Page 28 of Love in the Lab
She hums. “I know she’s giving you a hard time, so I like her already.”
“Even so, it doesn’t bode well for me actually dating her, does it?”
“She’ll come around. Like I said, you’re a good man.” Tamara sounds a lot more confident than I feel, though I appreciate her words. My interaction with Molly today was encouraging, so we’ll see.
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
I clear my throat. “Actually, I do.” I grin. “Do you have five hours?”
Chapter eleven
Molly
It’s my turn to prank Jonathan, and my sister Olivia gave me the fun, time-consuming idea to cover his cubicle in sticky notes. Getting up early to stick the notes was not a realistic plan for me—I do recognize my own limitations—so I’m here at the lab late. I wish my ADHD had a control panel because now would be a fantastic time to hyperfocus. Unfortunately, the task is not nearly interesting enough to flip that switch in my brain. Despite the seven different colors of notes I’m using, this is drudgery.
I chuckle as I put up another row in perfect rainbow order. It wasn’t easy, but I bought sticky notes in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Finding indigo—a blue-violet hybrid that most resembles a darker blue—was especially challenging. I did it, though, and now I’m ROY G BIVing the heck out of Jonathan’s cubicle.
Technically, I should get two pranks in a row now because he did, if you count the flowers as a prank. The fuss everyone in the lab made about them was embarrassing, which makes it more prankish. But they made me feel really … happy, which makes it more a sweet gesture than anything else. I’ve never gotten flowers before. I suppose that’s a strange admission for a twenty-nine-year-old woman to make, but it’s the truth.
I haven’t dated much. In high school, I was focused on my schoolwork and was also kind of the weird girl, so I didn’t exactly have guys knocking down my door to ask me to the homecoming dance. After my first semester of college—and I wouldn’t call what I did in that first semester of college “dating”—I was all about focusing on my classes. I’ve been that way ever since.
I’ve also been focused on blending in, masking my ADHD so my classmates and coworkers won’t think twice about me or my behavior, won’t think I’m too much.Who, me? Just a typical, normal person like everyone else.
Jonathan’s flowers made everyone see me. I felt special,notlike everyone else. And it felt good. All of this—the pranks, the goofing off at work, the time out of the lab, the almost kissing a handsome man—feels very much unlike me, at least the me I’ve curated over the last ten years, and feels verygood.
Maybe too good? Maybe the kind of good that is self-indulgent and will distract me from my goals. My brain wants instant gratification, new and shiny, constant stimulation, and messy, emotional reactions. I fight against those inclinations every day. Until recently with Jonathan, when I’ve been giving in, a littlehere, a little there, convincing myself it doesn’t matter. It’s a dangerous game.
I shake my head, realizing I’ve been lost in thought and have stopped putting up sticky notes. I refocus my attention, filling in the last row on the cubicle walls before I move on to the desktop and computer monitor.
Good thing Jonathan’s desk is clean and uncluttered, unlike mine. My desk has so many piles of paper and notebooks crammed on top of it that placing sticky notes would be a challenge.
When I finish, I stand in the doorway and admire my work. I grin. It looks amazing. I dig a pen out of my bag and add one last detail. On the backside of a sticky note in the corner, I draw a small heart. Jonathan will probably never even see it, and I don’t want him to. I’m not even sure why I’m drawing it. Just another example of giving in to my impulses where Jonathan is concerned.
I’m late for work the next morning, rushing in while balancing my lunchbox, computer bag, and water bottle. I overslept, stumbled through getting ready, and then couldn’t remember if I had fed Beaker or not. Considering the way she was yowling at me all morning, I wondered if I had even fed her last night. That’s the nice thing about having a cat—they don’t let you forget to take care of them. Plus, my mom called as I was driving in to let me know that she and my dad were planning to visit this weekend. I told her I’d have to call her back after work to hear more.
I stop short when I see Jonathan’s cubicle. I didn’t forget I plastered it with the colors of the rainbow, of course. I justhadn’t thought about it this morning, and it is an unmissable blast of color. I instantly perk up, discreetly peering through the doorway to see if Jonathan is here.
He’s sitting in his chair, crushing the sticky notes covering the seat, with his laptop—which was not in his cubicle last night—set on top of his sticky-noted desk. He hasn’t connected the laptop to the external keyboard or monitor—both covered in sticky notes—but he’s busy typing away as if nothing is amiss.
He casually glances up and sees me standing in the doorway of his cubicle. He grins. “Oh, hey, Molly.”
“Hey.” I look around pointedly. “What happened to your space?”
He scans the cubicle and frowns. “What do you mean?”
Now, I frown. “Jonathan,” I warn.
He’s trying to keep his expression serious, but I notice the way his eyes are dancing, and the corners of his mouth are twitching. “Molly.”
I’m startled by a voice behind me. “Dr. Stanch, what is all this?” asks Dr. Gantt.
Jonathan rubs the back of his neck. “I redecorated,” he says, putting an upturned hand out to the side in ata-dagesture.
Dr. Gantt’s forehead pinches. “Take it down, please. Let’s keep things professional at the lab, shall we?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan responds.
