Page 36 of Love in the Lab
I pat my pants’ pockets for my phone but don’t find it. I wander into my bedroom and see it charging on the nightstand. I unplug it and bring it back into the living room, typing as I go.
“Cafe Beignet. There are several locations. The closest one is a fifteen-minute walk from here.”
“Sounds great!” Mom says at the same time Dad exclaims, “Let’s do it!”
We walk to the restaurant, my mom chattering about the buildings and people around us. When we arrive, Mom and I grab a table while Dad writes down our orders, so he can wait in line.
“Red beans and rice,” I tell him confidently. “With an order of beignets, please.”
My parents exchange a look. “You like red beans and rice?” Mom asks.
“You’vetriedred beans and rice?” Dad adds.
I don’t tell them I discovered just this week that I like the dish. Instead, I say, “Yes. It's not too spicy here. My … um, coworker encouraged me to try it.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?” Mom says and gives Dad her order.
He leaves us at the table to wait in line to order. I’m looking around at the exposed brick, white wrought iron bistro tables and chairs, and shelves against the wall stocked with New Orleans seasonings, baking mixes, and cafe merchandise. This place is cute. And I already know I like at least two things on the menu. The air smells heavenly—a mixture of savory seasonings, coffee, and sugary sweet dough.
I feel my mom watching me and mentally brace for an inquisition. “You tried red beans and rice because of a coworker, you said? Which coworker?” She pauses, waiting until I’m looking at her before adding, “Was it Jonathan?”
“Actually, yes,” I say airily. Super casual. Nothing to see here.
“Hmm. That’s interesting. Isn’t he the coworker you always complain about? He sounded so nice on the phone the other night.” Her eyes are locked on my face, studying, assessing, delving in a way that makes me believe she can really see my thoughts.
I scoff, fiddling with the zipper on my sweatshirt. “That’s what he wants people to think.”
Her eyes sparkle. “All part of his nefarious ruse, then?”
I set my jaw. “Maybe.”
She chuckles. “What do you have against him, anyway?”
“When we were in classes together, he would always rub it in my face if he scored higher than me on exams. When we’re in the lab, he interrupts my work, and now, our PI is making me do fieldwork with him, and he’s making it as difficult as possible for me.”
I realize that though I’m reciting the same complaints I’ve had about Jonathan from the start, I don’t feel the same conviction about them I used to. Also, the charges aren’t exactly true. He’s not making fieldwork difficult for me. In fact, he’s been super accommodating and thoughtful, going out of his way to make the work easier. Other than that first awful day when I fell in the bayou, I’ve actually been enjoying myself on our weekly trips to collect water samples.
“Maybe he likes you,” Mom teases. “Like a little boy on the playground who pulls the pigtails of the little girl he has a crush on.”
“Okay, no,” I protest, shaking my head emphatically. “First of all, it’s harmful to women to suggest that men harass us because they like us. It teaches girls to equate abuse with love—”
“Abuse is a pretty strong word in this case, isn’t it?” she interrupts.
“And second of all, Jonathan does not like me,” I fume.
She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just like the effect he’s having on you. Trying new foods, having new experiences. It’s good for you.”
Inwardly, I groan. Not her, too. First Dr. Gantt tells me to get out of my comfort zone, and now my own mother, who arguably knows me better than anyone, says new experiences are good for me? She should know they’re not.
“Mom…” I warn.
“Okay. All I’m saying is that playing it too safe can get in the way of living, and I want you to experience all the good things in life—”
Before she can continue, Dad is back, laying our food out on the table. As we eat, the conversation shifts to their travel plans and their eagerness to meet Nicole’s boyfriend.
Still, my mom’s words run on repeat in my brain, not only her warning about playing it safe, but also her suggestion that Jonathan may like me as more than a coworker or potential friend. If he does, which I doubt, it’s only because he doesn’t know me well enough yet. So why does the idea send a jolt of anticipation through my chest?
My parents spend the rest of the weekend coddling me. We go to the grocery store so they can stock my pantry. My dad and I hang the photo frames, and he shows me how to stop my toilet from running. Meanwhile, my mom puts together half a dozen freezer meals and labels them with reheating instructions before stashing them in my freezer. They both help me tidy up—dusting, sweeping, reorganizing—and I think my mom even sneaks downstairs to wash a load of my dirty laundry.
