Page 61 of Love in the Lab
“Ah. Well…” I hedge. I clear my throat and lift my gaze to the rest of the circle.
Jonathan freezes as if just realizing we’re surrounded by our boss and nearly all our coworkers. He drops his hands and takes two steps back from me. He looks around the circle atour colleagues, some gaping with wide eyes, some smirking and laughing. His ears turn adorably red.
He waves to the crowd, then shoves his hands into his pockets. He flashes an abashed smile. “Sorry, all. Carry on.”
I bring my fist to my mouth to cover my grin. Jonathan may have just outed our relationship to our boss and most of our research team, but the way he stormed in here, single-mindedly focused on my well-being? That might be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Dr. Gantt clears her throat, laughter dancing in her eyes, though the rest of her expression remains impassive. “As I was saying, the project using the gliders to collect ocean data during the hurricane was a roaring success—”
Jonathan zeroes in on me again. “It was?” he asks, eyes locked on mine.
I move my hand away from my face and let him see my beaming smile. I nod.
He whoops, rushing toward me again. Circling his arms around my waist, he lifts and spins me around. Before I can stop him, he smacks a kiss against my lips.
I’m laughing as he sets me back down on the floor. So are most of our audience.
“Yes, Dr. Stanch, we’re all quite excited,” Dr. Gantt says dryly.
“Sorry, again.” Sheepishly, Jonathan stands behind me, as if my accomplishment can hide his embarrassment.
Dr. Gantt claps her hands. “In any case, it means we have a lot of work to do. Anyone trained in data science, please see Dr. Delaney. We’ll want those data processed as soon and accurately as possible. Anyone trained in fieldwork, please see Dr. Stanch. All the gliders need to be retrieved from the Gulf and thoroughly checked for damage.”
Some people crowd around me, congratulating me and expressing their eagerness to see the data. Others filter towardJonathan. Soon, we’re on separate sides of the office, but I glance up to see that Jonathan hasn’t taken his eyes off me, admiration and pride evident in his expression as he watches me from across the room.
The next few weeks are a blur of data analysis and interpreting findings, all while spending as much time with Jonathan as I can. We leave work together at five each evening and grab dinner, either out somewhere or at my apartment where Jonathan cooks. After dinner, we watch a movie, or play board games, or just talk until Jonathan reluctantly drives home before it gets too late.
Somehow, he manages to add a sticky note to the growing collection on my refrigerator every night without me noticing. He writes messages like, “You make every day brighter,” and “I’m so lucky to have you.” The note I love the most says, “You’re my favorite person.” It’s a simple message but rocks me to my core. I’ve never been someone’s favorite person before. I continue to unstick each new note and add it to my arrangement. I’m using the sticky notes to make the outline of a heart.
One topic we talk about is some sort of job that Dr. Perron is recruiting Jonathan for. Jonathan tells me about the phone conversation and the Saturday night meeting before the hurricane. Since then, Dr. Perron has emailed Jonathan with enough information that his interest is piqued but not enough to make any sort of solid decision.
“Blue carbon offsetting is an interesting emerging field, but as PI, I doubt I’d be able to do as much fieldwork as I am now. Plus, Dr. Perron’s been vague every time I’ve asked about the source of the grant funding,” Jonathan tells me.
I like working with Jonathan, and I’d miss him if he moved to another research team. I don’t want to influence his decision, though, and it would make some aspects of our relationship easier if we didn’t work together.
I thought there might be some fallout at work over Jonathan and I dating, but it’s a nonissue. Neither of us supervises the other, so as long as we continue to act professionally and avoid disrupting anyone’s work, including ours, Dr. Gantt and the university’s human resources department are fine with it.
During the day at work, I’m collaborating with Terri, our team’s primary biostatistician, on the glider data. Though all three gliders were knocked off course by the storm, we still had one that roughly aligned with Hernando on its east side, one that was about on its west side, and one that fell about in the middle, even if it wasn’t exactly the eye. We’re still working on connecting the data to harmful algal blooms, but the real-time information about how the Gulf water changed before, during, and after Hernando is valuable in its own right.
Fortunately, none of the gliders were severely damaged during the storm. Unfortunately, I’m too busy processing the data to go with Jonathan to retrieve them. He takes a small crew out to bring the gliders back to the lab to inspect. They find they’re a little banged up but still work.
In the midst of all this, I get a text from my sister, Olivia.
Olivia:
Can Annie and I stay with you while we’re in New Orleans the weekend before halloween?
Molly:
Of course. It’ll just be an air mattress on the floor, but you’re welcome to it
Olivia:
Beggars can’t be choosers [laughing emoji]
Literally everyone in my family has come to visit this year at one time or another, which I suppose is a benefit of living in a city that’s a major travel destination.
What I don’t do is tell my family that Jonathan and I are dating. I’m not ready to explain the relationship, or defend it, or deal with the surprised and smug comments.
