Page 13 of Love in the Lab
The speaker crackles to life. “Hello?”
“Hey, Molly … it’s Jonathan.”
“Go away.”
I rub my chin. “I just wanted to check on you. Dr. Gantt said you had an allergic reaction to mosquitoes?”
“I’m fine. Go away.”
“I brought beignets.” Even though she can’t see me, I shake the bag in front of me.
The intercom goes silent. Then the door buzzes and makes a loud clanking sound. I grin as I pull it open. After it closes securely behind me, I find the stairs and make my way up to 2B.
I knock. “Molly?” I call.
I hear rustling behind the door. “Can you just leave the beignets on the doorstep?”
I chuckle. “I’d really like to come in and check on you.”
“And if I say no?”
“More beignets for me.”
She sighs so loudly I hear it through the door. A lock clicks and those blue eyes peer out at me from a tiny crack.
I flash a smile. “Hi.”
She sighs again and opens the door wider. Her face and arms are covered in gloppy white cream mixed with what looks like aloe vera gel. Her hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head and the lenses of her glasses are smudged.
Adorable.
I quickly school my expression.
“Come in, I suppose,” she invites.
As I walk through the door, I take in the apartment. I can’t tell how big it is, but it looks like a studio. The living room is crammed with bookshelves full of messy stacks of books and papers. The love seat sized couch is a nest of blankets and pillows. A small television across from the couch is paused on an image of a young Anne Hathaway in a peasant blouse and long blue skirt, a cape wrapped around her shoulders. A light blinks on a DVD player on the shelf under the TV. I do a double take. Who still has a DVD player?
I move a blanket to the side to sit, placing the bag of beignets on the coffee table next to tubes of antihistamine creams, a large pump bottle of aloe vera, and a bottle of Benadryl. She opens the bag and pulls out a beignet, immediately taking a bite.
“Mmm,” she says. “They’re still warm.”
My heart rate ticks up, and I take a breath to calm my reaction. “So, what happened, Mol of America?” I ask.
Donut squarely in front of her face, she narrows her eyes. “Are these inane nicknames off the cuff, or do you have a list somewhere that you work on in your free time?”
I consider a minute. “Mostly off the cuff, but a list isn’t a bad idea.” I scratch my chin thoughtfully.
“Anyway, whathappenedis that some jerk made me go in a swamp yesterday. I got bitten up by mosquitoes, and apparently,I’m allergic to certain types of mosquito bites. My whole face swelled up, and I had to DoorDash medicine through the tiny slits of my swollen eyelids. Also, I got sunburned, so that’s painful.”
The attitude is on point, but there’s no fire in her tone.
“And if the jerk is really sorry and promises to give you insect repellent next time?” I ask, hoping she feels more forgiving now that I’ve plied her with sugar.
She lowers the donut. “Ugh. Next time.”
The powdered sugar from the beignet is stuck to the cream on her face. I smother a smile. “But can you forgive the jerk?” I wheedle.
She glares at me out of the side of her eyes. “Only if he brings beignets.”
