Under One Roof

PRAISEFORTheLoveHypothesis
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“Smart,wittydialogueandadiversecastoflikablesecondarycharacters….Arealistic,amusingnovelthatreaderswon’tbeabletoputdown.”
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“Withwhip-smartandendearingcharacters,snappyprose,andaquirkytakeonafavoritetrope,Hazelwoodconvincinglynavigatesthefraughtshoalsofacademia….Thissmart,sexycontemporaryshoulddelightawideswathofromancelovers.”
—PublishersWeeklyTitlesbyAliHazelwood
TheLoveHypothesis
LOATHETOLOVEYOU
UnderOneRoof
StuckwithYou
BelowZeroUnderOneRoof
AliHazelwood
JOVE
NewYorkAJOVEBOOK
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2022byAliHazelwood
ExcerptfromLoveontheBraincopyright?2021byAliHazelwood
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
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EbookISBN:9780593437810
Joveaudioedition:February2022
Joveebookedition:May2022
Coverillustrationbylilithsaur
AdaptedforebookbyCoraWigen
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersonslivingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_5.8.0_139924578_c0_r1Contents
Cover
PraiseforTheLoveHypothesis
TitlesbyAliHazelwood
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Epilogue
ExcerptfromLoveontheBrain
AbouttheAuthorForBecca,whoisthebestandhadthebestprompt.Prologue
Present
Ilookatthepileofdishesinthesinkandreachapainfulrealization:I’vegotitbad.
Actually,scratchthat.IalreadyknewIhaditbad.ButifIhadn’t,thiswouldbeadeadgiveaway:thefactthatIcannotglanceatacolanderandtwelvedirtyforkswithoutseeingLiam’sdarkeyesasheleansagainstthecounter,armscrossedonhischest;withouthearinghisstern-yet-teasingvoiceaskingme,“Postmoderninstallationart?Orarewejustoutofsoap?”
Itcomesrightonthetrailofarrivinghomelateandnoticingthathelefttheporchlightonforme.Thatone…oh,thatonealwaysmakesmyhearthiccupinahalf-lovely,half-wrenchingway.Alsoheart-hiccupinducing:IremembertoturnitoffonceI’minside.Veryunlikeme,andpossiblyasignthatthechiaseedsludgehe’sbeenmakingmeforbreakfastinthemorningswhenI’mlateforworkisactuallymakingmybrainsmarter.
It’sgoodthatI’vedecidedtomoveout.Forthebest.Thesehearthiccupsarenotsustainableinthelongterm,nottomymentalorcardiovascularhealth.I’monlyahumblebeginneratthiswholepiningthing,butIcansafelystatethatlivingwithsomeguyyouusedtohateandsomehowendedupslippinginlovewithisnotawisemove.Trustme,Ihaveadoctorate.
(Inatotallyunrelatedfield,butstill.)
Youknowwhatisgoodaboutthepining?Theconstantnervousenergy.Ithasmelookingatthepileofdishesandthinkingthatcleaningthekitchencouldbeafunactivity.WhenLiamenterstheroom,I’mridingtheunexpectedurgetoloadthedishwasherasfarasitwillcarryme.Iglanceupathim,noticethewayhenearlyfillsthedoorframe,andordermyheartnottohiccup.Itdoesitanyway—evenaddsaflipforgoodmeasure.
Myheart’sajackass.
“You’reprobablywonderingifasniperisforcingmetodothedishesatgunpoint.”IbeamatLiamwithoutreallyexpectinghimtosmileback,because—Liam.He’snexttoimpossibletoread,butI’velongstoppedtryingtoseehisamusement,andIjustletmyselffeelit.It’snice,andwarm,andIwanttobatheinit.Iwanttomakehimshakehishead,andsay“Mara”inthattoneofhis,andlaughagainsthisbetterjudgment.Iwanttopushuponmytoes,reachouttofixthedarkstrandofhaironhisforehead,burrowintohischesttosmelltheclean,delicioussmellofhisskin.
ButIdoubthewantsanyofthat.SoIturnbacktorinseacerealbowlhidingunderthecolander.
“Ifiguredyouwerebeingmind-controlledbythoseparasiticsporeswesawonthatdocumentary.”Hisvoiceislow.Rich.Iwillmissitso,somuch.
“Thosewerebarnacles—See,Iknewyoufellasleephalfway.”Hedoesn’treply.Whichisfine,because—Liam.Amanoffewsmilesandevenfewerwords.“So,youknowtheneighbors’puppy?ThatFrenchbulldog?Hemusthavegottenawayduringawalk,becauseIjustsawhimruntowardmeinthemiddleofthestreet.Leashhangingfromhisneckandall.”Ireachoutforatowelandmyhandbumpsintohim.He’sstandingrightbehindmenow.“Oops.Sorry.Anyway,Icarriedhimbackhomeandhewassocute…”
Istop.BecauseallofasuddenLiamisnotjuststandingbehindme.I’mbeingcrowdedagainstthesink,theedgeofthecounterpressedintomyhipbones,andthere’satallwallofheatflatagainstmyback.
OhmyGod.
Ishe…Didhetrip?Hemusthavetripped.Thisisanaccident.
“Liam?”
“Thisokay,Mara?”heasks,buthedoesn’tmoveaway.Hestaysrightwhereheis,frontpressedagainstmyback,handsagainstthecounteroneachsideofmyhips,and…Isthissomekindofluciddream?Isthisaheart-hiccup-generatedcardiovascularevent?Ismybrainconvertingmymostshamefulnighttimefantasiesintohallucinations?
“Liam?”Iwhimper,becauseheisnuzzlingmyhair.Rightabovemytemple,withhisnoseandmaybeevenhismouth,anditseemsdeliberate.Verymuchnotanaccident.Ishe—?No.No,surelynot
Buthishandsspreadonmybelly,andthat’swhattipsmeoffthatthisisdifferent.Thisdoesn’tfeellikeoneofthoseaccidentalbrushingofarmsinthehallway,theonesI’vebeentellingmyselftostopobsessingover.Itdoesn’tfeellikethattimeItrippedovermycomputercordandalmoststumbledintohislap,anditdoesn’tfeellikehimgentlyholdingmywristtocheckhowbadlyIburnedmythumbwhilecookingonthestove.Thisfeels…“Liam?”
“Shh.”Ifeelhislipsatmytemple,warmandreassuring.“Everything’sokay,Mara.”
Somethinghotandliquidbeginstocoilatthebottomofmybelly.Chapter1
Sixmonthsago
“Frankly,TheygetonlikeahouseonfireisthemostmisleadingsayingintheEnglishlanguage.Faultywiring?Misuseofheatingequipment?Suspectedarson?Notevocativeoftwopeoplegettingalongintheleast.Youknowwhatahouseonfirehasmepicturing?Bazookas.Flamethrowers.Sirensinthedistance.Becausenothingismoreguaranteedtostartahousefirethantwoenemiesblowtorchingeachother’smostprizedpossession.Wanttotriggeranexplosion?Beingnicetoyourroommateisnotgoingtodoit.Lightingamatchontopoftheirkerosene-soakedhandmadequilt,ontheotherhand—”
“Miss?”TheUberdriverturns,lookingguiltyaboutinterruptingmypre-apocalypticspiel.“Justaheads-up—we’reaboutfiveminutesfromyourdestination.”
IsmileanapologeticThankyouandglancebackatmyphone.Mytwobestfriends’facestakeuptheentirescreen.Then,ontheuppercornerthere’sme:morefrownythanusual(welljustified),morepastythanusual(isthatevenpossible?),moregingerthanusual(mustbethefilter,right?).
“That’satotallyfairtake,Mara,”Sadiesayswithapuzzledexpression,“andIencourageyoutosubmityour,um,veryvalidcomplaintstoMadameMerriam-Websterorwhoever’sinchargeofthesematters,but…Iliterallyonlyaskedyouhowthefuneralwent.”
“Yes,Mara—how’d—funeral—go—?”ThequalityonHannah’sendofthecallispitiful,butthat’sbusinessasusual.
This,Isuppose,iswhathappenswhenyoumeetyourbestfriendsingradschool:Oneminuteyou’rehappyasaclam,clutchingyourshinybrand-newengineeringdiploma,gigglingyourwaythroughafifthroundofMidorisours.Thenextyou’reintears,becauseyou’reallgoingseparateways.FaceTimebecomesasnecessaryasoxygen.Therearezeroneon-greencocktailsinsight.Yourslightlyderangedmonologuesdon’thappenintheprivacyoftheapartmentyoushare,butinthesemipublicbackseatofanUber,whileyou’reonyourwaytohaveavery,veryweirdconversation.
See,that’sthethingIhatethemostaboutadulting:atsomepoint,onehastostartdoingit.Sadieisdesigningfancyeco-sustainablebuildingsinNewYorkCity.HannahisfreezingherbuttoffatsomeArcticresearchstationNASAputupinNorway.Andasforme..
I’mhere.MovingtoD.C.tostartmydreamjob—scientistattheEnvironmentalProtectionAgency.Onpaper,Ishouldbeoverthemoon.Butpaperburnssofast.Asfastashousesonfire.
“Helena’sfuneralwas…interesting.”Ileanbackagainsttheseat.“Iguessthat’stheupsideofknowingthatyou’reabouttodie.Yougettobullypeopleabit.Tellthemthatiftheydon’tplay‘KarmaChameleon’whileloweringyourcasketyourghostwillhaunttheirprogenyforgenerations.”
“I’mjustgladyouguyswereabletobewithherinthelastfewdays,”Sadiesays.
Ismilewistfully.“Shewastheworsttilltheveryend.Shecheatedinourlastchessgame.Asifshewouldn’thavebeatenmeanyway.”Imissher.Aninordinateamount.HelenaHarding,myPh.D.advisorandmentorforthepasteightyears,wasfamilyinawaymycold,distantbloodrelativesnevercaredtobe.Butshewasalsoelderly,inalotofpain,and,asshelikedtoputit,eagertomoveontobiggerprojects
“ItwassolovelyofhertoleaveyouherD.C.house,”Hannahsays.Shemusthavemovedtoabetterfjord,becauseIcanactuallymakeoutherwords.“Nowyou’llhaveaplacetobe,nomatterwhat.”
It’strue.It’salltrue,andIamimmenselygrateful.Helena’sgiftwasasgenerousasitwasunexpected,easilythekindestthinganyonehaseverdoneforme.Butthereadingofthewillwasaweekago,andthere’ssomethingIhaven’thadachancetotellmyfriends.Somethingcloselyrelatedtohousesonfire.“Aboutthat…”
“Uh-oh.”Twosetsofbrowsfurrow.“Whathappened?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Ilovecomplicated,”Sadiesays.“Isitalsodramatic?Letmegogettissues.”
“Notsure,yet.”Itakeafortifyingbreath.“ThehouseHelenaleftme,asitturnsout,shedidn’treally…ownit.”
“What?”Sadieabortsthetissuemissiontofrownatme.
“Well,shedidownit.Butonlyalittle.Only…half.”
“Andwhoownstheotherhalf?”TrustHannahtozoominonthecruxoftheproblem.
“Originally,Helena’sbrother,whodiedandleftittohiskids.Thentheyoungestsonboughtouttheothers,andnowhe’sthesoleowner.Well,withme.”Iclearmythroat.“HisnameisLiam.LiamHarding.He’salawyerinhisearlythirties.Andhecurrentlylivesinthehouse.Alone.”
Sadie’seyeswiden.“Holyshit.DidHelenaknow?”
“Ihavenoclue.You’dassume,buttheHardingsaresuchaweirdfamily.”Ishrug.“Oldmoney.Lotsofit.ThinkVanderbilts.Kennedys.Whatevengoesoninrichpeople’sbrains?”
“Probablymonocles,”Hannahsays.
Inod.“Ortopiarygardens.”
“Cocaine.”
“Polotournaments.”
“Cufflinks.”
“Hangon,”Sadieinterruptsus.“WhatdidLiamVanderbiltKennedyHardingsayaboutthisatthefuneral?”
“Excellentquestion,but:hewasn’tthere.”
“Hedidn’tshowuptohisaunt’sfuneral?”
“Hedoesn’treallykeepintouchwithhisfamily.Lotsofdrama,Isuspect.”Itapmychin.“Maybethey’relessVanderbilts,moreKardashians?”
“Areyousayingthathedoesn’tknowthatyouowntheotherhalfofhishouse?”
“SomeonegavemehisnumberandItoldhimI’dbecomingaround.”Ipausebeforeadding,“Viatext.Wehaven’ttalkedyet.”Anotherpause.“Andhedidn’treally…reply.”
“Idon’tlikethis,”SadieandHannahsayinunison.AnyothertimeI’dlaughabouttheirhivemind,butthere’ssomethingelseIstillhaven’ttoldthem.Somethingthey’lllikeevenless.
“FunfactaboutLiamHarding…YouknowhowHelenawaslike,theOprahofenvironmentalscience?”Ichewonmylowerlip.“Andshealwaysjokedthatherentirefamilywasmostlyliberal-leaningacademicsouttosavetheworldfromtheclutchesofbigcorporations?”
“Yeah?”
“HernephewisacorporatelawyerforFGPCorp.”Justsayingthewordsmakesmewanttogarglewithmouthwash.Andfloss.Mydentistwillbethrilled.
“FGPCorp—thefossilfuelspeople?”AdeeplineappearsinthemiddleofSadie’sbrow.“Bigoil?Supermajors?”
“Yep.”
“OhmyGod.Doesheknowyou’reanenvironmentalscientist?”
“Well,Ididgivehimmyname.AndmyLinkedInprofileisjustaGooglesearchaway.DorichpeopleuseLinkedIn,youthink?”
“NooneusesLinkedIn,Mara.”Sadierubshertemple.“JesusChrist,thisisreallybad.”
“It’snotthatbad.”
“Youcan’tgomeetwithhimalone.”
“I’llbefine.”
“He’llkillyou.You’llkillhim.You’llkilleachother.”
“I…maybe?”Iclosemyeyesandleanbackagainsttheseat.I’vebeentalkingmyselfoutofpanickingforseventy-twohours—withmixedresults.Ican’tcracknow.“Believeme,he’sthelastpersonIwanttoco-ownahousewith.ButHelenadidleavehalfofittome,andIkindofneedit?Ioweabillioninstudentloans,andD.C.iscrazyexpensive.MaybeIcanstaythereforabit?Saveonrent.It’safiscallyresponsibledecision,no?”
SadiefacepalmsjustasHannahsayscombatively,“Mara,youwereagradstudentuntiltenminutesago.You’rebarelyabovethepovertyline.Donotlethimkickyououtofthathouse.”
“Maybehewon’tevenmind!I’mactuallyverysurprisedhelivesthere.Don’tgetmewrong,thehouseisnice,but…”Itrailoff,thinkingaboutthepicturesI’veseen,thehoursspentonGoogleStreetViewscrollingandrescrollingthroughtheframes,tryingtogetagriponthefactthatHelenacaredaboutmeenoughtoleavemeahouse.It’sabeautifulproperty,certainly.Butmoreofafamilyresidence.NotwhatI’dexpectfromanacelawyerwhoprobablyearnsaEuropeancountry’sannualGDPperbillablehour.“Don’thigh-poweredattorneysliveinluxuryfifty-ninth-floorpenthouseswithgoldenbidetsandbrandycellarsandstatuesofthemselves?ForallIknowhebarelyspendstimeinthehouse.SoI’mjustgoingtobehonestwithhim.Explainmysituation.I’msurewecanfindsomekindofsolutionthat—”
“Hereweare,”thedrivertellsmewithasmile.Ireturnit,atadweakly.
“Ifyoudon’ttextuswithinhalfanhour,”Hannahsaysinadead-serioustone,“I’mgoingtoassumethatBigOilLiamisholdingyoucaptiveinhisbasementandcalllawenforcement.”
“Oh,don’tworryaboutthat.RememberthatkickboxingclassItookinourthirdyear?Andthattimeatthestrawberryfestival,whenIkickedthebuttoftheguywhotriedtostealyourpie?”
“Hewasaneight-year-oldboy,Mara.Andyoudidnotkickhisbutt—yougavehimyourownpieandakissontheforehead.Textinthirty,orI’mcallingthecops.”
Iglareather.“Assumingapolarbearhasn’tmuggedyouinthemeantime.”
“Sadie’sinNewYork,andshehastheD.C.policeonspeeddial.”
“Yup.”Sadienods.“Settingituprightnow.”
IstartfeelingnervousthemomentIexitthecar,anditgetsworsethefartherIdragmysuitcaseupthepath—aheavyballofanxietyslowlynestlingbehindmysternum.Istopabouthalfwaytotakeadeepbreath.IblameHannahandSadie,whoworrywaytoomuchandareapparentlycontagious.I’llbefine.Thiswillbefine.LiamHardingandIwillhaveanice,calmchatandfigureoutthebestpossiblesolutionthatissatisfactoryto…
Itakeintheearly-fallyardaroundme,andmytrailofthoughtfadesaway.
It’sasimplehouse.Large,butnotopiaryshitorrococogazebosorthosecreepygnomes.Justawell-keptlawnwiththeoccasionallandscapedcorner,ahandfuloftreesIdon’trecognize,andalargewoodenpatiofurnishedwithcomfortable-lookingpieces.Inthelate-afternoonsunlight,theredbricksgivethehouseacozy,homeyappearance.Andeverysquareinchoftheplaceseemsdustedinthewarmyellowofginkgoleaves.
Iinhalethesmellofgrass,andbark,andsun,andwhenmylungsarefullIletoutasoftlaugh.Icouldsoeasilyfallinlovewiththisplace.IsitpossiblethatIalreadyam?Myveryfirstloveatfirstsight?
MaybethisiswhyHelenaleftthehousetome,becausesheknewI’dformanimmediateconnection.Ormaybeknowingthatshewantedmeherehasmereadytoopenmyhearttoit.Eitherway,itdoesn’tmatter:thisplacefeelslikeitcouldbehome,andHelenaisonceagainbeinghermeddlingself,thistimefromtheafterlife.Afterall,shealwayswentonandonabouthowshewantedmetoreallybelong.“Youknow,Mara,Icantellyou’relonely,”she’dsaywheneverIstoppedbyherofficetochat.“Howdoyouevenknow?”“Becausepeoplewhoaren’tlonelydon’twritefanfictionforTheBachelorfranchiseintheirsparetime.”“It’snotfanfiction.Moreofametacommentaryontheepistemologicalthemesthatariseineachepisodeand—mybloghasplentyofreaders!”“Listen,you’reabrilliantyoungwoman.Andeveryonelovesredheads.Whydon’tyoujustdateoneofthenerdsinyourcohort?Ideallytheonewhodoesn’tsmelllikecompost.”“Becausethey’realldickswhokeepaskingwhenI’lldropouttogogetadegreeinhomeeconomics?”“Mmm.Thatisagoodreason.”
MaybeHelenafinallyrealizedthatanyhopeofmesettlingdownwithsomeonewasalostcause,anddecidedtochannelhereffortsintomesettlingdownsomewhere.Icanalmostpictureher,cacklinglikeasatisfiedhag,anditmakesmemissheramilliontimesharder.
Feelingmuchbetter,Ileavemysuitcasejustofftheporch(nooneisgoingtostealit,notcoveredasitisingeekykeepcalmandrecycleon,andgoodplanetsarehardtofind,andtrustme,i’manenvironmentalengineerstickers).Irunahandthroughmylongcurls,hopingit’snottoomessy(itprobablyis).IremindmyselfthatLiamHardingisunlikelytobeathreat—justarich,spoiledman-boywiththedepthofasurfboardwhocannotintimidateme—andliftmyarmtoringthebell.ExceptthatthedoorswingsopenbeforeIcangettoit,andIfindmyselfstandinginfrontof…
Achest.
Abroad,well-definedchestunderabutton-down.Andatie.Andadarksuitjacket.
Thechestisattachedtootherbodyparts,butit’ssowidethatforamomentit’sallIcansee.ThenImanagetoshiftmygazeandfinallynoticetherest:Long,well-muscledlegsfillingwhat’sleftofthesuit.Shouldersandarmsstretchingformiles.Asquarejawandfulllips.Shortdarkhair,andapairofeyesbarelyashadedarker.
Theyare,Irealize,fixedonme.Studyingmewiththesameavid,confusedinterestI’mexperiencing.Themanappearstobeunabletolookaway,asifspellboundatsomebase,deeplyphysicallevel.Whichisarelief,becauseIcan’tlookaway,either.Idon’twantto.
It’slikeapunchtomysolarplexus,howattractiveIfindhim.ItaddlesmybrainandmakesmeforgetthatI’mstandingrightinfrontofastranger.ThatIshouldprobablysaysomething.ThattheheatI’mfeelingisprobablyinappropriate.
Heclearshisthroat,lookingasflusteredasIfeel.
Ismile.“Hi,”Isay,alittlebreathless.
“Hi.”Hesoundstheexactsame.Hewetshislips,asthoughhismouthissuddenlydry,andwow.That’sagoodlookforhim.“CanI…CanIhelpyou?”Hisvoiceisbeautiful.Deep.Rich.Alittlehoarse.Icouldmarrythisvoice.Icouldrollaroundinthisvoice.Icouldlistentothisvoiceforeverandgiveupeveryothersound.ButmaybeIshouldfirstanswerthequestion.
“Doyou,um,livehere?”
“Ithinkso,”hesays,asthoughtoowonderstrucktoremember.Whichmakesmelaugh.
“Great.Iamherefor…”WhatamIherefor?Ah.Yes.“Iwaslookingfor,um,Liam.LiamHarding.DoyouknowwhereIcanfindhim?”
“It’sme.I’mhe.”Heclearshisthroatagain.Isheflushing?“Thatis,IamLiam.”
“Oh.”Ohno.Ohno.No,no.No.“I’mMara.MaraFloyd.The…Helena’sfriend.I’mhereaboutthehouse.”
Liam’sdemeanorchangesinstantly
Hebrieflycloseshiseyes,likeonewouldwhengivenatragic,insurmountablepieceofnews.Foramomenthelooksbetrayed,asthoughsomeonegavehimapreciousgiftonlytostealitfromhishandstheseconditwasunwrapped.Whenhesays,“It’syou,”thereisabittertingetohisbeautifulvoice.
Heturnsaroundandbeginstostalkdownthehallway.Ihesitateforamoment,wonderingwhattodo.Hedidn’tclosethedoor,sohewantsmetofollowhim.Right?Noclue.Eitherway,Ihalfownthehouse,soI’mprobablynottrespassing?Ishrugandhurryafterhim,tryingtokeepupwithhismuchlongerlegs,takinginnexttonothingofmysurroundingsuntilwereachalivingarea.
Whichisstunning.Thishouseisalllargewindowsandhardwoodfloors—ohmyGod,isthatafireplace?Iwanttomakes’moresinit.Iwanttoroastanentirepiglet.Withanappleinitsmouth.
“I’msogladwecanfinallytalkface-to-face,”ItellLiam,alittleoutofbreath.I’mfinallyrecoveringfrom…whateverhappenedatthedoor.Ifidgetwiththebraceletonmywrist,watchinghimwritesomethingonapieceofpaper.“Iamsosorryforyourloss.Yourauntwasmyfavoritepersoninthewholeworld.I’mnotsurewhyshedecidedtoleavemethehouse,andIdounderstandthatthisco-owningbusinesscomesabitoutofleftfield,but…”
Itrailoffwhenhefoldsthepaperandhandsittome.He’ssotall,Ihavetoconsciouslyliftupmychintomeethiseyes.“Whatisthis?”Idon’twaitforhisanswerandunfoldit.
There’sanumberwrittenonit.Anumberwithzeros.Lotsofthem.Ilookup,confused.“Whatdoesthismean?”
Heholdsmygaze.Thereisnotraceoftheflustered,hesitantmanwhogreetedmeafewmomentsearlier.ThisversionofLiamiscoldlyhandsomeandself-assured.“Money.”
“Money?”
Henods.
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Foryourhalfofthehouse,”hesaysimpatiently,anditsuddenlydawnsonme:heistryingtobuymeout.
Ilookdownatthepaper.ThisismoremoneythanI’veeverhadinmylife—oreverwill.Environmentalengineering?Notalucrativecareerchoice,apparently.AndIdon’tknowmuchaboutrealestate,butmyguessisthatthissumiswayabovetheactualvalueofthehouse.“I’msorry.Ithinkthere’samisunderstanding.I’mnotgoingto—Idon’t—”Itakeadeepbreath.“Idon’tthinkIwanttosell.”
Liamstares,expressionless.“Youdon’tthink?”
“Idon’t.Wanttosell,thatis.”
Henodsonce,curtly.Andthenasks,“Howmuchmore?”
“What?”
“Howmuchmoredoyouwant?”
“No,I—I’mnotinterestedinsellingthehouse,”Irepeat.“Ijustcan’t.Helena—”
“Isdoubleenough?”
“Double—howdoyoueven—doyouhavecorpsesburiedundertheflowerbeds?”
Hiseyesareblocksofice.“Howmuchmore?”
Isheevenlisteningtome?Whyishebeingsoinsistent?Wherehashiscute,boyishblushgone?Atthedoor,hejustseemedso…
Whatever.Iwasclearlywrong.“Ijustcan’tsell.I’msorry.Butmaybewecanfigureoutsomethingelseinthenextfewdays?Idon’thaveaplacetostayinD.C.,soIwasthinkingofmovinginforalittlewhile…”
Heexhalesasilentlaugh.ThenherealizesthatI’mserious,andshakeshishead.“No.”
“Well.”Itrytobereasonable.“Thehouseseemslarge,and—”
“You’renotmovingin.”
Itakeadeepbreath.“Iunderstand.Butmyfinancialsituationisveryprecarious.I’mstartingmynewjobintwodays,andit’sreallycloseby.Onfoot.Thisisaperfectplaceformetoliveforalittlewhile,untilIgetbackonmyfeet.”
“Ijusthandedyouthesolutiontoallofyourfinancialproblems.”
Iwince.“It’sreallynotthatsimple.”Ormaybeitis.Idon’tknow,becauseIjustcan’tstoprememberingtheginkgoleavessettlingonthehydrangeasandwonderingwhattheywouldlooklikeinthespring.MaybeHelenawouldhavewantedmetoseetheyardineveryseason.Ifshe’dmeantformetosell,shewouldhaveleftmeachunkofcash.Right?“TherearereasonswhyI’dprefernottosell.Butwecanworkoutasolution.Forinstance,Icould,um,temporarilyrentyoumyhalfofthehouseandusethemoneytostayinanotherplace?”Thatway,I’dstillbeholdingontoHelena’sgift.I’dbeoutofLiam’swayandabovethedestitutionthreshold.Well,slightlyabove.Andinthefuture,onceLiamgetsmarriedtohisgirlfriend(who’sprobablyaFortune500CEOwhocanlisttheDow30bymarketcapandhasafavoriteiteminthegoopnewsletter),movestoaMcMansioninPotomac,MD,andstartsapolitico-economicdynasty,Icouldrevisitthisplace.Movein,likeHelenaseemstohavewanted.IfbythenI’vegottenaraiseandcancoverthewaterbillonmyown,thatis.
It’safairproposal,right?Wrong.BecauseLiam’sresponseis:
“No.”Boy,helovestheword.
“Butwhy?youclearlyhavethemoney—”
“Iwantthissettledonceandforall.Whoisyourattorney?”
I’mabouttolaughinhisfaceandcrackajokeaboutmy“legalteam”whenhisiPhonerings.HechecksthecallerIDandswearssoftlyunderhisbreath.“Ineedtotakethis.Stayput,”heorders,waytoobossyformytaste.Beforehestepsoutofthelivingroomhepinsmewithhiscold,sterneyesandrepeatsoncemore,“Thisisnot,andwillneverbeyourhouse.”
Andthat,Ibelieve,isit.
It’sthatverylastsentencethatclinchesit.Well,togetherwiththecondescending,domineering,arrogantwayhetalkedtomeinthepasttwominutes.Iwalkedintothishousefullyreadytohaveaproductiveconversation.Igavehimseveraloptions,butheshutmedownandnowI’mgettingpissed.Ihaveasmuchlegalrightashedoestobehere,andifherefusestoacknowledgeit…
Well.Toobadforhim.
Angerbubblingupmythroat,ItearthepaperLiamgavemeinfourpiecesanddropitonthecoffeetableforhimtofindlater.ThenIgobacktotheporch,retrievemysuitcase,andstartlookingforanunusedbedroom.
Guesswhat?ItextSadieandHannah.MaraFloyd,Ph.D.,justmovedintohernewhouse.Andit’smostdefinitelyonfire.Chapter2
Fivemonths,twoweeksago
Idon’thavetimeforthis.
Iamlateforwork.Ihaveameetinginhalfanhour.Ihaveyettobrushmyteethandmyhair.
Ireallydon’thavetimeforthis.
Andyet,likethefoolthatIhavegrowntobe,Igiveintotemptation.Islamthefridgedoor,turnaroundtoleanagainstit,crossmyarmsasmenacinglyasIcan,andIstareatLiamacrosstheexpanseoftheopen-conceptkitchen.
“Iknowyouhavebeenusingmycoffeecreamer.”
It’swastedenergy.BecauseLiamjuststandsonthesideoftheisland,asimpassibleasthegraniteofthecountertop,calmlyspreadingbutteronapieceoftoast.Hedoesn’tfightback.Hedoesn’tlookatme.Heproceedswithhisbuttering,unbothered,andasks,“HaveI?”
“You’renotasstealthyasyouthink,buddy.”Igivehimmybestglare.“Andifthisissomekindofintimidationtactic,it’snotworking.”
Henods.Stillunbothered.“Haveyouinformedthepolice?”
“What?”
Heshrugshisstupid,broadshoulders.Heiswearingasuit,becauseheisalwayswearingasuit.Acharcoalthree-piecethatfitshimperfectly—andyetnotatall,becausehereallydoesn’thavetheevil-corporate-businessmanphysique.MaybeduringhismandatoryKilltheEarthtrainingheinternedasanoilrigdriller?“Thisallegedtheftofcoffeecreamerappearstodistressyoualot.Haveyoutoldlawenforcement?”
Deepbreaths.Ineedtotakedeepbreaths.InD.C.,murdercanbepunishedwithuptothirtyyearsinprison.Iknow,becauseIlookeditupthedayafterImovedin.Thenagain,ajuryofmypeerswouldneverconvictme—notifIlaidoutthehorrorsI’vebeensubjectedtointhepastfewweeks.TheywouldsurelyruleLiam’sdeathasself-defenseReallytryingtomakethiswork.Doyoueverstopandwonderifmaybeyouarebeinganasshole?”
Thistimehedoeslookup.Hiseyesaresocold,myentirebodyshivers.“Ididtry.Once.AndrightwhenIwasonthevergeofabreakthroughsomeonestartedblastingtheFrozensoundtrackatfullvolume.”
Iflush.“Iwascleaningmyroom.Ihadnoideayouwerehome.”
“Mmm.”Henods,andthendoessomethingIdidnotexpect:hecomescloser.Hetakesafewleisurelysteps,makinghiswaythroughthebeautifulmixofultramodernappliancesandclassicfurnitureofthekitchenuntilhe’stoweringoverme.StaringdownasthoughI’manantproblemhethoughthe’dlonggottenridof.Hesmellslikeshampooandexpensivefabric,andhe’sstillholdingthebutterknife.Canyoustabsomeonewiththat?Idon’tknow,butLiamHardinglookslikehe’dbeabletomurdersomeone(i.e.,me)withabeachball.“Isn’tyouremotional-supportcreamerbadfortheenvironment,Mara?”heasks,voicelowanddeep.“Thinkoftheimpactofultraprocessedfoods.Thetoxicingredients.Allthatplastic.”
Heissocondescending,Icouldbitehim.InsteadIsquaremyshouldersandstepevencloser.“Idosomethingyou’veprobablyneverheardof—it’scalledrecycling.”
“Isthatso?”Hesetstheknifeonthecounterandglancesnexttome,atthebinsIinstalledafterImovedin.Theyareoverflowing,butonlybecauseI’vebeentoobusytobringthemtothecenter.Andheknowsit.
“There’snopickupintheneighborhood.ButIplantodrivetothe—Whatareyou…”Liam’shandsclosearoundmywaist,hisfingerssolong,theymeetbothonmybackandabovemybellybutton.Mybrainstutterstoastop.Whatthehellishe—?
HeliftsmeuptillI’mhoveringabovethefloor,theneffortlesslymovesmeafewinchestothesideoftherefrigerator.LikeI’maslightasanAmazondeliverybox,thegiantonesthatforsomereasonhaveonlyasinglestickofdeodorantpackedinside.IsputterasindignantlyasIcan,buthedoesn’tpayanyattentiontome.Insteadhesetsmeonmyfeet,opensthefridge,grabsajarofraspberrycompote,andmurmurs,“Thenyoubettergettoit,”withonelastlong,intenselook.
Hegoesbacktohistoast,andIgobacktonotexistinginhisuniverse.
Lovely.
Igrowlmywayoutoftheroom,halfflusteredandallhomicidal,stillfeelingtheheelsofhispalmspressingintomyskin.Inhissleep.IswearI’mgoingtokillhiminhisdamnsleep.Whenheleastexpectsit.AndthenI’llcelebratebythrowingemptybottlesofcreamerathiscorpse.
TenminuteslaterIamrage-sweating,walkingtoworkwhileonanemergencyventing-videocall(ventocall)withSadie.Therehavebeenalotofthoseinthepastfewweeks.Alot
“…hedoesn’tevendrinkcoffee.Whichmeansthathe’seitherflushingcreamerdownthetoilettospitemeorchuggingitdownlikeit’swater—andIhonestlydon’tknowwhichscenariowouldbeworse,becauseontheonehand,oneservingislike,sixhundredandfortycaloriesandLiamstillmanagestoonlyhavethreepercentbodyfat,butontheother,takingtimeoutofhisbusyscheduletodeprivemeofmycreamerisagestureofunprecedentedcrueltythatnooneshouldever…”ItrailoffwhenInoticeherbemusedexpression.“What?”
“Nothing.”
Isquint.“Areyoulookingatmeweird?”
“No!Nope.”Sheshakesherheademphatically.“It’sjust…”
“Just?”
“You’vebeentalkingaboutLiamnonstopfor”—sheliftsoneeyebrow—“eightminutesstraight,Mara.”
Mycheeksburn.“I’msosorry,I—”
“Don’tgetmewrong,Ilovethis.Listeningtoyoubitchismyjam,tenoutoften,wouldrecommend.IjustfeellikeI’veneverseenyoulikethis,youknow?Welivedtogetherforfiveyears.You’reusuallyallaboutcompromiseandharmonyandImagineallthepeople.”
Itrynottolivemylifeinaperennialstateofflame-throwinganger.Myparentswerethekindofpeoplewhoprobablyshouldnothavehadkids:checkedout,notaffectionate,impatientformetomoveoutsotheycouldturnmychildhoodbedroomintoashoecloset.Iknowhowtocohabitatewithothersandminimizeconflict,becauseI’vebeendoingitsinceIwasseventeen—tenyearsago.Liveandletliveisacrucialskillsetinanysharedlivingspace,andIhadtomasteritquickly.AndIstillhaveitmastered.Ireallydo.I’mjustnotsureIwanttoletLiamHardinglive.
“I’mtrying,Sadie,butI’mnottheonewhokeepsloweringthedamnthermostattofreezing.Whodoesn’tbotherturningoffthelightsbeforegoingout—ourelectricitybillisinsane.Twodaysago,Igothomeafterwork,andtheonlypersoninthehousewassomerandomguysittingonmycouchwhoofferedmemyownCheez-Its.IthoughthewasahitmanLiamhadhiredtokillme!”
“OhmyGod.Washe?”
“No.HewasCalvin—Liam’sfriend,who’stragicallyamilliontimesnicerthanhim.Thepointis,Liam’sthekindofshitroommatewhoinvitespeopleoverwhenhe’snothome,withouttellingyou.Also,whythehellcan’thesayhiwhenheseesme?Andishepsychologicallyunabletoclosethecupboards?Doeshehavesomedeep-rootedtraumathatdrovehimtodecoratethehouseexclusivelywithblack-and-whiteprintsoftrees?Isheawarethathedoesn’thavetoslamthedooreverytimehegoesout?Anddoesheabsolutelyneedtohavehisstupiddudebrofriendscomeovereveryweekendtoplayvideogamesinthe—”Ifinishcrossingthestreetandlookatthescreen.Sadieischewingonherbottomlip,pensive.“What’sgoingon?”
“Youweregoingoffanddidn’treallyseemtoneedme,soIdidathing.”
“Athing?”
“IgoogledLiam.”
“What?Why?”
“BecauseIliketoputafacetopeopleItalkaboutforseveralhoursaweek.”
“Whateveryoudo,donotclickonhispageontheFGPCorpwebsite.Donotgivethemthehits!”
“Toolate.Heactuallylooks…”
“Likeglobalwarmingandcapitalismhadalovechildwho’sgoingthroughabodybuildingphase.”
“Um…Iwasgoingtosaycute.”
Ihuff.“WhenIlookathimallIcanseeareallthecreamer-lesscupsofcoffeeI’vebeendrinkingsincethedayImovedin.”Andmaybesometimes,justsometimes,Irememberedthatflustered,wonderstrucklookhegavemebeforeheknewwhoIwas.Mournitalittle.ButwhoamIkidding?Imusthavehallucinatedit.
“Hasheofferedtobuyyououtagain?”Sadieasks.
“Hedoesn’treallyacknowledgemyexistence.Well,excepttooccasionallystarelikeI’msomeroachinfestinghispristinelivingspace.Buthislawyersendsmeemailswithridiculousbuyoutofferseveryotherday.”Icanseemyworkbuilding,ahundredfeetaway.“ButIwon’t.I’llkeeptheonethingHelenaleftme.AndonceI’minabetterplacefinanciallyI’lljustmoveout.Itshouldn’ttaketoolong,afewmonthsatthemost.Andinthemeantime…”
“Blackcoffee?”
Isigh.“InthemeantimeIdrinkbitter,disgustingcoffee.”Chapter3
Fivemonths,oneweekago
DearHelena,
Thisisweird.
Isthisweird?
Thisisprobablyweird.
Imean,you’redead.AndI’mhere,writingyoualetter.WhenI’mnotevensureIbelieveintheafterlife.Truthbetold,Istoppedponderingeschatologicalmattersinhighschoolbecausetheygotmeanxiousandmademebreakoutinhivesundermyleftarmpit(nevertheright;what’supwiththat?).Andit’snotlikeI’mevergoingtofigureoutamysterythateludedgreatthinkerslikeFoucaultorDerridaorthatunspellableGermandudewithbushysideburnsandsyphilis.
ButIdigress.
You’vebeengoneforoveramonth,andthingsaresameold,sameold.Humanityisstillintheclutchesofcapitalistcabals;wehaveyettofigureoutawaytoslowdowntheimpendingcatastrophethatisanthropogenicclimatechange;Iwearmy“SavetheBees&TaxtheRich”T-shirtwheneverIgoforarun.Theusual.IdolovetheworkI’mdoingattheEPA(thankyousomuchforthatrecletter,bytheway;I’mverygratefulyoudidn’tmentionthattimeyoubailedSadie,Hannah,andmeoutofjailafterthatanti-damprotest.TheU.S.governmentwouldnothavelikedthatone).ThereisthesmallissuethatI’mtheonlywomaninateamofsix,andthatthedudesIworkwithseemtobelievethatmysquishyfemalebrainisunabletograspsophisticatedconceptslike…thesphericityoftheEarth,Iguess?TheotherdaySean,myteamleader,spentthirtyminutesexplainingthecontentsofmyowndissertationtome.Ihadveryvividfantasiesaboutclockinghimintheheadandtilinghiscadaverundermybathtub,butyouprobablyalreadyknowallofthis.Youprobablyjustsitaroundonacloudalldaybeingomniscient.EatingTriscuits.Occasionallyplayingtheharp.Youlazybum.
IthinkthereasonI’mwritingthisletterthatyouwillnever,everreadisthatIwishIcouldtalktoyou.Ifmylifewereamovie,I’dtrudgetoyourtombstoneandbaremyheartwhileapublic-domainsymphonyinDminorplaysinthebackground.ButyouwereburiedinCalifornia(inconvenient,much?)whichmakesletterwritingtheonlyfeasibleoption.
Allofthisistosay:First,Imissyou.Alot.Afuckinghugelot.Howcouldyouleavemeherewithoutyou?Shame,Helena.Shame.
Second:Iamso,sogratefulyouleftmethishome.It’sthebest,coziestplaceI’veeverlivedin,handsdown.I’vebeenspendingmyweekendsreadinginthesunroom.Honestly,IneverthoughtI’dsetfootinahousewithafoyerwithoutbeingescortedoffthepremisesbysecurity.Ijust…I’veneverhadaplacethatwasmine,before.Aplacethat’sgoingtobetherenomatterwhat.Asafeharbor,ifyouwill.IfeelyourpresencewhenI’mhome,evenifthelasttimeyousetfootherewasprobablyinthe’70sonyourwaybackfromawomen’sliberationmarch.Anddon’tworry,IfondlyrememberyourhatredofcheesyandIcanalmosthearyousay,Cutthisshitout.SoIwill.
Third,andthisislessofastatementandmoreofaquestion:WouldyouminditifIkilledyournephew?BecauseIamveryclosetoit.Like—soooclose.Iambasicallystabbinghimwithapotatopeeleraswespeak.Thoughitoccurstomenowthatmaybeit’sexactlywhatyouwanted.YounevermentionedLiaminalltheyearsIknewyou,afterall.Andhedoesworkforacompanywhosemainproductisgreenhousegases,somaybeyouhatedhim?Maybeourentirefriendshipwasalongconthatyouknewwouldendinmepouringbrakefluidintheteaofyourleastfavoriterelative.Inwhichcase,welldone.AndIhateyou.
Icouldgiveacomprehensivelistofhishorribleness(IcurateoneinmyNotesapp)butIliketoinflictituponSadieandHannahviaZoom.Ijust…IguessIwishIunderstoodwhyyouputmeinthepathofoneoftheasswipiestasswipesinthecountry.Intheworld.IntheentiredamnMilkyWay.Justthewayhelooksatme—thewayhedoesn’tlookatme.Heclearlythinkshe’saboveme,and—
Thedoorbellrings.Istopmidsentenceandruntotheentrance.Whichtakesmelike,twowholeminutes,provingmypointthatthishouseisplentylargefortwopeople.
IwishIcouldsaythatLiamHardinghasshittasteinhomedecor.Thatheabusesinspirational-quotesdecals,buysplasticfruitatIkea,sticksneonbarlightseverywhere.Sadly,eitherheknowshowtoputtogetheraprettynicehouseinterior,orhisFPGCorpbloodmoneypaidtohiresomeonewhodoes.Theplaceisanelegantcombinationoftraditionalandmodernpieces;I’malmostcertainthatwhoeverfurnisheditcancorrectlyusethewordpaletteinasentence,andthatthewaythedeepreds,forestgreens,andsoftgrayscomplementthehardwoodfloorsisalittlemorethanaccidental.Andthere’sthefactthateverywherelooksso…simple.Withahomeaslargeasthisone,I’dbetemptedtostuffeveryroomwithtablesandsideboardsandrugs,butLiamsomehowlimitedhimselftobarenecessities.Couches,afewcomfortablechairs,shelvesfullofbooks.That’sit.Thehouseisairy,fulloflight,sparselydecoratedinwarmtones,andallthemorebeautifulforit.“Minimalist,”SadietoldmewhenIgaveheravideotour.“Reallywelldone,too.”Ibelievemyresponsewasasnarl.
Andthenthere’stheartonthewalls,whichisunwelcomelygrowingonme.Picturesoflakesatsunriseandwaterfallsatsunset,thickwoodsandlonetrees,frozengroundsandbloomingfields.Theoccasionalwildanimalgoingaboutitsday,alwaysinblackandwhite.Idon’tknowwhy,butI’vebeencatchingmyselfstaringatthem.Theframingissimple,thesubjectmundane,butthere’ssomethingaboutthem.Likewhoevertookthosephotosreallyconnectedwiththesettings.Liketheytriedtotrulycapturethem,totakehomeapieceofthem.
Iwonderwhothephotographeris,butIcanfindnosignature.It’sprobablysomestarvingGeorgetownMFAgrad,anyway.Theypouredtheirsoulintotheserieshopingit’llbeboughtbysomeonewhoappreciatesart,andinsteadhereitis.Ownedbyatotalass.IbetLiamdidn’tevenchoosethem.Ibettheywerejustatax-deductiblepurchaseforhim.Maybehefiguredthatinthelongrunanicecollectionisasgoodasstockdividends.
“I’llneedasignature,”theUPSguytellsmewhenIopenthedoor.He’schewingbubblegumandlooksaboutfifteen.Ifeeldecrepitinside.“You’renotWilliamK.Harding,areyou?”
WilliamK.It’salmostcute.Ihateit.“Nope.”
“Ishehome?”
“No.”Mercifully.
“Isheyourhusband?”
Ilaugh.ThenIlaughsomemore.ThenIrealizethattheUPSguyissquintingatmelikeI’mtheWickedWitchoftheWest.“Um,no.Sorry.He’smy…roommate.”
“Right.Canyousignforyourroomie?”
“Sure.”Ireachforthepen,butmyhandstillsinmidairwhenInoticetheFGPCorpinsigniaontheenvelope.
Ihatethem.EvenmorethanIhateLiam.Notonlydoeshemakememiserableathomemowingthelawnatseventhirtya.m.ontheonedayoftheweekIcansleepin,butheaddsinsulttoinjurybyworkingforoneofmyprofessionalnemeses.FGPCorpisoneofthosehugeconglomeratesthatkeeponcausingenvironmentalmesses—abunchofovereducateddudesin$7Ksuitswhodisseminatebiotoxinsaroundtheworldwithutterdisregardforthebrownpelicans(andtheentirefutureofhumanity,butI’mpersonallymoreattachedtothepelicans,whodidnothingtodeservethis).
Iglareatthethickbubblemailer.WouldLiamsignforanEPAenvelopeonmybehalf?Idoubtit.Ormaybehewould.Thenhe’dtieittoredballoonshisbuddyPennywiseprovidedandwatchitdisappearintothesunset.I’malready73percentcertainthathe’sbeenhidingmysocks.I’mdowntofourmatchingpairs,forcrisp’ssake.
“Actually.”Itakeastepback,smiling,revelinginmyownpettiness.Helena,you’dbesoproud.“Iprobablyshouldn’tsignforhim.Ibetit’safederalcrimeorsomething.”
TheUPSguyshakeshishead.“It’sreallynot.”
Ishrug.“Who’stosay?”
“Me.It’sliterallymyjob.”
“Whichyouareperformingadmirably.”Ibeam.“ButIstillwon’tsignfortheenvelope.Wouldyoulikeacupoftea?Aglassofwine?Cheez-Its?”
Hefrowns.“Yousureyouwon’t?Thisisexpressshipping.Someonepaidalotofmoneyforsame-daydelivery.It’sprobablyreallyurgentshitthatWilliamK.willneedassoonashegetshome.”
“Right.Well,thatsoundslikeaWilliamK.problem.”
Hewhistles.“That’scold.”Hesoundsadmiring.Orjustscared.“So,what’swrongwithpoorWilliamK.?Doesheleavethetoiletseatup?”
“Wehaveseparatebathrooms.”Imullitover.“ButI’msurehedoes.IntheveryremotepossibilityIendupusinghis.”
Henods.“Youknow,whenmysisterwasincollegesheusedtohavearoommateshehated.I’mtalkingwarfare.They’dyellateachothertheentiretime.SheoncewroteanentirelistofeverythingshehatedabouthimonherphoneanditcrashedherRemindersapp.Itwasthatlong.”
Uh-oh.Thatsoundsfamiliar.“Whathappenedtoher?”
Icrossmyfingersthattheanswerwon’tbeShe’sservingalifetimesentenceatanearbycorrectionalfacilityforshavingoffhishairwhilehewassleepingandtattooing“I’mabadperson”onhisscalp.Andyet,whatUPSguyendsupsayingistentimesmoredisturbing.
“They’regettingmarriednextJune.”Heshakeshisheadandturnsaroundwithawaveofhishand.“Gofigure.”
***
I’mdreamingofaconcert—abadone.
Morenoisethanmusic,really.Thekindof’70sGermanelectroniccrapthatLiamownsinvinylformandwillsometimesplaywhenoneofhisfriendscomesovertoplayfirst-personshootervideogames.It’sloudandobnoxiousandirritating,anditgoesonforwhatfeelslikehours.UntilIwakeupandrealizethreethings:
First,Ihaveahorribleheadache.
Second,it’sthemiddleofthenight.
Third,thenoise-musicisactuallyjustregularnoise,andit’scomingfromdownstairs.
Burglars,Ithink.Theybrokein.They’renoteventryingtobequiet—theyprobablyhaveweapons.
Ihavetogetout.Call911.IhavetowarnLiamandmakesurethathe—
Isitupwithafrown.“Liam.”Butofcourse
Iflingmyselfoutofbedandstompoutofmyroom.I’mhalfwaydownthestairswhenitoccurstome:mycurlsareallovertheplace,I’mnotwearingabra,andmyshortswerealreadytoosmallfifteenyearsago,whenmymiddleschoolissuedthemfreeofchargeaspartofmylacrosseuniform.Well.Toobad.Liam’sgoingtohavetodealwithit,andwithmy“ThereIsNoPlanetB”T-shirt.Itmightteachhimsomething.
BythetimeIreachthekitchen,Iamconsideringone-clickingonabullhorntosneakuponhimwhilehe’sasleepeverynightforthenextsixmonths.“Liam,doyouknowwhattimeitis?”Ierupt.“Whatareyoueven…”
I’mnotsurewhatIexpected.Definitelynottofindthecontentsofthefridgeclutteringeveryinchofthecounter;definitelynottoseeLiamintentonslaughteringastalkofcelerylikeitstolehisparkingspot;definitelynottoseehimnaked,verynaked,fromthewaistup.Theplaidpajamabottomshe’swearinghavealowwaist.
Verylow.
“Couldyoupleaseputsomethingon?Likeababy-sealfurcoat,orsomething?”
Hedoesn’tstopchoppinghiscelery.Doesn’tlookupatme.“No.”
“No?”
“I’mnotcold.AndIlivehere.”
Ilivehere,too.AndIhaveeveryrightnottolookatthatbrickwallhecallsachestinmyownkitchen,whichissupposedtobeasoothingenvironmentwhereIcandigestfoodwithouthavingtostareatrandommalenipples.Still,Idecidetoletthemattergoandpushittothebackofmymind.BythetimeI’mreadytomoveout,I’mgoingtoneedtherapy,anyway.What’sonemoretraumatodealwith?Rightnow,Ijustwanttogobacktosleep.“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.
“Mytaxreturn.”
Iblink.“I—what?”
“WhatdoesitlooklikeI’mdoing?”
Istiffen.“Idon’tknowwhatitlookslike,butitsoundslikeyou’rejustbangingpanstogether.”
“Thenoiseisanunfortunateby-productofmemakingdinner.”Hemustbedonewiththecelery,becausehemovestoslicingatomato—isthatmytomato?—andbacktoignoringme.
“Oh,andthat’stotallynormal,isn’tit?Cookingafive-coursemealatonetwenty-seveninthemorningonaweeknight?”
Liamfinallyliftshiseyestomine,andthereissomethingunsettlingabouthisgaze.Heseemscalm.Helookscalm,butIknowhe’snot.Heisfurious,Itellmyself.Heisreally,reallyfurious.Getoutofhere.“Didyouneedanything?”Histoneisdeceptivelypolite,andmyself-preservationisclearlystillasleepinbed.
“Yes.Ineedyoutokeepitdown.Andthatbetternotbemytomato.”
Hepopshalfofitinhismouth.“Youknow,”hesaysevenlywhilechewing,managingtotalkwithhismouthfullandyetstilllooklikethearistocraticproductofseveralgenerationsofwealth,“I’musuallynotinthehabitofbeingawakeatonetwenty-eightinthemorning.”
“Whatacoincidence.NeitherwasI,beforemeetingyou.”
“Buttoday—thatis,yesterday—theentirelegalteamIrunendeduphavingtoworkpastmidnight.Becauseofsomeveryimportantmissingdocuments.”
Itense.Hecannotmean—
“Don’tworry,thedocumentswerefound.Eventually.Aftermybosstoremeandmyteamanewone.Soundslikesomethingwentwrongwhentheyweredelivered.”Ifhecouldincineratepeoplewitheyelasers,I’dbelongcremated.Clearlyheknowseverythingaboutmylittleafternoonspite-attack.
“Listen.”Itakeadeepbreath.“Itwasn’tmyproudestmoment,butI’mnotyourPA.AndIdon’tseehowitjustifiesyoubangingallthepotsinthehouseinthemiddleofthenight.Ihavealongdaytomorrow,so—”
“SodoI.Andasyoucanimagine,I’vehadalongdaytoday.AndI’mhungry.WhichmeansthatI’mnotgoingtokeepitdown.AtleastnotuntilI’vehaddinner.”
UntilabouttensecondsagoIwasangryinacool,reasonableway.Allofasudden,IamreadytowrestletheknifeoutofLiam’shandandslicehisjugular.Justatinybit.Justtomakehimbleed.Iwon’t,becauseIdon’tthinkI’dflourishinjail,butI’malsonotgoingtoletthisgo.I’vetriedtohavemeasuredresponseswhenherefusedtoletmeinstallsolarpanels,whenhethrewawaymybroccolistir-frybecauseitsmelled“swampy,”whenhelockedmeoutofthehousewhileIwasonmyrun.Butthisisthefinalstraw.I’mdone.Thebackofmycamelisbrokenintwo.“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”
Liampoursoliveoilinapan,cracksanegginit,andseemstoreverttohisdefaultstate:forgettingthatIexist
“Liam,whetheryoulikeitornot,I.Live.Here.Youcan’tdowhateverthehellyouwant!”
“Interesting.Youseemtobedoingexactlythat.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Youaremakinganomeletattwointhedamnmorning,andIamaskingyounotto.”
“True.AlthoughthereisthefactthatifyouhaddoneyourdishesthisweekIwouldn’tneedtowashthemsonoisily—”
“Oh,shutup.It’snotlikeyoudon’tleaveyourstuffaroundthehouseallthetime.”
“AtleastIdon’tstackgarbageontopofthetrashcanlikeit’saDadaistsculpture.”
Thesoundthatcomesoutofmymouth—italmostscaresme.“God.Youareimpossibletohavearound!”
“That’sjusttoobad,sinceI’mhere.”
“Thenjustmovethefuckout!”
Silencefalls.Anabsolute,heavy,veryuncomfortablesilence.Justwhatwebothneedtoreplaymywordsoverandoverinourheads.ThenLiamspeaks.Slowly.Carefully.Angryinascary,icyway.“Excuseme?”
Iregretitimmediately.WhatIsaidandhowIsaidit.Loud.Vehement.Iammanythings,butcruelisnotoneofthem.Itdoesn’tmatterthatLiamHardinghasdisplayedtheemotionalrangeofawalnut,IsaidsomethinghurtfulandIowehimanapology.NotthatIparticularlywanttoofferhimone,butIshould.Theproblemis,Ijustcan’tstopmyselffromcontinuing.“Whyareyouevenhere,Liam?Peoplelikeyouliveinmansionswithuncomfortablebeigefurnitureandsevenbathroomsandoverpricedarttheydon’tunderstand.”
“Peoplelikeme?”
“Yes.Peoplelikeyou.Peoplewithzeromoralsandwaytoomuchmoney!”
“Whyareyouhere?I’veofferedtobuyyourhalfaboutathousandtimes.”
“AndIsaidno,soyoucouldhavesparedyourselfaboutninehundredandninety-nineofthem.Liam,thereisnoreasonforyoutowanttoliveinthishouse.”
“Thisismyfamily’shouse!”
“ItwasHelena’shouseasmuchasit’syours,and—”
“Helenaisfuckingdead.”
IttakesafewmomentsforLiam’swordstofullyregister.Heabruptlyturnsoffthestoveandthenstandsthere,half-nakedinfrontofthesink,handsclenchedaroundtheedgeofthecounterandmusclesastightasguitarstrings.Ican’tstopstaringathim,this—thisviperwhojustmentionedthedeathofoneofthemostimportantpeopleinmylifewithsuchangry,dismissivecarelessness.
Iamgoingtodestroyhim.I’mgoingtoannihilatehim.Iamgoingtomakehimsuffer,tospitinhisstupidsmoothies,tobreakhisvinylsonebyone.
ExceptthatLiamdoessomethingthatchangeseverything.Hepresseshislipstogether,pincheshisnose,thenwipesalarge,exhaustedhanddownhisface.Allofasuddensomethingclicksinsidemyhead:LiamHarding,standingrightinfrontofme,istired.Andhehatesthis,allofthis,justasmuchasIdo.
OhGod.Maybemybroccolistir-fryreallydidstink,andIshouldhaveputitinaTupperware.MaybetheFrozensoundtrackcanbeatinybitannoying.MaybeIcouldhavesignedforthatstupidpackage.MaybeIwouldn’treactwelltosomeonecomingtoliveundermyroof,either,especiallyifIdidn’thaveasayinthematter.
Ipresstheheelsofmyhandsintomyeyes.MaybeIamtheasshole.Oratleastoneofthem.God.OhGod.
“I…”Irackmybrainforsomethingtosayandfindnothing.Thensomedaminsidemebreaks,andthewordsexplodeout.“Helenawasmyfamily.Iknowyoudon’tgetonwithyourfamily,and…maybeyouhatedher,Idon’tknow.Granted,shecouldbereallygrumpyandnosy,butshe…shelovedme.AndshewastheonlyrealhomeIeverhad.”IdaretoglanceatLiam,halfexpectingasneerofderision.AsnarkycommentaboutHelenathatwillmakemewanttopunchhimagain.Buthe’sstaringatme,attentive,andIforcemyselftolookawayandcontinuebeforeIcanchangemymind.“Ithinksheknewthat.Ithinkmaybethat’swhysheleftmethishouse,sothatI’dhavesomekindof…ofsomething.Evenaftershewasgone.”Myvoicebreaksonthelastword,andnowI’mcrying.Notfull-onbawlinglikewhenIwatchTheLionKingorthefirsttenminutesofUp,butquiet,sparse,implacabletearsthatIhavenohopeofstopping.“Iknowyouprobablyseemeassome…proletarianusurperwho’scometotakeoveryourfamilyfortune,andbelieveme,Igetit.”Iwipemycheekwiththebackofmyhand.Myvoiceisrapidlylosingheat.“Butyouhavetounderstandthatwhileyou’relivingherebecauseyou’retryingtoprovesomepoint,orforsomesortofpissingcontest,thispileofbricksmeanstheworldtome,and…”
“Ididn’thateHelena.”
Ilookupinsurprise.“What?”
“Ididn’thateHelena.”Hiseyesareonhishalf-madeomelet,stillsizzlingonthestove.
“Oh.”
“Everysummershe’dleaveCaliforniaforafewweeks.Wheredidyouthinkshewent?”
“I…shejustsaidshespenthersummerswithfamily.Ialwaysassumedthat…”
“Here,Mara.Shecamehere.Sleptintheroomnexttoyours.”Liam’svoiceisclipped,buthisexpressionsoftensintosomethingI’veneverseenbefore.Afaintsmile.“Sheclaimeditwastocheckuponmyworld-pollutionplans.Mostly,shenaggedmeaboutmylifechoicesinbetweenmeetingwitholdfriends.Andshekickedmyassatchessalot.”Hescowls.“Iampositiveshecheated,butIcouldneverproveit.”
“I…”Hemustbemakingthisup.Surely.“Shenevermentionedyou.”
Hiseyebrowlifts.“Shenevermentionedyou.Andyetyouwereinherwill.”
“But…But,wait.Hangonaminute.Atthefuneral…Ithoughtyoudidn’tgetalongwithyourfamily?”
“Oh,Idon’t.They’repretentious,judgmental,performativeassholes—andI’mquotingHelena,here.Butshewasdifferent,andIgotonwithher.Icaredabouther.Alot.”Heclearshisthroat.“I’mnotsurewhereyougottheideathatIdidn’t.”
“Well,younotcomingtothefuneralfooledme.”
“KnowingHelena,doyouthinkshe’dhavecared?”
Ithinkaboutmysecondyear.TheonetimeIorganizedasmallsurprisepartyforHelena’sbirthdayinthedepartment,andshejust…left.Literally.WeyelledSurprise!anddroppedahandfulofballoons.Helenagaveusascathinglook,steppedinsidetheroom,cutasliceofherbirthdaycakewhilewestaredinsilence,andthenwenttoherofficetoeatitalone.Shelockedherselfin.“Okay.That’sagoodpoint.”
Liamnods.
“Doyouknowwhysheleftmethehouse?”
“Idonot.InitiallyIfigureditwassomekindofprank.Oneofherchaoticpowerplays.Likewhenshe’dguilt-tripyouintowatchingoldshowswithher?”
“God,shealwayspicked—”
“TheTwilightZone.Eventhoughshealreadyknewallthetwistendings.”Herollshiseyes.Thenhisexpressionchanges.“Ididn’tknowherhealthhadgottensobad.Icalledhertwodaysbeforeshedied,exactlytwodays,andshetoldme…Ishouldn’thavebelievedher.”
Myheartsinks.Iwasthere.IknowtheexactconversationLiamisreferringto,becauseIheardHelena’ssideofit.Thewayshefieldedquestionsandminimizedtheconcernsofthepersonontheothersideoftheline.Sheliedherwaythroughanhourofchatter—itwasobviousthatshewashappyaboutthecall,butshewasn’thonestabouthowbadthingshadgotten,andIfeltuncomfortableaboutthedeception.Thenagain,shedidthatwitheveryone.She’dhavedonethesamewithmeifIhadn’tbeenherridetodoctors’appointments.
“Iwishshe’dletmebethere.”Liam’stoneisimpersonal,butIcanheartheunsaid.Howpainfulitmusthavebeentobekeptinthedark.“Butshedidn’t,anditwasherdecision.Justlikeleavingyouthehousewasherdecision,and…I’mnothappyaboutit.Idon’tunderstandit.ButIacceptit.Oratleast,I’mtryingto.”
Forthefirsttime,IrealizewhatmyarrivalinD.C.musthavebeenlikefromLiam’sperspective:Somegirlhe’dneverevenheardabout,somegirlwho’dhadtheprivilegetobewithHelenaduringherlastfewdays,suddenlyshowingupandforciblywigglingherplaceintohishome.Hislife.Whilehewastryingtocometotermswithhislossandmourntheonlyrelativehefeltcloseto.
Maybeheactedlikeanasshole.Maybehenevermademefeelwelcomeorwasn’tparticularlynice,buthewasinpain,justlikeme,and…
Whatatotalmess.WhatanobtuseidiotI’vebeen.
“I…I’msorryforwhatIsaidearlier.Ididn’tmeananyofit.Idon’tknowyouatall,and…”Itrailoff,unsurehowtocontinue.
Liamnodsstiffly.“I’msorry,too.”
Westaythere,insilence,forlongbeats.IfIgobacktomyroomnow,LiamwillorderapizzaandI’llbeabletofallsleepwithouthavingtohuntdownmystashofearplugs.Ialmostleavetodojustthat,butsomethingoccurstome:Thingscouldbebetter.Icouldbebetter.“Maybetherecouldbea…atruceofsorts?”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“Atruce.”
“Yeah.Imean…Icould…IguessIcouldstopraisingthethermostattotwenty-fivedegreesassoonasyouturnaround.Wearasweater,instead.”
“Twenty-fivedegrees?”
“I’mascientist.Wedon’treallydoFahrenheit,sinceit’saridiculousscaleand…”He’slookingatmewithanexpressionthatIcan’tquitedecipher,soIquicklychangethetopic.“AndIguessIcouldlayoffwiththeDisneysoundtracks?”
“Couldyou?”
“Yeah.”
“EvenTheLittleMermaid?”
“Yes.”
“WhataboutMoana?”
“Liam,I’mreallytrying,here.Ifyoucouldplease—”IamreadytostormoutofthekitchenwhenIrealizethathe’sactuallysmiling.Well,sortof.Withhiseyes.OhmyGod,wasthatajoke?Hejokes?“You’renotasfunnyasyouthink.”
Henods,anddoesn’tsayanythingforamomentortwo.Then,“TheDisneysoundtracksarenotthatbad.”Hesoundspained.“AndI’lltrytobebetter,too.I’llwateryourplantswhenyou’reoutoftownandthey’reabouttodie.”Iknewhe’dletmycucumberdieonpurpose.Iknewit.“AndmaybeI’llmakeasandwichfordinner,ifIgethungrypastmidnight.”
Iliftmyeyebrow.
Liamsighs.“Pasttenp.m.?”
“Thatwouldbeperfect.”
Hecrosseshishugearmsonhisequallyhuge,stillbarechest,andthenrocksabitonhisheels.
“Okay,then.”
“Okay.”
Thesilencestretches.Suddenly,thissituationfeels…tense.Sticky.Avergeofsomesort.Aturningpoint.
Agoodtimeformetoleave.
“I’mgoingto…”Ipointtowardthestairs,wheremybedroomis.“Haveagoodnight,Liam.”
Idon’tturnaroundwhenhesays,“Goodnight,Mara.”Chapter4
Fourmonths,threeweeksago
ThereareplentyofthingsIwouldn’texpectLiamHardingtodowhenheentersthekitchen.
Forinstance,he’sunlikelytowhipoutcastanetsandflamencohiswayaroundtheisland.TobreakintoaMichaelBoltonhitfromthe’80s.TosellmealeafblowerandrecruitmeintosomegardeningtoolsMLMventure.Theseareallveryimprobableevents,andyetnoneofthemwouldshockmeasmuchaswhatheactuallydoes.Whichistolookatmeandsay:
“It’s…niceoutsidetoday.”
It’snotthatitisn’t.Itis,infact,reallynice.Unseasonablywarm.It’sbecausetheEarthisdying,ofcourse.Risingglobalaveragetemperaturesareassociatedwithwidespreadfluctuationsinweatherpatterns,andthat’swhywe’restillwearinglightweightjackets,eventhoughit’slateNovemberinD.C.andChristmastreeshavebeenpoppingupforweeksnow.Afewyearsago,Helenawroteapaperaboutthewayhumanactionisincreasingtheperiodicityandintensityofextremeweatherevents.ItgotpublishedinNatureClimateChangeandhasaboutazillioncitations.
IcouldsayallofthistoLiam.Icouldbemymostobnoxiousselfandlectureonthetopicforhours.ButIdon’t,andthereasonisthateventhroughhisclipped,hesitanttoneandhiscurrentlyloweredgaze,Icanrecognizeanolivebranchwhenitbitesmeintheass.
Which,rightnow,itabsolutelyis.Biting,thatis.
It’sbeenabouttwoweekssinceIfirstbecameawarethatLiamiscapableofhumanemotions.Andasitturnsout,beinginatrucewhilelivingtogethermeanshavingsignificantlyfewershoutingmatches,butstilldoesn’tmakefindingtopicsofconversationanyeasier.Whichisfine.Mostofthetime.It’sabighouse,afterall.Butontherareoccasionsinwhichourschedulesoverlapandweendupinthelivingroomorinthekitchentogether…
Awkward.
Asfuck.
“Yeah.”Mynodissprain-your-neckenthusiastic—overcompensating.“It’snice.Tohavegoodweather,Imean.”
Liamnods,too(stiffly,butmaybeI’mjustprojecting),andjustlikethat,we’rebacktosquareone:silence.
Ibitemythumbnail.ApparentlyIdidnotstopdoingthatwhenIturnedfourteen.Ineedsomethingtosay.WhatdoIsay?Quick,Mara.Think.“Um…So…”
Nothoughts.Headempty.
Iletmysentencedanglelikeanovercookednoodleandtemporizebyturningaroundtograba…awhat?Aspatula?Atoaster?Asnack!Yes,I’llhaveasnack.IthinkIboughtsingleservingsofCheez-Its.Tryingtocutbackandallthat.ExceptthatIcan’tfindtheminmycupboard.There’safamilybox.Another.Athirdone,incheddarflavor—Jesus,Ihaveaproblem.Butthelittlebagsarenot…Ah,theretheyare.Highestshelf,ofcourse.Irememberthrowingthemupthere,thinkingit’dbeaproblemforFutureMara.
FutureMaratries,butcannotreachit.SoshelooksbacktoaskLiamtograboneforher,andherheartsinks.
He’sstaringatwheremyshirtrodeuponmylowerback—i.e.,myass.
Well,no.Heisn’t.WilliamK.Hardingwouldneverstoopsolow,andtheideathathe’dvoluntarilyglanceatmyscrawnyassislaughable.Butheislookingatme,there,hislipsslightlypartedandhishandforgotteninmidair,whichlikelymeansthathe’s…horrified?Bymyeight-year-oldsweatpants,Ibet.Orbytheexplosionoffrecklesonmyskin.Orby…God,whatpantiesdoIevenhaveon?Please,letitnotbetheoneswithJeffGoldblum’sfaceHannahgotmelastyear.Andhowmanyholesdo
Heclearshisthroat.“Here.”Hebravelyovercomeshisdisgustandcomestostandbehindme.Heisjustmassive.Sobigthathecompletelyblockstheoverheadlight.ForamicrosecondIfeelwarm,oddlytingly.Thenhedropsabagnexttomyhandwithoutmeevenhavingtoask,andsays,“ShouldImovethemtoalowershelfforyou?”
Hisvoiceisalittlegravelly.Maybehe’scomingdownwithacold.IhopeIdon’tgetit.“Um,thatwouldbegreat.Thanks.”Ittakeshimabouthalfasecond.Thenwe’rebothbacktoouroriginalposition,mewithmycoffee,Liamwithhistea,andIrealizethatinthemildlymortifyingadventuresofthelastminute,Iforgottothinkofadecentolivebranchtopicofconversation.Fantastic.
SoIblurtout:“TheNationalsaredoingwellthisseason.”Ithink?Ioverheardadudesayitonthebus.Liam’salwaysplayingvideogameswithhisdudefriends.Heprobablylikessports,too.
“Oh.That’s…good.”Liamnods.
Inod.
Moreawkwardnodding,andthensilence.Again.
Okay.Thisiswaytoouncomfortable.I’mgoingtoinstallmotionsensorsineveryroominthehousesoIcanmakesureourpathsnevercrossagain—
“Whatsportisthat,again?”
IlookupfromthecoffeeI’mfuriouslystirring.“Mmm?”
“TheNationals.Whatsport?”
“Ah…”Iglancearoundthekitchen,lookingforclues.Findagrandtotalofnone.“Ihavenoidea.”
Liamdunksateabaginhismug,agleamofamusementinhiseyes.“Me,neither.”
Weleavetheroomfromoppositedoors.Iwonderwhetherhe’sawarethatwealmostsmiledateachother.Chapter5
Fourmonths,twoweeksago
Ilookoutofthewindow,tryingtousemyengineeringdegreetoapproximatehowmanymetersofsnowfellovernight.One?Seventeen?Sadly,therewasnoBallparkHowSnowboundYouAre101inmygradschoolcurriculum,soIgiveuptoglancedownatmyphone.
There’snowayIcanmakeittowork,andmyentireteamattheEPAisinthesamesituation.Sean’scarisstuckinhisdriveway.Alec,Josh,andEvancan’tevenmakeittotheirdriveway.Tedisonhisfifthjokeaboutextremeweatherevents.TheSlackchannelpingswithafewmoremessagescursingallformsofprecipitation,andthenSeanmakesthecallthatweallshouldjustworkfromhome.AccessingthesecureserverfromourEPA-issuedlaptops.Whichformeisabitofaproblem.
SoItextSean:
Mara:Sean,Idon’thavemyEPA-issuedlaptopathomewithme.
Sean:Why?
Mara:Youhaven’tissuedmeoneyet.
Sean:Isee.
Sean:Well,youcanjusttakethedaytoansweremailsandstufflikethat,then.We’rejustgoingtotrytofixtheelectrostaticsprayerissuetoday,sowedon’treallyneedyou.
Sean:Andnexttimemakesuretoremindmethatyoudon’thavealaptopyet.
Howpassive-aggressivewoulditbetoforwardtoSeanthereminderemailIsenthimtwodaysago?Very,Iimagine.
Isigh,textaquickWilldo,andtrynottogrindmyteethoverthefactthatI’dlovetogivemyinputontheelectrostaticsprayerissue.It’sactuallycloselyrelatedtomygraduatework,butwhoamIkidding?EvenifIwerepresent,Seanwouldactlikehealwaysdoes:politelyhumatmycontributions,findatrivialreasontodiscardthem,andfifteenminuteslaterparaphraseandrestatethemashisownideas.Ted,myclosestallyintheteam,tellsmenottotakeittoopersonally,becauseSean’sajerktoprettymucheveryone.ButIknowI’mnotimaginingthathismostegregiousbehaviorisalwaysdirectedatme(“Iwonderwhy,”Imusetomyself,strokingmywoman-in-STEMchin).ButSean’stheteamleader,so.
DidIsaythatIlovemynewEPAjob?MaybeIlied.OrmaybeIdoloveit,butIhateSeanmore.Hardtotell.
IspendthedaydoingwhatworkIcanwithoutaccesstoclassifiedinformation—i.e.,verylittle.IbrieflyFaceTimewithSadie,butshe’sonadeadlineforsomehippy-dippyeco-sustainableproject(“Ihaven’tsleptinthirty-eighthours.Please,tieananviltomyneckanddropmeintheSargassoSea.”),Hannahisunreachable(probablyfrolickingwiththewalrusesonaslabofice),and…That’sit.Idon’treallyhaveanyotherfriends.
Ishouldprobablyworkonthat.
Byonep.m.Iammortallybored.Inap;IwatchaYouTubevideoontheplatearrangementofthestegosaurus;Ipaintmynailsaprettyredmattecolor;Iwriteahalf-assedpostformyBachelorblogonmyexpectationsforthenextseason;Ipracticebraidingmyhairinacrown;IwonderwhetherI’maworkaholic,decidethatIprobablyam.
Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasinsideallday.I’vealwaysbeenabitrestless,abittooantsy.Muchtooactive,myparentswouldsayastheytriedtoenrollmeineverypossibleteamsporttokeepmebusy.Theyaren’tbadpeople,butIdoubttheywantedakid,andIknowforsurethattheyweren’tfansofwhateverchangesmyarrivalbroughttotheirlifestyle.Probablythereasontheywereneverhugefans.Wetalkmaybeonceortwiceayearnow—andI’malwaystheonewhocalls.
Ohwell.
Ileanmyforeheadagainstthechillyglassofthewindow,feelinganoddsenseofisolation,asthoughI’mdisconnectedfromtheentireworld,swaddledinamuffledwhitecocoon.
Ishouldstartdatingagain.
ShouldIstartdatingagain?
Yeah.Ishould.Exceptthat…men.No,thankyou.Iamwellawarethat#NotAllMenarecondescendingshitletslikeSean,andI’vehadmyshareofperfectlyniceboyfriendswhodidn’tfeeltheneedtoActuallymewhenItriedtohaveaconversation.Butevenattheirbest,allmyromanticrelationshipsfeltlikework.InawaySadieandHannahandHelenaneverdid.Inawayactualworkneverdid.Andforwhat?Sex?Jury’sstilloutonwhetherIevencareaboutthat.
MaybeIshouldskipthedatingandjustvisitSadieinNYCassoonastheweathergetsbetter.Yeah,I’lldothat.We’llmakeaweekendoutofit.Ice-skate.Getthatfrozenhotchocolatethingshe’sbeenravingabout,theonesheinsistsisnotjustarebrandedmilkshake.Butinthemeantimeit’sstillsnowing,andI’mstillstuckinhere.Alone.
Well,notalonealone.Liam’saround.Hecamedownstairsthismorning,largehandbrushingoverthesmoothwoodenrailing,looking…notquitedisheveled.Buthedidn’tbotherwithhisusualsuit.ThefadedjeansandwornT-shirtmadehimseemyounger,amorehumanversionofhisaloof,sternself.Ormaybeitwasthehair,darkasusual,butstickingupjustabitintheback.Ifwehatedeachotheratadless,I’dhavereachedupandfixeditforhim.InsteadIwatchedhimstepintotheroomyentranceuntilitdidn’tfeelquitesoroomyanymore.NohighceilingisthathighwhensomeoneastallasLiamstandsunderit,apparently.Istaredathimhalf-mesmerizedforafewmoments—tillIrealizedthathewasstaringrightback.Oops.Thenhelookedoutthewindow,sigheddeeply,andheadedbackupstairs.Phonealreadyonhisearashegavecalm,detailedinstructionsaboutaprojectthat’sprobablyaimedatfreeingtheplanetfromtheevilclutchesofphotosynthesizingplants.
Ihaven’tseenhimsince,butIheardhim.Laughterhere.Barefootedstepsthere.Creakingwoodandthebeepofthemicrowave.Ourroomsareoneandahalfhallwaysaway.Iknowhehasahomeoffice,butI’veneverbeeninthere—abitofatacitDo-not-go-to-the-West-Wing,BeautyandtheBeastsituation.I’veconsideredsnoopingaroundwhenhewasgone,butwhatifheputlivetrapsaround?Ipicturehimcominghome,findingmewailing,myankletangledinasnare.He’dprobablyleavemetheretostarve.
Plus,hedoesn’tgooutmuch.Therearethatcoupleoffriendsofhiswhocomeovertodosurprisinglynerdystuff(whichremindsmeabittoomuchofme,Sadie,andHannahmakingbrowniesforaParksandRecmarathon—whichinturnisvaguelypainful—soIpretenditdoesn’thappen).Hisworkdaysseemtobesixteenhourslong,evenwhenI’mnotbeingapettygremlinaboutsigninghismail,butthat’saboutit.Iwonderifhedates.IwonderifhesneaksadifferentgirlintothehouseeverynightandtellsherShh,bequiet.Mysquattinggingerroommatewillkeymyrecordplayerifwe’retooloud.IwonderifI’msimplyfailingtonoticethemaskedorgieshehasinthekitcheneveryweekendwhileI’mtuckedundermygrannyquilt,carefullycomposingmyblogposts.
IwonderwhyIwonder.
WhenIpaddownstairsfordinner,thehouseisdarkandsilent.Andcold.Honestly,howisLiamnotfreezing?Isittheseventypoundsofmuscles?Doeshecoathimselfinbaby-sealfat?IshakemyheadasIraisethethermostatandheatupmorefoodthanIneedtoeat(but,crucially:notmorefoodthanIcaneat).
Thereareafewliving/sitting/front/lounge/whatnotroomsonthefirstfloor,butmyfavoriteistheoneconnectedtothekitchen.Ithasalarge,comfortablecouchthatprobablycostmorethanmygraduateeducation,asoftarearugIliketostealthilycaresswhenI’mhomealone,andthepiècederésistance:agiantTV.Imovemy(many)foodcontainerstothewalnutcoffeetableandletmyselfplopdownonthecouch.
ForreasonsIdon’tunderstand,LiampaysforcabletelevisionandforaboutfifteendifferentstreamingservicesthatI’veneverseenhimuse.I’minnowayaboveexploitingFGPCorp’sbloodmoney,soIfindarerunofaseasontwelveepisodeofTheBachelorette.Notmyfavorite,forreasonsIexplainedatlengthonmyblog(don’tjudgeme),butdecent.Isettlein.
Tenminuteslater,anidiotwithanobvioustanning-bedaddictionisfist-fightinganidiotwhoclearlysnortsproteinpowder,allunderadelightedgirl’seyes—i.e.,thepremiseoftheshow.ButIrealizethatnotallnoisescomefromtheTV.WhenImuteit,Icanhearanotherargument.Fromupstairs.InLiam’svoice.
It’snotloudenoughtomakeoutthegistofit,butIdomanagetoeavesdroptheoccasionalwords.WrongUnethicalOpposed,maybe?QuiteafewfirmNos,butthat’saboutit.Afterabriefmoment,thesoundsaremuffledagain.Anotherminute,andadoorslams;feetquicklymaketheirwaydownthesteps.
Crap.
IconsiderquicklyswitchingtoaLarsvonTriermovie,butLiamarrivesbeforeIcanfoolhimintothinkingthatI’manintellectual.Ilookupfrommyeggrollandhe’sthere,inthesliceofkitchenIcanseefromthecouch,lookinglike…murder.
Thatis:morethanusual.
Myfirstinstinctistoflattenmyselfagainstthecouch,keepwatchingmytrashyshowandeatingmyexcellentfood.Butheturns,oureyesmeet,andIhavenochoicebuttohesitantlywaveathim.Heanswerswithacurtnod,and…helooksbroodyanddark,likehejusthadaterribletenminutes,perhapsaterribleday.Evenworse,helookslikehe’sreadytotakeitoutonthefirstpersonhe’llfindinhispath—which,giventheweatherconditions,isregrettablygoingtobeme.Helookslikeheneedsadistraction,andaverystupidideapopsintomyhead.
Don’tdoit,Mara.Don’tdoit.You’regonnaregretit.
ButLiamisvisiblyclenchinghisteeth.Thewayhe’sstaringintotheopenfridgesuggeststhathe’dliketostrangleeachandeveryjaroftartarsauce(forunknowablereasons,heownsthree).Maybetheketchup,too.ThelineofhisoverbroadshouldersissotenseIcoulduseitasabubblelevel,and—
Ah.Screwit.
“So.”Iclearmythroat.“IorderedwaymorefoodthanIneed.”Iresisttheurgetocovermydiscomfortwithnervouslaughter.Hecanprobablysmellit,myabjectterror.“Wouldyou,um,likesome?”
Heslowlyclosesthefridgedoorandturnsaround.“Excuseme?”HelooksatmelikeIjustofferedtogorobabanktogether.Tobuddy–signupforaerialyoga.Tospendtherestofthenightmothwatching.
“Takeout.Chinese.Wantsome?”
Heglancesatthewindow.Yes,it’sstillsnowing.We’reofficiallytheNorthPole.“Youorderedtakeout.”Hesoundsdubious.
“Nottoday.Twodaysago.Ialwaysordertoomuch,becauseleftoverstastebetter.Especiallythelomein,itreallyneedstosoakintothesauceto…”Istop.Andflush.“Anyway,wouldyoulikesome?”
“We’reinthemiddleofasnowstorm,Mara.”WhyamIshiveringallofasudden?Ahyes.Becauseit’scold.Notbecausehesaidmyname.“Youshouldbehoardingyourfood.”
Yeah,Ishould.“It’sabouttogobad.AndI’mhappytoshare.”
IttakesLiamaninordinateamountoftimetoanswer.Tengoodsecondsofhimstaringskeptically,perhapssuspectingmetobeaderangedmurderessontheprowlforroommatestopoison.Eventuallyhesays:“Sure.”
Hesoundseverythingbutsure.Verycautious.Lookscautious,too,ashemakeshiswaytome.Heslideshishandsinthebackpocketsofhisjeansandlooksaroundmorosely,andit’sobviousthathehasnoideawhattodo—sitonthecouch,thechair,thefloor.Eatstandinginthemiddleofthelivingroom.Itoccurstomeforthefirsttimethathisentirealoof,sternpersonamighthideasmidgeofawkwardness.Couldhebeoneofthosepeoplewhoarehyperconfidentinprofessionalsettingsandthetotaloppositeintheirsociallives?Nah.Unlikely.
Ipataspotnexttomine,alreadyregrettingthis.We’veneversattogetherbefore.Sofar,everyinteractionbetweenushasbeencircumstantial.Theactofsittingnexttoeachotherimpliesintentionalityandalongerduration.Anewterritory.
Weird.
Liamissoheavyandtallthatthecushiondipswhenhesitsdown,andIhavetotensemyabsandreadjusttoavoidslidingtowardhim.Ihandhimaplateandapairofchopsticks,pretendingthere’snothingunusualaboutanyofthis.Hedoesthesameasheacceptsthemwithabriefnod,hisfingersneveraccidentallytouchingmine.
“Whatareyouwatching?”heasks.
“TheBachelorette.”Nosignofrecognition.“It’sthisstupid,amazingshow.Reality.Youdon’thavetowatchwithme.Saveyourselfwhileyoucan.”Surprisingly,Liamstaysput.Stilllooksabitlikehewouldn’tmindtrashingtheentirehouse,buthisexpressionisslightlylessbloodthirsty.Progress?“So,Sheryl,thegirlinthegreendress—theonlygirl—hasafewweekstochooseahusbandamongalltheguys.”
LiamsquintsattheTVforamoment.“Basedonwhat?Theyalllookthesame.”
“Theydo,don’tthey?”Ishrug.“Theytakeherondates.Andchat.Towardtheendtheymightevenhavesex.”
Isheflushing?No.It’sjustthelight.“On-screen?”
“Hey,it’sABC,notHBO.”Iputaspringrollonhisplate.ThenItakealookathim—hisarmsfillinghisshirt,hischest,hisgeneral…hugeness—andaddtwomore.Howmanymillioncaloriesdoesheneedaday?Ishouldfindout.Inthenameofscience.“Youseetheguywearingglassesheobviouslydoesn’tneedinthevainhopeoflookinglessimbecilic?”
“Blueshirt?”
“Yes.We’rerootingforhim.”
“Arewe.”
“Yep.Becausehe’sfromMichigan.AndIwenttoUofMforundergrad,”Iexplain,lickingadropofhoisinsauceoffmythumb.Hiseyeslingeronmylipsforatoo-longmoment,thenabruptlyslideaway.
“Isee.”
“It’sagreatplace.Everbeen?”
“Idon’tbelieveso,no.”He’sstillnotlookingatme.MaybeheholdsaprofoundandirrationalhatredforAnnArbor?
“Wheredidyougotoschool?”
HeseemsmildlysurprisedthatI’masking.Fair,sinceIhaven’texactlyexcelledatturntakingandconversationmakinginthepast.“Dartmouth.ThenHarvardLawSchool.”
“Right.”Inodknowingly.“Thatsounds…cheap.”
Hehasthedecencytolooksheepish,soItakepityonhim.“Wantsomecashewchicken?”
“Ah…Yes,please.”
“Here.Youcanfinishit,I’vealreadyeatenlike,tenpoundsofit.”
Henods.“Thanks.”
LiamHarding.Beingpolite.Wow.“You’rewelcome.”
Foracoupleofminuteswearesilent—LiamwatchingtheTV,mesneakilywatchingLiamasheeatsravenously,largequickbitesthatareyouthfullyendearing.Thenheturnstome.
“Mara.”
“Yes?”
“Youclearlyaresomekindofgenius.”
Uh?AmI?“Isthis—areyou—makingfunofme?”
Helooksdeadseriousandfaintlyoffendedattheidea.“You’rebasicallyarocketscientist.”
“Basicallybeingtheoperativeword.”
“AndHelena,whohadridiculousstandards,choseyoutoworkwithher.You’reobviouslyremarkable.”
OhGod.Isthisacompliment?AmIgoingtoblush?“Um…thanks?”
Henods.“WhatIdon’tunderstandis,whyissomeoneassmartasyouwatchingthisshit?”
Ismileintomyfriedrice.“You’llsee.”
Onehourlater,whenSherylsays,“Ithinkourrelationshiphascomealongway,butIamnotconvincedthatitcoulddevelopanyfurther…”Islammyhandonmyarmrestandyell,“Oh,comeon,Sheryl,”justasLiamslapshisarmrestandyells,“Sheryl.Whatthehell?”
Weturntoeachotherandexchangeabrief,bemusedlook.Toldya,Ithinkathimwithasmile.Hismouthtwitches,likeheheardmeloudandclear.
“…atthispoint,Ijustknowthatit’snotgonnaworkoutbetweenus.CanIwalkyouout?”
Liamshakeshishead,horrified.“That’sjustabaddecision.”
“Iknow.”
“He’sthebestofthelot.”
“Soooostupid,right?She’sgonnaregretthissobad.Iknowit,becauseI’vealreadyseentheseason.”Multipletimes.IreachforoneofthebeersLiamtookoutofthefridgeafewminutesago.“Wantanothercrabrangoon?”Iask.
Henodsandsettlesback,longlegsstretchednexttomineontopofthecoffeetable.Thesnowoutsideisstillfalling,andwewaitforthenextepisodetostart.
***
Heshovelssnowlikeit’shisoneandonlyvocation.
Maybeit’stheisolation-inducedinsanityspeaking,butthere’ssomethinghypnoticaboutit.Therhythmicriseandfallofhisshouldersundertheblackfleece.Theseeminglyeffortlesswayhe’sbeengoingatitforhours,occasionallystoppingtowipethesweatoffhisbrowwiththebackofhissleeve.IpressmyforeheadtothewindowandjustWouldyouliketoborrowmybirdingbinoculars?).Iblithelyignoreit.
Maybethat’swhathemajoredinatDartmouth:SnowShoveling.NicelycomplementedbyaminorinMuscles.HishonorsthesiswastitledTheImportanceofArmcepsinErgonomicExcavating.ThenhemovedtograduateschooltostudyHow-to-Make-a-Mundane-Winter-Task-Look-AttractiveLaw.AndhereIam,unabletotakemyeyesoffadecadeofoverpaid-forhighereducation.
Thisisgettingweird.It’sgivingmeflashbackstothefirsttimeIsawhim,whenhisdarkeyesandthose(franklyridiculous)shouldershitmelikeabrickinthehead.It’snotamemoryIwanttorevisit,soIlookawayandheaddownstairstomakelunch,blamingmytemporarylunacyonskippingbreakfast.ThisiswhatIgetforfallingasleeplatelastnight,halfwaythroughthefinale,inthemiddleofexplainingtoLiambetweenyawnsthatBachelorandBachelorettecontestantsgetmandatorySTDscreenings.WhatIgetforwakingupthismorningonthecouch,asoft,heavenlysmellingblanketlaidoverme.Iwonderwhereitcamefrom,anyway.Notfromthelivingroom.I’mpositivethattherewasn’tonearound.
It’snotthatLiamandIarefriendsnow.Idon’tknowhimanybetterthanIdidyesterday—except,Iguess,thathehassomesurprisinglyvalidopinionswhenitcomestorealityTV.Butforsomeunparsablereason,whenIstartworkingonmysoupIfindmyselfmakingenoughfortwo.
See,thisiswhyhumansarenotmeanttobesequesteredathome.Boredomandlonelinessturntheirmindstomushyoatmeal,andtheystartimposingtheirpoorlycookedfoodonunsuspectingSnowLawyers.AndI’mapparentlyembracingmyweird,becausewhenLiamcomesin,darkhairdampandcurlingfromthemeltingsnowflakes,cheeksglowingfromtheexercise,Itellhim,“Imadelunch.”
Hestares,armsdanglingathissides,asthoughunsurehowtoanswer.SoIadd,“Forbothofus.Asathank-you.Fordoingthat.Theshoveling,Imean.”Hestaressomemore.“Ifyouwant.It’snotmandatory.”
“No.No,I…”Hedoesn’tfinish.Butwhenhenoticesmereachingtowardahighshelftothebowls,hecomesupbehindmeandsetstwoonthecounter.
“Thankyou.”
“Noproblem.”Imightbeimaginingthis,butIthinkIhearhiminhaleslowlybeforehemovesaway.Doesmyhairsmellbad?Iwashedityesterday.HasGarnierFructisfinallyfailedmeafteryearsoffaithfulservice?I’mwonderingwhetherit’stimetoswitchtoPantenebythetimewe’repolitelyeatingatthekitchentable,infrontofeachother,likewe’reayoungfamilyinaCampbell’scommercial.
Problem:withouttheTVon,it’sprettyconspicuousthatwehavenothingtotalkabout.Liamglancesatmeeveryfewseconds,asthoughmestuffingmyfaceiseithersomethinghelikestolookat,orsomethingtotallyhideous—who’stosay?Asthesilencestretches,IamonceagainregrettingeverychoiceI’veevermade.Andwhenhisphonerings,I’msorelievedIcouldfist-pump.
Exceptthathedoesn’tpickup.HecheckscallerID(FGPCorp—Mitch),rollshiseyes,andthenturnsthephonearoundinadismissivemovementthathasmechuckling.
Liamgivesmeapuzzledlook.
“Sorry.Ididn’tmeanto…Just…”Ishrug.“It’snicetoknowthatyouhateyourcolleagues,too.”
Heliftsoneeyebrow.“Youhateyourcolleagues?”
“Well,no.Idon’thatethem.Imean,Isometimeshatethem,but…”Whyisthisaboutme?“Anyway,doyouthinkthesnowisoverforgood?”
“Whydoyousometimeshateyourcolleagues?”
“Idon’t.Imisspoke.It’sjust…”Liamhasstoppedeatingandislookingatmelikehe’sactuallyinterested.Ugh.“They’reallmen.Allengineers.Andmenengineerscanbe…yeah.AndI’mthenewestarrival,andthey’reallkindofchummyalready.AndI’mprettysurethatSean,myboss,thinksthatI’msomesortofpitydiversityhire.WhichI’mnot.I’mactuallyareallygoodengineer.Ihavetobe,orHelenawouldhavebutcheredmeinmysleep.”
Henodsasthoughheunderstands.“She’dhavebutcheredyouawake.”
“Right?Shewasn’texactlyforgiving.AndI’mnotcomplaining—Iowehersomuch.Shetrulyhelpedmebecomeabetterscientist,buteveryoneinmyteamtreatsmeasthoughI’msomeinfantengineerwhodoesn’tknowwhatanohmis,and—”WhyamIstilltalking?“Well,everyoneexceptforTed,butI’mnotsurewhetherheactuallyrespectsmeorisjusttryingtogetlaid,sincehe’salreadyaskedmeoutlike,threetimes,whichmakesthingskindofawkward…”
Liam’sfaceinstantlyhardens.Hisspoonsetsinthebowlwithaloudclink.“Thisissexualharassment.”
“Oh,no.”
“Attheveryleast,it’shighlyinappropriate.”
“No,it’snotlikethat—”
“Icantalktohim.”
Iblink.“What?”
“What’shislastname?”Liamasks,likeit’satotallynormalquestion.“Icantalktohim.Explainthathehasmadeyouuncomfortableandheshouldstop—”
“What?”Iletoutalaugh.“Liam,I’mnotgoingtotellyouhislastname.Whatareyougonnado,pourabarrelofoilonhishouse?”
Helooksaway.Likeitwasanoption.
“No,I…IactuallylikeTed.He’snice.Imean,I’veevenconsideredsayingyes.Whynot,right?”Whynot?iswhatHelenawouldsay,butLiam’sexpressiondarkensatthat.Ormaybeit’sjustmyentiresoul,darkeningattheideaofputtingoneyelinertogooutwithaguywho’sperfectlyfineandexcitesmeasmuchasboiledspinach.“It’sjustthat…”Ishrug.HowtoexplainthatIamforeveruninspiredbythemenImeet?Iwon’tevenbother.It’snotlikehecares.“Thankyou,though,”Iadd.
Helookslikehe’dliketoinsist,butjustsays,“Letmeknowifyouchangeyourmind.”
“Um.Okay.”IguessIhaveasix-foot-threemountainofmusclesinmycornernow?It’skindanice.Ishouldmakesoupmoreoften.“So,sinceIhaveyouhere,”andtoavoiddroppingintoawkwardsilenceagain,“what’supwiththepictures?”
“Thepictures?”
“Theblack-and-whitepicturesoftreesandlakesandstuff.Hangingonliterallyeverysinglewall.”
“Ijustliketotakethem.”
“Wait.Youtookthepicturesyourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesitmeanthatyou’veactuallybeentoallthoseplaces?”
Heswallowsaspoonfulofsoup,nodding.“It’smostlynationalparks.Afewstateones.Canada,too.”
I’malittleshocked.Notonlyarethepicturesgood,professional-levelgood,but…“Okay”—Ipointattheframebehindthetable,amobiusarcinwhatlookslikeSierraNevada—“thisisnottheworkofsomeonewhohatestheenvironment.”
Hegivesmeapuzzledlook.“AndIhatetheenvironment?”
“Yes!”Iblink.“No?”
Heshrugs.“ImightnotcompostmyownfecesorholdmybreathtoavoidemittingCO2,butIdolikenature.”
I’malittledumbfounded.“Liam?CanIaskyouaquestionthatwillpossiblymakeyouwanttothrowthebowlatme?”
“Itwon’t.”
“Youhaven’theardthequestion.”
“Butthesoupisreallygood.”
Ibeam.AndthenIimmediatelyfeelself-consciousatthesurgeofwarmththatcomesfromknowinghelikesmycooking.Whocaresifhedoes?He’sarandomdude.He’sLiamHarding.Onpaper,Ihatehim.
“YousaidyoureallyrespectedHelena’swork.Andthatshewasyourfavoriteaunt.Andthatyouwereclose.ButyouworkatFGPCorp,andI’vebeenwondering…”
“HowI’mstillalive?”
Ilaugh.“Prettymuch.”
“I’mnotquitesurewhyshesparedme.”
“Abitoutofcharacter,isn’tit?”
“Ihidthesharpkniveseverytimeshevisited.ButshemostlyfocusedonsendingmedailytextsaboutalltheevilFGPCorpisdoingintheworld.Maybeshewasgoingforaslowgrind?”
“Ijust…Idon’tunderstandhowyouloveHelenaandnatureandworkingatacompanythatlobbiestoeliminatecarbontaxeslikeitsaimistoplungecivilizationintofierydarkness.”
Hehuffsoutalaugh.“YouthinkIenjoyworkingthere?”
“Iassumedyoudid.Becauseyouseemtoworkallthetime.”Iflush—okay,fine,Inoticedhishours,sueme—buthedoesn’tseemtocare.“You…don’t?”
“No.It’sashittycompanyandIhateeverythingitstandsfor.”
“Oh.Thenwhy…”Iscratchmynose.Oh.Ididnotexpectthat.“You’realawyer.Can’tyou,um,lawyerelsewhere?”
“It’scomplicated.”
“Complicated?”
Thespoonscrapesthebottomofthebowlforamoment.“Mymentorrecruitedme.”
“Yourmentor?”
“Hewasoneofmyprofessors.Iowehimalot—hehelpedmegetallmyinternshipslinedup,advisedmeduringlawschool.Whenheaskedmetotakethisjob,Ididn’tfeellikeIcouldsayno.He’smybossnow,and…”Heleansbackinhischairandrunsahandthroughhishair.Tired.Helooksverytired.“IhavealotofcomplicatedfeelingsaboutwhatFGPCorpdoes.AndIdon’tlikethecompany,oritsmission.Butintheend,it’sagoodthingthatI’maround.Ifitweren’tme,someoneelsewoulddomyjobjustaswell.AndatleastIcanbetherefortheteamIlead.Andruninterferencebetweenthemandmybosswhenit’snecessary.”
IthinkaboutthewordsIoverheardlastnight.UnethicalWrong.“Ishetheoneyouwerearguingwith?Onthephone?”Heliftsoneeyebrow,andmycheekswarm.“IpromiseIwasn’teavesdropping!”ButLiamshrugsasthoughhedoesn’tmind.SoIsmile,leaningforwardacrossthetable.“Okay,maybeIwas.Justabit.So,what’shislastname?”
“Whosename?”
“Yourboss.MaybeIcantalktohimwhileyoutalktoTed?Somegoodoldreciprocalproxybullying?Mutualwarn-off?Leave-My-Friend-AloneSixty-Nine?”
Hesmilesatmethen—afull,realsmile.Hisfirstinmypresence,Ithink,anditmakesbreathingthatmuchharder,thetemperatureoftheroomthatmuchhotter.How—whyishesohandsome?Istareathim,speechless,unabletodoanythingbutnoticetheclearbrownofhiseyes,thelopsidedwayhislipsstretch,thefactthatheseemstobestudyingmewithawarm,kindexpression,and—
Oureyesdarttohisphone.Whichisringingagain.
“Work?”Iask.Myvoiceishoarse.
“No.It’s…”Hestandsfromthetableandclearshisthroat.“Excuseme.I’llberightback.”
Ashewalksout,Ihearhimchuckle.Ontheothersideofthephone,afemalevoiceissayinghisname.Chapter6
Fourmonthsago
Itakeacarefulstepoutoftheshower,lettingmytoesdigdeepintothethick,softmat.Itturnsouttobealethallypoorchoice,becauseIdoitinthesameexactmomentLiamopensthebathroomdoortotakeastepinside.
Itleadstomejumping.Andflailing.Andyelling:
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
“Mara?What—”
“Aaah!”
“Sorry—Ididn’t—”
Myentirebodyisslipperyandfrantic—notagoodcombination.Ialmostlosemybalancetryingtowraptheshowercurtainaroundme.ThenIdolosemybalance,andI’mpositiveLiamcanseeeverything.
TheoutiebellybuttonHannahalwaysteasesmeabout.
Thesickle-shapedlacrossescarabovemyrightboob.
Saidrightboob,andtheleftone.
Forafractionofasecondwebothstandmotionless.Staringateachother.Unabletoreact.ThenIsay,“Canyou—couldyou,um,handmethattoweloverthere?”
“Ah—sure.Hereyougo.I…”
HeextendshisarmandturnstheotherwaywhileIwrapthetowel(histowel;Liam’stowel)aroundmyself.It’sfluffyandcleananditsmellsgoodand—whousesblacktowels,anyway?Whoproducesthem?Wheredoesheevenbuythem,BloodbathandBeyond?
“Mara?”Heisstandingunderthedoorframe,pointedlylookingawayfromme.
“Yes?”
“Whyareyouinmybathroom?”
Crap.“Sorry.I’msosorry.Myshowerisn’tworking,and…Ithinkthere’ssomethingwrongwithapipe,and…Idon’tknow,butIcalledBob.”
“Bob?”
“Theplumber.Well,aplumber.He’scomingouttomorrowmorning.”
“Oh.”
“ButIwentforarunearlier,andIwasallsweatyandsmelly,so…”
“Isee.”
“Sorry.Ishouldhaveaskedbefore.Youcanturnnow,bytheway.I’mdecent.”
Liamdoesturn.Butonlyafterabouttensecondsofwhatlookslikeaprettyintenseinternaldebate.Hisexpressionsarenevertheeasiesttoread,butheseemsalittleflustered.
Alot,actually.Asin,evenmorethanIam.
Whichisodd.I’mtheonewhogotboobsposed,andLiamisprobablyveryusedtobeingwithnakedwomen.Thatis,actuallynakedwomen.WaymorenakedthanIcurrentlyam.Let’sbereal—hisexislikelyaVictoria’sSecretAngelwhorecentlyquitmodelingtofinishadoctorateinarthistoryandbecomeajuniorcuratorattheSmithsonian.ShehasanimpeccablebellybuttonandknowswhatPlayStationbuttontopresstothrowagrenade.DidIsayhisex?They’restilldating,forallIknow.Havingaveryathleticsexlife.I’mtalkingroleplayandtoys.Buttaction.Lotsoforal,whichtheybothexcelat.Okay,thistrainofthoughtneedstocrashrightnow.
Maybehe’sjustembarrassedforme?Notthatheshouldbe.I’mpretty.Imean,IthinkI’mpretty.Cute,inabefreckled,wish-I-was-two-inches-taller,slightly-self-conscious-about-that-hump-on-my-noseway.Sometimes,usuallyafterSadiehasputeyelineronme,IeventhinkI’mbeautiful.ButI’llneverbeasattractiveasLiam.Isthatwhyhe’sdoingthisweirdthing—staringwhileobviouslytryinghisbestnottostare?
“I’msosorryIdidn’twarnyou.Ithoughtyouwereoutoftownorsomething.Becauseyoudidn’tcomehomelastnight,and…”IfeelabitembarrassedthatInoticed.ButhowcouldInot?Eversincethesnowstorm,we’vegottenintothisweirdrhythm.Dinnertogetheratseven.Notthatthere’sanacknowledgedagreementoranything,butIknowfrombeforethatheusedtoeatalittlelater,andIknowfrommywholelifethatIusedtoeatalittleearlier,andsomehowweconvergedonatimethatworksforbothofus…MaybeIwasclosetotextinghimlastnight.Butdecidednotto,becauseitseemedlikecrossingsomekindofunspokenline.
“No,Ijust…Ihadtobeatwork.Becauseofadeadline.Iwasgoingtowarnyou,but…”Youdidn’twanttocrosssomekindofunspokenline?Iwanttoask.Butonedoesnotspeakofunspokenthings,soIjustgowith:
“Ofcourse.”Iclearmythroat.“I’llgotomyroom.Getdressed.”
“Right.”
Imaketoleave.ExceptthatLiam’sstillstandingthere,blockingtheexit.Theonlyexit,ifonedoesn’tcountthewindow,whichIbrieflyconsiderbeforeacknowledgingthatit’snotafeasibleoption.Notinmycurrentstateofdishevelment.“Youare…”Hedoesn’tseemtounderstandwhereheis.I’dgesticulateandpointitout,butIhavetoclutchmytowelwithbothhandstoavoidflashinghim,and—
“Oh.Oh,right,I…”Hetakesalargesteptotheside.Toolarge—he’sbasicallyplasteredagainstthesinknow.
“Okay.Thanksagainforlettingmeuseyourbathroom.”
“Noproblem.”
Ireallyshouldleavenow.“AndIborrowedabitofyourshampoo.Well,stole.It’snotasifI’mevergoingtoreturnit.But,youknow.”
“It’sokay.”
“IloveOldSpice,bytheway.Solidchoice.”
“Oh.”Liamlookseverywherebutatme.“IjustgrabthefirstoneIseeatthestore.”
Iknowinthatmoment,Isimplyknow,thatOldSpiceisWilliamK.Harding’sfavoritebrandofpersonalhygieneproducts,andthathesuffersdeepshamebecauseofit.“Right.Ofcourse.”Hecanbeadorable,sometimes.“Hey,justFYI,I’mnotembarrassed.Soyoushouldn’tbe,either.”
“What?”
“Idon’tcarethatyousawmenaked.BecauseIknowyoudon’tcare.Justsaying,wedon’tneedtobeweirdaboutit.Believeme”—Ilaugh—“Iknowyou’renotgoingtouseyourannoyinggingerroomie’stinyfreckledboobsasspankbankmaterial.”
Iexpecthimtoreplywithajoke,likeheusuallydoes,buthedoesn’t.Hedoesn’treplyatall,infact.Justpresseshislipstogether,nodsonce,andallofasuddenthingsfeelevenmoreawkward.Crap.
“Anyway.Thanksagain.”
“You’rewelcome.”
Istepoutwithasmallwaveandnoticetwothings:he’sstaringhardathisfeet,andhislefthandisatightfistathisside.Chapter7
Threemonthsago
There’snothingwrongwiththewaveguide.That,Iknowforsure.Thetransformerandthestirrerseemfine,too,whichhasmethinkingthattheproblemisinthemagnetron.Now,I’mnotreallyanexpert,butI’mhopingthatifItinkerwiththefilamenttheassemblywillfixitselfand—
“IsthisbecauselastnightwewatchedTransformers?”
Ilookup.Liam,asoftsmileonhisface,isstandingontheothersideofthekitchenisland,takinginthemicrowaveovenpartsImeticulouslylaidoutoverthemarblecountertop.
Imighthavemadeamess.
“ItwaseitherthisorwritingOptimusPrimefanfiction.”
Henods.“Goodchoice,then.”
“Butalso,yourmicrowaveisn’tworking.I’mtryingtofixit.”
“Icanjustbuyanewone.”Hisheadtilts.Hestudiesthecomponentswithaslightfrown.“Isthissafe?”
Istiffen.“AreyouaskingbecauseI’mawomanandthereforeunabletodoanythingremotelyscientificwithoutcausingradioactivepollution?Becauseifso,I—”
“I’maskingbecauseIwouldn’tknowwheretostart,andbecauseIamsoignorantaboutanythingremotelyscientificthatyoucouldbebuildinganatomicbombandIwouldn’tbeabletotell,”hesayscalmly.Asthoughhedoesn’tevenneedtobedefensive,becausetheideathatmebeingapuny-brainedgirlneverevenenteredhismind.“Butyouclearlycan.”Apause.“Pleasedon’tbuildanatomicbomb.”
“Don’ttellmewhattodo.”
Hesighs.“I’llmakeroomfortheplutoniuminthecheesedrawer.”
Ilaugh,andrealizethatit’sthefirsttimeI’vedoneitinhours.Which,inturn,makesmesigh.“It’sjust…Seanisbeingatotaldick.Again.”
Hisexpressiondarkenswithunderstanding.“What’dhedo?”
“Theusual.ThatdecoprojectItoldyouabout?Iwasexplainingthisreallycoolideaabouthowtofixit,butheonlyletmetalkforhalfaminutebeforetellingmewhyitwouldn’twork.”Ifiddlewiththemagnetron,thenstartreassemblingtheoven.Thesecondbothmyhandsareoccupied,astrandofhairdecidestofallintomylefteye.Iblowitaway.“Thingis,I’dalreadyconsideredallofhisobjectionsandfoundsolutions.Butdidheletmecontinue?Nope.Sonowwe’regoingwithamuch-less-elegantmethod,and…”Itrailoff.Atthispoint,LiamgetstwotofourSean-relatedrantsaweekfromme.TheleastIcandoiskeepthemshort.“Anyway.Sorryforbeingdefensive.”
“Mara.Youshouldreporthim.”
“Iknow.It’sjust…thisconstantlybelittlingbehaviorissohardtoprove,and…”Ishrug—badidea,sincemyhairisnowbackinmyeyes.Ifeelalittlestuck.Alotstuck.
“So,what’sSean’slastname?”Liamasks.
“Why?”
“Justcurious.”Hetriestosoundcasual,buthe’ssobadatit.He’sclearlytheworstliarintheworld—howdidhegetthroughlawschool?Itmakesmesmileeverytime.
“Youneedtopractice,”Isay,pointingmyscrewdriverathim.
“Practice?”
“Practicetelling…”
Myvoicetrailsoff.BecauseLiamisreachinguptobrushhisfingersagainstmycheekbone,afaintsmileonhislips.Mybrainshort-circuits.What—?Didhe—?
Oh.Oh.Myhair.Mylost,waywardstrandofhair.Hetuckeditbehindmyear.He’sjustbeingniceandhelpinghisgingerklutzroommate,whointurnishavingamajorbrainfart.Classy,Mara.Veryclassy.
“Practicetellingwhat?”heasks,stillstaringattheshellofmyear.It’sprobablymisshapen,andIneverevenknewit.
“Nothing.Lies.I…”Iclearmythroat.Getittogether,Floyd.“Hey,youknowwhat?”Itrytokeepmytonelight.Changethetopic.“Thebeginningofthiscohabitationwasanabsolutenightmare,butIlikethisalot.”
“This?”
“Thisthing.”Ibegintoscrewinthebackplateofthemicrowave.“Wherewechatwithoutthrowingchairsateachotherandyouoffhandedlyaskforthelastnamesofdudeswhoaremeantomewiththeobviousideaofcommittingunsanctionedactsofvigilantejusticeagainstthem.”
“That’snotwhatI—”
Iliftmyeyebrow.Heblushesandlooksaway.
“Anyway,Ilikethismuchbetter.Beingfriends,Iguess.”
Heglaresatme.“I’mnotyourfriend.”
“Oh.”Ialmostrecoil.Almost.“Oh.I—I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantoimplythat—”
“TheothernightEileengaveBerniearose,andyousaidthatitwasagoodmove.That’snotsomethingIcanacceptfromafriend.”
Iburstoutlaughing.“Comeon,he’scute.Heisadogtrainer.HelikesK-pop!”
“See,this?Thereasonyou’remyswornenemy.”Heshakeshisheadatme,andIlaughharder,andthenmylaughterdiesdownandforasecondwe’rejustsmilingateachotherandanunfamiliar,liquidwarmthspillsinsideme.
“IampositiveHelenawouldhaverootedforBernie.”
Hesnorts.“Yousayitlikeit’sanendorsement.Likeshedidn’tconstantlytrytosetmeupwithrandompeopleIcarednothingfor.”
“Shedidthesamewithme!”
“AndwhenIwasateenagershedatedthisguywhohadbeenonafour-monthshowerstrike.”
“OhGod.Why?”
“Notsure.Theenvironment?”
“No—whywasshedatinghim?”
Liamwinces.“Apparently—andIquote—‘astoundingcarnalchemistry.’?”
ImorbidlycontemplateHelena’ssexlifeuntilLiambreaksthequietandasks,“Doyoueverthinkaboutswitchingjobs?”
Ishakemyhead.“It’stheEPA.WhereIalwayswantedtobe.Seriously,fifteen-year-oldMarawouldtravelthroughtimetoshankmeifIweretoquit.”IthinkIpickeduponanoddnoteinhisquestion,though.“Whydidyouask?Doyoueverthinkaboutswitchingjobs?”
Heshakeshishead,too.“Icouldn’t,”hesays.ButI’mstartingtoknowhim,alittlebit.I’mmoreattunedtohismoods,histhoughts,thewayheturnsinwardwheneverheconsiderssomethingserious.Thereisawallofsortsthathebuildsbetweenhimselfandeveryonewhotriestoknowhim.SometimesIwishitweren’tthere.SoIpushgentlyagainstitandask,“Howarethingsatwork?”
Heissilentforawhile,handspressedwideagainsttheisland,watchingmequietlyasIfinishscrewingthepiecesbacktogether.Myhairremainssafelytuckedbehindmyear.“Heaskedmetofiresomeonetoday.”
“Oh.”Ialreadyknowwhoheis.Mitch.Liam’sboss.WhomIprivatelyhatewiththeintensityofathousandmicrowaveovens.Who’sthereasonLiamfeelslikehecannotpackuphisblack-market-organ-pricedgraduatedegreesandhisyearsofexperiencebeingacorporatemeanieandfindanotherjob.“Why?”
“Someoneonmyteammadeareallystupidmistake.Butfixable.Andstill…it’sjustamistake.Weallfuckup—IknowIdo.”Heabsentmindedlyrubsthebackofhishandagainsthislips.“IreallythoughtIcouldtalkhimoutofit.”Heshakeshishead,andIfrown.Andpressmylipstogether.AndordermyselftocounttofivebeforeIsayanything,justtoavoidbeingintrusiveoraggressive.Five,four,three—
“Honestly,yourbossisashitnuggetandhedoesn’tdeserveyouandyoushouldquitandleavehimtostirinhisshitbroth!”
Liamlooksup,surprised.Andamused,Ithink.“Ashitnugget?”
Iflush.“Avaluablebutunderratedinsult.ButLiam,really,youdeservetohaveabetterjob.Andbeforeyoupointoutthatit’shypocriticalofmetotellyoutoswitchjobswhileIwon’tdoitmyself,letmesaythatit’satotallydifferentsituation.Ilovemyjob—IjusthatethepeopleIhavetodoitwith.IncludingSean.EspeciallySean.Really,mostlySean.”Oh,howI’dlovetoboilmypost-runsocks,makesoupoutofthem,andthenfeedittoSean.
“Youcouldaskforatransfer.”
“Iplanto.Butitwon’thelp.”Ishrugandplugthemicrowavebackin.“TheEPA’sopeninganewunit.I’mapplyingtobetransferred,butSeantheAssholeis,too.”Irollmyeyes.“He’simpossibletoshakeoff.Likeaparasitictoenailfungus.”
“Soyou’llbecompetingwithhimfortheposition?”
“Well,no.He’sapplyingtolead.I’dbeamongtheplebs—alowlyteammember.”
“Youcan’tleadbecauseyoudon’thaveenoughseniority?”
“Oh,Idon’tthinkthereareseniorityrequirements.”
“Thenwhyareyounotapplyingtoleadit?”
“Because—”Isnapmymouthshutandlookdownatmyscrewdriver.Yes.Why?Whywouldn’tIapplyforaleaderposition?Whatiswrongwithme?It’snotlikeSeanissmarterthanIam.Hejustlovestoimposethesoundofhisownvoicetounsuspectingpassersby.AndmaybeIdon’thaveenoughleadershipexperiencetoknowthatI’llbeagoodboss,butIdohaveenoughSeanexperiencetoknowthathewon’tbe.HekeepscallingmeLara,forfuck’ssake.Inemails.Thathewritestomyemailaddress,marafloyd@epa.gov.Dude,youcanliterallycopyandpaste?
Ilookup.Liamisstaringatmewithacalmexpression,asthoughpatientlywaitingformetoreachthisveryexactconclusion:IambetterthanSean.BecauseeveryoneisbetterthanSean,andthatincludesme.
Ifeelashiverofsomethingwarmrundownmyspine,asthoughI’mbeingheld.Whichisweird,sinceIhaven’thuggedsomeonein…God,months.NotsinceHelena.
“Tellyouwhat.”Iputmyhandsonmyhips,suddenlydetermined.“I’mgoingtoapplyfortheleaderposition.”
“That’sexactlywhatyoushould—”
“Ifyouleaveyourjob.”
Hepauses,thenexhalesalaugh.“IfIleavemyjob,who’llkeepyouintheexpensivemulti-plytoiletpaperlifestyleyou’reaccustomedto?”
“Youwill,sinceyou’reprobablysittingongenerationalpilesofoldNewEnglandmoney.Plus,youcouldtotallystillbealawyerforother,slightlylessdisgustingcorporations.Ifthereareany,thatis.AndifwestrikethisbloodpactandIgetthejob,there’ssomethingevenbetterinitforyou.”
“YouletmeholdSean’sheadinthetoiletbowl?”
“No.Well,yes.Butalso,ifIgetateamleaderposition,I’dbemakingmoremoney.AndI’llfinallybeabletomoveout.”Withoutneedingtosellmyhalfofthehouse
Liam’sexpressionshiftsabruptly.“Mara—”
“Thinkaboutit!You,walkingaroundnakedinapleasantlyfreezinghouse,scratchingyourbuttinfrontofafridgefulloftartarsauce,cookingtacosatthreea.m.whilelisteningtopostmodernindustrialpoponyourgramophone.Allaroundaregiantscreens,broadcastingvideogameplaythroughstwenty-four/seven.Soundsnice,huh?”
“No,”hesaysflatly.
“That’sbecauseIforgottomentionthebestpart:yourpeskyex-roommateisgone,nowheretobeseen.”Ibeam.“Now,tellmeyou’renotgoingtoloveeverysecondof—”
“Iwon’t,Mara.I—”Heturnsaway,andIcanseehisjawclenchlikeitusedtobefore,whenmypresenceinthishouseannoyedhimandheconsideredmethebaneofanythinggood.Buthishandtightensaroundtheedgeofthecounteronce,andheseemstocollecthimself.Hestudiesmeforalongmoment.
“Please,”Ipress.“Iwon’tapplyifyouwon’t.DoyoureallywanttocondemnmetoalifetimeofSean?”
Hecloseshiseyes.Thenheopensthemandnods.Once.“Iwon’tleavemyjob—”
“Oh,comeon!”
“—tillIhaveanotherlinedup.ButIwillstartlookingaround.”
Ismileslowly.“Wait—forreal?”Ididnotthinkthiswouldwork.
“Onlyifyouapplyfortheleaderposition.”
“Yes!”Iclapmyhands.“Liam,I’llhelpyou.AreyouonLinkedIn?Ibetrecruiterswouldbealloveryou.”
“What’sLinkedIn?”
“Ugh.Doyouatleasthavearecentheadshot?”
Hestaresatmeblankly.
“Fine,I’lltakeapictureofyou.Inthegarden.Whenthere’sgoodnaturallight.Wearthecharcoalthree-piecesuitandthatbluebutton-down—itlooksamazingonyou.”Hecockshiseyebrow,andIinstantlyregretsayingthat,butI’mtooexcitedattheideaofthisweirdprofessional-suicidepacttoblushtoohard.“Thisisamazing.We’vegottoshakeonit.”
Ithrustoutmyhand,andhetakesitimmediately,hisownfirmandwarmandlargearoundmine,and—itmightbethefirsttimewetouchonpurpose,asopposedtoarmsbrushingwhilewe’reworkingatthestove,orfingersgrazingashesortsoutmymail.Itfeels…nice.Andright.Andnatural.Ilikeit,andIlookuptoLiam’sfacetoseewhetherhelikesit,too,and…thereareathousanddifferentexpressionspassingonhisface.Amilliondifferentemotions.
Ican’tbegintoparseevenone.
“Deal,”hesays,voicedeepandalittlehoarse.
Heuseshisfreehandtoturnonthemicrowave—which,loandbehold,isworkingagain.Chapter8
Onemonth,twoweeksago
Rainismyfavoritekindofweather.
Iammostpartialtosummerstorms,theirstrongwindsandhotair,thewaytheymakemefeellikeI’msittingonthehumidinsideofaballoonthat’sabouttoburst.Asakid,I’drunoutsideassoonastherainstartedjusttogetallwet—whichseemedtooutragemymothertonoend.
ButI’mnotparticular.It’sbarelyFebruary,earlyinthenight,andtheharddropsbeatingatattooontheplasticofmyumbrella,theyjustmakemehappy.IsmilewhenIunlockthefrontdoor.Hum,too.Iwalkdownthehall,listeningtotheraininsteadofwhat’shappeninginsidethehouse,andthatmustbethereasonIdon’thearthem.
Liamandagirl.No:awoman.Theyareinthekitchen.Together.He’sleaningbackagainstthecounter.She’ssittingonit,athisside,closeenoughtolayhercheekonhisshoulderwhilesheshowshimsomethingonherphonethathasbothofthemsmiling.It’sthemostrelaxedI’veseenLiamwithanyone.ClearlyaveryintimatemomentthatIshouldnotbeinterrupting,exceptthatIcan’tmakemyselfmove.Ifeelmystomachsinkandremainrootedtothefloor,unabletoretreatasthewomanshakesherheadandmurmurssomethinginLiam’searthatIcannothear,somethingthathashimchucklinginlow,deeptones,and—
Imustgasp.Ormakesomesortofnoise,becauseonemomentthey’relaughing,armspressedagainsteachother,andthenextthey’rebothlookingup.Atme
Shit.
Itryreallyhardnottoletmyeyestakeinhowcozyandcomfortablehelooks,howfamiliarandatease.It’snothinglikewhathappenswhenheandIaccidentallybumpagainsteachotherinthehallway,likethatcharged,electrictensionthatseemstocracklebetweenuswhenweforgetourselvesandourhandshappentobrushtogether.Butthat’sthepoint,right?AnyphysicalcontactbetweenmeandLiamisprobablyunwantedonhispart,whilethis…
Thisismortifying.Iwanttogetoutofthisroomandnevercomeback.Buyaninsulatedlunchbagandacampingstove,shovetheminmybedroom,andbecompletelyself-sufficient.
Thewoman,though,doesn’tseemnearlyasunsettled,orself-consciousaboutthefactthatshe’scurrentlyperchedonapieceoffurnitureinahomethat’snothers,herskirtridinguptoshowlong,tonedlegs.Shesmilesatme,andsomehow,somewhere,Ifindmyvoice.“Sorry.I’msosorry,Ididn’tmeantointerrupt…Iwantedtogetsomethingtodrink,andI…”AndI?AndIwillnowgotomyroomtoflushmyselfdownthetoilet.Good-bye,cruelworld.
“Ithoughtyou’dbe…”Liam’svoiceseemsdeeperthanusual.Iwonderiftheywereabouttotakewhateverthisistohisbedroom.OhGod.OhGod,Ijustinterruptedmyroommateandhisgirlfriend.I’msuchaloser.“Out.Ithoughtyou’dbeout.”
Oh.Right.Iwassupposedtogoonadatemyself.WithTed.SomethingIagreedtodotheotherdayundertheimpetusof:meh,whynot?ThismorningItoldLiamwhyI’dbehomelate,exceptthatIendedupcancelingbecause…Ididn’treallyfeellikegoing.
Forsomereason.
Thatisuncleartome.
“No.Imean,yes.Yes,Iwas.But…”Igesturevaguelyintheair.AsgoodanexplanationasIcancomeupwith.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.I…”Ishouldreallygotomyroomanddothatself-flushingthing.Butit’shard,withLiamstaringatmelikethat.Half-curious,half-happytoseeme,half–somethingelse.It’sthefirsttimeIfindhimwithsomeonewho’snotCalvinoranotheroneofhisdudefriendshe’sobviouslyknownsinceforever,someonewho’sclearlyShit.
“I’m…I’mgonnagonow,soyouguyscan—”
“Noneed,”avoicesays.
Avoice?Ah.Yes.Right.Thereisathirdpersonintheroom.Abeautifulwomanwithlongdarkhair,who’sstillsittingonthecounter,glancingwithcaptivatedinterestbetweenmeandLiam,and…
“Iwasjustabouttoleave,”shesays.Butit’salie.Shewasdefinitelynotabouttoleave.“Right,Liam?”SheandLiamexchangeasilent,loadedlookthatI’dgivehalfakidneytobeabletodecipher.
“Oh,no.Youdon’thavetoleave,”Isayweakly.“I—”
“Bytheway,I’mgoingtointroducemyself,sinceLiamhereisclearlynotgoingto.”ShehopsdownwithgracethatI’veseenonlyinballetdancersandOlympicgymnastsbefore,andholdsoutherhand.Ihatemyselffortryingtorememberifit’sthesamehandthatwaswrappedaroundLiam’sarmwhileherheadwasonhisshoulder.“I’mEmma.YoumustbethefamousMara?”
Whyshewouldknowmynameisanabsolutemystery.UnlessEmmaandLiamareveryserious,andthenLiamwouldhavementionedhisannoyingroommateonceortwice,andwillyoulookatthat?ItappearsthatIjustcannotbearthethought.“Yes.Um…Nicetomeetyou.”
Emma’shandshakeiscoolandfirm.Shesmilesbriefly,niceandself-assured,thenturnstopickupherjacketfromastool.
“Well.Thiswasfun.Informative,too.Mara,Ihopewe’llmeetatonmoretimes.Andyou…”SheturnstoLiam.Hervoicedropslower,butIcanstillmakeoutthewords.“Cheerup,buddy.Idon’tthinkyou’reasdoomedtoalifetimeofpiningasyouthink.I’llcallyoutomorrow.”She’snotverytallandhastostandonhertiptoestokisshimonthecheek,onehandpressingagainsthisabsforbalance,andifLiammindshavingherupinhisspace,hedoesn’tshowit.Thenthereisafriendlywave,directedatmethistime,acheerful“Goodnight,”thesoundofherheelsagainsttheparquetflooringonherwaytotheentrance,andthen—
Gone.
Thatnoisewasthefrontdooropeningandclosing,whichmeansthatLiamandIarealone.
“Liam,I’msosorry.Ididn’tmeanto…”
“To?”Hescratchesthebackofhisneck,lookingconfusedbymyreaction.He’sstillleaningagainstthecounter,andIcan’tmakemyselfmoveawayfromtheentrance.Ican’tmakemyselfcontinueandapologizeforinterruptinghisdate.Iwasgoingtoleave.Ipromise.Youguyscouldhavecontinuedinyourroom,Liam.Iwouldn’thaveminded.
Really.
“Howdidthepresentationgo?”
Ilookupfrominspectingmyshoes.“What?”
“Yourpresentation,today?Fortheleadposition?”
“Ah.”Right.Thepresentation.TheoneI’vebeencomplainingaboutfordays.TheoneIpracticedwithhimyesterday.Andthedaybefore.Theoneheprobablyknowsbyheart.“Um,verygood.Good.Well,okay.Passable.”
“It’sgettingworsebytheword.”
Iwince.“Itwas…Istumbledabit.”
“Isee.”
“ButmaybeIstilldidbetterthanSean?”
“Maybe?”
“Probably.”
Liamsmiles.“Probably?”
Ismileback.“Almostcertainly.”
“Whataspeedyimprovement.”
Ichuckle,andhepushesawayfromthecounterandcomestostandrightinfrontofme.Likehewantstobecloserforthisconversation.Closertome.
“It’sbadnewsforyou,though,”Isay.
“Isit?”
“IfIgetthisposition,you’regoingtohavetostepupandfindanewjob,too.”
“Ah.Yes.”
“Wemadeadeal.”
“Adealisadeal.”
“Also,aftertheinterviewtheygaveusinformationonthesalary.It’sabigraise.I’lldefinitelybeabletomoveout.”
Hiseyesharden,thenswitchbacktoaneutralmask.“Right.”
“What?”Iteasehim.“Youafraidyoucan’taffordtobuyyourowncreamer?”Whatdoesheevenuseitfor?Istilldon’tknow.
“JustconcernedI’llhavetowatchEileenmaketerriblelifechoicesonmyown.”
“Eileenknowswhatshe’sdoing.AsIexplainedinmylastblogpost.”
“WhichIhave,ofcourse,read.”
He’snotfunny.He’snotthatfunny.I’mnothalfinlovewithhisweirdsenseofhumor.“Ican’tbelieveyoucommented‘deleteyouraccount.’It’scyberbullying,Liam.”
Heisstillsmiling,andthereissomethingwarmunfurlinginmychestnow.Whichreallyshouldn’tbethere,because…Because.“Areyouandyourfriend…?”Iask.
“Myfriend?”
“Emma.”
“Ah.”
Silence.Iwringmyhands,realizingthatIhaven’treallyformulatedaquestion.Issheyour…No.Toodirect.Areyoutwodating?AndwhatisthishiccupinmyheartasIcontemplatethethought?MaybeLiamhasnevermentionedagirlfriend.Oranygirl.ButwhatdidIthink?Thathewaslivingincelibacy?It’snotmybusiness,anyway.We’rejustfriends.Goodfriends.Butfriends.
“What?”Hegivesmealonglook,likeIjustaskedapreposterousquestionthat’snotgroundedinreality.TherealitythatIjustwalkedinonhimPDAingher.
“Ithoughtyoutwo…?”
“No.”Heshakeshisheadonce.Thenheshakesitagain.“No,Emmais…Wewereinkindergartentogether.Andshe…No.We’refriends,goodfriends,butnothinglikethat.”
“Oh.”Oh?Really?Noway.Way?
“We’rejustfriends,”herepeatsagain.LikehewantstomakesureIknowit.Likehe’safraidthatIdon’tbelievehim.Which,tobefair,Idon’t.Lookather.Lookathim.“She’sactually…SheknowsthatI…”Hewipesahanddownhisface,likehealwaysdoeswhenhe’soverwhelmedortired.It’sagestureI’mseeingmoreoflately.BecauseLiamhasbeenlettingmeseemoreofhim.They’renotallbad,thesharpedgesanddeepgroovesofthisman’spersonality.Unexpected,butnotbadatall.
“Knowsthatyou?”
“ThatIdon’tusually…Inever…Well,almostnever,apparently…”Liamshakeshishead,asiftosayNevermind,andIremainunsureastowhathealmostneverdoes,becausehedoesn’tcontinueandI’mnotcertainthatIwanttoprobe.Plus,he’slookingatmeinawayIcan’tunderstand,andI’msuddenlyfeelinglikeit’stimetoskedaddle.“I’mgonnagotosleep,okay?”Ismile.“Ihaveanearlymorning,tomorrow.”
Henods.“Okay.Sure.”ButwhenI’malmostoutoftheroom,hecallsafterme.“Mara?”
Ipause.Don’tturnaround.“Yeah?”
“I…Haveagoodnight.”
Itdoesn’tsoundlikewhatheoriginallymeanttosay.ButIanswer,“You,too,”andrunbacktomyroomanyway.Chapter9
Onemonthago
“Ihadlotsoffuntonight.”
“Good.Thankyou.Imean…”Iclearmythroat.“SodidI.”
Tedisnothingifnotpredictable.HetookmetotheEthiopianrestaurantItoldhimI’dbeenwantingtotry(excellent);heraisedtopicsofconversationIknowenoughabouttofeelcomfortable,butnotsofamiliarthatIgotboredwithinafewminutes;andnow,nowthathe’swalkedmetomydoor,he’sgoingtoleaninandkissme,justlikeIcouldhaveanticipatedwhenhepickedmeupexactlythreehoursago.
Itis,predictably,agoodkiss.Asolidkiss.ItcouldprobablyleadintogoodsexifIdecidedtoinvitehiminsideforadrink.Solidsex.Long-time-no-havesex.We’retalkingyears,here.Helenawouldpopthechampagneandremindmetodustoffthecobwebs.
Andyet.
Ihavenointentiontoaskhimtocomein.It’strulybeenages,butthisthingwithTedisjust…no.
He’saniceguy,butthisisnotgoingtowork,foravarietyofreasons.That,Itellmyself,havenothingtodowithhowlongLiamstaredatmeearliertoday,beforeTedpulledupourdriveway.OrwiththewayheinstantlyavertedhisgazewhenIcaughthim.Orwiththehoarsequalityofhisvoicewhenhetookinmydressandsaid,“I…Youlookbeautiful.”
Hesoundedlikehewantedtosaysomethingelse.Alittlewistful.Almostapologetic.Itmademeregretspendingthirtyminutesputtingonmakeuptogooutwithsomeoneelse,somepoorguyIdon’tevenwanttoimpressforthesimplereasonthatheisn’t…
Yeah.
“I…”ItakeadeepbreathandtakeastepbackfromTed,whoseonlyfaultis…notbeinganotherguy.IcannotpicturehimwatchingTheBachelorwithme,whichisapparentlyadealbreaker.Themoreyouknow,huh?“I’mgonnagoinsidenow.Butthanksforeverything.Ihadalovelyevening.”
IfTedisdisappointed,Ican’ttell.Tohiscredit,hehesitatesonlybriefly.ThenhesmilesandretreatstohiscarwithoutanyI’llcallyouorSeeyounexttimethatwebothknowwouldbenothingmorethanliesofpoliteness.IsilentlythanktheEPAgodsfortransferringhimtoanotherteamlastweek,andmakemywayinside.
I’msurprisedtofindLiaminthelivingroom,sittingonthecouchwithabeerinonehand,astackofpapersinanother,ridiculouslycutereadingglassesperchedonhisnose.OrmaybeI’mnot.It’sSaturdaynight,afterall.WeusuallyspendourSaturdaynightsonthatverycouch,watchingTV,talkingabouteverythingandnothing.Itmakessensethathe’shere,eventhoughIwasgone.
Forthelifeofme,Ican’trememberabetteractivitythanstayingathomeinmypj’sandhangingoutwithmyroommate.
“Whatareyoureading?”
Liamglancesupatme,takesinmyshort-but-not-too-shortdress,myloosehair,myredlips,thenimmediatelylooksbacktohispapers.“Justaguidelinedocumentforwork.”
“Howtoachieveyourveryownoilspillinteneasysteps?”
Hislipsquirkupward.“Ithinkyouonlyneedtheone.”
“Listen,we’vebeenoverthis.It’sokayifyoudon’twanttoquitjustyet,buttheveryleastyoucandoisnotworkonweekends.Comeon,Liam.Doitfortheenvironment.”
Hesighs,buthetakesoffhisglassesandputsawaythepapers.Ismileandreachforwardtograbhisbeerandtakeasipwithoutbotheringtoask.Liamstudiesmeinsilence,butdoesn’tstartreadingagain.WhenIliftoneeyebrow—what?—hecaves,andasks:“Isn’thecomingin?”
“Who?”
Liamlookstowardtheentrance.
“Ah.”Right.Othermenexist,too.Hardtoremember,sometimes.“No.Ted’snot…Hewenthome.”
“Oh.”
“I’mnot…We’renot…”Howtoputit?“Wehaven’t…”
Liamnods,thoughhecannotpossiblyhavemadesenseofwhatIjustmumbled.Andthenhesaysnothing.Andthenthingsseemtogetabitweird.Thereisanoddtensionintheroom.Likewe’rebothholdingbacksomething.I’drathernotsearchinsidemyselftofigureoutwhat.
“Ishouldgotobed.”
“Okay.”Heswallows.“Goodnight.”
Itmightbethattwofuzzynavelsweretoomany,ormaybeIjustneverreallygotthehangofhighheels.ThefactremainsthatIlosemybalanceandstumblejustasItrytowalkpasthim.Hishands,largeandsolidandwarmeventhroughmydress,closearoundmyhipsuntilI’mstableagain.I’mstanding,andhe’ssittingdown,andlikethisI’mseveralinchestallerthanhim,and…It’snew,seeinghimfromthisperspective.Helooksyounger,almostsofter,andmyfirstdrunkeninstinctistocuphisface,tracethelineofhisnose,runmythumboverhislowerlip
Istopmyself,butmyslow,misfiringbraindoesn’t.Itfeedsmeanoddimage:Liamsmilingandpullingmedowninhislap.Pushingbetweenmyknees.Hishandsskimmingupmythighs,undermydress,ticklingmyskin,makingmelaugh.Hereachesmylowerbackandhisgriptightens,longfingersslidingundertheelasticofmypanties,cuppingmyasstopressmeto…Oh.Heishard.Big.Insistent.HearrangesmeexactlyhowhewantsmeandIexhalejustashegroansinmyear,“Careful,Mara.”
Wait.What?
Iblinkoutofwhateverthehellthatwas,justasLiamletsgoofme.Hesays,“Careful,Mara,”andItakeastepbackbeforeIcanhumiliatemyselfwithsomethingmoronicandutterlyembarrassing.
“Thanks.”Oureyesholdforwhatfeelsliketoolong.Iclearmythroat.“Areyougoingtobed,too?”
“Notyet.”
“Youarenotallowedtoreadmoreoilspillstuff,Liam.”
“ThenmaybeI’lljustplayabit.”
“WithoutCalvin?”Icockmyhead.“Didn’tyousayCalvinwouldcomeover?”
“Hewassupposedto.”
“Youknowwhat?”Irunahandthroughmyhair.It’sasplit-seconddecision.“I’mactuallynotthatsleepy,either.ShouldIplaywithyou?”
Helaughs.“Really?”
“Yes.What?”Itakeoffmyshoes,grabablanket—theoneheputonmethatfirstnight,theonethat’sbeeninthisroomeversince—andletmyselffallonthecouch,rightnexttohim.Alittletooclose,maybe,butLiamdoesn’tcomplain.“IhaveaPh.D.Icanpretendtokillbadguysusinga…joystick?”
“Controller.”Heshakeshishead,buthelooks…happy,Ithink.“Haveyoueverplayedavideogame?”
“Nope.Fulldisclosure,theylookawfulandI’mnotsurewhyanobviouslysmartpersonwithabunchofIvyLeaguedegreesthatcostmorethanmyinternalorganscouldeverbesomuchintothispew-pewcrap,butIrunaBachelorblog,soIhavenolegtostandon.”Ishrug.“So,whathappenedtoCalvin?”
“Couldn’tmakeit.”
“Playingwithsomeoneelse?”
“Adate.”
Ihum.“Maybeyoushouldhavejoinedhim.WasEmmabusy?”
HegivesmealookthatIcannotquitedecipher.Asthoughthere’ssomethingcatastrophicallywrongaboutwhatIsaid.“Itoldyou,Emmadoesn’twanttodatemeanymorethanIwanttodateher.”
Idoubtit.Whowouldn’t?Also,howfreakedoutwouldyoubeifItoldyouthattheothernightIdreamtofyouandEmma,sittingsidebysideinthekitchen,andIwassad?Butonlyforalittle.Becauseafterawhileitwasn’tyouandEmma.Itwasyouandmeandyouwerestandingbetweenmylegsandyouputyourhandsonmyinnerthighsandyoupushedthemopen,wider,tomakeroomforyourselfand—“Youcoulddatesomeoneelse,then,”Iblurtout.Toputahalttowhat’sgoingoninmyhead.
“Idon’tthinkIwantto,Mara.”
“Right.”Myhearthiccups.“Youwouldn’tenjoygoodfoodandpleasantconversationandgettinglaid.”
“Isthathowyourdatewent?”heaskssoftly,notlookingatmeanymore.
“Ijustmeant—”I’mflustered.“Youmightenjoydatingtherightperson.”
“StopchannelingHelena.”
Ilaugh.“Gottakeepupthehouseholdtraditionofbeingnosyaboutpeople’spersonallives.”Somethingoccurstome,andIgasp.“Youknowwhat’sreallyshocking?”
“What?”
“ThatHelenanevertriedtosetusup.Like,youandme.Together.”
“Yeah,that’s—”Liamfallssilentabruptly,asthoughsomethingoccurredtohim,too.Hestaresintothemiddledistanceforamomentandthenletsoutalow,deeplaugh.“Helena.”
“What?”Hedoesn’tanswerme.SoIrepeat,“Liam?What?”
“Ijustrealizedthat…”Heshakeshishead,amused.“Nothing,Mara.”Iwanttoinsisttillheexplainswhatrevelationheappearstohavereached,butheputsacontrollerinmyhandandsays,“Let’splay.”
“Okay.WhoamIsupposedtokill,andhowdoIdoit?”
Hesmilesatme,andamillionlittlesparkscrackledownmyspine.“Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”Chapter10
Threeweeksago
WhenLiamarriveshome,Icanbarelyfeelmytoes,myteetharechattering,andIammoreblanketthanhuman.Hestudiesmefromtheentranceofthelivingroomwhilepullingoffhistie,lipspressedtogetherinwhatlooksalotlikeamusement.
Asshole
Heobservesmeforlongmomentsbeforecomingcloser.Thenhecrouchesinfrontofme,widensthegapbetweenthelayersofblanketstobetterseemyeyes,andsays,“I’mafraidtoask.”
“Th-th-theheatisn’tworking.Ialreadylookedintoit—Ithinkafusehasb-blown.Icalledtheguywhofixeditlastt-time,heshouldb-behereinhalfanhour.”
Liamcockshishead.“You’reunderthreeSnuggies.Whyareyourlipsblue?”
“It’sfreezing!Ican’tgetwarm.”
“It’snotthatcold.”
“Maybeit’snotthatcoldwhenyouhavesixhundredpoundsofmusclestoinsulateyou,butI’mgonnad-d-die.”
“Areyou.”
“Ofhypothermia.”
Heisdefinitelypressinghislipstogethertoavoidsmiling.“Wouldyouliketoborrowmybaby-sealfurcoat?”
Ihesitate.“Doyoureallyhaveone?”
“Wouldyouwantit,ifIdid?”
“I’mscaredtofindout.”
Heshakeshisheadandsitsnexttomeonthecouch.“Comehere.”
“What?”
“Comehere.”
“No.Why?Areyouplanningtostealmyseat?Backoff.Ittookmeagestowarmitup—”
Idon’tgettofinishthesentence.Becausehepicksmeup,Snuggiesandall,andliftsmeacrosshislapuntilmyassisrestingonhisthighs.Which.
Oh.
Thisisnew.
Foramoment,myspinestiffensandmymusclestenseinsurprise.Butit’sverybrief,becausehe’ssodeliciouslytoasty.Waycozierthanmystupidspotonthecouch,andhisskin…itsmellsfamiliarandgood.So,sogood.“You’resowarm.”Iletmyforeheadfallagainsthischeek.“It’slikeyougenerateheat.”
“Ithinkallhumansdo.”Hisnosetouchestheicytipofmyear.“It’sphysics,orsomething.”
“Firstlawofth-thermodynamics.Energycanbeneithercreatednordestroyed.”
Hishandtravelsupmyspinetocupmynape,andthetemperatureissuddenlyfive,tendegreeshigher.Heatlicksdownmyspineandspreadsaroundmytorso.Mybreasts.Mybelly.Ialmostwhimper.“Exceptbyyou,apparently,”hesays.
“It’ssounfair.”Liam’sthumbistracingpatternsontheskinofmythroat,andIhavenochoicebuttosigh.I’malreadyfeelingbetter.I’mglowing
“Thatyouarewheretheheatgoestodie?”
“Yeah.”Iburrowcloserintohischest.“Maybemyparentsaresecretlysharkshapeshifters.Ofthecold-blooded,poikilothermicvariety.TheyforgottowarnmethatIinheritedzerothermoregulationskillsandshouldneverliveondryland.”
“It’stheonlypossibleexplanation.”Hisbreathchuffsagainstmytemples,afine,pleasantitch.
“Formypathologicalinabilitytomaintainthermalhomeostasis?”
“Forhowlittletheyappreciateyou.”He’ssuddenlyholdingmealittletighter.Alittlecloser.“Also,forhowrareyoulikeyoursteak.”
“I…Mediumrare.”Myvoiceshakes.Itellmyselfthatit’sbecauseofthecoldandnotthefactthatheremembersthethingsItoldhimaboutmyfamily.
“Please.Basicallyraw.”
“Humph.”Nopointinarguingwithhim,notwhenhe’sright.Notwhenhishandisrunningupanddownmyarm;awarming,calminggesture,eventhroughtheblankets.“Doyouthinkhe’llbeabletofixthefusetonight?”
“Ihopeso.Ifnot,I’llruntothestoreandgetyouaheater.”
“Youwoulddothat?”
Heshrugs.Thereareabouttenlayersbetweenus(LiamvastlyunderestimatedtheSnuggiesIcanputonatonce)buthefeelssowarmandsolid.Afewmonthsago,Ithoughthimcold,ineverypossibleway.BackwhenIusedtobelievethatIhatedhim.“ItfeelslikelessworkthandrivingyoutotheERforfrostbitetreatment.”Hischeekcurvesagainstmybrow.
“You’renotasheartlessasyouthink,Liam.”
“I’mnotasheartlessasyouthink.”
Ilaughandleanbacktotakealookathim,becauseitfeelslikehemightbesmiling,awholewidegrin,andthat’sarareandwondrousphenomenonthatIwanttosavor.He’snot,though.He’sstaringatme,too,studyingmeinthatweighty,seriouswayhesometimesdoes.Firstmyeyes,andthenmylips,andwhatisthis,thismomentofheavy,fullsilencethathasmyheartracingandmyskintingling?
“Mara.”Histhroatmovesasheswallows.“I—”
Loudknockingmakesusstartle.
“Theelectrician.”
“Oh.Yeah.”Myvoiceisbothshrillandbreathless.
“I’llgetthedoor,okay?”
Please,don’t.Stay.“Okay.”
“DoyouthinkyoucanavoidhypothermiaifIletgoofyou?”
“Yes.Probably.”No.“Maybe?”
Herollshiseyesinthatput-uponwaythatremindsmesomuchofHelena.Buthissmile,theoneIwaslookingforearlier—hereitis.Finally.“Verywell,then.”Withoutlettinggo,hestandsandcarriesmeallthewaytotheentrance.
Ihidemyfaceintohisneck,hummingwithwarmthandsomethingelse,unfamiliarandunidentifiable.Chapter11
Twoweeksago
IgetthephonecallonaWednesdaynight,beforedinnerbutafterI’vereturnedfromwork.
Iamremarkablycomposedthroughout:Iohandahinalltherightplaces;Iaskpertinent,importantquestions;Ievenremembertothankthecallerforsharingthenewswithme.Butafterwebothhangup,Icompletelyloseit.
Idon’tcallSadie.Idon’ttextHannahinthehopethatshehasreceptioninthebellyofwhateverNordicspermwhaleishercurrentresidence.Irunupstairs,almosttrippingoncarpetsandfurniturethat’sbeenintheHardingfamilyforfivegenerations,andonceI’minfrontofLiam’sofficeIthrowthedooropenwithoutknocking.
Which,inhindsight,isnotmymostpolitemoment.Andneitheristhenext,whenIruntoLiam(who’stalkingonthephonebythewindow),throwmyarmsaroundhiswaistwithutterdisregardforwhateverhe’sdoing,andyell:
“Igotit!Liam—Igotthejob!”
Hedoesn’tskipabeat.“Theteamleaderposition?”
“Yes.”
Hisgrinisblinding.Thenhetells,“I’llcallyouback,”towhoeverisontheline,totallyignoresthefactthattheirreplyis“Sir,thisisatime-sensitiveissue—”andtossesthephoneonthenearestchair.
Thenhehugsmeback.Heliftsmeuplikehe’stoohappyformetoevenconsiderstoppinghimself,likethisphonecallIjusthadthatchangedmylifechangedhis,too,likehe’sbeenwantingthisasmuchandasintenselyasIhave.Andwhenhespinsmearoundtheroom,onesingle,perfectwhirlofpurehappiness,that’swhenIrealizeit.
Howincredibly,utterlygoneforthismanIam.
It’sbeenthereforweeks.Months.Whisperinginmyear,creepingatme,hittingmeinthefacelikeatrainonanirontrack.Ithasgrowntooformidableandluminousformetoignore,butthat’sokay.
Idon’twanttoignoreit.
Liamsetsmeonmyfeet.Hishandslingerovermebeforehetakesastepback—onehandtrailingdownmyarm,theotherpushingalockofhairpastmytemple,behindmyear.Whenheletsgo,Iwanttofollowhim.Iwanttobeghimnotto.
“Mara,youarefantastic.Brilliant.”
IfeelfantasticIfeelbrilliant,whenI’mwithyou.AndIwantyoutofeelthesame.“IclearlydeservetochoosewhattowatchonTVtonight.”
“YouchoosewhattowatchonTVeverynight.”
“ButtonightIactuallydeserveit.”
Helaughs,shakinghishead,holdingmyeyes.Timestretches.Heavy,sweettensionthickensbetweenus.Iwanttokisshim.Iwanttokisshimso,somuch.ShouldIaskhim?Wouldhepushmeaway?Orwouldhepushrightback,pressmeagainsthisdesk,turnmearoundandholdmedownwithahandsplayedbetweenmyshoulderbladesandwhispertomeFinally,andBestill,andLet’scelebrate,and—
No.Stop.
Igasp.“OhmyGod—whatdoyouthinkSeanisdoingrightnow?”
“Cryinginthebathroom,Ihope.”
“Hopefullyhe’stweetingouthisdespairandlisteningtoaMyChemicalRomanceplaylistonSpotify.Imustgostalkhimonsocialmedia.Berightback.”ImaketoskipoutofLiam’sofficeasfastasIranin.Hestopsme,though,withahandonmywrist.
“Mara?”
“Yes?”
Iturnaround.Hishappy,uncharacteristicallyopenfacehasmeltedawayintosomethingelse.Somethingmoresubdued.Opaque.
“Yousaid…Afewweeksago,yousaidthatifyougotthejob,you’dmoveout.”
Oh.
Oh.
Thereminderstabslikeaknifebetweenmyribs.Ididsaythat.Idid.Butit’sbeenweeks.Weeksofstealingfoodoffeachother’splatesandtextinginthemiddleofthedaytobickeraboutEileen’slovelifeandthattimehemademelaughsohardIcouldn’tbreathefortenminutes
Things…Haven’tthingschangedwithus?Betweenus?
Foramoment,Icannotspeak.Idon’tknowwhattosaytothefactthathisfirstthoughtwasthatI’dmoveout—No,that’suncharitable.Hewashappyforme.Genuinelyhappy.Hissecondthoughtwasthathe’llfinallygobacktolivingalone.
Itrytocrackajoke.“Why?Areyoukickingmeout?”
“No.No,Mara,that’snotwhatI—”Hisphonerings,interruptinghim.Liamgivesitafrustratedglance,butbythetimehiseyesareonmeagainI’vecollectedmyself.
IfLiamwantstolivealone,that’sfine.Helikesme.Hecaresaboutme.He’sagreatguy—Iknowallofthat.Butbeingfriendswithsomeonedoesn’tequatewithwantingtospendeverysinglemomentofyourlifewiththem,and…yeah.
Iguessthat’smyownproblemtosolve.SomethingtoworkononceImoveoutandthispartofmylifeisover.
“OfcourseI’mgoingtolookforanewplace.”Itrytosoundcheerful.Withpoorresults.“IcannotwaittowalkaroundnakedandgorgemyselfoncreamertocelebrateEileen’sexcellentlifechoicesand…”Ican’tmakemyselfcontinue,andmyvoicetrailsoff.
Liam’seyesremainwithdrawn.Absent,almost.Butafterawhilehesays,“Whateveryouwant,Mara,”inakind,gentletone.
Imanageonelastsmileandslipoutofhisofficeasthefirsttearhitsmycollarbone.Chapter12
Oneweekago
Nodimensionalplaneexistsinwhichapartmenthunting(moreprecisely:apartmenthuntingwhileheartbroken)couldeverbepleasant.Ihavetoadmit,however,thatbrowsingCraigslistonthephonewithmyfriendswhileIsipontheoverpricedredwineLiamgotfromanFGPCorpretreatdoesdullthepainoftheordeal.
Sadiejustspentanhourrecountinginwrathfuldetailhowsherecentlywentonadatewithsomeengineerwholaterturnedouttobeatotaldick—aproblem,giventhatsheactuallylikedtheguy(asinreally,reallylikedtheguy).Eventhoughshe’sbeinguncharacteristicallydodgyaboutit,Iam97percentsurethatsexhappened,98percentsurethatthesexwasexcellent,99percentsurethatthesexwasthebestofherlife.Itappearstobefuelingherplanstolacetheguy’scoffeewithtoadvenom,which,ifyouknowSadie,isprettyon-brand.
HannahisbackinHouston,whichisgoodforherInternetconnection,butbadforherpeaceofmind.ShehasbeenbuttingheadswithsomeNASAbig-shotguywhohasbeenvetoingherpetresearchprojectfornoreasonwhatsoever.Hannahis,ofcourse,readyformurder.Ican’tseeherhandsthroughFaceTime,butI’malmostpositiveshe’ssharpeningashiv.
Thereissomethingreassuringinhearingabouttheirlives.Itremindsmeofgradschool,whenwecouldn’taffordtherapyandwe’dengageinsomehealthycommunalbitchingeveryothernight,justtosurvivethemadness.Thereweresomebadmoments—itwasgradschool:therewerealotofbadmoments—butintheend,weweretogether.Intheend,everythingturnedouttobeallright.
Somaybethat’swhatwillhappenthistime,too.I’monthevergeofhomelessness,myheartfeelslikeastone,andIwanttobewithsomeonewaymorethanthatsomeonewantstobewithme.ButSadieandHannahare(moreorless)here,andthereforethingswillturnouttobe(moreorless)allright.
“Menwereamistake,”Sadiesays.
“Bigmistake,”Hannahadds.
“Huge.”Isinkdeeperintothelivingroomcouch,wonderingifLiam,mypersonalmistake,willcomehometonight.It’salreadypastnine.Maybehe’soutfordinner.Maybe,ifhehassomethingtocelebrate,he’llsleepelsewhere.AtEmma’s,perhaps.
“Sometimesthey’reuseful,”Sadiepointsout.“LikethatguywithaKornT-shirtwhohelpedmeopenajarofpickledradishesin2018.”
“Ohyeah.”Inod.“Irememberthat.”
“Handsdownmymostprofoundexperiencewithaman.”
“Inhindsight,youshouldhaveaskedhimtomarryyou.”
“Amissedopportunity.”
“Coulditbethatwe’vejustbeenexceptionallyunlucky?”ThereissomenoiseonHannah’ssideoftheline.Maybesheissharpeningashiv.“Coulditbethatthetideswillturnandwe’llfinallymeetdudeswhodon’tdeservetobefedabowlofthumbtacks?”
“Itcouldbe,”Isay.Bepositive,Helenausedtotellme.Negativityisforoldfartslikeme.“Really,everythingcouldbe.Itcouldbethatwe’llberandomlyselectedforalifetimesupplyofNutella.”
Sadiesnorts.“ItcouldbethatthesurrealistslampoemIwroteinthirdgradewillwinmetheNobelPrizeforliterature.”
“Thatmycactuswillactuallybloomthisyear.”
“Thatthey’llstartproducingTwizzlersicecream.”
“ThatFireflywillgetthefinalseasonitdeserves.”
Noonetalksforafewseconds.UntilHannahsays:“Mara,youbroketheflow.Comeupwithsomethingdelightfulandyetunobtainable.”
“Oh,right.Uhm,itcouldbethatLiamwillcomehome,andaskmenottomoveout,andthenhe’llbendmeoverthenearestpieceoffurnitureandfuckmehardandfast.”BythetimeI’vefinishedthesentence,SadieislaughingandHannahiswhistling.
“Hardandfast,huh?”
“Yup.”Ishakemyhead.“Absolutelypreposterous,though.”
“Nah.Well,nomorethanmyslampoem,”Sadieconcedes.“So,howgoestheunrequitedcrush?”
“It’snotreallyacrush.”Plentyunrequited,though.
“Ithoughtwehadagreedthatfantasizingaboutbeingbentoverthekitchensinkdoes,infact,constituteacrush?”
Ihuff.“Fine.It’s…good.Barelythere,really.Idon’treallydaydreamabouthavingsexwithhimthatoften.”Liar.Whataliar.“Stillinthelarvalstage.”It’shittingitsteenageyearsandisstrongasanox.“Ithinkthatsomedistancewillbegood.Ihavealeadonacheap-ishapartmentdowntown.”I’llmissthisplace.I’llmissfeelingclosetoHelena.I’llmissthewayLiammakesfunofmeforbeingunabletolearnthebuttonsofthestupidPlayStationcontrollers.So,somuch.
“Andyou’resureLiam’sokaywithyouleaving?”
“It’swhathewants.”Thingshavebeenalittleweirdinthepastweek.Awkward.Abitofastepbackforus,but…I’llbefine.It’llbefine.“Ithinkit’llgoaway.Thecrush.”
“Right,”Sadieagrees,withoutlookingmuchlikeshedoesagree.
“Verysoon,”Iadd.
“I’msure.”
“Ijustneedhimto…neverfindoutaboutthefurniturefantasies,”Iexplain.
“Hm.”
“Becauseitwouldmakethingsweirdforus,”Iexplain.“Forhim.”
“Yeah.”
“Andhedoesn’tdeserveit.”
“No.”
“He’sagoodfriend.Also,he’sinthemiddleofmakinglotsoflifechanges.Iwanttobesupportive.AndIlikehangingoutwithhim.”
“Yup.”
“Basically,Idon’twanthimtofeeluncomfortablearoundme.”
“Nope.”
“Anyway.”Mycheeksfeelwarm.Itmustbeallthewine.“Weshouldtalkaboutsomethingelse.”
“Okay.”
“Like.Literallyanythingelse.”
“Fine.”
“Oneofyoushouldproposeatopic.”
Iftheywerehereinperson,SadieandHannahwouldexchangealong,loadedlook.Asitis,theyaresilentforafewmoments.ThenHannahsays,“CanItellyouastory?”
“Sure.”
“It’saboutafriendofmine.”
Ifrown.“Whichfriend?”
“Ah…Sarah.”
“Sarah?”
“Sarah.”
“Idon’tthinkIknowher.SincewhendoyouhavefriendsIdon’tknowabout?”
“Notimportant.So,acoupleofyearsagomyfriendSarahmovedinwiththisguy,um…Will.Andinitiallytheyreallyhatedeachother,butthentheyfiguredoutthattheyweremoresimilarthantheythought,andshestartedtalkingabouthimmoreandmore,inincreasinglypositiveterms.SoSadieandI—Sadieknowsher,too—well,wewerelike,Jeez,isshefallingforthisdude?Andthenonenightmyfriendconfessedtomethatshehadveryfilthy,veryelaborate-soundingfantasiesaboutWillbendingheroverthekitchentableand—”
“Bye,Hannah.”
“Wait,”Sadiesays,“wehaven’theardtheending!”
“YouguysareshitfriendsandI’mnotsurewhyIloveyousomuch.”Ihanguponthem,laughingdespitemyself.Itossmyphoneawayandgetuptorefillmyglassofwine,thinkingthatwhenHannahandSadiefallforsomeoneI’llteasethemmercilesslyandmakeupfakestoriesaboutfakepeople,andthenthey’llknowhowitfeels,tobe—
“Mara.”
Liamisstandingintheentranceofthelivingroom,necktieinonehand,lookingtiredandhandsomeandtalland—
Ohshit.“Liam?”
“Hi.”
“W-whendidyougethere?”
“Justnow.”
“Oh.”Thankfuck.“Howwasyour…Theinterview,howdiditgo?”
“Good,Ithink.”
“Oh.Good.”
Hejustgothere,hesaid.Hecan’thavepossiblyoverheardme.Ihaven’tsaidanythingcompromisinginthepastfewseconds.AndHannah’sknockofffairytaleuseddifferentnames.
Whyishestaringatmelikethat,then?
“Whenwillyouknowifyougotthejob?”
Heshrugs.“Afewdays,Iassume.”Hecuthishairlastweek.Nottooshort,butshorterthaniteverwas.Sometimes—often—I’llseehiminacertainlight,orI’llcatchhimmakingoneofthosefacesthatI’msurehedoesn’tletanyoneelsesee,andmybreathwillhitchfromthewonderofit.
“Areyouhungry?Imadeastir-fry.There’sleftovers.”
Hestudiesmeandsaysnothing.
“Nocarrots.Ipromise.”WhatwillIdowithallthisknowledgeIhaveofhislikesanddislikes?Thisknowledgeofhim?Wherewillitgooncehe’snotinmylifeanymore?
“I’mnothungry,butthanks.”
“Okay.”Iwalkaroundthecouch,lookingforsomethingtodowithmyself,andleanagainstthedoorjamb.Justafewfeetawayfromhim.“IthinkI’vefoundaplace.Tomove,Imean.”
“Youhave?”Unreadable,hisexpression.
“Yeah.ButIwon’tknowtillafewdaysfromnow.”
Silence.Andalong,thoughtfulstare.
“Istillwon’tsellmyhalf.Sorry,Iknowyouwanttobuymeout,but—”
“Idon’t.”
Ifrown.“Whatdoyoumean,youdon’t?”
“Idon’t.”
Ilaugh.“Liam,you’vebeenofferingtobuymeoutforamillionyears.”
Hismouthquirks.“Amillionyearsagothehousedidn’texistandthisplacewasaswamp,butit’snotasifyou’reanenvironmentalscientistandcouldpossiblyknow—”
“Oh,shutup.AllI’msayingis,foralongtime…”Though,nowthatIthinkaboutit,hislawyerhasn’temailedmein…weeks.Months,maybe?“OhmyGod.Liam,areyoubroke?”Ileanforward.“Isitthestockmarket?Haveyougambledawayallyourmoney?HaveyoubettheentiretyofyoursavingsontheU.S.malesoccerteamwinningtheWorldCupandonlybelatedlyrealizedthattheydidn’tevenqualify?HaveyoubecomeinvolvedinaLuLaRoepyramidschemeandcan’tstopbuyingnewleggings—”
“Areyoudrunk?”
“No.Well,Ihadsomeofyourwine.Alot.Why?”
“Yougetannoyingwhenyou’redrunk.”There’sahintofasmileinhiseyes.“Butcute.”
Istickmytongueout.“You’reannoyingallthetime.”Andcute,too.
Liam’ssmilewidensalittle,andhelooksdownathisfeet.Then:“Goodnight,Mara.”Heturnsaroundandheadsforhisroom.Theyellowlightofthelampcastsawarm,goldenglowoverthebreadthofhisshoulders.
“Bytheway,”Icallafterhim,“Iboughtanewcreamer.It’scinnamon.You’llhateit!”
Liamdoesn’tansweranddoesn’tpauseonhiswayout.Idon’tseehimuntilthefollowingnight,andthat…
That’swhenithappens.Chapter13
Present
Theweirdestpartishowquicklyeverythingchanges.
Oneminute,I’minthemiddleofcleaningupthekitchen,wonderingwhetherthesmoothieblenderisdishwashersafe,thinkingaboutmyongoingpiningandmyupcomingmove,abouthowmuchI’llmissthis—cominghomeafterwork,findingtwelveforksandacolanderinthesink,wonderinghowmanyofthemareLiam’s.
Thenext,heisstandingbehindme.LiamHardingisstandingrightbehindme,onpurpose,andpressingmeintothecounter.Asthoughhewantstobehere,close,touchingme,asmuchasIwanthimtobe.Iamtoostupefiedtodoanythingaboutthewaterrunninginthekitchen,butheleansforwardtoturnitoff,andallofsuddentheroomissilent.
Hishandclosesaroundmyhip,andIcannotthink.Icannotcomprehendwhatishappening.I’mbreathing.He’sbreathing.We’rebreathingtogether—samerhythm,sameair—andforamomentIjustfeelit.This.It’snice.It’sgood.It’swhatI’vebeenwanting.
Thenheshiftsmyhairbehindmyshoulder;uncoversthebaseofmythroat.Ifeelsomething—teeth,maybe?—grazingatmyskin.
“Liam?”Ihalfmoan.
“It’sme.”Heiskissingme.There.“Isthisokay?”
I’mnodding—Yes—towhat,Idon’tknow.Yes,you’reLiam.Yes,thisisokay.Yes,I’mabouttomelttothefloor.
“Yousmellsogood,Mara.”
ThankGodforthekitchensinktoholdonto,becausemykneesareabouttogiveout.ThankGodforLiam’shands,too.Exceptthatoneisslidingundermyshirt.I’veneverthoughtofmyselfasdainty,butitsomehowmanagestocovermyentiretorso,andhisthumb..
It’sbrushingagainsttheundersideofmybreast,and—
Oh
Helicksthepulseinthedipofmythroat,andI’mmortifiedtohearmyselfwhimper.
“Youaresosoft.”Hisbreathishotinmyear,andIshiver.Exactlyonce.“IthinkIimaginedyouwouldn’tbe.You’realwaysrunning,workingout.Youalwayslooksostrong,but…”
Heletsgoofmeforafractionofasecond,andeverysinglecellinmybodyrevoltsatonce.
No.
Wait.
Stay.
Buthe’sonlyadjustingme.Hishandpressesonmylowerback,anglingmejustso:slightlybentforward,like…God,likehe’saboutto—
He’sbackonmeimmediately.Beginstoundothezipperofmyjeans,thecatchofitlikeadruminthesilence.Airrushesoutofmylungsinasharpexhale.
“Okay?”heasksagain,soft,deafening,anditisokay.Evenifmyjeansareslidingdownmythighs,andIhavenever,everfeltlessincontrol.Ithinkwe’reabouttohavesex,butsexisnotlikethis.Sexisawkwardlypullingoffclothes,andnegotiatingpositions,andhoursofforeplaypepperedwithAreyousureyoushouldn’tbeontop?andWait,that’smyelbow.Sexisnotgoingfromzerotoamillionthisway.Notforme.It’snotgrippingtheedgeofthesinktostopmyselffrommoaning,orneedingtogrindagainstsomething—anything—orfeelingmykneesweakentojelly.
“Isthiswhatyouwanted,Mara?”Heslidesafingerundermypantiesandpartsmyfolds.Onesinglefinger.“Whatyou—Oh.”
Foramoment,Ipanic.Icannotpossiblybewet,notyet.ButthenIrealizethatIam,andIcanfeelitandhearit,theslickslideofskinagainstskin,myownbodyalreadybeginningtoflutter.
AndLiammakesitclearthathelikesit.“You,”hegruntsintomyear.“Youwouldn’tbelieveit,thethingsI’vethoughtaboutdoing.”
“The…?”
“Isthishowyouwantedit?”
“Wanted…what?”
“Yousaidyouwantedtobefucked.Hardandfast.”DidIsaythat?Ican’trecall.Ican’tremembermyownname,andthenthingsgetevenworse:behindme,hegoesonhisknees.Whatishe—?“Off.”Liamtugsatmyjeansandpantiesuntilthey’repoolingaroundmyankles,thentossesthemontheothersideoftheroomonceI’vesteppedoutofthem.“Goodgirl.”
Igasp.Didhejustsaythat?Tome?ButIcan’taskhimtorepeathimself,sinceheclearlygotalittledistractedonhiswayup.Hishandtravelsalongmyinnerthigh,longfingersgripthesoftskinofmybackside.ItoccurstomeinthatmomentthatIamnowbare.CompletelynakedexceptforaflimsyT-shirtandanevenflimsierbra.AndthatthispersonsoftlybitingintothefleshofmyassasthoughIamapieceofripefruit,thispersonisLiamHarding.
Liam.Harding.Whotouchesmeasthoughhealreadyknowsmybody.WhospreadsmeapartlikeI’malawschoolbookandburieshisfaceintome.Whogroansintomyfleshandmutters,“Sorry.”Hemanagestosoundgenuinelyapologeticashepullsbacktolickandsucktheskinofmyrightbuttock.“Iknowyouwantithardandfast.Just,Ithinkaboutthisalot.Aboutyou.”Aheartbeat,andhe’sonhisfeetagain,chestpressedagainstmyback.Onehandtightenssweetlyaroundmyhip,andhepushesakneebetweenmylegs,untilmostofmyweightisrestingonhisthigh.Ihearvaguelyobscenesounds:somethingclinking,somethingfumbling,somethingbeingshovedaside.Thenit’shotfleshpushingagainstmineandamurmured,“Okay?”thatImusthavenoddedto,because—
Friction
Myvisionblursaroundtheedges.Liamisinsideme.Barely.Justthetip.He’salsoenormous—noroom,noroom—relentless,lovely,magnificent.Deep
“Fuck,Mara.Thisisunreal.”
There’salotofharshbreathing,and“Justabitmore,”andtightmusclesclenchingandreleasing,buthebottomsout,andit’sjustthissideoftoomuch.Itwouldbetoomuch,butithelpsthatLiamholdsontomelikelettinggowouldkillhim,orthathisfingersareunsteadyashepushesmyhairawayfrommyshoulder.Butmybodyseemstobeintothis,unused,hiddenspacesstuffedfull,flutteringaround…God.
AroundLiam’scock.
“Ican’tthinkwhenyou’rearound.”Hisvoiceisrough.Heholdsstillinsideme,asthoughhe’sinnohurrytostart,butIcanfeelhimvibratewithtension.Theheelofhispalmslidesdowntorestagainstmyclit.“Ican’tthinkwhenyou’renotaround.It’sbeenaproblem.IfeellikeIhaven’tformulatedacoherentthoughtinmonths.Ifeellikeyouwon’tstopbeinginmyhead,and—”
Justlikethat,it’sallover.Liamhasn’tevenmovedyet,butmymindgoesblank.TheworldrecedesandIstartcomingwithoutwarning,archingagainsthim,bitingintomyliptosilenceascream.Pleasuresinksintome,andI’mhelplesstostopit.
Idon’tknowhowlongpassesbeforeI’mbacktomyself,hisbreathsharpinmyear.“Didyoujust—?”Liamsoundsinpain.“Didyoureallycome,justfromme…”
I’mdazed.Mynerveendingsarestilltingling.Ishutmyeyestightandnodmyembarrassmentjustashisteethclosearoundthefleshypartofmyshoulder.Hegruntslikeananimal,likehe’sdesperatetokeepwhatevercontrolhecan.
“Fuck,Mara,you…canItakeyoutobed?”
HistoneisunlikeanythingI’veeverheardfromhim,pleadingandalittleraw.He’sstilltwitchinginsideme;everyfewsecondsorsoheseemstolosewhatevergriphehasonhimselfandrollshiships.Itdoesn’thelpmyfocus.Orhisfocus.Ourfocus.
Whichwemaybeshouldkeep.Thisshouldstoprightnow,maybe.Asgoodasit’sbeen—andithasjustredefinedsexforme—I’mnotquitesurewhyLiamwantsthis,andifit’sjustsomeimpromptufuckingthatmeansnothingtohimbuthaslotsofheartbreakinstoreforme…Maybeweshouldstophere?
“I’lltrytokeepitfast.”He’slickingawaythestingofhisearlierbite.“Butletmetakeyoutobed.”
Thethingis,Idon’twanttostop.I’vecomeonce,already,justfromhimslidingintomeandstretchingmetootight,fromthefeelofhishandclutchingmyhipbone—asmallmiracleinandofitself,becauseitusuallytakesmeforever.ButifIlethimtakemetobed,he’sgoingtowreckme.Heisgoingtoruinmeforanyoneelse.Heisgoingtodestroymeineachandeverypossibleway
“Please,”hemurmurs.
Idon’treallyhaveachoice:Iwanttosayyes,soInod.Whateveryouwant,youcanhave,Liam.
It’snotpretty,whenhepullsout.Hegaspsabreathofpurefrustrationandit’sclearthathehatesit.Ihateit,too,andI’mtheonewhojusthadalife-alteringorgasm.Liam’stheonewhogaveittomeandtookverylittleforhimself—whichdoesn’tevencomeasasurprise.
Iwouldn’thavefallenforanunkindman.
Hetakesmytopandbraoff,andI’mtoostupidwithaftershocksofpleasuretodoanythingbutstandthereandlethim,watchhimstarehisfillwithdark,unreadableeyes,eventhoughI’mcompletelynakedandmybellybuttonisstillanoutieandthelacrossescaristhere,gleamingwhiteinthedimlightsoftheroom.
“Comehere.Mara,you…Fuck.Comehere.”Hisjawistenseashepicksmeupandcarriesmetohisroom.Myfirsttimehere,butIknowthisplace—becauseIknowLiam.Darkcolors.Framedpicturesofsemihostilenaturefromthetripshetoldmeabout.Sparsefurniture.Astackofbooksonhisbedsidetable.Readingglasses,theonesIteasehimabout,unfoldedinthemiddleofhisdesk.Iwanttoexploreeverycorner,butthere’snotime.Themattressbouncesunderneathmyback,andthenhe’stakingupmyentirefieldofview.
“CanIkissyou?”Hismouthishoveringafewinchesabovemine,soIpressmyhandsdownhisnapeandarchintohim,kissinghimmyself.
It’sslow,andwarm,andachinglycareful.Hewasfuckingmelessthanaminuteago.HewassodeepinsidemethatIfeltdeliciouslysplitintwo.Butnowthere’sthisgentleslidingoflipsandtongues,Liamnibblingonme,holdingfirstmychin,thenthebackofmyhead,andmyheartsingsforhim.
Iamcatastrophically,ruinouslyinlovewithyou.
“Ilovekissingyou,”Isighinhismouth.
“Mara.”Hislips.Hisvoice.“Iwanttokissyoueverywhere.”Hemovesback,asifsomethingoccurstohimjustthen.“CanIgodownonyou?”
Ifeelmycheeksheat.Doeshereallywantto?
“Justforaminute,”headds,andthen…Incredible,howhe’swaitingformyanswer.Hejustbentmeoverthekitchensinkandslidintomeandmademecomeonhiscock,buthe’saskingforpermissiontoeatmeoutlikeI’dbedoinghimafavor.
“Areyousure?”
“Thirtyseconds.Please.”
“Yes.Imean,if…ifyou’resurethatyou—Oh.”
He’sverygoodatit.Not…Maybenotdeftlyskilled,butheiscompletelylosttoit,sothorough,sonoisyinhisutter,amazedenjoymentoftheact,ofme.Myhipsarchandhehastoholdmedown,carrymethroughthepleasure.Itlastsmorethanthirtyseconds.Itlastsmorethanthreeminutes,maybemorethanten—butmythighsaretremblingandmypussyspasmsandIstarttocomelikeanoceanwave,andwhenIthinkthepleasureisfinallysubsidingheslidestwofingersinsidemeandmyhipsbuckup,becauseit’snotover.Myentireworldisspinning.I’veofficiallyhadmoreorgasmsinthepasttwentyminutesthaninthelastyear.
Fingersstillinsideme,helooksup,eyessoftandearnestandswallowedbyhispupils.“Thankyou.”
Oh.“Ithink…”Iclearmythroat.Myvoiceremainsscratchy.“MaybeIshouldbetheonethankingyou.”
Heshakeshisheadandliftshimselfoverme,balancedononearm,andmyeyeswiden.Hestrokeshimselfwiththeotherhandwhilestaringdownatmybreastswithanawestruckexpression.“Thisissogood,Mara.Youaresogood.Whydoyouwantittobefast?”Heleansforwardtokissmeagain,lickingtheinsideofmymouth,nibblingdownmythroat.“Ijustwanttomakeitlast,”heraspsagainstmyskin.
Ihavenoideawhathe’sreferringto.Idon’twantthistobefast.I’veneversaidIdid,buthekeepstellingmethat…
ExceptthatIdidsayit.Shit,Ididsayit.Justnottohim.“Youheardme.”
Liamispreoccupied.Lickingoneofmynipples.Bitinggently.Lickingagain.Doingafantasticjob.
“Youheardme,”Irepeat.Itwinemyfingerinhishairtoslowhimdown.“Onthephone.”
Hestops,butdoesn’tlifthishead.Hisbreath,warmagainstmybreast,hasmeshivering.“RememberwhenIfoundyouinmybathroom?Ihaven’tstoppedthinkingaboutyourtitseversince—”
“Liam,youheardmetellmyfriendsabout…”He’scurrentlybusysuckingontheundersideofmybreast,butforsomereasonIcannotbringmyselftorepeatthewords.“AboutwhatIwantedyoutodo.Youheardme.”
Helooksup.He’sflushed,turnedon,andmorebeautifulthanever.“Icandoit,Mara.Icandoitforyou.Whatyouwant.”
“Idon’t—”Thisismortifying.Ipushhimaway,buthebarelybudges.“Ifthisissomekindofcharity,Idon’tneedapityfuck.Iamperfectlycapableof—”
Hetakesmypalmanddragsitdownhischest,pasthisabdomen,untilhiscockishotinmyhand.Heismassive,andalmostautomaticallymyfingersclosearoundhim.Liamgrimaces,bitinghislowerlip,andIhavethesuddenrealizationthathe’sbeentouchingmeinallsortsofmanners,butIhaven’ttouchedhimyet,notatall.Itseemssad,andunfair,andunbearablystupid.Somethingtoremedy.
“DoesthisfeellikeI’mgivingyouapityfuck?”
No.No,itdefinitelydoesnot.But.“Idon’tknow.”
Ofitsownfreewill,myhandstartsmovingupanddownhislength,simplestrokesthathavehimgaspingandshuttinghiseyes.HislipspartasIcirclearoundthedampheadwithmythumb.Thearmhe’sleaningonshakes.Visibly.
“Comeon,Mara.”Hishipsarethrusting,now.Inandoutofmyfist.He’sgettingcloser.Closertosomething.“Youmustknow.”
“Knowwhat?”
“Howhardit’sbeen,to—fuck—tokeepmyhandsoffyou.HowmuchI’vewantedthis,almostsincetheverybeginning.”
Oh.
OhGod
Hiseyesareglazed,musclestaut.Heisonthevergeofcoming,thatmuchisobvious.SoobviousthatI’mshockedwhenhisfingerswraparoundmywristtostopme.
“Please,letmefuckyou.Letmegiveyouwhatyouneed.Letmetry,atleast.”Hekissesaspotundermyjaw.“Hardandfast.”
I’mnotabouttotellhimno.I’mnotabouttotellmyselfno.InsteadIsmileandpullhimontopofme,armstwinedaroundhisneckasIsilentlymouthagainstthefleshofhisshoulderhowmuchIlikehim,howmuchIlovethis,andLiamadjustsusandangleshimselfuntilhe’salmostinsideagain,hotandwetand…themostannoyingthoughtoccurstome.Shit
“Condom!Weneed—doyou—?”
Liamgroans.“Fuck.”Hisbicepsareshaking,fingerswhiteastheyfistinthesheets.Thenhetakesadeepbreathandshifts,rearranginguntilhecanslideonefinger—two—deepinsideme,curlingthemupwardsothatheisthrummingexactlywhereIneedhim.
“Whatareyou—?”God,thisfeelsinsanelygood.
“Idon’thaveanycondoms.”Hiswordsareabitslurred.“I’mjustgoingtomakeyoucomelikethisandthengetmyselfoff.”Hesoundslikehe’sdoingthesinglehardestthinginhislife,andyetit’sclearthathe’sabsolutelyfinewithit.Which…No.No,no,no,no
“Liam,areyou—Ah—areyouclean?”Histhumbbrushesmyclit.Imoan.“BecauseI’monthepill,and…”
“Ihavenoidea.”
Howdoeshenotknow?Ireachdowntoholdhisforearmstill.Problemis,hecanstillcurvehisfingers.Hislong,beautifulfingers.
“Haveyoubeentested,sincethelasttimeyou…?”
Ibraceforallsortsofhorrifyinganswers,rangingfromWhy,ofcoursenot,mylastone-nightstandwasyesterday,toEveryonehasHPV,anyway.Butwhatcomesis,“I’vehadabunchofyearlyphysicalsforwork.I—Mara,itdoesn’tmatter.”Hekissesmeonthecheek,andaclevertwistofhiswristmakesmybraingoblank.“IthinkIcanmakeyoucomewithmyfingers.That’ssafe.Andyoudon’thavetobearoundlater,whenI…”
Yearlyphysicals?Plural?“Whenwasthelasttimeyouhadsex?Canyou—ah,please,pleasestopthat.”
“Ihavenoidea.”Liampullsouthisfingers.Forasecond,thefrictionisdistracting.Thenmypussyclenchesinprotest.“Idon’thavesex,Mara.”
“You…Youwhat?”
Helooksaway.Wearebothbreathingtoohard.“Idon’tlikesex.”
Ilookdown.Heissohard.Hiscockissoheavyonmythigh.Thereispre-comeonmyskin.“Youseemto…um,youseemtolikeitfine.”
“Yeah.ButIreallydon’t.It’sjust…”Heholdsmyeyes.Hisareadark,beautifulbrown.“Ilikeyouverymuch,Mara.Iliketalkingtoyou.Ilikewatchingyoudoyoga.Ilikethewayyoualwayssmelllikesunscreen.Ilikehowyoumanagetosayprettymuchwhateveryouwantwhilestillbeingunbelievablykind.Ilikebeinginthishousewithyou,andeverythingwedoinhere.”Histhroatbobs.“Idon’tthinkit’sasurprisethatIreally,reallyliketheideaoffuckingyou.”
OhmyGod.OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod—
“ButIdon’tneedto…I’menjoyingthis”—hegrimaces,asifappalledbytheunderstatement—“maybetoomuch,sinceIalmostlostit…anumberoftimes,justbybeingnearyou,soI’llbemorethanfineifyoujustletmetakecareofyouand—”
No
Ipushathisshoulder,hischest,andthenkeeppushingthroughhisfirstresigned,thenconfused,thenshockedexpression.Oncehisbackisonthemattress,heletsmestraddlehishipsandgroans.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Ileanoverandwhisperinhisear,“Hardandfast,Liam.”
Thereisalongmomentinwhichhejuststaresupatme,disoriented.Thenhemustrealize:weareperfectlylinedup.I’mworkingtotakehiminside,strugglingalittle,becausehe’ssobigthisway.ButI’mmovingnow,balancingmypalmsonhischest,upanddownandupagain,andafewminuteslater,onthedownstroke,he’scompletelywedgedinsideme.
Theangleissodeep,myvisionspots.Liam’sgripdigsalmostpainfullyaroundmywaist.
“Mara.”Heispanting.“I’mnotgoingtobeabletopullout.”
“It’sfine.”It’sperfect.“Justdowhatfeelsgood.”
Everythingdoes,anyway.Theslideofflesh,thewetfriction—evenwithintheclumsymessofourmovements,asheslipsoutandhastonudgehimselfbackin,thisfeelslikeperfection.Thewayhestaresatmyface,mybreasts,theriseandfallofmyhips,lookingstunned;thewet,filthysoundsofusmovingtogether;thethingshesaysabouthowbeautifulIam,howprecious,aboutallthetimeshehasimagineddoingthis—andtherearesomany.
Ifeelmypulsespike,andIsmileathimasIleanforward.Iloveyou,Ithink.AndIsuspectthatyouloveme,too.AndIcannotwaitforustoadmitittoeachother.Icannotwaittoseewhathappensnext.
“Ithink,”hegruntsagainstmythroat.“Mara,IthinkI’mgoingtocomenow.”
Inod,tooclosetospeak,andlethimrollusover.
***
“Well.Thatwascertainlyfast.”Liamhasn’tcaughthisbreathyet.Histoneismildlyself-deprecating.
“Yup.”Delicious.Itwasdelicious
“Icandobetter,”hesays.I’mprettysurehehasnocluethatthiswasbetter.Best.Ever.“Ithink.Maybewithpractice.”
I’mnotevensureit’soveryet.Mynerveendingsarestilltwitching.Myentirebodyisfloodedwithanelectricsortofpleasure,wrenchedoutofmeandthenpouredbackinagain.“Itwasn’tthatfast,”Isay.
Liamburieshisfaceinmyneckandcurlsaroundme,dwarfingme.Yeah.Itwasfast.
“Imean,”Imumbleagainsthischest,“thatitwasn’ttoofast.Itwas…”Extraordinary.Spectacular.Transcendent.“Good.Verygood.”Hepressesakisstomythroat,andIadd,“Butitwasn’tthathard,either.”
Hetenses.“I’msorry.Doyou—”
“Thatistosay,weshoulddoitagain.”Hepullsbacktomeetmyeyes.Helooksvery,veryserious.I’mfeelingconsiderablylessso.“Andagain.Andagain.Untilwegetitright.Perfectlyhard,andperfectlyfast.Youknow?”
Hissmileunfurlsslowly.“Yeah?”Hopefulandhappy,helooksyoungerthanever.Igrinandpullhiminforakiss.
“Yeah,Liam.”Epilogue
Sixmonthslater
“Whoputscoffeecreamerintheirsmoothies,anyway?”
“People.”
“Noway.”
“Plentyofpeople.”
“Nameone.”
“Me.”
Irollmyeyes.“Nametwo.”
Silence.
“See?”
Liamsighs.“Itdoesn’tmeananything,Mara.Normalpeopledon’thaveconversationsaboutcoffeecreamer.”
“YouandIcertainlydo.Hazelnutorvanilla?”
“Vanilla.”
Iputtwobottlesinthecart.ThenIpushuponmytoesandplantakissonLiam’smouth,shortandhard.LiamfollowsmeforabitwhenIstepback,asifreluctanttoletmego.
“Okay.”Ismile.Lately,I’malwayssmiling.“Whatelse?”
LiambrowsesthelistIwroteearliertoday,sittingbetweenhisthighswhilehewasbusykillingbadguysonthePlayStation.Hesquintsalittleatmyterriblehandwriting,andItrynottolaugh.“Ithinkwe’redone.Unlessyouneedafewmorefamily-sizeCheez-Itboxes?”
Istickmytongueoutathim.Myhandfallstomyside,untilit’sbrushingagainsthis.Hestartspushingtheshoppingcartandtwinesourfingerstogether.“Readytogo?”heasks.
“Yeah.”Ibeam.“Let’sgohome.”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’rejustALOSER
Itisatruthuniversallyacknowledgedthatacommunityofwomentryingtomindtheirownbusinessmustbeinwantofarandomman’sopinion.
I’velonglearnedthatengagingwithbasement-dwellingSTEMlordswhocomeonlinelookingforafightisneveragoodidea—thelastthingIwantistoprovidefreeentertainmentfortheirfragileegos.Iftheywanttoblowoffsomesteam,theycanbuyagymmembershiporplaythird-person-shootervideogames.Likenormalpeople.
Imaketohide@SteveHarrison’sdelightfulcontributionbutnoticethatsomeonehasrepliedtohim.
@ShmacademicsYeah,Marie,sometimesyou’rejustaloser.Stevewouldknow.
Ichuckle.
@WhatWouldMarieDoAw,Steve.Don’tbetoohardonyourself.
@ShmacademicsHeisjustaboy,standinginfrontofagirl,askinghertodotwiceasmuchworkasheeverdidinordertoprovethatshe’sworthyofbecomingascientist.
@WhatWouldMarieDoSteve,youoldromantic.
@SteveHarrisonFuckyou.ThisridiculouspushforwomeninSTEMisruiningSTEM.Peopleshouldgetjobsbecausethey’regoodNOTBECAUSETHEYHAVEVAGINAS.ButnowpeoplefeelliketheyhavetohirewomenandtheygetjobsovermenwhoareMOREQUALIFIED.ThisistheendofSTEMANDIT’SWRONG
@WhatWouldMarieDoIcanseeyou’reupsetaboutthis,Steve.
@ShmacademicsThere,there.
Steveblocksbothofus,andIchuckleagain,drawingacuriousglancefromRocío.@ShmacademicsisanotherhugelypopularaccountonAcademicTwitter,andbyfarmyfavorite.Hemostlytweetsabouthowheshouldbewriting,makesfunofelitismandivory-toweracademics,andpointsoutbadorbiasedscience.Iwasinitiallyabitdistrustfulofhim—hisbiosays“he/him,”andweallknowhowcismenontheinternetcanbe.ButheandIendedupforminganallianceofsorts.WhentheSTEMlordstakeoffenseatthesheerideaofwomeninSTEMandstartpitchforkinginmymentions,hehelpsmeridiculethemalittle.I’mnotsurewhenwestarteddirectmessaging,whenIstoppedbeingafraidthathewassecretlyaretiredGamergaterouttodoxxme,orwhenIbeganconsideringhimafriend.Butahandfulofyearslater,hereweare,chattingabouthalfadozendifferentthingsacoupleoftimesaweek,withouthavingevenexchangedrealnames.Isitweird,knowingthatShmachadlicethreetimesinsecondgradebutnotwhichtimezonehelivesin?Abit.Butit’salsoliberating.Plus,havingopinionsonlinecanbeverydangerous.Theinternetisaseafullofcreepy,cybercriminalfish,andifMarkZuckerbergcancoverhislaptopwebcamwithapieceoftape,Ireservetherighttokeepthingspainfullyanonymous.
Theflightattendantoffersmeaglassofwaterfromatray.Ishakemyhead,smile,andDMShmac.
Marie:IthinkStevedoesn’twanttoplaywithusanymore.
Shmac:IthinkStevewasn’theldenoughasatadpole.
Marie:Lol!
Shmac:How’slife?
Marie:Good!Coolnewprojectstartingnextweek.Myticketawayfrommygrossboss
Shmac:Ihopeso.Can’tbelievedude’sstillaround.
Marie:Thepowerofconnections.Andinertia.Whataboutyou?
Shmac:Work’sinteresting.
Marie:Goodinteresting?
Shmac:Politickyinteresting.So,no.
Marie:I’mafraidtoask.How’stherest?
Shmac:Weird.
Marie:Didyourcatpoopinyourshoeagain?
Shmac:No,butIdidfindatomatoinmyboottheotherday.
Marie:Sendpicsnexttime!What’sgoingon?
Shmac:Nothing,really.
Marie:Oh,comeon!
Shmac:Howdoyouevenknowsomething’sgoingon?
Marie:Yourlackofexclamationpoints!
Shmac:!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Marie:Shmac.
Shmac:FYI,I’msighingdeeply.
Marie:Ibet.Tellme!
Shmac:It’sagirl.
Marie:Ooooh!TellmeEVERYTHING!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!
Shmac:Thereisn’tmuchtotell.
Marie:Didyoujustmeether?
Shmac:No.She’ssomeoneI’veknownforalongtime,andnowshe’sback.
Shmac:Andsheismarried.
Marie:Toyou?
Shmac:Depressingly,no.
Shmac:Sorry—we’rerestructuringthelab.Gottagobeforesomeonedestroysa5milpieceofequipment.Talklater.
Marie:Sure,butI’llwanttoknoweverythingaboutyouraffairwithamarriedwoman
Shmac:Iwish.
It’snicetoknowthatShmacisalwaysaclickaway,especiallynowthatI’mflyingintotheWardass’sfrosty,unwelcominglap.
IswitchtomyemailapptocheckifLevihasfinallyansweredtheemailIsentthreedaysago.Itwasjustacoupleoflines—Hey,longtimenosee,Ilookforwardtoworkingtogetheragain,wouldyouliketomeettodiscussBLINKthisweekend?—buthemusthavebeentoobusytoreply.Ortoofullofcontempt.Orboth.
Ugh.
Ileanbackagainsttheheadrestandclosemyeyes,wonderinghowDr.CuriewoulddealwithLeviWard.She’dprobablyhidesomeradioactiveisotopesinhispockets,grabpopcorn,andwatchnucleardecayworkitsmagic.
Yep,soundsaboutright.
Afterafewminutes,Ifallasleep.IdreamthatLeviispartarmadillo:hisskinglowsafaint,sallowgreen,andhe’sdiggingatomatooutofhisbootwithanexpensivepieceofequipment.Evenwithallofthat,theweirdestthingabouthimisthathe’sfinallybeingnicetome.
—
WE’REPUTUPinsmallfurnishedapartmentsinalodgingfacilityjustoutsidetheJohnsonSpaceCenter,onlyacoupleofminutesfromtheSullivanDiscoveryBuilding,wherewe’llbeworking.Ican’tbelievehowshortmycommuteisgoingtobe.
“Betyou’llstillmanagetobelateallthetime,”Rocíotellsme,andIglareatherwhileunlockingmydoor.It’snotmyfaultifI’vespentasizablechunkofmyformativeyearsinItaly,wheretimeisbutapolitesuggestion
TheplaceisconsiderablynicerthantheapartmentIrent—maybebecauseoftheraccoonincident,probablybecauseIbuy90percentofmyfurniturefromtheas-isbargaincorneratIkea.Ithasabalcony,adishwasher,and—hugeimprovementonmyqualityoflife—atoiletthatflushes100percentofthetimesIpushthelever.Trulyparadigmshifting.Iexcitedlyopenandcloseeverysinglecupboard(they’reallempty;I’mnotsurewhatIexpected),takepicturestosendReikeandmycoworkers,stickmyfavoriteMarieCuriemagnettothefridge(apictureofherholdingabeakerthatsays“I’mprettyrad”),hangmyhummingbirdfeederonthebalcony,andthen…
It’sstillonlytwo-thirtyp.m.Ugh.
NotthatI’moneofthosepeoplewhohateshavingfreetime.Icouldeasilyspendfivesolidhoursnapping,rewatchinganentireseasonofTheOfficewhileeatingTwizzlers,ormovingtostep2ofthecouch-to-5KplanI’mstillvery…okay,sortofcommittedto.ButIamhere!InHouston!NeartheSpaceCenter!Abouttostartthecoolestprojectofmylife!
It’sFriday,andI’mnotduetocheckinuntilMonday,butI’mbrimmingwithnervousenergy.SoItextRocíotoaskwhethershewantstocheckouttheSpaceCenterwithme(No.)ortograbdinnertogether(Ionlyeatanimalcarcasses.).
She’ssomean.Iloveher.
MyfirstimpressionofHoustonis:big.Closelyfollowedby:humid,andthenby:humidlybig.InMaryland,remnantsofsnowstillclingtotheground,buttheSpaceCenterisalreadylushandgreen,amixofopenspacesandlargebuildingsandoldNASAaircraftondisplay.Therearefamiliesvisiting,whichremindsmealittleofanamusementpark.Ican’tbelieveI’mgoingtobeseeingrocketsonmywaytoworkforthenextthreemonths.ItsurebeatsthepervcrossingguardwhoworksontheNIHcampus.
TheDiscoveryBuildingisontheoutskirtsofthecenter.It’swide,futuristic,andthree-storied,withglasswallsandacomplicated-lookingstairsystemIcan’tquitefigureout.Istepinsidethemarblehall,wonderingifmynewofficewillhaveawindow.I’mnotusedtonaturallight;thesuddenintakeofvitaminDmightkillme.
“I’mBeeK?nigswasser.”Ismileatthereceptionist.“I’mstartingworkhereonMonday,andIwaswonderingifIcouldtakealookaround?”
Hegivesmeanapologeticsmile.“Ican’tletyouinifyoudon’thaveanIDbadge.Theengineeringlabsareupstairs—high-securityareas.”
Right.Yes.Theengineeringlabs.Levi’slabs.He’sprobablyupthere,hardatwork.Engineering.Labbing.Notansweringmyemails.
“Noproblem,that’sunderstandable.I’lljust—”
“Dr.K?nigswasser?Bee?”
Iturnaround.Thereisablondyoungmanbehindme.He’snonthreateninglyhandsome,mediumheight,smilingatmelikewe’reoldfriendseventhoughhedoesn’tlookfamiliar.“…Hi?”
“Ididn’tmeantoeavesdrop,butIcaughtyourname,and…I’mGuy.GuyKowalsky?”
Thenameclicksimmediately.Ibreakintoagrin.“Guy!It’ssonicetomeetyouinperson.”WhenIwasfirstnotifiedofBLINK,Guywasmypointofcontactforlogisticsquestions,andheandIemailedbackandforthafewtimes.He’sanastronaut—anactualastronaut!—workingonBLINKwhilehe’sgrounded.Heseemedsofamiliarwiththeproject,Iinitiallyassumedhe’dbemyco-lead.
Heshakesmyhandwarmly.“Iloveyourwork!I’vereadallyourarticles—you’llbesuchanassettotheproject.”
“Likewise.Ican’twaittocollaborate.”
IfIweren’tdehydratedfromtheflight,I’dprobablytearup.Icannotbelievethatthisman,thisnice,pleasantmanwhohasgivenmemorepositiveinteractionsinoneminutethanDr.Wardassdidinoneyear,couldhavebeenmyco-lead.Imusthavepissedoffsomegod.Zeus?Eros?MustbePoseidon.Shouldn’thavepeedintheBalticSeaduringmymisspentyouth.
“Whydon’tIshowyouaround?Youcancomeinasmyguest.”Henodstothereceptionistandgesturesatmetofollowhim.
“Iwouldn’twanttotakeyouawayfrom…astronauting?”
“I’mbetweenmissions.Givingyouatourbeatsdebugginganyday.”Heshrugs,somethingboyishlycharmingabouthim.We’llgetalonggreat,Ialreadyknowit.
“HaveyoulivedinHoustonlong?”Iaskaswestepintotheelevator.
“Abouteightyears.CametoNASArightoutofgradschool.AppliedfortheAstronautCorps,didthetraining,thenamission.”Idosomemathinmyhead.Itwouldputhiminhismid-thirties,olderthanIinitiallythought.“Thepasttwoorso,IworkedonBLINK’sprecursor.Engineeringthestructureofthehelmet,figuringoutthewirelesssystem.Butwegottoapointwhereweneededaneurostimulationexpertonboard.”Hegivesmeawarmsmile.
“Icannotwaittoseewhatwecookuptogether.”IalsocannotwaittofindoutwhyLeviwasgiventheleadofthisprojectoversomeonewhohasbeenonitforfiveyears.Itjustseemsunfair.ToGuyandtome.
Theelevatordoorsopen,andhepointstoaquaint-lookingcaféinthecorner.“Thatplaceoverthere—amazingsandwiches,worstcoffeeintheworld.Youhungry?”
“No,thanks.”
“Yousure?It’sonme.Theeggsandwichesarealmostasgoodasthecoffeeisbad.”
“Idon’treallyeateggs.”
“Letmeguess,avegan?”
Inod.Itryhardtobreakthestereotypesthatplaguemypeopleandnotusetheword“vegan”inmyfirstthreemeetingswithanewacquaintance,butifthey’retheonestomentionit,allbetsareoff.
“Ishouldintroduceyoutomydaughter.Sherecentlyannouncedthatshewon’teatanimalproductsanymore.”Hesighs.“LastweekendIpouredregularmilkinhercerealfiguringshewouldn’tknowthedifference.Shetoldmethatherlegalteamwillbeintouch.”
“Howoldisshe?”
“Justturnedsix.”
Ilaugh.“Goodluckwiththat.”
Istoppedhavingmeatatseven,whenIrealizedthatthedeliciouspollonuggetsmySiciliangrandmotherservednearlyeverydayandthecutegallinegrazingaboutthefarmweremore…connectedthanIoriginallysuspected.Stunningplottwist,Iknow.Reikewasn’tnearlyasdistraught:whenIfranticallyexplainedthat“Pigshavefamilies,too.Amomandadadandsiblingsthatwillmissthem,”shejustnoddedthoughtfullyandsaid,“Whatyou’resayingis,weshouldeatthewholefamily?”Iwentfullyveganacoupleofyearslater.Meanwhile,mysisterhasmadeitherlife’sgoaltoeatenoughanimalproductsfortwo.Togetherweemitonenormalperson’scarbonfootprint.
“Theengineeringlabsaredownthishallway,”Guysays.Thespaceisaninterestingmixofglassandwood,andIcanseeinsidesomeoftherooms.“Abitcluttered,andmostpeopleareofftoday—we’reshufflingaroundequipmentandreorganizingthespace.We’vegotlotsofongoingprojects,butBLINK’severyone’sfavoritechild.Theotherastronautspopbyeveryonceinawhilejusttoaskhowmuchlongeritwillbeuntiltheirfancyswagisready.”
Igrin.“Forreal?”
“Yep.”
Makingfancyswagforastronautsismyliteraljobdescription.IcanaddittomyLinkedInprofile.NotthatanyoneusesLinkedIn.
“Theneurosciencelabs—yourlabs—willbeontheright.Thiswaythereare—”Hisphonerings.“Sorry—mindifItakeit?”
“Notatall.”Ismileathisbeaverphonecase(“Nature’sEngineer”)andlookaway.
IwonderwhetherGuywouldthinkI’mlameifIsnappedafewpicturesofthebuildingformyfriends.IdecidethatIcanlivewiththat,butwhenItakeoutmyphone,Ihearanoisefromdownthehallway.It’ssoftandchirpy,andsoundsalotlikea…
“Meow.”
IglancebackatGuy.He’sbusyexplaininghowtoputonMoanatosomeoneveryyoung,soIdecidetoinvestigate.Mostoftheroomsaredeserted,labsfulloflarge,abstruseequipmentthatlookslikeitbelongsto…well.NASA.Ihearmalevoicessomewhereinthebuilding,butnosignofthe—
“Meow.”
Iturnaround.Afewfeetaway,staringatmewithacuriousexpression,isabeautifulyoungcalico.
“Andwhomightyoube?”Islowlyholdoutmyhand.Thekittencomescloser,delicatelysniffsmyfingers,andgivesmeawelcomingheadbutt.
Ilaugh.“You’resuchasweetgirl.”Isquatdowntoscratchherunderherchin.Shenipsmyfinger,aplayfullovebite.“Aren’tyouthemostpurr-fectlittlebaby?Ifeelsofur-tunatetohavemetyou.”
Shegivesmeadisdainfullookandturnsaway.Ithinksheunderstandspuns.
“Comeon,Iwasjustkitten.”Anotheroutragedglare.Thenshejumpsonanearbycart,piledceiling-highwithboxesandheavy,precarious-lookingequipment.“Whereareyougoing?”
Isquint,tryingtofigureoutwhereshedisappeared,andthat’swhenIrealizeit.Thepieceofequipment?Theprecarious-lookingone?Itactuallyisprecarious.Andthecatpokeditjustenoughtodislodgeit.Andit’sfallingonmyhead.
Right.
About.
Now.
Ihavelessthanthreesecondstomoveaway.Whichistoobad,becausemyentirebodyissuddenlymadeofstone,unresponsivetomybrain’scommands.Istandthere,terrified,paralyzed,andclosemyeyesasajumbledchaosofthoughtstwiststhroughmyhead.Isthecatokay?AmIgoingtodie?OhGod,Iamgoingtodie.SquashedbyatungstenanvillikeWileE.Coyote.Iamatwenty-firstcenturyPierreCurie,abouttogetmyskullcrushedbyahorse-drawncart.ExceptthatIhavenochairinthephysicsdepartmentoftheUniversityofParistoleavetomylovelyspouse,Marie.ExceptthatIhavebarelydoneatenthofallthescienceImeanttodo.ExceptthatIwantedsomanythingsandIneverohmyGodanysecondnow—
Somethingslamsintomybody,shovingmeasideandintothewall.
Everythingispain.
Foracoupleofseconds.Thenthepainisover,andeverythingisnoise:metalclankingasitplungestothefloor,horrifiedscreaming,ashrill“meow”somewhereinthedistance,and,closertomyear…someoneispanting.Lessthananinchfromme.
Iopenmyeyes,gaspingforbreath,and
Green.
AllIcanseeisgreen.Notdark,likethegrassoutside;notdull,likethepistachiosIhadontheplane.Thisgreenislight,piercing,intense.Familiar,buthardtoplace,notunlike—
Eyes.I’mlookingupintothegreenesteyesI’veeverseen.EyesthatI’veseenbefore.Eyessurroundedbywavyblackhairandafacethat’sanglesandsharpedgesandfulllips,afacethat’soffensively,imperfectlyhandsome.Afaceattachedtoalarge,solidbody—abodythatispinningmetothewall,abodymadeofabroadchestandtwothighsthatcouldmoonlightasredwoods.Easily.Oneisslottedbetweenmylegsandit’sholdingmeup.Unyielding.Thismanevensmellslikeaforest—andthatmouth.Thatmouthisstillbreathingheavilyontopofme,probablyfromtheeffortofwhiskingmeofffromundersevenhundredpoundsofmechanicalengineeringtools,and—
Iknowthatmouth.
Levi.
Levi.
Ihaven’tseenLeviWardinsixyears.Sixblessed,blissfulyears.Andnowhereheis,pushingmeintoawallinthemiddleofNASA’sSpaceCenter,andhelooks…helooks…
“Levi!”someoneyells.Theclankinggoessilent.Whatwasmeanttofallhassettledonthefloor.“Areyouokay?”
Levidoesn’tmove,nordoeshelookaway.Hismouthworks,andsodoeshisthroat.Hislipsparttosaysomething,butnosoundcomesout.Insteadahand,atoncerushedandgentle,reachesuptocupmyface.It’ssolarge,Ifeelperfectlycradled.Engulfedingreen,cozywarmth.Iwhimperwhenitleavesmyskin,aplaintive,involuntarysoundfromdeepinmythroat,butIstopwhenIrealizethatit’sonlyshiftingtothebackofmyskull.Tothehollowofmycollarbone.Tomybrow,pushingbackmyhair.
It’sacautioustouch.Pressingbutdelicate.Lingeringbuturgent.Asthoughheisstudyingme.TryingtomakesurethatI’mallinonepiece.Memorizingme.
Iliftmyeyes,andforthefirsttimeInoticethedeep,unmaskedconcerninLevi’seyes.
Hislipsmove,andIthinkthat,maybe—ishemouthingmyname?Once,andthenagain?Likeit’ssomekindofprayer?
“Levi?Levi,isshe—”