Page 40 of Away With You
CHAPTER 11
KATIE
What’s the best thing to do when your fake relationship with one of the world’s hottest athletes has been revealed to the world? Bury yourself in work.
And it’s not like I don’t need to be in the lab on a Sunday afternoon, still trying to get this useless Western Blot to work. I do. I need this result for my next publication. It’s just worked out to be the perfect excuse to hide away and pretend I haven’t walked straight into a situation that’s spiralling out of control.
Turns out, I’m pretty good at pretending.
“It’s got to be the sample preparation,” I mutter, peering down at the notes I’d made on Friday. They’re a list of things I’ve tried to alter to no effect and are sometimes the most useful part of experimentation. Finding what doesn’t work. In this case, the list is long.
Blowing my hair out of my eyes, I use my shoulder to push a few strands back from my chin as well. I’ve got my gloves on and they’re covered in SDS solution, so I can’t use my hands to fix my hair. I should have tied the masses up with a scrunchie today. It’s the only thing that holds all the hair up for any substantialamount of time. Too bad they make me look like a reject from the ‘80s.
“I’ve done the protein extraction as per the revised protocol,” I murmur out loud. Given it’s Sunday and even the most studious of scientists see this as a day of rest, I have the entire lab to myself, so there’s no one here to hear me. It’s the perfect work environment, being here on my own. With no one around to judge me, I can play my movie soundtrack playlist at top volume. I can have the temperature in the lab up at a toasty twenty-five degrees Celsius, and I don’t have to hunt around for my pipettes. Unlike every other day of the week, on a Sunday, my pipettes are just where I left them.
“Right. This time it’s going to work.” I send up a little prayer to the science gods (Rosalind Franklin in particular) and set the gel to run. It should take at least forty-five minutes; just enough time to get a drink and continue to ignore my phone.
With step one complete, I peel my gloves off, pin my timer to the top of my jeans and take off my lab gown. As opposed to every scientist ever depicted in the movies or on the TV screen, we don’t wear lab coats here. Instead, we wear hospital gowns, tied at the back and all, to protect our fronts from splashes and spills. Something that cannot be done when wearing a lab coat, unbuttoned.
“Very practical, but not as cute,” I tell my gown as I hang it on the hook next to the door. On silent feet, I walk down the hallway to the office I share with two other post-doctoral fellows, flop down at my desk and risk a glance at my phone.Yikes!Fifty new notifications from Instagram. And one message.
From my fake boyfriend.
NATHAN
What are you doing today?
I check the time of the message. Only ten minutes ago.
KATIE
Working
NATHAN
That Western Blot still giving you trouble?
My heart sings that he remembered.
KATIE
Yeah.
I will not be defeated.
NATHAN
So you’re in the lab?
I mean, where else does he think I’m running all these failed Western Blot experiments?
KATIE
Yep. It’s where you can usually find me.
I watch the three dots dance across the screen for a minute before disappearing. He’s clearly had enough of the science talk and has wandered off to find something more interesting to do. Shame, really. We need to connect about this whole fake relationship media storm we’ve created.
A conversation for later, it seems.
