Page 38 of Body Shot

“Yeah.” I’m not going to feel guilty about that. “I hope this isn’t another call to try to convince me to come home and work in the family business.”

Whitcomb Industries is a multi-national corporation founded by my grandfather. It started as a small sugar refining company and grew into a huge food manufacturing company with subsidiaries in manufacturing, trading, and investments, now run by my father.

After a short, telling pause, Mother says, “Of course not. But since you mention it—”

“Not happening, Mother. If you want to hear about the cool tequila tasting event we did last night at the bar, we can talk about that.”

“Tequila tasting? Dear Lord, Beckham.”

“I guess that’s a no, then. How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. He works too hard. He’d like to retire, Beckham. He’d like to know he’s leaving the business in the hands of family. You’re our only child.”

I close my eyes at that. Fuck.

“There’s nobody else to take over.”

Yep, she’s guilting me. She’s good at that. “I don’t want to take over.” Christ, how many times have we had this conversation? And how many times have I pushed aside the guilt I can’t quite get rid of? Which I focus on doing now. It’s my life, to live the way I want to. “Sorry, Mother. Say hi to Dad for me, I have to go. Bye.”

I end the call before she can protest, close my eyes, and tip my head back.

Am I being selfish? Should I be back in Boston, running Whitcomb Industries?

10

HAYDEN

I start my day with a meeting with one of my research teams to discuss their progress on the project we’re working on. We’ve had some disappointing results, but that’s the nature of research. We have to be prepared for projects to take months or even years, and deal with failures before we find success. One of the rules of science is that we see failure as a beginning, not an end. It takes patience, tenacity, and a strong belief in what we’re doing.

Next, I work on another project, writing engineering rationales and protocols for testing. I grab lunch at my desk while reviewing the notes for my afternoon meeting with the National Health Institute, which is taking place in downtown San Diego.

I can’t help but feel regretful for taking a few hours off yesterday to have fun and play arcade games with Beck, whom I also had sex with two nights in a row. My body is still sensitive from the unfamiliar action, but I need to focus on work. People are counting on me to get the grant money so we can continue our important work.

I drive downtown early to avoid traffic and parking issues. After the meeting, I step out onto the sidewalk and stop to let out a long breath. Then I laugh out loud. It went well. I answered every question and addressed every concern. I won’t know the final funding decision for a few weeks, but I can’t dwell on it. It’s done.

Back at the office, I ditch my pumps and blazer for a lab coat and hair cap as I hurry to the lab. Richard asks me how the meeting went, and I beam a confident smile, saying “Great.” I touch base with my teams and spend a few more hours writing a paper for the American Journal of Health Research.

By the time I leave at seven, I’ve forgotten to eat again. I stop at my favorite vegetarian fast food place, EVO, on the way home and grab a black bean burger and sweet potato fries. While eating on my couch, I watch the news and can’t help but feel sad at the loneliness that often ends my long workdays.

But it’s all worth it. I believe in what we’re working on, the huge impact we can have.

I really do.

But after yesterday’s laughing and playing and sexy times, I find myself missing that.

I take a big bite of my burger. Closing my eyes, I let the tastes explode in my mouth, the heat of the salsa, the bite of chipotle, the cool creamy guacamole a perfect counterpoint. The bean patty is deliciously seasoned, the bun fresh and squishy. I chew slowly, savoring it like I never have before.

Eating is a chore that has to be done, something I easily forget to do when I’m busy. But how much pleasure have I been missing? “So good,” I murmur, opening my eyes to reach for a crispy sweet potato fry.

My mind goes back to tasting the tequila and Beck’s guidance as he urged me to take the time to enjoy the moment and use all my senses. My stomach tightens. This is crazy stuff, scary stuff. I’m not used to these feelings.

I’m not a robot, but feelings just lead to getting hurt in my experience. I was left out as a child because I didn’t fit in. I was quiet, smart, and not interested in the same things as other kids. When I tried to play sports, it was humiliating. Chess wasn’t my thing and debate club was excruciating. I was wary of Carrie’s overtures at first, afraid to believe someone actually wanted to be friends with me, afraid to open myself up to being rejected. I experienced it again as a teenager, when boys ignored me or I wasn’t asked out again after a date. I had a painful and protracted crush on Phil Chang, and he awkwardly rebuffed me when I got up the nerve to ask him out. And after my dad died a slow, painful death in high school, followed by my mother’s, I knew I had to toughen up.

Then in college, I fell in love. With research.

Focusing all my caring on my work is much safer. Sure, there are disappointments and failures in research, but I can handle those. I trust my aunt and uncle to be there for me because they always have been. And I trust Carrie to be there for me, too. But caring about anyone else is risky. I’m better off safely in my lab or eating takeout alone in front of my TV, rather than thinking crazy thoughts about a man with beautiful eyes, perfect muscles, and sexy tattoos.

He bought me ten pairs of panties! Ridiculous. They are pretty though, prettier than anything I’ve ever bought myself. I feel like I shouldn’t accept them from him, but what can I do? It’s not a big enough deal to make me go to Conquistadors to find him and return them. They’re just panties.

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