhemorrhoidintheuniverse.Ihopehe—”
Anhinterruptedhim.“DoesAdamknow?”
Oliveshookherhead.
“Youneedtotellhim.AndthenthetwoofyouneedtoreportBenton’sassandgethimkickedoutofacademia.”
“No,I…Ican’t.”
“Ol,listentome.WhatTomsaidissexualharassment.ThereisnowayAdamwouldn’tbelieveyou—nottomentionthatyouhavearecording.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Ofcourseitdoes!”
Olivewipedhercheekswithherpalms.“IfItellAdam,he’snotgoingtowanttocollaboratewithTomanymore,andtheprojectthey’reworkingonistooimportanttohim.NottomentionthathewantstomovetoHarvardnextyear,and—”
Anhsnorted.“No,hedoesn’t.”
“Yes.Hetoldmethat—”
“Ol,I’veseenthewayhelooksatyou.He’sheadoverfeet.Thereisnowayhe’llwanttomovetoBostonifyou’renotgoing—andI’msureashellnotlettingyougoworkforthisdipshit…What?”HereyesdartedfromOlivetoMalcolm,whowereexchangingalongglance.“Whyareyouguyslookingateachotherlikethat?Andwhyareyoumakingyourinside-jokefaces?”
Malcolmsighed,pinchingthebridgeofhisnose.“OkayAnh,listencarefully.Andbeforeyouask—no,I’mnotmakingthisup.Thisisreallife.”Hetookadeepbreathbeforestarting.“CarlsenandOliveneverdated.Theypretendedsoyou’dbelievethatOlivewasn’tintoJeremyanymore—whichsheneverwasinthefirstplace.NotsurewhatCarlsenwasgettingoutofthearrangement,Iforgottoask.Buthalfwaythroughthefake-datingOlivecaughtfeelingsforCarlsen,proceededtolietohimaboutit,andpretendedtobeinlovewithsomeoneelse.Butthen…”HegaveOliveasideglance.“Well.Ididn’twanttobenosy,butjudgingfromthefactthattheotherdayonlyonebedinthishotelroomwasunmade,I’mprettysuretherehavebeensome…recentdevelopments.”
Itwassopainfullyaccurate,Olivehadtoburyherfaceinherknees.JustintimetohearAnhsay,“Thisisnotreallife.”
“Itis.”
“Nuh-uh.ThisisaHallmarkmovie.Orapoorlywrittenyoungadultnovel.Thatwillnotsellwell.Olive,tellMalcolmtokeephisdayjob,he’llnevermakeitasawriter.”
Olivemadeherselflookup,andAnh’sfrownwasthedeepestshe’deverseen.“It’strue,Anh.IamsosorryIliedtoyou.Ididn’twantto,but—”
“Youfake-datedAdamCarlsen?”
Olivenodded.
“God,Iknewthatkisswasweird.”
Sheliftedherhandsdefensively.“Anh,I’msorry—”
“Youfake-datedAdam.Fucking.Carlsen?”
“Itseemedlikeagoodidea,and—”
“ButIsawyoukisshim!Inthebiologybuildingparkinglot!”
“Onlybecauseyouforcedmeto—”
“Butyousatonhislap!”
“Onceagain,youforcedmeto—notthecoolestmomentinourfriendship,bytheway—”
“Butyouputsunscreenonhim!Infrontofatleastonehundredpeople!”
“Onlybecausesomeoneputmeuptoit.Doyousenseapattern?”
Anhshookherhead,asifsuddenlyappalledatherownactions.“Ijust—youguyslookedsogoodtogether!ItwassoobviousfromthewayAdamstaredatyouthathewaswildaboutyou.Andtheopposite—youlookedathimlikehewastheonlyguyonearthandthen—italwaysseemedlikeyouwereforcingyourselftoholdbackonhim,andIwantedyoutoknowthatyoucouldexpressyourfeelingsifyouwantedto—IreallythoughtIwashelpingyou,and—youfake-datedAdamCarlsen?”
Olivesighed.“Listen,I’msorryIlied.Please,don’thateme,I—”
“Idon’thateyou.”
Oh?“You…don’t?”
“Ofcoursenot.”Anhwasindignant.“Ilow-keyhatemyselfforforcingyoutodoallthatstuff.Well,maybenot‘hate,’butI’dwritemyselfastronglywordedemail.AndI’mincrediblyflatteredthatyou’ddosomethinglikethatforme.Imean,itwasmisguided,andridiculous,andneedlesslyconvoluted,andyou’realiving,breathing,rom-comtropemachine,and…God,Ol,you’resuchanidiot.Butaverylovableidiot,andmyidiot.”Sheshookherhead,incredulous,butsqueezedherhandonOlive’skneeandglancedatMalcolm.“Wait.IsyourthingwithRodriguesreal?Orareyoutwopretendingtobonesoajudgewillgivehimcustodyofhisrecentlyorphanedgodchildren?”
“Veryreal.”Malcolm’ssmilewassmug.“Wefucklikebunnies.”
“Fantastic.Well,Ol,we’lltalkaboutthismore.Alotmore.We’llprobablyonlytalkaboutthegreatestfake-datingeventofthetwenty-firstcenturyformillenniatocome,butfornowweshouldfocusonTom,and…itchangesnothing,whetheryouandAdamaretogether.Istillthinkhe’dwanttoknow.I’dwanttoknow.Ol,ifthesituationwereinverted,ifyouweretheonewhostoodtolosesomethingandAdamhadbeensexuallyharassed—”
“Ihaven’t.”
“Yes,Ol,youhave.”Anh’seyeswereearnest,burningintohers,anditoccurredtoOlivethen,theenormityofwhathadhappened.OfwhatTomhaddone.
Shetookashudderingbreath.“Ifthesituationwereinverted,Iwouldwanttoknow.Butit’sdifferent.”
“Whyisitdifferent?”
BecauseI’minlovewithAdam.Andhe’snotinlovewithme.Olivemassagedhertemples,tryingtothinkagainstthemountingheadache.“Idon’twanttotakesomethinghelovesawayfromhim.AdamrespectsandadmiresTom,andIknowTom’shadAdam’sbackinthepast.Maybehe’sbetteroffnotknowing.”
“IfonlytherewereawaytofindoutwhatAdamwouldprefer,”Malcolmsaid.
Olivesniffledinresponse.“Yeah.”
“IfonlythereweresomeonewhoknowsAdamverywellthatwemightask,”Malcolmsaid,louderthistime.
“Yeah,”Anhrepeated,“thatwouldbegreat.Butthereisn’t,so—”
“IfonlythereweresomeoneinthisroomwhorecentlystarteddatingAdam’sclosestfriendofnearlythreedecades,”Malcolmnear-yelled,fullofpassive-aggressiveindignity,andAnhandOliveexchangedawide-eyedlook.
“Holden!”
“YoucouldaskHoldenforadvice!”
Malcolmhuffed.“Youtwocanbesosmartandyetsoslow.”
Olivesuddenlyrecalledsomething.“HoldenhatesTom.”
“Uh?Whydoeshehatehim?”
“Idon’tknow.”Sheshrugged.“AdamwroteitoffassomeoddpersonalityquirkofHolden’s,but—”
“Hey.Myman’spersonalityisperfect.”
“Maybethereissomethingelse?”
Anhnoddedenergetically.“Malcolm,wherecanOlivefindHoldenrightthisminute?”
“Idon’tknow.But”—hetappedhisphonewithasmugsmile—“Ihappentohavehisnumberrighthere.”
—
HOLDEN(ORHOLDENBubbleButt,asMalcolmhadsavedhiminhiscontacts)wasjustfinishinguphistalk.Olivecaughtthelastfiveminutesofit—somethingaboutcrystallographysheneitherunderstoodnorwantedto—andwastotallyunsurprisedbyhowsmoothandcharismaticaspeakerhewas.Sheapproachedhimonthepodiumoncehewasdoneansweringquestions,andhesmiledwhenhenoticedherwalkupthestairs,seeminggenuinelyhappytoseeher.
“Olive.Mynewroommate-in-law!”
“Right.Yes.Um,greattalk.”Sheorderedherselftostopwringingherhands.“Iwantedtoaskyouaquestion…”
“Isitaboutthenucleicacidsinthefourthslide?BecauseItotallyBS’dmywaythroughthem.MyPh.D.studentmadethefigure,andshe’swaysmarterthanme.”
“No.ThequestionisaboutAdam—”
Holden’sexpressionbrightened.
“Well,actually,it’saboutTomBenton.”
Itdarkenedjustasquickly.“WhataboutTom?”
Right.WhataboutTom,precisely?Olivewasn’tquitesurehowtoapproachthetopic.Shewasn’tevensurewhatshemeanttoask.Sure,shecouldhavebarfedupherentirelifestoryforHoldenandbeggedhimtofixthismessforher,butsomehowitdidn’tseemlikeagoodidea.Sherackedherbrainforamoment,andthenlandedon:“DidyouknowthatAdamisthinkingaboutmovingtoBoston?”
“Yeah.”Holdenrolledhiseyesandpointedatthetallwindows.Therewerelarge,ominouscloudsthreateningtoexplodewithtorrentialrain.Thewind,alreadychillyinSeptember,wasshakingalonelyhickorytree.“Whowouldn’twanttomoveherefromCalifornia?”hescoffed.
Olivelikedtheideaofseasons,butshekeptthethoughttoherself.“Doyouthink…Doyouthinkhe’dbehappyhere?”
Holdenstudiedherintenselyforaminute.“Youknow,youwerealreadymyfavoritegirlfriendofAdam’s—notthatthereweremany;you’retheonlywomanwhocouldcompetewithcomputationalmodelinginaboutadecade—butthatquestionwinsyoualifelongnumber-oneplaque.”Heponderedthematterforaminute.“IthinkAdamcouldbehappyhere—inhisownway,ofcourse.Broodingly,unenthusiasticallyhappy.Butyes,happy.Providedthatyouarehere,too.”
Olivehadtostopherselffromsnorting.
“ProvidedthatTombehaves.”
“Whydoyousaythat?AboutTom?I…Idon’tmeantopry,butyoutoldmetowatchmybackwithhiminStanford.You…don’tlikehim?”
Hesighed.“It’snotthatIdon’tlikehim—eventhoughIdon’t.It’smorethatIdon’ttrusthim.”
“Why,though?AdamtoldmeaboutthethingsTomdidforhimwhenyouradviserwasabusive.”
“See,thisiswhereabigpartofmymistrustcomesin.”Holdenworriedathislowerlip,asifdecidingwhetherandhowtocontinue.“DidTomintercedetosaveAdam’sassonnumerousoccasions?Sure.It’sundeniable.Buthowdidthoseoccasionscomeabouttobeginwith?Ouradviserwasapieceofwork,buthewasnotamicromanager.Bythetimewejoinedhislab,hewastoobusybeingafamousassholetoknowwhatwasgoingoninday-to-daylabbusiness.WhichiswhyhehadpostdocslikeTommentorgradstudentslikeAdamandmeanddefactorunthelab.Andyet,heknewabouteverysingleminorscrewupofAdam’s.Everyfewweekshe’dcomein,tellAdamthathewasafailureofahumanbeingforminorstufflikeswitchingreagentsordroppingabeaker,andthenTom,ouradviser’smost-trustedpostdoc,wouldpubliclyinterveneonbehalfofAdamandsavetheday.Thepatternwaseerilyspecific,andonlyforAdam—whowasbyfarthemostpromisingstudentinourprogram.Destinedforgreatnessandallthat.Initially,itmademeabitsuspiciousthatTomwaspurposefullysabotagingAdam.ButinrecentyearsI’vebeenwonderingifwhathewantedwassomethingelsealtogether….”
“DidyoutellAdam?”
“Yes.ButIhadnoproof,andAdam…well,youknowhim.Heisstubbornly,unwaveringlyloyal,andhewasmorethanalittlegratefultoTom.”Heshrugged.“Theyendedupbecomingbros,andthey’vebeenclosefriendseversince.”
“Diditbotheryou?”
“Notperse,no.IrealizeImightsoundjealousoftheirfriendship,butthetruthisthatAdamhasalwaysbeentoofocusedandsingle-mindedtohavemanyfriends.I’dhavebeenhappyforhim,truly.ButTom…”
Olivenodded.Yeah.Tom.“Whywouldhedothis?This…weirdvendettaagainstAdam?”
Holdensighed.“ThisiswhyAdamdismissedmyconcerns.Therereallyisn’tanobviousreason.Thetruthis,Idon’tthinkTomhatesAdam.Oratleast,Idon’tthinkit’sthatsimple.ButIdobelievethatTomissmart,andvery,verycunning.Thatthereprobablyissomejealousyinvolved,somedesiretotakeadvantageofAdam,tomaybecontrolorhavepoweroverhim.Adamtendstodownplayhisaccomplishments,buthe’soneofthebestscientistsofourgeneration.Havinginfluenceoverhim…that’saprivilege,andnosmallfeat.”
“Yeah.”Shenoddedagain.Thequestion,theoneshe’dcomeheretoask,wasstartingtotakeshapeinhermind.“Knowingallofthis.KnowinghowimportantTomistoAdam,ifyouhadproofof…ofhowTomreallyis,wouldyoushowAdam?”
Tohiscredit,Holdendidn’taskwhattheproofwas,orproofofwhat.HescannedOlive’sfacewithanintent,thoughtfulexpression,andwhenhespoke,hiswordswerecareful.
“Ican’tanswerthatforyou.Idon’tthinkIshould.”Hedrummedhisfingersonthepodium,asifdeepinthought.“ButIdowanttotellyouthreethings.Thefirstyouprobablyalreadyknow:Adamisfirstandforemostascientist.SoamI,andsoareyou.Andgoodscienceonlyhappenswhenwedrawconclusionsbasedonallavailableevidence—notjusttheonesthatareeasy,orthatconfirmourhypotheses.Wouldn’tyouagree?”
Olivenodded,andhecontinued.
“Thesecondissomethingyoumayormaynotbeawareof,becauseithastodowithpoliticsandacademia,whicharenoteasytofullygraspuntilyoufindyourselfsittingthroughfive-hour-longfacultymeetingseveryotherweek.Buthere’sthedeal:thecollaborationbetweenAdamandTombenefitsTommorethanitdoesAdam.WhichiswhyAdamisthemaininvestigatorofthegranttheywereawarded.Tomis…well,replaceable.Don’tgetmewrong,he’saverygoodscientist,butmostofhisfameisduetohimhavingbeenourformeradviser’sbestandbrightest.Heinheritedalabthatwasanalreadywell-oiledmachineandkeptitgoing.Adamcreatedhisownresearchlinefromthegroundup,and…Ithinkhetendstoforgethowgoodheis.Whichisprobablyforthebest,becausehe’salreadyprettyinsufferable.”Hehuffed.“Canyouimagineifhehadabigego,too?”
Olivelaughedatthat,andthesoundcameoutoddlywet.Whensheraisedherhandstohercheeks,shewasnotsurprisedtofindthemglistening.Apparently,weepingsilentlywashernewbaselinestate.
“Thelastthing,”Holdencontinued,unbotheredbythewaterworks,“issomethingyouprobablydonotknow.”Hepaused.“Adamhasbeenrecruitedbyalotofinstitutionsinthepast.Alot.He’sbeenofferedmoney,prestigiouspositions,unlimitedaccesstofacilitiesandequipment.ThatincludesHarvard—thisyearwasnottheirfirstattemptatbringinghimin.Butit’sthefirsttimehe’sagreedtointerview.AndheonlyagreedafteryoudecidedtogoworkinTom’slab.”Hegaveheragentlesmile,andthenlookedaway,beginningtocollecthisthingsandslidetheminsidehisbackpack.“Makeofthatwhatyouwill,Olive.”ChapterTwenty
HYPOTHESIS:Peoplewhocrossmewillcometoregretit.
Shehadtolie.
Again
Itwasbecomingabitofahabit,andwhileshespunanelaboratetaleforthesecretaryofHarvard’sbiologydepartment,oneinwhichshewasagradstudentofDr.Carlsen’swhoneededtotrackhimdownimmediatelytorelayacrucialmessageinperson,shesworetoherselfthatthiswouldbethelasttime.Itwastoostressful.Toodifficult.Notworththestrainonhercardiovascularandpsychophysicalhealth.
Plus,shesuckedatit.Thedepartmentsecretarydidn’tlooklikeshebelievedawordofwhatOlivesaid,butshemusthavedecidedthattherewasnoharmintellingherwherethebiologyfacultyhadtakenAdamoutfordinner—accordingtoYelp,afancyrestaurantthatwaslessthanaten-minuteUberrideaway.OlivelookeddownatherrippedjeansandlilacConverseandwonderedifthey’dletherin.ThenshewonderedifAdamwouldbemad.Thenshewonderedifshewasmakingamistakeandscrewingupherownlife,Adam’slife,herUberdriver’slife.Shewasverytemptedtochangeherdestinationtotheconferencehotelwhenthecarpulleduptothecurb,andthedriver—SarahHelen,accordingtotheapp—turnedaroundwithasmile.“Hereweare.”
“Thankyou.”Olivestartedgettingoutofthepassengerseatandfoundthatshecouldn’tmoveherlegs.
“Areyouokay?”SarahHelenasked.
“Yeah.Just,un…”
“Areyougonnapukeinmycar?”
Oliveshookherhead.No.Yes.“Maybe?”
“Don’t,orI’lldestroyyourrating.”
Olivenoddedandtriedtoslideoutoftheseat.Herlimbswerestillnonresponsive.
SarahHelenfrowned.“Hey,what’swrong?”
“Ijust…”Therewasalumpinherthroat.“Ineedtodoathing.ThatIdon’twanttodo.”
SarahHelenhummed.“Isitaworkthing,oralovething?”
“Uh…both.”
“Yikes.”SarahHelenscruncheduphernose.“Doublethreat.Canyouputitoff?”
“No,notreally.”
“Canyouasksomeoneelsetodoitforyou?”
“No.”
“Canyouchangeyourname,cauterizeyourfingertips,enterthewitnessprotectionprogram,anddisappear?”
“Um,notsure.I’mnotanAmericancitizen,though.”
“Probablyno,then.Canyousay‘fuckit’anddealwiththeconsequences?”
Oliveclosedhereyesandthoughtaboutit.What,exactly,wouldtheconsequencesbeifshedidn’tdowhatshewasplanningto?Tomwouldbefreetokeeponbeinganabsolutepieceofshit,forone.AndAdamwouldneverknowthathewasbeingtakenadvantageof.HewouldmovetoBoston.AndOlivewouldneverhaveachancetotalktohimagain,andallthathe’dmeanttoherwouldend…
Inalie.
Alie,afteralotoflies.Somanyliesshe’dtold,somanytruethingsshecouldhavesaidbutneverdid,allbecauseshe’dbeentooscaredofthetruth,ofdrivingthepeopleshelovedawayfromher.Allbecauseshe’dbeenafraidtolosethem.Allbecauseshehadn’twantedtobealoneagain.
Well,thelyinghadn’tworkedouttoowell.Infact,ithaddownrightsuckedlately.TimeforplanB,then.
Timeforsometruth.
“No.Idon’twanttodealwiththeconsequences.”
SarahHelensmiled.“Then,myfriend,youbettergodoyourthing.”Shepressedabutton,andthepassengerdoorunlockedwithaclunk.“Andyoubettergivemeaperfectrating.Forthefreepsychotherapy.”
Thistime,Olivemanagedtogetoutofthecar.ShetippedSarahHelen150percent,tookadeepbreath,andmadeherwayintotherestaurant.
—
SHEFOUNDADAMimmediately.Hewasbig,afterall,andtherestaurantwasnot,whichmadeforaprettyquicksearch.NottomentionthathewassittingwithabouttenpeoplewholookedalotlikeveryseriousHarvardprofessors.And,ofcourse,Tom.
Fuckmylife,shethought,slippingpastthebusyhostessandwalkingtowardAdam.Shefiguredthatherbrightreddufflecoatwouldattracthisattention,thenshe’dgesticulateforhimtocheckhisphone,andtexthimtoplease,please,pleasegiveherfiveminutesofhistimewhendinnerwasover.Shefiguredthattellinghimtonightwasthebestoption—hisinterviewwouldbeovertomorrow,andhe’dbeabletomakehisdecisionwiththetruthathisdisposal.Shefiguredherplanmightwork.
ShehadnotfiguredthatAdamwouldnoticeherwhileinconversationwithayoung,beautifulfacultymember.Shehadnotfiguredthathe’dsuddenlystopspeaking,eyeswideningandlipsparting;thathe’dmutter“Excuseme”whilestaringatOliveandstandfromthetable,ignoringthecuriouslooksinhisdirection;thathe’dmarchtotheentrance,whereOlivewas,withquick,longstridesandaconcernedexpression.
“Olive,areyouokay?”heaskedher,and—
Oh.Hisvoice.Andhiseyes.Andthewayhishandscameup,asiftotouchher,tomakesurethatshewasintactandreallythere—thoughrightbeforehisfingerscouldclosearoundherbicepshehesitatedandletthemfallbacktohissides.
Itbrokeherheartalittle.
“I’mfine.”Sheattemptedasmile.“I…I’msorrytointerruptthis.Iknowit’simportant,thatyouwanttomovetoBoston,and—thisisinappropriate.Butit’snowornever,andIwasn’tsureifI’dhavethecourageto…”Shewasrambling.Soshetookadeepbreathandstartedagain.“Ineedtotellyousomething.Somethingthathappened.With—”
“Hey,Olive.”
Tom.Butofcourse.“Hi,Tom.”OliveheldAdam’sgazeanddidn’tlookathim.Hedidnotdeservetobelookedat.“Canyougiveusaminuteofprivacy?”
Shecouldseehisoily,fakesmilewiththecornerofhereye.“Olive,Iknowyou’reyounganddon’tknowhowthesethingswork,butAdam’sheretointerviewforaveryimportantposition,andhecan’tjust—”
“Leave,”Adamordered,voicelowandcold.
Oliveclosedhereyesandnodded,takingastepback.Fine.Itwasfine.ItwasAdam’srightnottotalktoher.“Okay.I’msorry,I—”
“Notyou.Tom,leaveus.”
Oh.Oh.Well,then.
“Dude,”Tomsaid,soundingamused,“youcan’tjustgetupfromthetableinthemiddleofaninterviewdinnerand—”
“Leave,”Adamrepeated.
Tomlaughed,brazen.“No.Notunlessyou’recomingwithme.We’recollaborators,andifyouactlikeanassholeduringadinnerwithmydepartmentbecauseofsomestudentyou’rescrewing,itwillreflectpoorlyonme.Youneedtocomebacktothetableand—”
“Aprettygirllikeyoushouldknowthescorebynow.Don’tlietomeandsayyoudidn’tpickoutadressthatshortformybenefit.Nicelegs,bytheway.IcanseewhyAdam’swastinghistimewithyou.”
NeitherAdamnorTomhadseenOlivetakeoutherphone,orpressPlay.Theybothstruggledforasecond,confused—they’dclearlyheardthewordsbutwereunsurewheretheycamefrom.Untiltherecordingrestarted.
“Olive.Youdon’tthinkIacceptedyouintomylabbecauseyouaregood,doyou?Agirllikeyou.Whofiguredoutsoearlyinheracademiccareerthatfuckingwell-known,successfulscholarsishowtogetahead.YoufuckedAdam,didn’tyou?Webothknowyou’regoingtofuckmeforthesamereason.”
“Whatthe—”Tomtookastepforward,handextendedtograbthephonefromOlive.Hedidn’tgetfar,becauseAdampushedhimawaywithapalmonhischest,makinghimstumbleseveralstepsback.
Hestillwasn’tlookingatTom.AndnotatOlive,either.Hewasstaringdownatherphone,somethingdarkanddangerousandfrighteninglystillinhisexpression.Sheshouldhaveprobablybeenscared.Maybeshewas,alittle.
“—you’retellingmeyouthoughtyourpitifulabstractwasselectedforatalkbecauseofitsqualityandscientificimportance?Someoneherehasaveryhighopinionofherself,consideringthatherresearchisuselessandderivativeandthatshecanbarelyputtogethertwowordswithoutstutteringlikeanidiot—”
“Itwashim,”Adamwhispered.Hisvoicewaslow,barelyawhisper,deceptivelycalm.Hiseyes,unreadable.“ItwasTom.Thereasonyouwerecrying.”
Olivecouldonlynod.Inthebackground,Tom’srecordedvoicedronedonandon.Talkingabouthowmediocreshewas.HowAdamwouldneverbelieveher.Callinghernames.
“Thisisridiculous.”Tomwascomingcloseragain,reattemptingtotakethephoneaway.“I’mnotsurewhatthisbitch’sproblemis,butshe’sclearly—”
Adamexplodedsofast,shedidn’tevenseehimmove.Onemomenthestoodinfrontofher,andthenexthewaspinningTomagainstthewall.
“I’mgoingtokillyou,”hegrittedout,littlemorethanagrowl.“IfyousayanotherwordaboutthewomanIlove,ifyoulookather,ifyoueventhinkabouther—I’mgoingtofuckingkillyou.”
“Adam—”Tomchokedout.
“Actually,Iwillkillyouanyway.”
Peoplewererunningtowardthem.Thehostess,awaiter,afewfacultymembersfromAdam’stable.Theywereformingacrowd,yellinginconfusionandtryingtopullAdamoffTom—withnosuccess.Olive’smindwenttoAdampushingCherie’struck,andshealmostlaughedinamomentofhysteria.Almost.
“Adam,”shecalled.Hervoicewasbarelyaudibleinthechaosgoingonaroundthem,butitwaswhatgotthroughtohim.Heturnedtolookather,andtherewereentireworldsinhiseyes.“Adam,don’t,”shewhispered.“He’snotworthit.”
Justlikethat,AdamtookastepbackandletTomgo.Anelderlygentleman—probablyaHarvarddean—beganlayingintohim,askingforexplanations,tellinghimhowunacceptablehisbehaviorwas.Adamignoredhim,andeveryoneelse.HeheadedstraightforOlive,and—
Hecradledherheadwithbothhands,fingersslidingthroughherhairandholdinghertightasheloweredhisforeheadtohers.Hewaswarm,andsmelledlikehimself,likesafeandhome.Histhumbssweptthroughthemessoftearsonhercheeks.“I’msorry.I’msosorry.Ididn’tknow,andI’msorry,I’msorry,I’msorry—”
“It’snotyourfault,”shemanagedtomumble,buthedidn’tseemtohearher.
“I’msorry.I’m—”
“Dr.Carlsen,”amalevoiceboomedloudlyfrombehindthem,andshefeltAdam’sbodystiffenagainsthers.“Idemandanexplanation.”
Adampaidnoheedtotheman,andkeptholdingOlive.
“Dr.Carlsen,”herepeated,“thisisunacceptable—”
“Adam,”Olivewhispered.“Youhavetoanswerhim.”
Adamexhaled.Thenhepressedalong,lingeringkisstoOlive’sforeheadbeforereluctantlydisentanglinghimself.Whenshewasfinallyabletogetagoodlookathim,heseemedmorelikehisusualself.
Calm.Angryattheentireworld.Incharge.
“Sendmethatrecordingimmediately,”hemurmuredather.Shenodded,andheturnedtotheelderlymanwho’djustapproachedthem.“Weneedtotalk.Privately.Youroffice?”Theothermanlookedshockedandoffended,buthenoddedstiffly.Behindhim,Tomwasmakingafuss,andAdamclenchedhisjaw.“Keephimawayfromme.”HeturnedtoOlivebeforeleaving,bendingclosertoherandloweringhisvoice.Hispalmwaswarmagainstherelbow.
“Iamgoingtotakecareofthis,”hetoldher.Therewassomethingdetermined,earnestinhiseyes.Olivehadneverfeltsafer,ormoreloved.“AndthenI’llcomefindyou,andI’lltakecareofyou.”ChapterTwenty-One
HYPOTHESIS:Wearingexpiredcontactlenseswillcausebacterialand/orfungalinfectionsthatwillhaverepercussionsforyearstocome.
“Holdensentamessageforyou.”
OlivelookedawayfromthewindowandtoMalcolm,who’dturnedoffairplanemodethesecondthey’dlandedinCharlottefortheirlayover.“Holden?”
“Yeah.Well,it’stechnicallyfromCarlsen.”
Herheartskippedabeat.
“Helosthisphonechargerandcan’ttextyou,butheandHoldenareontheirwaybacktoSFO.”
“Ah.”Shenodded,feelingasmallrushofrelief.ThatexplainedAdam’ssilence.Hehadn’tbeenintouchsincelastnight.She’dworriedthathe’dbeenarrestedandwasponderingemptyinghersavingsaccounttohelpcoverhisbail.Alltwelvedollarsandsixteencents.“Where’stheirlayover?”
“Nolayover.”Malcolmrolledhiseyes.“Directflight.They’llbeatSFOtenminutesafterus,eventhoughthey’reonlynowleavingBoston.Eattherich.”
“DidHoldensayanythingabout…”
Malcolmshookhishead.“Theirplaneisabouttoleave,butwecanwaitforthematSFO.I’msureAdamwillhavesomeupdatesforyou.”
“YoujustwanttomakeoutwithHolden,don’tyou?”
Malcolmsmiledandleanedhisheadagainsthershoulder.“Mykalamataknowsmewell.”
Itseemedimpossiblethatshe’dbeengoneforlessthanaweek.Thatallthechaoshadunfoldedinthespanofafewdays.Olivefeltdazed,shell-shocked,asthoughherbrainwaswindedfromrunningamarathon.Shewastiredandwantedtosleep.Shewashungryandwantedtoeat.ShewasangryandwantedtoseeTomgetwhathedeserved.Shewasanxious,astwitchyasadamagednerve,andshewantedahug.PreferablyfromAdam.
InSanFrancisco,shefoldedhernow-uselesscoatinsidehersuitcaseandthensatonit.ShecheckedherphonefornewmessageswhileMalcolmwenttobuyabottleofDietCoke.TherewereseveralfromAnh,justcheckinginfromBoston,andonefromherlandlordabouttheelevatorbeingoutofcommission.Sherolledhereyes,switchedtoheracademicemail,andfoundseveralunreadmessagesflaggedasimportant.
Shetappedontheredexclamationpointandopenedone.
Today,5:15p.m.
FROM:Anna-Wiley@berkeley.edu
TO:Aysegul-Aslan@stanford.edu
CC:Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:Re:PancreaticCancerProject
Aysegul,
Thankyouforreachingouttome.IhadtheprivilegeofseeingOliveSmith’stalkatSBD—wewereonthesamepanel—andIwasveryimpressedwithherworkonearlydetectiontoolsforpancreaticcancer.I’dlovetohaveherinmylabnextyear!Maybethethreeofuscanchatmoreonthephonesoon?
Best,
Anna
Olivegasped.Shecoveredhermouthwithherhand,andimmediatelyopenedanotheremail.
Today,3:19p.m.
FROM:Robert-Gordon@umn.edu
TO:Aysegul-Aslan@stanford.edu,Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT:PancreaticCancerProject
Dr.Aslan,Ms.Smith,
Yourworkonpancreaticcancerisfascinating,andIwouldwelcometheopportunityforacollaboration.WeshouldsetupaZoommeeting.
-R
Thereweretwomoreemails.Fourtotalfromcancerresearchers,allfollowinguponDr.Aslan’sintroductorymessageandsayingthey’dlovehavingOliveintheirlabs.Shefeltasurgeofhappinesssoviolent,italmostmadeherdizzy.
“Ol,lookwhoIraninto.”
Oliveshotuptoherfeet.Malcolmwasthere,holdingHolden’shand,andbarelyastepbehindthem—
Adam.Lookingtired,andhandsome,andaslargeinreallifeashe’dbeeninhermindforthepasttwenty-fourhours.Lookingstraightather.Oliverecalledthewordshe’dsaidlastnightintherestaurantandfelthercheeksheat,herchestconstrict,herheartbeatoutofherskin.
“Hearmeout,”Holdenstartedwithoutevensayinghi,“thefourofus:doubledate.Tonight.”
AdamignoredhimandcametostandnextOlive.“Howareyou?”heaskedinalowtone.
“Good.”Forthefirsttimeindays,itwasn’tevenalie.Adamwashere.Andallthoseemailswereinherinbox.“You?”
“Good,”herepliedwithahalfsmile,andshehadaweirdfeelingthatmuchlikeher,hewasn’tlying.Herheartpickedupevenmore.
“WhataboutChinese?”Holdeninterjected.“EveryonelikeChinesehere?”
“I’mcoolwithChinese,”Malcolmmuttered,thoughhedidn’tseementhusiasticattheideaofadoubledate.Likelybecausehedidn’twanttositacrossfromAdamforanentiremealandrelivethetraumaofhisgraduateadvisorycommitteemeetings.
“Olive?”
“Um…IlikeChinese.”
“Perfect.SodoesAdam,so—”
“I’mnothavingdinnerout,”Adamsaid.
Holdenfrowned.“Why?”
“Ihavebetterthingstodo.”
“Likewhat?Olive’scoming,too.”
“LeaveOlivealone.She’stired,andwe’rebusy.”
“IhaveaccesstoyourGoogleCalendar,asshole.You’renotbusy.Ifyoudon’twanttohangoutwithme,youcanjustbehonest.”
“Idon’twanttohangoutwithyou.”
“Youlittleshit.Aftertheweekwejusthad.Andonmybirthday.”
Adamrecoiledslightly.“What?It’snotyourbirthday.”
“Yes,itis.”
“YourbirthdayisApriltenth.”
“Isit,though?”
Adamclosedhiseyes,scratchinghisforehead.“Holden,we’vetalkeddailyforthepasttwenty-fiveyears,andIhavebeentoatleastfivePowerRangers–themedbirthdaypartiesofyours.Thelastonewaswhenyouturnedseventeen.”
Malcolmattemptedtocoverhislaughwithacough.
“Iknowwhenyourbirthdayis.”
“Youalwayshaditwrong,Iwasjusttoonicetotellyou.”HeclaspedAdam’sshoulder.“So,Chinesetocelebratetheblessingofmybirth?”
“WhynotThai?”Malcolminterjected,addressingHoldenandignoringAdam.
HoldenmadeawhinynoiseandstartedsayingsomethingaboutthelackofgoodlarbinStanford,somethingOlivewouldhavenormallybeeninterestedinhearing,exceptthat—
Adamwaslookingatheragain.FromseveralinchesaboveHolden’sandMalcolm’sheads,Adamwaslookingatherwithanexpressionthatwashalfapologetic,halfannoyed,and…allintimate,really.Somethingfamiliarthey’dsharedbefore.Olivefeltsomethinginsidehermeltandsuppressedasmile
Suddenly,dinnerseemedlikeagreatidea.
Itwillbefun,shemouthedathimwhileHoldenandMalcolmwerebusyarguingaboutwhethertheyshouldjusttrythatnewburgerplace.
Itwillbeexcruciating,hemouthedbackbarelypartinghislips,lookingresignedandput-uponandjustsoamazinglyAdamthatOlivecouldn’thelpbutburstintolaughter.
HoldenandMalcolmstoppedarguingandturnedtoher.“What?”
“Nothing,”Olivesaid.ThecornerofAdam’smouthwascurlingup,too.
“Whyareyoulaughing,Ol?”
Sheopenedhermouthtodeflect,butAdambeathertoit.
“Fine.We’llgo.”Hesaid“we”likeheandOlivewerea“we,”likeithadneverbeenfakeafterall,andherbreathcaughtinherthroat.“ButI’mexcusedfromanybirthday-relatedoutingsforthenextyear.Actually,makeitthenexttwo.Andvetoonthenewburgerplace.”
Holdenfist-pumped,andthenfrowned.“Whyvetoonburgers?”
“Because,”hesaid,holdingOlive’seyes,“burgerstastelikefoot.”
—
“WESHOULDSTARTbyaddressingtheobvious,”Holdensaid,chewingonthecomplimentaryappetizers,andOlivetensedinherseat.Shewasn’tsureshewantedtodiscusstheTomsituationwithMalcolmandHoldenbeforetalkingaboutitwithAdamalone.
Asitturnedout,sheshouldn’thaveworried.
“WhichisthatMalcolmandAdamhateeachother.”
Nexttoherinthebooth,Adamfrownedinconfusion.Malcolm,whowassittingacrossfromOlive,coveredhisfacewithhispalmsandgroaned.
“Iamreliablyinformed,”Holdencontinued,undeterred,“thatAdamcalledMalcolm’sexperiments‘sloppy’and‘amisuseofresearchfunds’duringacommitteemeeting,andthatMalcolmtookoffensetothat.Now,Adam,I’vebeentellingMalcolmthatyouwereprobablyjusthavingabadday—maybeoneofyourgradshadsplitaninfinitiveinanemail,oryourarugulasaladwasn’torganicenough.Doyouhaveanythingtosayforyourself?”
“Uh…”Adam’sfrowndeepened,andsodidMalcolm’sfacepalm.Holdenwaitedpointedlyforananswer,andOlivewatcheditallunfold,wonderingifsheshouldtakeoutherphoneandfilmthiscarcrash.“Ihavenorecollectionofthatcommitteemeeting.ThoughitdoessoundlikesomethingIwouldsay.”
“Great.NowtellMalcolmitwasn’tpersonal,sowecanmoveonandhavefriedrice.”
“OhmyGod,”Malcolmmuttered.“Holden,please.”
“I’mnothavingfriedrice,”Adamsaid.
“Youcanhaverawbamboowhilethenormalpeoplehavefriedrice.Butasofrightnow,myboyfriendthinksthathisBFF’sboyfriendandmyownBFFhasitoutforhim,andit’scrampingmydouble-datingstyle,soplease.”
Adamblinkedslowly.“BFF?”
“Adam.”HoldenpointedatagrimacingMalcolmwithhisthumb.“Now,please.”
Adamsighedheavily,butheturnedtoMalcolm.“WhateverIsaidordid,itwasnotpersonal.I’vebeentoldthatIcanbeneedlesslyantagonistic.Andunapproachable.”
Olivedidn’tgettoseeMalcolm’sreaction.BecauseshewasbusystudyingAdamandtheslightcurlonhislips,theonethatbecameanalmostsmilewhenhelookedatOliveandmethereyes.Forasecond,thebriefsecondsheheldhisgazebeforehelookedaway,itwasjustthetwoofthem.Andthissort-of-pasttheyshared,theirstupidinsidejokes,thewaythey’dteasedeachotherinthelate-summersunlight.
“Perfect.”Holdenclappedhishands,intrusivelyloud.“Eggrollsforappetizer,yes?”
Itwasagoodidea,thisdinner.Thisnight,thistable,thismoment.SittingnexttoAdam,smellingthepetrichor,watchingthedarksplotchesonthegraycottonofhisHenleyfromthestormthathadstartedjustasthey’dslippedinsidetherestaurant.Theywouldhavetotalk,later,haveaseriousconversationaboutTomandmanyotherthings.ButfornowitwasthewayithadalwaysbeenbetweenAdamandher:likeslippingintoafavoritedress,oneshe’dthoughtlostinsidehercloset,andfindingthatitfitascomfortablyasitusedto.
“Iwanteggrolls.”SheglancedatAdam.Hishairwasstartingtogetlongagain,soshedidwhatfeltnatural:reachedoutandflattenedhiscowlick.“I’mgoingtotakeawildguessandassumethatyouhateeggrolls,justlikeeverythingelsethat’sgoodintheworld.”
Hemouthedsmart-assrightasthewaiterbroughttheirwatersandsetthemenusonthetable.Threemenus,tobeprecise.HoldenandMalcolmeachtookone,andOliveandAdamexchangedaloaded,amusedlookandgrabbedtheremainingonetoshare.Itworkedperfectly:heangleditsothattheveggiesectionwasonhissideandallmanneroffriedentréeswereonhers.Itwasserendipitousenoughthatsheletoutalaugh.
Adamtappedhisindexfingeronthedrinksection.“Lookatthisabomination,”hemurmured.Hislipswereclosetoherear—achuffofhotair,intimateandpleasantintheblastingAC.
Shegrinned.“Noway.”
“Appalling.”
“Amazing,youmean.”
“Idonot.”
“Thisismynewfavoriterestaurant.”
“Youhaven’teventriedityet.”
“Itwillbespectacular.”
“Itwillbehorrific—”
Athroatcleared,remindingthemthattheywerenotalone.MalcolmandHoldenwerebothstaring—Malcolmwithashrewd,suspiciousexpression,andHoldenwithaknowingsmile.“What’sallthatabout?”
“Oh.”Olive’scheekswarmedalittle.“Nothing.Theyjusthavepumpkinspicebubbletea.”
Malcolmpretendedtogag.“Ugh,Ol.Gross.”
“Shutup.”
“Itsoundsgreat.”HoldensmiledandleanedintoMalcolm.“Weshouldgetonetosplit.”
“Excuseme?”
OlivetriednottolaughatMalcolm’shorrifiedexpression.“Don’tgetMalcolmstartedonpumpkinspice,”shetoldHoldeninanexaggeratedwhisper.
“Oh,shit.”Holdenclutchedhischestinmockterror.
“Thisisaseriousmatter.”Malcolmlethismenufallonthetable.“PumpkinspiceisSatan’sdandruff,harbingeroftheapocalypse,andittasteslikeass—notinthegoodway.”NexttoOliveAdamnoddedslowly,highlyimpressedwithMalcolm’srant.“Onepumpkinspicelattecontainsthesameamountofsugaryou’dfindinfiftySkittles—andnopumpkinwhatsoever.Lookitup.”
AdamstaredatMalcolmwithsomethingverysimilartoadmiration.HoldenmetOlive’seyesandtoldherconspiratorially,“Ourboyfriendshavesomuchincommon.”
“Theydo.Theythinkhatingentireharmlessfamiliesoffoodisapersonalitytrait.”
“Pumpkinspiceisnotharmless.It’saradioactive,overpoweringsugarbombthatwormsitswayintoeverysortofproductandissingle-handedlyresponsiblefortheextinctionoftheCaribbeanmonkseal.Andyou”—hepointedhisfingeratHolden—“areonthinice.”
“What—why?”
“Ican’tdatesomeonewhodoesn’trespectmystanceonpumpkinspice.”
“Tobefairit’snotaveryrespectablestance—”HoldennoticedMalcolm’sglareandliftedhishandsdefensively.“Ihadnoidea,babe.”
“Youshouldhave.”
Adamcluckedhistongue,amused.“Yes,Holden.Dobetter.”Heleanedbackinhisseat,andhisshoulderbrushedagainstOlive’s.Holdengavehimthefinger.
“AdamknowsandrespectsOlive’sstanceonhamburgers,andthey’renoteven—”WhateverMalcolmhadbeenabouttosay,hehadthesensetostophimself.“Well,ifAdamknows,youshouldknowaboutthepumpkinspice.”
“Wasn’tAdamadickuntil,like,twelvesecondsago?”
“Howtheturntables,”Adammurmured.Olivereachedouttopinchhimontheside,buthestoppedherwithahandaroundherwrist.
Evil,shemouthedathim.Hejustsmiled,evilly,studyingMalcolmandHoldenalittletoogleefully.
“Comeon.It’snotevencomparable,”Holdenwassaying.“OliveandAdamhavebeentogetherforyears.Wemetlessthanaweekago.”
“Theyhavenot,”Malcolmcorrectedhim,waggingafinger.Adam’shandwasstillcurledaroundherwrist.“Theystarteddating,like,amonthbeforewedid.”
“No,”Holdeninsisted.“Adamwasintoherforages.Heprobablysecretlystudiedhereatinghabitsandcompiledseventeendatabasesandbuiltmachine-learningalgorithmstopredictherculinarypreferences—”
Oliveburstintolaughter.“Hedidnot.”Shetookasipofwater,stillsmiling.“Weonlyjuststartedhangingout.Atthebeginningofthefallsemester.”
“Yes,butyoukneweachotherfromearlier.”Holdenwasfrowning.“YoutwomettheyearbeforeyoustartedyourPh.D.here,whenyoucameforyourinterview,andhe’sbeenpiningafteryoueversince.”
Oliveshookherheadandlaughed,turningtoAdamtoshareheramusement.ExceptthatAdamwasstaringatheralready,andhedidnotlookamused.Helooked…somethingelse.Worriedmaybe,orapologetic,orresigned.Panicky?Andjustlikethat,therestaurantwassilent.Thepitter-patterofrainonthewindows,people’schatter,theclinkingofsilverware—itallreceded;thefloortilted,shookalittle,andtheACwasjustthissideoftoocold.Atsomepoint,Adam’sfingershadletgoofherwrist.
Olivethoughtbacktothebathroomincident.Toburningeyesandwetcheeks,thesmellofreagentandclean,maleskin.Theblurofalarge,darkfigurestandinginfrontofherwithhisdeep,reassuring,amusedvoice.Thepanicofbeingtwenty-threeandaloneandhavingnoideawhatsheshouldbedoing,wheresheshouldbegoing,whattherightchoicewas.
Ismineagoodenoughreasontogotogradschool?
It’sthebestone.
Allofasudden,thingshadseemedsimpleenough.
IthadbeenAdam,afterall.Olivehadbeenright.
Whatshehadn’tbeenrightaboutwaswhetherherememberedher.
“Yes,”shesaid.Shewasn’tsmilinganymore.Adamwasstillholdinghergaze.“Iguesshehas.”ChapterTwenty-Two
HYPOTHESIS:WhengivenachoicebetweenA(tellingalie)andB(tellingthetruth),Iwillinevitablyendupselecting.
No.Notthistime.
OlivehadnodoubtthatHolden’staleswerehighlyembellishedandtheresultofyearsofcomedyworkshopping,butshestillcouldn’thelplaughingharderthaneverbefore.
“AndI’mawakenedbythiswaterfallpouringdownonme—”
Adamrolledhiseyes.“Itwasadrop.”
“AndI’maskingmyselfwhyit’sraininginsidethecabin,whenIrealizethatit’scomingfromthetopbunkandthatAdam,whowas,like,thirteenatthetime—”
“Six.Iwassix,andyouwereseven.”
“Hadpissedthebed,andthepisswasseepingthroughthemattressandontome.”
Olive’shandsflewuptocoverhermouth,notquitesucceedingathidingheramusement—justlikeshe’dfailedwhenHoldenhadrecountedthatadalmatianpuppyhadoncebittenAdam’sassthroughhisjeans,orthathe’dbeenvoted“Mostlikelytomakepeoplecry”inhissenioryearbook.
AtleastAdamdidn’tactembarrassed,andnotnearlyasupsetashe’dseemedafterHoldenhadtalkedabouthimpiningafterher.Whichexplained…somanythings.
Everything,maybe.
“Man.Sixyearsold.”Malcolmshookhisheadandwipedhiseyes.
“Iwassick.”
“Still.Seemskindofoldtohaveanaccident?”
AdamsimplystaredatMalcolmuntilheloweredhisgaze.“Uh,maybenotthatoldafterall,”hemuttered.
Therewasalargebowloffortunecookiesbytheregister.Olivenoticeditonherwayoutoftherestaurant,letoutadelightedsqueal,anddippedherhandintofishoutfourplasticpackages.ShehandedoneeachtoMalcolmandHolden,andheldoutanotherforAdamwithamischievoussmile.“Youhatethese,don’tyou?”
“Idon’t.”Heacceptedthecookie.“IjustthinktheytastelikeStyrofoam.”
“Probablyhavesimilarnutritionalvalues,too,”Malcolmmutteredastheyslippedoutintothechillyhumidityoftheearlynight.Surprisingly,heandAdamwerefindinglotsofcommonground.
Itwasn’traininganymore,butthestreetwasshinyinthelightunderalamppost;asoftbreezemadetheleavesrustleandstraydropsofwaterscattertotheground.TheairwasfreshinOlive’slungs,pleasantlysoafterthehoursspentintherestaurant.Sheunrolledhersleeves,accidentallybrushingherhandagainstAdam’sabs.Shesmiledupathim,playfullyapologetic;heflushedandavertedhiseyes.
“?‘Hewholaughsathimselfneverrunsoutofthingstolaughat.’?”Holdenpoppedabitoffortunecookieinhismouth,blinkingatthemessageinside.“Isthatshade?”Helookedaround,indignant.“Didthisfortunecookiejustthrowshadeatme?”
“Soundslikeit,”Malcolmanswered.“Minesays‘Whynottreatyourselftoagoodtimeinsteadofwaitingforsomebodyelsetodoit?’Ithinkmycookiejustshadedyou,too,babe.”
“What’swrongwiththisbatch?”HoldenpointedatAdamandOlive.“Whatdoyourssay?”
Olivewasalreadyopeninghers,nibblingonacornerasshepulledthepaperout.Itwasverybanal,andyetherheartskippedbeat.“Mine’snormal,”sheinformedHolden.
“You’relying.”
“Nope.”
“Whatdoesitsay?”
“?‘It’snevertoolatetotellthetruth.’?”Sheshrugged,andturnedtothrowawaytheplasticwrapper.Atthelastmoment,shedecidedtokeepthestripofpaperandslipitinsideherjeans’backpocket.
“Adam,openyours.”
“Nah.”
“Comeon.”
“I’mnotgoingtoeatapieceofcardboardbecauseithurtyourfeelings.”
“You’reashitfriend.”
“Accordingtothefortunecookieindustry,you’reashitboyfriend,so—”
“Giveithere,”Oliveinterjected,pluckingthecookieoutofAdam’shand.“I’lleatit.Andreadit.”
Theparkinglotwascompletelyempty,saveforAdam’sandMalcolm’scars.HoldenhadriddenfromtheairportwithAdam,butheandMalcolmwereplanningtospendthenightatHolden’sapartmenttowalkFleming,hisdog.
“Adam’sgivingyouaride,right,Ol?”
“Noneed.It’slessthanaten-minutewalkhome.”
“Butwhataboutyoursuitcase?”
“It’snotheavy,andI—”Shestoppedabruptly,worriedherlipforasecondwhileshecontemplatedthepossibilities,andthenfeltherselfsmile,atoncetentativeandpurposeful.“Actually,Adamwillwalkmehome.Right?”
Hewassilentandinscrutableforamoment.Thenhecalmlysaid,“Ofcourse,”slippedhiskeysinthepocketofhisjeans,andslidthestrapofOlive’sduffelbagoverhisshoulder.
“Wheredoyoulive?”heaskedwhenHoldenwasnotwithinearshotanymore.
Shepointedsilently.“Yousureyouwanttocarrymybag?Iheardit’seasytothrowoutyourback,onceyoureachacertainage.”
Heglaredather,andOlivelaughed,fallingintostepwithhimastheyheadedoutoftheparkinglot.Thestreetwassilent,exceptforthesolesofherConversecatchingonthewetconcreteandMalcolm’scarpassingthembyafewsecondslater.
“Hey,”Holdenaskedfromthepassengerwindow.“WhatdidAdam’sfortunecookiesay?”
“Mmm.”Olivemadeashowtolookatthestrip.“Notmuch.Just‘HoldenRodrigues,Ph.D.,isaloser.’?”MalcolmspedupjustasHoldenflippedheroff,makingherburstintolaughter.
“Whatdoesitreallysay?”Adamaskedwhentheywerefinallyalone.
Olivehandedhimthecrumpledpaperandremainedsilentasheangledittoreaditinthelamplight.Shewasn’tsurprisedwhenshesawamusclejumpinhisjaw,orwhenheslidthefortuneintothepocketofhisjeans.Sheknewwhatitsaid,afterall.
Youcanfallinlove:someonewillcatchyou.
“CanwetalkaboutTom?”sheasked,sidesteppingapuddle.“Wedon’thaveto,butifwecan…”
“Wecan.Weshould.”Shesawhisthroatwork.“Harvard’sgoingtofirehim,ofcourse.Otherdisciplinarymeasuresarestillbeingdecided—thereweremeetingsuntilverylatelastnight.”Hegaveheraquickglance.“That’swhyIdidn’tcallyouearlier.Harvard’sTitleIXcoordinatorshouldbeintouchwithyousoon.”
Good.“Whataboutyourgrant?”
Hisjawclenched.“I’mnotsure.I’llfiguresomethingout—ornot.Idon’tparticularlycareatthemoment.”
Itsurprisedher.Andthenitdidn’t,notwhensheconsideredthattheprofessionalimplicationsofTom’sbetrayalcouldn’thavecutasdeeplyasthepersonalones.“I’msorry,Adam.Iknowhewasyourfriend—”
“Hewasn’t.”Adamabruptlystoppedinthemiddleofthestreet.Heturnedtoher,hiseyesaclear,deepbrown.“Ihadnoidea,Olive.IthoughtIknewhim,but…”HisAdam’sapplebobbed.“Ishouldneverhavetrustedhimwithyou.I’msorry.”
Hesaidit—“withyou”—likeOlivewassomethingspecial,uniquelyprecioustohim.Hismostbelovedtreasure.Itmadeherwanttoshiver,andlaugh,andweepatthesametime.Itmadeherhappyandconfused.
“Iwas…Iwasafraidyoumightbemadatme.Forruiningthings.YourrelationshipwithTom,andmaybe…maybeyouwon’tbeabletomovetoBostonanymore.”
Heshookhishead.“Idon’tcare.Icouldn’tcarelessaboutanyofit.”Heheldhereyesforalongmoment,hismouthworkingasthoughhewasswallowingtherestofhiswords.Buthenevercontinued,soOlivenoddedandturnedaround,startingtowalkagain.
“IthinkI’vefoundanotherlab.Tofinishmystudy.Closer,soIwon’thavetomovenextyear.”Shepushedherhairbehindherearandsmiledathim.Therewassomethingintrinsicallyenjoyableinhavinghimnexttoher,sophysicalandundeniable.Shefeltitonsomeprimal,viscerallevel,thegiddyhappinessthatalwayscamewithhispresence.Suddenly,TomwasthelastthingshewantedtodiscusswithAdam.“Dinnerwasnice.Andyouwereright,bytheway.”
“Aboutthepumpkinsludge?”
“No,thatwasamazing.AboutHolden.Hereallyisinsufferable.”
“Hegrowsonyou,afteradecadeorso.”
“Doeshe?”
“Nah.Notreally.”
“PoorHolden.”Shehuffedoutasmalllaugh.“Youweren’ttheonlyonewhoremembered,bytheway.”
Heglancedather.“Rememberedwhat?”
“Ourmeeting.Theoneinthebathroom,whenIcametointerview.”
Olivethoughtthatmaybehisstepfalteredforasplitsecond.Ormaybeitdidn’t.Still,therewasatingeofuncertaintyinthedeepbreathhetook.
“Didyoureally?”
“Yup.Itjusttookmeawhiletorealizethatitwasyou.Whydidn’tyousayanything?”ShewassocuriousaboutwhathadbeengoingoninAdam’sheadinthepastfewdays,weeks,years.Shewasstartingtoimaginequiteabit,butsomethings…somethingshe’dhavetoclearupforher.
“Becauseyouintroducedyourselflikewe’dnevermetbefore.”Shethoughtmaybehewasflushingalittle.Maybenot.Maybeitwasimpossibletotell,inthestarlessskyandthefaintyellowlights.“AndI’dbeen…I’dbeenthinkingaboutyou.Foryears.AndIdidn’twantto…”
Shecouldonlyimagine.They’dpassedeachotherinthehallways,beenatcountlessdepartmentresearchsymposiumsandseminarstogether.Shehadn’tthoughtanythingofit,butnow…nowshewonderedwhathehadthought.
He’dbeengoingonandonaboutthisamazinggirlforyears,buthewasconcernedaboutbeinginthesamedepartment,Holdenhadsaid.
AndOlivehadassumedsomuch.Shehadbeensowrong.
“Youdidn’tneedtolie,youknow,”shesaid,notaccusing.
Headjustedthestrapofhersuitcaseonhisshoulder.“Ididn’t.”
“Yousortofdid.Byomission.”
“True.Areyou…”Hepressedhislipstogether.“Areyouupset?”
“No,notreally.It’sreallynotthatbadalie.”
“It’snot?”
Shenibbledonherthumbnailforamoment.“I’vesaidmuchworse,myself.AndIdidn’tbringupourmeeting,either,evenafterImadetheconnection.”
“Still,ifyoufeel—”
“I’mnotupset,”shesaid,gentlebutfinal.Shelookedupathim,willinghimtounderstand.Tryingtofigureouthowtotellhim.Howtoshowhim.“Iam…otherthings.”Shesmiled.“Glad,forinstance.Thatyourememberedme,fromthatday.”
“You…”Apause.“Youareverymemorable.”
“Ha.I’mnot,really.Iwasnoone—partofahugeincomingcohort.”Shesnortedandlookeddowntoherfeet.Herstepshadtobemuchquickerthanhistokeepupwithhislongerlegs.“Ihatedmyfirstyear.Itwassostressful.”
Heglancedather,surprised.“Doyourememberyourfirstseminartalk?”
“Ido.Why?”
“Yourelevatorpitch—youcalleditaturboliftpitch.YouputapicturefromTheNextGenerationonyourslides.”
“Oh,yes.Idid.”Sheletoutalowlaugh.“Ididn’tknowyouwereaTrekkie.”
“Ihadaphase.Andthatyear’spicnic,whenwegotrainedon.Youwereplayingfreezetagwithsomeone’skidsforhours.Theylovedyou—theyhadtophysicallypeeltheyoungestoffyoutogethiminsidethecar.”
“Dr.Moss’skids.”Shelookedathimcuriously.Alightbreezeroseandruffledhishair,buthedidn’tseemtomind.“Ididn’tthinkyoulikedkids.Theopposite,actually.”
Heliftedoneeyebrow.“Idon’tliketwenty-five-year-oldswhoactliketoddlers.Idon’tmindthemifthey’reactuallythree.”
Olivesmiled.“Adam,thefactthatyouknewwhoIwas…Didithaveanythingtodowithyourdecisiontopretendtodateme?”
Aboutadozenexpressionscrossedhisfaceashelookedforananswer,andshecouldn’tpickapartasingleone.“Iwantedtohelpyou,Olive.”
“Iknow.Ibelievethat.”Sherubbedherfingersagainsthermouth.“Butwasthatall?”
Hepressedhislipstogether.Exhaled.Closedhiseyes,andforasplitsecondlookedlikehewashavinghisteethandhissoulpulledout.Thenhesaid,resigned,“No.”
“No,”sherepeated,pensive.“Thisismyplace,bytheway.”Shepointedatthetallbrickbuildingonthecorner.
“Right.”Adamlookedaround,studyingherstreet.“ShouldIcarryyourbagupstairs?”
“I…Maybelater.ThereissomethingIneedtotellyou.Before.”
“Ofcourse.”
Hestoppedinfrontofher,andshelookedupathim,atthelinesofhishandsome,familiarface.Therewasonlyfreshbreezebetweenthem,andwhateverdistanceAdamhadseenfittokeep.Herstubborn,mercurialfakeboyfriend.Wonderfully,perfectlyunique.Delightfullyoneofakind.Olivefeltherheartoverflow.
Shetookadeepbreath.“Thethingis,Adam…Iwasstupid.Andwrong.”Sheplayednervouslywithalockofherhair,thenletherhanddriftdowntoherstomach,and—okay.Okay.Shewasgoingtotellhim.Shewoulddothis.Now.“It’slike—it’slikestatisticalhypothesistesting.TypeIerror.It’sscary,isn’tit?”
Hefrowned.Shecouldtellhehadnoideawhereshewasgoingwiththis.“TypeIerror?”
“Afalsepositive.Thinkingthatsomethingishappeningwhenit’snot.”
“IknowwhattypeIerroris—”
“Yes,ofcourse.It’sjust…inthepastfewweeks,whatterrifiedmewastheideathatIcouldmisreadasituation.ThatIcouldconvincemyselfofsomethingthatwasn’ttrue.Seesomethingthatwasn’ttherejustbecauseIwantedtoseeit.Ascientist’sworstnightmare,right?”
“Right.”Hisbrowsfurrowed.“Thatiswhyinyouranalysesyousetalevelofsignificancethatis—”
“Butthethingis,typeIIerrorisbad,too.”
Hereyesboreintohis,hesitantandurgentallatonce.Shewasfrightened—sofrightenedbywhatshewasabouttosay.Butalsoexhilaratedforhimtofinallyknow.Determinedtogetitout.
“Yes,”heagreedslowly,confused.“Falsenegativesarebad,too.”
“That’sthethingwithscience.We’redrilledtobelievethatfalsepositivesarebad,butfalsenegativesarejustasterrifying.”Sheswallowed.“Notbeingabletoseesomething,evenifit’sinfrontofyoureyes.Purposefullymakingyourselfblind,justbecauseyou’reafraidofseeingtoomuch.”
“Areyousayingthatstatisticsgraduateeducationisinadequate?”
Sheexhaledalaugh,suddenlyflushed,eveninthedarkcoolofthenight.Hereyeswerestartingtosting.“Maybe.Butalso…IthinkthatIhavebeeninadequate.AndIdon’twanttobe,notanymore.”
“Olive.”Hetookonestepcloser,justafewinches.Notenoughtocrowd,butplentyforhertofeelhiswarmth.“Areyouokay?”
“Therehavebeen…somanythingsthathavehappened,beforeIevenmetyou,andIthinktheymessedmeupalittle.I’vemostlylivedinfearofbeingalone,and…I’lltellyouaboutthem,ifyouwant.First,Ihavetofigureitoutonmyown,whyshieldingmyselfwithabunchofliesseemedlikeabetterideathanadmittingevenoneounceoftruth.ButIthink…”
Shetookadeep,shudderingbreath.Therewasatear,onesingletearthatshecouldfeelslidingdownhercheek.Adamsawitandmouthedhername.
“IthinkthatsomewherealongthewayIforgotthatIwassomething.Iforgotmyself.”
Shewastheonewhosteppedcloser.Theonewhoputherhandonthehemofhisshirt,whotuggedgentlyandheldontoit,whostartedtouchinghimandcryingandsmilingatthesametime.“TherearetwothingsIwanttotellyou,Adam.”
“WhatcanI—”
“Please.Justletmetellyou.”
Hewasn’tverygoodatit.Atstandingthereanddoingnothingwhilehereyeswelledfullerandfuller.Shecouldtellthathefeltuseless,hishandsdanglinginfistsathissides,andsheshelovedhimevenmoreforit.Forlookingatherlikeshewasthebeginningandendofhiseverythought.
“ThefirstthingisthatIliedtoyou.Andmyliewasnotjustbyomission.”
“Olive—”
“Itwasareallie.Abadone.Astupidone.Iletyou—no,ImadeyouthinkthatIhadfeelingsforsomeoneelse,whenintruth…Ididn’t.Ineverdid.”
Hishandcameuptocupthesideofherface.“Whatdoyou—”
“Butthat’snotveryimportant.”
“Olive.”Hepulledhercloser,pressinghislipsagainstherforehead.“Itdoesn’tmatter.Whateveritisthatyou’recryingabout,Iwillfixit.Iwillmakeitright.I—”
“Adam,”sheinterruptedhimwithawetsmile.“It’snotimportant,becausethesecondthing,that’swhatreallymatters.”
Theyweresoclose,now.Shecouldsmellhisscentandhiswarmth,andhishandswerecradlingherface,thumbsswipingbackandforthtodryhercheeks.
“Sweetheart,”hemurmured.“Whatisthesecondthing?”
Shewasstillcrying,butshe’dneverbeenhappier.Soshesaidit,probablyintheworstaccenthe’deverheard
“Ikhouvanjou,Adam.”Epilogue
RESULTS:Carefulanalysesofthedatacollected,accountingforpotentialconfounds,statisticalerror,andexperimenter’sbias,showthatwhenIfallinlove…thingsdon’tactuallyturnouttobethatbad.
Tenmonthslater
“Standthere.Youwerestandingrightthere.”
“WasI?”
Hewashumoringher.Alittle.Thatdeliciouslyput-uponexpressionhadbecomeOlive’sfavoriteoverthepastyear.“Abitclosertothewaterfountain.Perfect.”Shetookastepbacktoadmireherhandiworkandthenwinkedathimasshetookoutherphonetosnapaquickpicture.Shebrieflyconsideredswappingitforhercurrentscreensaver—aselfieofthetwooftheminJoshuaTreeafewweeksearlier,AdamsquintinginthesunandOlivepressingherlipstohischeek—butthenthoughtbetterofit.
Theirsummerhadbeenfullofhikingtrips,anddeliciousicecream,andlate-nightkissesonAdam’sbalcony,laughingandsharinguntoldstoriesandlookingupatthestars,somuchbrighterthantheonesOlivehadonceclimbedonaladdertosticktotheceilingofherbedroom.ShewasgoingtostartworkingatacancerlabatBerkeleyinlessthanaweek,whichwouldmeanabusier,morestressfulscheduleandabitofacommute.Andyet,shecouldn’twait.
“Juststandthere,”sheordered.“Lookantagonisticandunapproachable.Andsay‘pumpkinspice.’?”
Herolledhiseyes.“What’syourplanifsomeonecomesin?”
Oliveglancedaroundthebiologybuilding.Thehallwaywassilentanddeserted,andthedimafter-hourslightsmadeAdam’shairlookalmostblue.Itwaslate,andsummer,andtheweekendtoboot:noonewasgoingtocomein.Eveniftheydid,OliveSmithandAdamCarlsenwereoldnewsbynow.“Likewho?”
“Anhmightshowup.Tohelpyoure-createthemagic.”
“Prettysureshe’soutwithJeremy.”
“Jeremy?Theguyyou’reinlovewith?”
Olivestuckhertongueoutathimandglanceddownatherphone.Happy.Shewassohappy,andshedidn’tevenknowwhy.Exceptthatshedidknow.
“Okay.Inoneminute.”
“Youcan’tknowtheexacttime.”Adam’stonewaspatientandindulgent.“Nottotheminute.”
“Wrong.IranaWesternblotthatnight.Ilookedatmylablogs,andIreconstructedboththewhenandthewheredowntotheerrorbars.Iamathoroughscientist.”
“Hm.”Adamfoldedhisarmsacrosshischest.“Howdidthatblottingturnout?”
“Notthepoint.”Shegrinned.“Whatwereyoudoinghere,bytheway?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Ayearago.Whywereyouwalkingaroundthedepartmentatnight?”
“Ican’tremember.MaybeIhadadeadline.OrmaybeIwasgoinghome.”Heshrugged,andscannedthehallwayuntilhiseyesfellonthewaterfountain.“MaybeIwasthirsty.”
“Maybe.”Shetookastepcloser.“Maybeyouweresecretlyhopingforakiss.”
Hegaveheralong,amusedlook.“Maybe.”
Shetookanotherstep,andanother,andanother.Andthenheralarmbeeped,once,rightasshecametostandinfrontofhim.Anotherintrusionofhispersonalspace.Butthistime,whenshepusheduponhertoes,whenshewrappedherarmsaroundhisneck,Adam’shandspulledherdeeperintohimself.
Ithadbeenoneyear.Exactlyoneyear.Andbynowhisbodywassofamiliartoher,sheknewthebreadthofhisshoulders,thescratchofhisstubble,thescentofhisskin,allbyheart;shecouldfeelthesmileinhiseyes.
Olivesankintohim,lethimsupportherweight,andthenmoveduntilhermouthwasalmostlevelwithhisear.Shepressedherlipsagainstitsshell,andwhisperedsoftlyintohisskin.
“MayIkissyou,Dr.Carlsen?”Author’sNote
IwritestoriessetinacademiabecauseacademiaisallIknow.Itcanbeaveryinsular,all-consuming,isolatingenvironment.Inthepastdecade,I’vehadexcellent(women)mentorswhoconstantlysupportedme,butIcouldnamedozensofinstancesinwhichIfeltasthoughIwasamassivefailureblunderingherwaythroughscience.Butthat,aseveryonewho’sbeenthereknows,isgradschool:astressful,high-pressure,competitiveendeavor.Academiahasitsownspecialwayoftearingapartwork-lifebalance,wearingpeopledown,andmakingthemforgetthattheyareworthmorethanthenumberofpaperstheypublishorthegrantmoneytheyareabletorakein.
TakingthethingIlovethemost(writinglovestories)andgivingitaSTEMacademiabackdrophasbeensurprisinglytherapeutic.MyexperienceshavenotbeenthesameasOlive’s(noacademicfakedatingforme,boo),butIstillmanagedtopourmanyofmyfrustrations,joys,anddisappointmentsintoheradventures.JustlikeOlive,inthepastfewyearsIhavefeltlonely,determined,helpless,scared,happy,cornered,inadequate,misunderstood,enthusiastic.WritingTheLoveHypothesisgavemetheopportunitytoturntheseexperiencesaroundwithahumorous,sometimesself-indulgentspin,andtorealizethatIcouldputmyownmisadventuresintoperspective—sometimesevenlaughatthem!Forthisreason—andIknowIprobablyshouldn’tsayit—thisbookmeansasmuchtomeasmyPh.D.dissertationdid.
Okay—that’salie.Itmeanswaaaymore.
Ifyou’renotfamiliarwithit,afewwordsaboutatopicthatcomesupquiteabitinthebook:TitleIXisaUSfederallawthatprohibitsanykindofdiscriminationonthebasisofgenderinallinstitutionsthatreceivefederalfunding(i.e.,mostuniversities).Itlegallycompelsschoolstorespondtoandremedysituationsofmisconductrangingfromhostileworkenvironmentstoharassmentandassault.CoveredschoolshaveTitleIXcoordinators,whosejobistohandlecomplaintsandviolationsandtoeducateaninstitution’scommunityabouttheirrights.TitleIXhasbeenandcurrentlyiscriticaltoguaranteeequalaccesstoeducationandtoprotectstudentsandemployeesagainstgender-baseddiscrimination.
Lastly:thewomeninSTEMorganizationsAnhmentionsinthebookarefictionalized,butmostuniversitieshostchaptersofsimilarorganizations.Forreal-liferesourcesonsupportingwomenacademicsinSTEM,visitawis.org.ForresourcesthatspecificallysupportBIPOCwomenacademicsinSTEM,visitsswoc.orgAcknowledgments
First,justallowmetosay:asgfgsfasdgfadg.Icannotbelievethisbookexists.Truly,afgjsdfafksjfadg.
Second,allowmetofurthersay:thisbookwouldnotexistifapproximatelytwohundredpeoplehadn’theldmyhandforthepasttwoyears.*Cueendcreditssong.*Inaverydisorganizedorder,Imustacknowledge:
ThaoLe,mymarvelousagent(yourDMchangedmylife,fortheverybest);SarahBlumenstock,myfantasticeditor(whoisnotthatkindofeditor);RebeccaandAlannah,myveryfirstbetas(andshout-outtoAlannahforthetitle!);mygremlins,forbeinggremaliciousandforalwaysdefendingthec.p.;DaddyLucyandJen(thankyouforallthereadsandtheSMandtheinfinitehand-holding),Claire,Court,Julie,Katie,Kat,Kelly,Margaret,andmywife,Sabine(ALIMONE!)(aswellasJess,Shep,andTrix,myhonorarygrems).MyWordsAreHardbuds,forthewhiningsupport:Celia,Kate,Sarah,andVictoria.MyTMers,whobelievedinmefromthestart:Court,Dani,Christy,Kate,Mar,Marie,andRachelle;Caitie,forbeingthefirstIRLpersonwhomademefeellikeIcouldtalkaboutallofthis;MargoLipschultzandJennieConway,forthepreciousfeedbackonearlydrafts;Frankie,forthetimeliestofprompts;Psi,forinspiringmewithherbeautifulwriting;theBerkletes,forthepoopingandtheknotting;SharonIbbotson,fortheinvaluableeditorialinputandencouragement;Stephanie,Jordan,LindseyMerril,andKat,forbetareadingmymanuscriptandhelpingmefixit;Lilith,forthestunningartandtheamazingcover,aswellasthepeepsatPenguinCreative;BridgetO’TooleandJessicaBrockforhelpingmemakepeoplethinkthattheymightwanttoreadthisbook;everyoneatBerkleywhohashelpedgettingthismanuscriptinshapebehindthescenes;RianJohnson,fordoingTheThingthatinspiredmetodoAllTheThings.
Thetruthis,Ineversawmyselfassomeonewho’deverwriteanythingbutsciencearticles.AndIprobablyneverwouldhaveifithadn’tbeenforallthefanfictionauthorswhopostedamazingpiecesonlineandencouragedmetostartwritingmyself.AndIcertainlywouldn’thavehadthegutstostartwritingoriginalfictionifithadn’tbeenforthesupport,thecheering,theencouragement,thecon-critIgotfromtheStarTrekandStarWars/Reylofandoms.Toeveryonewhohasleftacommentorkudosonmyfics,whohasgivenmeshout-outsonsocialmedia,whohasreachedoutinDMs,whohasdrawnartformeormadeamoodboard,whohascheeredmeon,whohastakenthetimetoreadsomethingI’vewritten:thankyou.Really,thankyousomuch.Ioweyoualot.
Last,andlet’sbereal,alsodefinitelyleast:somehalf-heartedthankstoStefan,foralltheloveandthepatience.Youbetternotbereadingthis,youpretentioushipster.Don’tmiss
LoveontheBrain
comingsoonfromBerkleyJove!
“Bytheway,youcangetleprosyfromarmadillos.”
IpeelmynoseawayfromtheairplanewindowandglanceatRocío,myresearchassistant.“Really?”
“Yep.Theygotitfromhumansmillenniaago,andnowthey’regivingitbacktous.”Sheshrugs.“Revengeandcolddishesandallthat.”
Iscrutinizeherbeautifulfaceforhintsthatshe’slying.Herlargedarkeyes,heavilyrimmedwitheyeliner,areinscrutable.HerhairissoVantablack,itabsorbs99percentofvisiblelight.Hermouthisfull,curveddownwardinitstypicalpout.
Nope.Igotnothing.“Isthisforreal?”
“WouldIeverlietoyou?”
“LastweekyousworetomethatStephenKingwaswritingaWinnie-the-Poohspin-off.”AndIbelievedher.LikeIbelievedthatLadyGagaisaknownsatanist,orthatbadmintonracquetsaremadefromhumanbonesandintestines.Chaoticgothmisanthropyandcreepydeadpansarcasmareherbrand,andIshouldknowbetterthantotakeherseriously.Problemis,everyonceinawhileshe’llthrowinacrazy-soundingstorythatuponfurtherinspection(i.e.,aGooglesearch)isrevealedtobetrue.Forinstance,didyouknowthattheTexasChainsawMassacrewasinspiredbyatruestory?BeforeRocío,Ididn’t.AndIsleptsignificantlybetter.
“Don’tbelieveme,then.”Sheshrugs,goingbacktohergradschooladmissionprepbook.“Gopettheleperarmadillosanddie.”
She’ssuchaweirdo.Iadoreher.
“Hey,yousureyou’regoingtobefine,awayfromAlexforthenextfewmonths?”Ifeelalittleguiltyfortakingherawayfromherboyfriend.WhenIwastwenty-two,ifsomeonehadaskedmetobeapartfromTimformonths,I’dhavewalkedintothesea.Thenagain,hindsighthasprovenbeyonddoubtthatIwasacompleteidiot,andRocíoseemsprettyenthusedfortheopportunity.SheplanstoapplytoJohnsHopkins’sneuroprograminthefall,andtheNASAlineonherCVwon’thurt.SheevenhuggedmewhenIinvitedhertocomealong—amomentofweaknessI’msureshedeeplyregrets.
“Fine?Areyoukidding?”ShelooksatmelikeI’minsane.“ThreemonthsinTexas,doyouknowhowmanytimesI’llgettoseeLaLlorona?”
“La…what?”
SherollshereyesandpopsinherAirPods.“Youreallyknownothingaboutfamedfeministghosts.”
Ibitebackasmileandturnbacktothewindow.In1905,Dr.CuriedecidedtoinvestherNobelPrizemoneyintohiringherfirstresearchassistant.Iwonderifshe,too,endedupworkingwithamildlyterrifying,Cthulhu-worshippingemogirl.IstareatthecloudsuntilI’mbored,andthenItakemyphoneoutofmypocketandconnecttothecomplimentaryin-flightWi-Fi.IglanceatRocío,makingsurethatshe’snotpayingattentiontome,andanglemyscreenaway.
I’mnotaverysecretiveperson,mostlyoutoflaziness:Irefusetotakeonthecognitivelaboroftrackingliesandomissions.Ido,however,haveonesecret.OnesinglepieceofinformationthatI’veneversharedwithanyone—notevenmysister.Don’tgetmewrong,ItrustReikewithmylife,butIalsoknowherwellenoughtopicturethescene:sheiswearingaflowysundressandflirtingwithaScottishshepherdshemetinatrattoriaontheAmalfiCoast.TheydecidetodotheshroomstheyjustpurchasedfromaBelarusianfarmer,andmid-tripsheaccidentallyblurtsouttheonethingshe’sbeenexpresslyforbiddentorepeat:hertwinsister,Bee,runsoneofthemostpopularandcontroversialaccountsonAcademicTwitter.TheScottishshepherd’scousinisaclosetedmen’srightsactivistwhosendsmeadeadpossuminthemailandratsmeouttohisinsanefriends,andIgetfired.
No,thankyou.Ilovemyjob(andpossums)toomuchforthis.
Icreated@WhatWouldMarieDoduringmyfirstsemesterofgradschool.Iwasteachinganeuroanatomyclassanddecidedtogivemystudentsananonymousmid-semestersurveytoaskforhonestfeedbackonhowtoimprovethecourse.WhatIgotwas…notthat.IwastoldthatmylectureswouldbemoreinterestingifIdeliveredthemnaked.ThatIshouldgainsomeweight,getaboobjob,stopdyingmyhair“unnaturalcolors,”getridofmypiercings.IwasevengivenaphonenumbertocallifIwas“everinthemoodforaten-inchdick.”(Yeah,right.)
Themessageswereprettyappalling,butwhatsentmesobbinginabathroomstallwasthereactionsoftheotherstudentsinmycohort—Timincluded.Theylaughedthecommentsoffasharmlesspranksanddissuadedmefromreportingthemtothedepartmentchair,tellingmethatI’dbemakingastinkaboutnothing.
Theywere,ofcourse,allmen.
(Seriously:Whyaremen?)
ThatnightIfellasleepcrying.Thefollowingday,Igotup,wonderedhowmanyotherwomeninSTEMfeltasaloneasIdid,andimpulsivelydownloadedTwitterandmade@WhatWouldMarieDo.IslappedonapoorlyphotoshoppedpicofDr.Curiewearingsunglassesandaone-linebio:Makingtheperiodictablegirliersince1889(she/her).Ijustwantedtoscreamintothevoid.Ihonestlydidn’tthinkthatanyonewouldevenseemyfirstTweet.ButIwaswrong.
@WhatWouldMarieDoWhatwouldDr.Curie,firstfemaleprofessoratLaSorbonne,doifoneofherstudentsaskedhertodeliverherlecturesnaked?
@198888Shewouldshortenhishalf-life.
@annahhhhRATHIMOUTTOPIERRE!!!
@emily89Putsomepoloniuminhispantsandwatchhisdickshrivel.
@bioworm55NukehimNUKEHIM
@lucyintheseaHasthishappenedtoyou?GodI’msosorry.Onceastudentsaidsomethingaboutmyassanditwassogrossandnoonebelievedme.
Overhalfadecadelater,afterahandfulofChronicleofHigherEducationnods,aNewYorkTimesarticle,andaboutamillionfollowers,WWMDismyhappyplace.What’sbestis,Ithinkthesameistrueformanyothers.Theaccounthasevolvedintoatherapeuticcommunityofsorts,usedbywomeninSTEMtotelltheirstories,exchangeadvice,and…bitch.
Oh,webitch.Webitchalot,andit’sglorious.
@BiologySarahHey,@WhatWouldMarieDoifsheweren’tgivenauthorshiponaprojectthatwasoriginallyherideaandthatsheworkedonforoveroneyear?Allotherauthorsaremen,because*ofcourse*theyare.
“Yikes.”Iscrunchmyfaceandquote-tweetSarah.
Mariewouldslipsomeradiumintheircoffee.Also,shewouldconsiderreportingthistoherinstitution’sOfficeofResearchIntegrity,makingsuretodocumenteverystepoftheprocess?
Ihitsend,drummyfingersonthearmrest,andwait.Myanswersarenotthemainattractionoftheaccount,notintheleast.TherealreasonpeoplereachouttoWWMDis…
Yep.This.Ifeelmygrinwidenastherepliesstartcomingin.
@DrAllixxThishappenedtome,too.IwastheonlywomanandonlyPOCintheauthorlineupandmynamesuddenlydisappearedduringrevisions.DMifuwanttochat,Sarah.
@AmyBernardIamamemberoftheWomeninScienceAssociation,andwehaveadviceforsituationslikethisonourwebsite(they’resadlycommon)!
@TheGeologicianGoingthroughthesamesituationrn@BiologySarah.IdidreportittoORIandit’sstillunfoldingbutI’mhappytotalkifyouneedtovent.
@SteveHarrisonDude,breakingnews:you’relyingtoyourself.Yourcontributionsaren’tVALUABLEenoughtowarrantauthorship.Yourteamdidyouafavorlettingyoutagalongforawhilebutifyou’renotsmartenough,you’reOUT.Noteverythingisaboutbeingawoman,sometimesyou’rejustALOSERItisatruthuniversallyacknowledgedthatacommunityofwomentryingtomindtheirownbusinessmustbeinwantofarandomman’sopinion.
I’velonglearnedthatengagingwithbasement-dwellingSTEMlordswhocomeonlinelookingforafightisneveragoodidea—thelastthingIwantistoprovidefreeentertainmentfortheirfragileegos.Iftheywanttoblowoffsomesteam,theycanbuyagymmembershiporplaythird-person-shootervideogames.Likenormalpeople.
Imaketohide@SteveHarrison’sdelightfulcontributionbutnoticethatsomeonehasrepliedtohim.
@ShmacademicsYeah,Marie,sometimesyou’rejustaloser.Stevewouldknow.
Ichuckle.
@WhatWouldMarieDoAw,Steve.Don’tbetoohardonyourself.
@ShmacademicsHeisjustaboy,standinginfrontofagirl,askinghertodotwiceasmuchworkasheeverdidinordertoprovethatshe’sworthyofbecomingascientist.
@WhatWouldMarieDoSteve,youoldromantic.
@SteveHarrisonFuckyou.ThisridiculouspushforwomeninSTEMisruiningSTEM.Peopleshouldgetjobsbecausethey’regoodNOTBECAUSETHEYHAVEVAGINAS.ButnowpeoplefeelliketheyhavetohirewomenandtheygetjobsovermenwhoareMOREQUALIFIED.ThisistheendofSTEMANDIT’SWRONG
@WhatWouldMarieDoIcanseeyou’reupsetaboutthis,Steve.
@ShmacademicsThere,there.
Steveblocksbothofus,andIchuckleagain,drawingacuriousglancefromRocío.@ShmacademicsisanotherhugelypopularaccountonAcademicTwitter,andbyfarmyfavorite.Hemostlytweetsabouthowheshouldbewriting,makesfunofelitismandivory-toweracademics,andpointsoutbadorbiasedscience.Iwasinitiallyabitdistrustfulofhim—hisbiosays“he/him,”andweallknowhowcismenontheinternetcanbe.ButheandIendedupforminganallianceofsorts.WhentheSTEMlordstakeoffenseatthesheerideaofwomeninSTEMandstartpitchforkinginmymentions,hehelpsmeridiculethemalittle.I’mnotsurewhenwestarteddirectmessaging,whenIstoppedbeingafraidthathewassecretlyaretiredGamergaterouttodoxxme,orwhenIbeganconsideringhimafriend.Butahandfulofyearslater,hereweare,chattingabouthalfadozendifferentthingsacoupleoftimesaweek,withouthavingevenexchangedrealnames.Isitweird,knowingthatShmachadlicethreetimesinsecondgradebutnotwhichtimezonehelivesin?Abit.Butit’salsoliberating.Plus,havingopinionsonlinecanbeverydangerous.Theinternetisaseafullofcreepy,cybercriminalfish,andifMarkZuckerbergcancoverhislaptopwebcamwithapieceoftape,Ireservetherighttokeepthingspainfullyanonymous.
Theflightattendantoffersmeaglassofwaterfromatray.Ishakemyhead,smile,andDMShmac.
Marie:IthinkStevedoesn’twanttoplaywithusanymore.
Shmac:IthinkStevewasn’theldenoughasatadpole.
Marie:Lol!
Shmac:How’slife?
Marie:Good!Coolnewprojectstartingnextweek.Myticketawayfrommygrossboss
Shmac:Ihopeso.Can’tbelievedude’sstillaround.
Marie:Thepowerofconnections.Andinertia.Whataboutyou?
Shmac:Work’sinteresting.
Marie:Goodinteresting?
Shmac:Politickyinteresting.So,no.
Marie:I’mafraidtoask.How’stherest?
Shmac:Weird.
Marie:Didyourcatpoopinyourshoeagain?
Shmac:No,butIdidfindatomatoinmyboottheotherday.
Marie:Sendpicsnexttime!What’sgoingon?
Shmac:Nothing,really.
Marie:Oh,comeon!
Shmac:Howdoyouevenknowsomething’sgoingon?
Marie:Yourlackofexclamationpoints!
Shmac:!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Marie:Shmac.
Shmac:FYI,I’msighingdeeply.
Marie:Ibet.Tellme!
Shmac:It’sagirl.
Marie:Ooooh!TellmeEVERYTHING!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Shmac:Thereisn’tmuchtotell.
Marie:Didyoujustmeether?
Shmac:No.She’ssomeoneI’veknownforalongtime,andnowshe’sback.
Shmac:Andsheismarried.
Marie:Toyou?
Shmac:Depressingly,no.
Shmac:Sorry—we’rerestructuringthelab.Gottagobeforesomeonedestroysa5milpieceofequipment.Talklater.
Marie:Sure,butI’llwanttoknoweverythingaboutyouraffairwithamarriedwoman
Shmac:Iwish.
It’snicetoknowthatShmacisalwaysaclickaway,especiallynowthatI’mflyingintotheWardass’sfrosty,unwelcominglap.
IswitchtomyemailapptocheckifLevihasfinallyansweredtheemailIsentthreedaysago.Itwasjustacoupleoflines—Hey,longtimenosee,Ilookforwardtoworkingtogetheragain,wouldyouliketomeettodiscussBLINKthisweekend?—buthemusthavebeentoobusytoreply.Ortoofullofcontempt.Orboth.
Ugh.
Ileanbackagainsttheheadrestandclosemyeyes,wonderinghowDr.CuriewoulddealwithLeviWard.She’dprobablyhidesomeradioactiveisotopesinhispockets,grabpopcorn,andwatchnucleardecayworkitsmagic.
Yep,soundsaboutright.
Afterafewminutes,Ifallasleep.IdreamthatLeviispartarmadillo:hisskinglowsafaint,sallowgreen,andhe’sdiggingatomatooutofhisbootwithanexpensivepieceofequipment.Evenwithallofthat,theweirdestthingabouthimisthathe’sfinallybeingnicetome.
—
WE’REPUTUPinsmallfurnishedapartmentsinalodgingfacilityjustoutsidetheJohnsonSpaceCenter,onlyacoupleofminutesfromtheSullivanDiscoveryBuilding,wherewe’llbeworking.Ican’tbelievehowshortmycommuteisgoingtobe.
“Betyou’llstillmanagetobelateallthetime,”Rocíotellsme,andIglareatherwhileunlockingmydoor.It’snotmyfaultifI’vespentasizablechunkofmyformativeyearsinItaly,wheretimeisbutapolitesuggestion.
TheplaceisconsiderablynicerthantheapartmentIrent—maybebecauseoftheraccoonincident,probablybecauseIbuy90percentofmyfurniturefromtheas-isbargaincorneratIkea.Ithasabalcony,adishwasher,and—hugeimprovementonmyqualityoflife—atoiletthatflushes100percentofthetimesIpushthelever.Trulyparadigmshifting.Iexcitedlyopenandcloseeverysinglecupboard(they’reallempty;I’mnotsurewhatIexpected),takepicturestosendReikeandmycoworkers,stickmyfavoriteMarieCuriemagnettothefridge(apictureofherholdingabeakerthatsays“I’mprettyrad”),hangmyhummingbirdfeederonthebalcony,andthen…
It’sstillonlytwo-thirtyp.m.Ugh
NotthatI’moneofthosepeoplewhohateshavingfreetime.Icouldeasilyspendfivesolidhoursnapping,rewatchinganentireseasonofTheOfficewhileeatingTwizzlers,ormovingtostep2ofthecouch-to-5KplanI’mstillvery…okay,sortofcommittedto.ButIamhere!InHouston!NeartheSpaceCenter!Abouttostartthecoolestprojectofmylife!
It’sFriday,andI’mnotduetocheckinuntilMonday,butI’mbrimmingwithnervousenergy.SoItextRocíotoaskwhethershewantstocheckouttheSpaceCenterwithme(No.)ortograbdinnertogether(Ionlyeatanimalcarcasses.).
She’ssomean.Iloveher.
MyfirstimpressionofHoustonis:big.Closelyfollowedby:humid,andthenby:humidlybig.InMaryland,remnantsofsnowstillclingtotheground,buttheSpaceCenterisalreadylushandgreen,amixofopenspacesandlargebuildingsandoldNASAaircraftondisplay.Therearefamiliesvisiting,whichremindsmealittleofanamusementpark.Ican’tbelieveI’mgoingtobeseeingrocketsonmywaytoworkforthenextthreemonths.ItsurebeatsthepervcrossingguardwhoworksontheNIHcampus.
TheDiscoveryBuildingisontheoutskirtsofthecenter.It’swide,futuristic,andthree-storied,withglasswallsandacomplicated-lookingstairsystemIcan’tquitefigureout.Istepinsidethemarblehall,wonderingifmynewofficewillhaveawindow.I’mnotusedtonaturallight;thesuddenintakeofvitaminDmightkillme.
“I’mBeeK?nigswasser.”Ismileatthereceptionist.“I’mstartingworkhereonMonday,andIwaswonderingifIcouldtakealookaround?”
Hegivesmeanapologeticsmile.“Ican’tletyouinifyoudon’thaveanIDbadge.Theengineeringlabsareupstairs—high-securityareas.”
Right.Yes.Theengineeringlabs.Levi’slabs.He’sprobablyupthere,hardatwork.Engineering.Labbing.Notansweringmyemails.
“Noproblem,that’sunderstandable.I’lljust—”
“Dr.K?nigswasser?Bee?”
Iturnaround.Thereisablondyoungmanbehindme.He’snonthreateninglyhandsome,mediumheight,smilingatmelikewe’reoldfriendseventhoughhedoesn’tlookfamiliar.“…Hi?”
“Ididn’tmeantoeavesdrop,butIcaughtyourname,and…I’mGuy.GuyKowalsky?”
Thenameclicksimmediately.Ibreakintoagrin.“Guy!It’ssonicetomeetyouinperson.”WhenIwasfirstnotifiedofBLINK,Guywasmypointofcontactforlogisticsquestions,andheandIemailedbackandforthafewtimes.He’sanastronaut—anactualastronaut!—workingonBLINKwhilehe’sgrounded.Heseemedsofamiliarwiththeproject,Iinitiallyassumedhe’dbemyco-lead.
Heshakesmyhandwarmly.“Iloveyourwork!I’vereadallyourarticles—you’llbesuchanassettotheproject.”
“Likewise.Ican’twaittocollaborate.”
IfIweren’tdehydratedfromtheflight,I’dprobablytearup.Icannotbelievethatthisman,thisnice,pleasantmanwhohasgivenmemorepositiveinteractionsinoneminutethanDr.Wardassdidinoneyear,couldhavebeenmyco-lead.Imusthavepissedoffsomegod.Zeus?Eros?MustbePoseidon.Shouldn’thavepeedintheBalticSeaduringmymisspentyouth.
“Whydon’tIshowyouaround?Youcancomeinasmyguest.”Henodstothereceptionistandgesturesatmetofollowhim.
“Iwouldn’twanttotakeyouawayfrom…astronauting?”
“I’mbetweenmissions.Givingyouatourbeatsdebugginganyday.”Heshrugs,somethingboyishlycharmingabouthim.We’llgetalonggreat,Ialreadyknowit.
“HaveyoulivedinHoustonlong?”Iaskaswestepintotheelevator.
“Abouteightyears.CametoNASArightoutofgradschool.AppliedfortheAstronautCorps,didthetraining,thenamission.”Idosomemathinmyhead.Itwouldputhiminhismid-thirties,olderthanIinitiallythought.“Thepasttwoorso,IworkedonBLINK’sprecursor.Engineeringthestructureofthehelmet,figuringoutthewirelesssystem.Butwegottoapointwhereweneededaneurostimulationexpertonboard.”Hegivesmeawarmsmile.
“Icannotwaittoseewhatwecookuptogether.”IalsocannotwaittofindoutwhyLeviwasgiventheleadofthisprojectoversomeonewhohasbeenonitforfiveyears.Itjustseemsunfair.ToGuyandtome.
Theelevatordoorsopen,andhepointstoaquaint-lookingcaféinthecorner.“Thatplaceoverthere—amazingsandwiches,worstcoffeeintheworld.Youhungry?”
“No,thanks.”
“Yousure?It’sonme.Theeggsandwichesarealmostasgoodasthecoffeeisbad.”
“Idon’treallyeateggs.”
“Letmeguess,avegan?”
Inod.Itryhardtobreakthestereotypesthatplaguemypeopleandnotusetheword“vegan”inmyfirstthreemeetingswithanewacquaintance,butifthey’retheonestomentionit,allbetsareoff.
“Ishouldintroduceyoutomydaughter.Sherecentlyannouncedthatshewon’teatanimalproductsanymore.”Hesighs.“LastweekendIpouredregularmilkinhercerealfiguringshewouldn’tknowthedifference.Shetoldmethatherlegalteamwillbeintouch.”
“Howoldisshe?”
“Justturnedsix.”
Ilaugh.“Goodluckwiththat.”
Istoppedhavingmeatatseven,whenIrealizedthatthedeliciouspollonuggetsmySiciliangrandmotherservednearlyeverydayandthecutegallinegrazingaboutthefarmweremore…connectedthanIoriginallysuspected.Stunningplottwist,Iknow.Reikewasn’tnearlyasdistraught:whenIfranticallyexplainedthat“Pigshavefamilies,too.Amomandadadandsiblingsthatwillmissthem,”shejustnoddedthoughtfullyandsaid,“Whatyou’resayingis,weshouldeatthewholefamily?”Iwentfullyveganacoupleofyearslater.Meanwhile,mysisterhasmadeitherlife’sgoaltoeatenoughanimalproductsfortwo.Togetherweemitonenormalperson’scarbonfootprint.
“Theengineeringlabsaredownthishallway,”Guysays.Thespaceisaninterestingmixofglassandwood,andIcanseeinsidesomeoftherooms.“Abitcluttered,andmostpeopleareofftoday—we’reshufflingaroundequipmentandreorganizingthespace.We’vegotlotsofongoingprojects,butBLINK’severyone’sfavoritechild.Theotherastronautspopbyeveryonceinawhilejusttoaskhowmuchlongeritwillbeuntiltheirfancyswagisready.”
Igrin.“Forreal?”
“Yep.”
Makingfancyswagforastronautsismyliteraljobdescription.IcanaddittomyLinkedInprofile.NotthatanyoneusesLinkedIn.
“Theneurosciencelabs—yourlabs—willbeontheright.Thiswaythereare—”Hisphonerings.“Sorry—mindifItakeit?”
“Notatall.”Ismileathisbeaverphonecase(“Nature’sEngineer”)andlookaway.
IwonderwhetherGuywouldthinkI’mlameifIsnappedafewpicturesofthebuildingformyfriends.IdecidethatIcanlivewiththat,butwhenItakeoutmyphone,Ihearanoisefromdownthehallway.It’ssoftandchirpy,andsoundsalotlikea…
“Meow.”
IglancebackatGuy.He’sbusyexplaininghowtoputonMoanatosomeoneveryyoung,soIdecidetoinvestigate.Mostoftheroomsaredeserted,labsfulloflarge,abstruseequipmentthatlookslikeitbelongsto…well.NASA.Ihearmalevoicessomewhereinthebuilding,butnosignofthe—
“Meow.”
Iturnaround.Afewfeetaway,staringatmewithacuriousexpression,isabeautifulyoungcalico.
“Andwhomightyoube?”Islowlyholdoutmyhand.Thekittencomescloser,delicatelysniffsmyfingers,andgivesmeawelcomingheadbutt.
Ilaugh.“You’resuchasweetgirl.”Isquatdowntoscratchherunderherchin.Shenipsmyfinger,aplayfullovebite.“Aren’tyouthemostpurr-fectlittlebaby?Ifeelsofur-tunatetohavemetyou.”
Shegivesmeadisdainfullookandturnsaway.Ithinksheunderstandspuns
“Comeon,Iwasjustkitten.”Anotheroutragedglare.Thenshejumpsonanearbycart,piledceiling-highwithboxesandheavy,precarious-lookingequipment.“Whereareyougoing?”
Isquint,tryingtofigureoutwhereshedisappeared,andthat’swhenIrealizeit.Thepieceofequipment?Theprecarious-lookingone?Itactuallyisprecarious.Andthecatpokeditjustenoughtodislodgeit.Andit’sfallingonmyhead.
Right.
About.
Now.
Ihavelessthanthreesecondstomoveaway.Whichistoobad,becausemyentirebodyissuddenlymadeofstone,unresponsivetomybrain’scommands.Istandthere,terrified,paralyzed,andclosemyeyesasajumbledchaosofthoughtstwiststhroughmyhead.Isthecatokay?AmIgoingtodie?OhGod,Iamgoingtodie.SquashedbyatungstenanvillikeWileE.Coyote.Iamatwenty-firstcenturyPierreCurie,abouttogetmyskullcrushedbyahorse-drawncart.ExceptthatIhavenochairinthephysicsdepartmentoftheUniversityofParistoleavetomylovelyspouse,Marie.ExceptthatIhavebarelydoneatenthofallthescienceImeanttodo.ExceptthatIwantedsomanythingsandIneverohmyGodanysecondnow—
Somethingslamsintomybody,shovingmeasideandintothewall.
Everythingispain.
Foracoupleofseconds.Thenthepainisover,andeverythingisnoise:metalclankingasitplungestothefloor,horrifiedscreaming,ashrill“meow”somewhereinthedistance,and,closertomyear…someoneispanting.Lessthananinchfromme.
Iopenmyeyes,gaspingforbreath,and…
Green.
AllIcanseeisgreen.Notdark,likethegrassoutside;notdull,likethepistachiosIhadontheplane.Thisgreenislight,piercing,intense.Familiar,buthardtoplace,notunlike—
Eyes.I’mlookingupintothegreenesteyesI’veeverseen.EyesthatI’veseenbefore.Eyessurroundedbywavyblackhairandafacethat’sanglesandsharpedgesandfulllips,afacethat’soffensively,imperfectlyhandsome.Afaceattachedtoalarge,solidbody—abodythatispinningmetothewall,abodymadeofabroadchestandtwothighsthatcouldmoonlightasredwoods.Easily.Oneisslottedbetweenmylegsandit’sholdingmeup.Unyielding.Thismanevensmellslikeaforest—andthatmouth.Thatmouthisstillbreathingheavilyontopofme,probablyfromtheeffortofwhiskingmeofffromundersevenhundredpoundsofmechanicalengineeringtools,and—
Iknowthatmouth.
Levi.
Levi.
Ihaven’tseenLeviWardinsixyears.Sixblessed,blissfulyears.Andnowhereheis,pushingmeintoawallinthemiddleofNASA’sSpaceCenter,andhelooks…helooks…
“Levi!”someoneyells.Theclankinggoessilent.Whatwasmeanttofallhassettledonthefloor.“Areyouokay?”
Levidoesn’tmove,nordoeshelookaway.Hismouthworks,andsodoeshisthroat.Hislipsparttosaysomething,butnosoundcomesout.Insteadahand,atoncerushedandgentle,reachesuptocupmyface.It’ssolarge,Ifeelperfectlycradled.Engulfedingreen,cozywarmth.Iwhimperwhenitleavesmyskin,aplaintive,involuntarysoundfromdeepin