Page 33 of Things We Do for Love and Science
“But don’t you think two people who love one another could make it work?” Try as he might, he couldn’t get his head around her bleak worldview. Didn’t she ever yearn for emotional closeness with a partner she could trust and rely on?
She lifted the champagne flute for another sip, and he couldn’t help but watch her. “Oh, I’m sure. My brother and his wife are the best example of such a rare union. But, I mean, look around you, conflict and strife everywhere. Divorce rates are consistently over forty percent. I’m not an idealist, but it seems you are.”
“Life is a risk. Love is a risk.” He studied her face. “Always.”
“Okay.” She braced her hands on the table top, fixing him with an intent gaze. “Let’s just say I’m the type of person who likes to minimize risk and you aren’t. And I have the funny feeling all that risk-taking is going to work out for you. You’re one of those people, life’s lucky ones. Oh,” she straightened and clapped a hand over her mouth, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Losing one’s parents at a young age isn’t particularly lucky.”
“It’s all right.” He laid a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. “I get the point you’re trying to make, but I still believe you’re focusing unduly on the negative. A forty-percent divorce rate also means sixty percent of marriages are happy.”
She refilled his glass and placed the bottle on the table. “If we forget for a moment that marriage is a deeply patriarchal concept—consider what our friend Friedrich Engels said. Monogamy was only ever compulsory for women. Men were always free to screw around with impunity—I’m paraphrasing in the interest of brevity.”
Gabriel chuckled. Discussions with her were nothing if not entertaining. The way she wildly jumped from once topic to the next, passing through a gamut of emotions, certainly captured his interest.
“Things may be a bit more even today,” she continued, “but I still don’t think an institution with such a high failure rate is an adequate solution for the human need for regular sex and companionship.”
He downed another mouthful of champagne and twirled the glass by its stem, facing the fact that he had no idea how she lived her life and what was important to her besides her career. “Maybe it suits some people more than others.”
She fixed him with a sparkling gaze, her cheeks flushed by alcohol, and he almost regretted that she held such a dim view of romantic relationships.
“Now show me the painting,” she said with a smile. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“If you wish.” He led her to stand in front of the easel.
She studied the canvas without a word, and his hands grew sweaty. This was a vulnerable moment. Every painting revealed something of the artist, and truth be told, he’d be gutted it she didn’t like it. What if she considered it over the top or too much of a pastiche?
“Gabriel.” She clutched his upper arm. “That’s ultra-glamorous. I look like a different person. I mean, it’s a great likeness, but it’s like a portrait of some princess.”
“That’s how I see you,” he said, and his whole body eased into contentment at her reaction.
She remained silent.
What was going on inside her head? Did she hate receiving compliments, or had he been too heavy-handed with his? Better change the topic before she became uncomfortable.
“I truly enjoyed our painting sessions. You were right, taking it up again has helped me cope with everything.” He walked toward the mantelpiece. “And as a thank you, I’ve painted a picture for you. I hope you’ll like it.”
He lifted the oblong canvas away from the mantel and turned it around to reveal a painting of the DNA molecule, held in an antique frame of silvery wood. The perspective was dramatic, as if the viewer were traveling through the center of the giant double helix.
“Gabriel. This’s breath-taking.” She clapped her hands and regarded the image. “You shouldn’t have. After all, you’ve given me Edwin and Emmy’s teeth.”
“True, but now we’re even. You know, the necklace and all.”
“And I’ll gladly accept this beautiful gift because I doubt there’s another person of your acquaintance who’d appreciate the beauty of the DNA molecule with such fervor.”
He laughed. “Yes, it’s pretty much bespoke for you.”
A frown etched her forehead. “Oh, I hope I’ll be able to transport it safely in my little Fiat.”
“I’ll carry it down for you, and we’ll see.” He adjusted his hold on the large canvas. “If it doesn’t fit, I’ll drop it by later.”
He waved as she drove off in her midnight-blue car. He had managed to position the painting on the backseat without wedging it in or otherwise damaging it, and he was quietly elated that she had liked it so much. She’d said she would hang it above the sofa in her living room once she got home.
This painting was the result of a sudden whim. After having painted the model of the double helix on the portrait, he’d decided to explore that specific shape in further detail and from a less restricted angle.
It was romantic, somehow; one helix running alongside the other, mirroring the other’s shape and together forming the foundation of life. Which brought to mind her vehement rejection of committed relationships.
She was unconventional in her rational way. Anything that could not be proven was questioned and, if unsatisfactory, discarded in search for a better solution. He had to admire her approach. She wanted children, romantic connection couldn’t be relied upon, ergo, she’d go it alone. For Delia, things were that simple.
And with the swiftness of a thunderclap, he realized he’d love to do just that. In a couple of months, Jem’s baby would be born, and Gabriel envied him. He’d wanted to have children for some time and had once been close to making that dream come true with Vanessa before their best laid plans had fallen apart. Even after their breakup, that wish and longing for fatherhood had remained with him, but his imagination had never stretched to the idea that he could do that without a partner.
