Page 48 of Love in the Lab
The disappointment is a palpable sludge I feel inside my body, oozing from my heart into my stomach and weighing down my legs. I trudge home while it’s still light out.
At home, I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I’m planning to go to bed early and dissociate by scrolling on social media for a while before I fall asleep. At least I’ll see Jonathan tomorrow at work though I’m not sure how to act around him. Smile politely? Ignore him? Surreptitiously watch him out of the corner of my eye all day while not approaching him directly? That seems like the most realistic option.
The thoughts distract me from seeing the piece of paper on the front of my refrigerator at first. Once I notice it, it’s all I can see. An indigo-colored sticky note hangs on the refrigerator door with the message “You are beautiful” written across it in messy handwriting.
I know that handwriting. I recognize that sticky note in the hard-to-find indigo color. And who else even has access to my apartment?
Jonathan washere, sometime today while I was out. Maybe I should feel indignant, angry even. He doesn’t have permission to use the key to enter my apartment, after all.
Instead, I’m elated he hasn’t given up on me, which is selfish because I’m not going to change my mind. I can’t tell him we can’t be together one day and then secretly want him to continue pursuing me. I don’t want to play games with his emotions. I care about him too much for that.
Still, I feel lighter as I get ready for bed. When I’m finally situated under the covers, phone in hand, I remember that Jonathan said something about a potential hurricane in the Caribbean.
I open a web browser app and search for information. Sure enough, there’s a tropical storm named Hernando southeast of Cuba. The track forecast cone has Hernando potentially continuing northwest into the Gulf, making landfall as a low category hurricane somewhere between the Florida panhandle and coastal Texas within a week.
Of course, my mind instantly goes to my research. If Hernando comes close enough to New Orleans, I could try to gather data on how the properties of the water change because of the storm. Although, it would be too dangerous to be out in the Gulf collecting data in the middle of a hurricane. How else could I get real-time data about the water as a hurricane passes through?
An idea sparks in my brain, and I kindle it, letting it grow to an ember and then a small lick of a flame until the fire is burning hot and bright. Itcouldwork. I just need to convince Dr. Gantt. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter nineteen
Jonathan
Iwalk up the stairs to the lab on Monday morning with Molly Delaney on the brain. So what else is new?
My first big plan—to win Molly over—was a success, I would say. After less than two months, she no longer hates me. In fact, she likes me, maybe more than likes me if I’m reading between the lines correctly. So, my new big plan is to help Molly Delaney love herself.
When we were standing in that empty hallway outside her apartment, and Molly admitted that she doesn’t believe love is meant for her? It broke me. Molly’s amazing, and I’m not surehow she doesn’t know that. Any man in his right mind would want to be with her. I know I do.
So, I broke into her apartment yesterday. Well, is it really “breaking in” if you have the key? I entered her apartment with the key she gave me, and I left her a note. And I plan to do it again today and every day as long as it takes, even if I use up each one of the three thousand something sticky notes left from when Molly covered my cubicle.
She needs to see herself the way I see her: beautiful, bold, creative, nurturing, dedicated … I could go on.
Even if she never reconsiders us being together, I desperately want her to believe she’s worthy of an amazing partner—someone who loves, respects, and supports her—if she wants one. And if she doesn’t want a partner, I’d like to know she’s making that choice because it’s what she really wants, not what she thinks she deserves.
I swivel my head to check Molly’s cubicle as I move toward mine. She’s not here yet. Will she be mad about the sticky note? Acknowledge it, or me, at all?
I don’t have time to dwell too much on her reaction. I have a meeting with Dr. Gantt this morning about the ocean gliders. Three of the five in our fleet are currently sitting in storage at the dry dock in Slidell, ready for their next missions. We need to decide what we want those to be. The consistent data from the Gulf are valuable to track baseline information and even trends over time, but we need to do more to make the gliders worth the investment.
I hope Dr. Gantt has some ideas, because I haven’t come up with anything yet.
I settle into a chair in Dr. Gantt’s office. Instead of jumping right into talking about the gliders, she starts us off with another topic.
“How is Dr. Delaney doing with the fieldwork?” she asks, leaning her chair back slightly as she regards me from across the desk.
I swallow uncomfortably. “Great,” I answer honestly. “She’s a natural. She settled right in, and we work together well.”
Dr. Gantt narrows her eyes. “I’m looking at your face, and I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“But,” I start, shooting her a smile, “I think I work better solo, and Dr. Delaney has probably learned enough about the fieldwork processes by now, right?”
I clasp my hands together in my lap and then unclasp them and try to slide them in my pockets. I’m fidgeting. I can’t tell Dr. Gantt the real reason Molly won’t work with me anymore.Yeah, so after a string of super unprofessional pranks we played on each other right here in the lab, the last of which almost resulted in our team losing funding, Dr. Delaney and I kissed in the parking lot, and then she freaked out because a relationship is so outside of her comfort zone, and now I’m wallowing and pining, and she’s back to following her strict life rules. I’m sure that explanation would inspire our boss’s confidence in us.
“You don’t want Dr. Delaney to work with you anymore?” Actually, I desperately want Dr. Delaney to do everything with me forever, but it’s not up to me.
I rub my chin. “That’s not exactly what I meant—”
Before I can finish the thought—fortunately, because I have no idea what I’m going to say—the door to Dr. Gantt’s office bangs open, and a disheveled Molly stands in the doorway.
