Perfect Little World(108)

“It wasn’t hubris. It was hope,” Izzy said. “And it won’t really end. Most of us, when we do discuss the end of it, already know we’re going to try to live in the same neighborhood, to move to Nashville and have our kids in the same school and spend vacations together. And that may fade with time, but I don’t think it will. I think we’ll be together for the rest of our lives, in some essential way, like any real family.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dr. Grind admitted. “It’s what I’d hoped for.”

“But,” Izzy said, her own coffee now finished, the table between them, “you’ll be alone when this ends. And I’ll be alone when this ends. And why should that be, Preston?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Grind said, now looking at Izzy.

“I love you,” Izzy said. “I truly do.”

But Dr. Grind stood and began moving toward the door. He put his hand on the doorknob and then hesitated, his hand retreating as if a tiny static shock had moved through him. He turned back to her. “I love you, too,” he said.

“You do,” she said, feeling so certain of herself, so happy, thinking to herself, Yes, you do, goddamn it, wanting to hear him say it again, to make him her own.

“I do, truly,” he said. “I guess I should stop denying it. I feel like I’ve spent my time here constantly trying to live beyond my capabilities, to do what’s right for the project, for the memory of Marla and Jody, for my parents’ work, for everyone but myself. But you are wonderful, and you have always been wonderful to me. If nothing else, all my failings, the project brought us together, and I don’t want to leave it without you.”

She walked toward him, pressed herself against him, and they kissed. It was an awkward kiss, unsure, their mouths not quite matching up, two people with little practice and hyperaware of their discomfort with their own bodies, but it was still better than she had ever hoped. It was a decent enough kiss, she allowed, and then she willed herself to stop thinking about it and be happy.

“Let’s be together,” Izzy said once they finished. “Whatever happens next, let’s stay together.”

“Okay,” Dr. Grind said. Every word he spoke now seemed to make him dizzy, as if he had suddenly learned a new language and was testing it out.

“What is going to happen next?” Izzy asked.

“I suppose we find a way to make a life together.”

“You and me and Cap?” she asked him and Dr. Grind nodded.

“A family,” she said, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said.

And even though she knew how fragile a family truly was, how quickly it could disappear and ruin you, Izzy smiled, willing to undergo any uncertainty for the chance to be happy.

Izzy held his hand. “Do you want to come to my room?” she asked him.

“Oh. Well, do you think that’s a good idea?” he replied. “At this moment, I’m still running the project. You’re still a member of the study.”

“That’s fair,” she said, but in her mind she was thinking, JEE-SUS CHRIST, Dr. Grind. She had professed her love for him. He had done the same. The rules were broken. There was no need, in this little space, to pretend otherwise. Still, she allowed him his uncertainty.

“I’m also a lot older than you,” he added.

“Ten years,” Izzy said, shrugging. “Not that much. Less than my last relationship.”

“Point taken,” Dr. Grind replied.

“Still, come upstairs,” she said, tugging gently on his hand, and he agreed, his feet keeping time with her own steps.

When the world fell apart around you, when the walls of your home cracked and crumbled, Izzy now had some idea of how to keep living. You held on to the person you loved, the one who would be there in the aftermath, and you built a new home.


The next morning, Izzy woke to find Cap standing over her. “It’s Christmas!” he shouted, his arms in the air. She shot up, searching for Dr. Grind in the bed, but there was no sign of him. He did not sleep, she knew, but she had expected him to at least stay in the bed.

“Merry Christmas,” she finally said, hugging Cap, pulling him close to her. She got out of bed and the two of them walked down the stairs to the living room, which was pristine, swept and straightened and shining. In the small kitchen, they saw Dr. Grind, making waffles, as precisely and expertly, to Izzy’s mind, as most everything he did when it seemed to matter.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, and the three of them ate their breakfast, Cap saying nothing about how strange this moment was, merely eating the waffles that Dr. Grind had made as if this happened every single morning of his young life.

“Cap,” Izzy finally said, her voice returned to her. “I want to tell you something now, something important.”

“Okay,” Cap said, finally able to look up from the banjo in his lap.

“When we leave the complex in a little while, Dr. Grind is going to come with us.”

“He is?” Cap asked, frowning.

“I want to,” Dr. Grind then said. “I want to live with you and your mom and stay with you guys.”

“Forever?” Cap asked, still uncertain, looking back and forth between Izzy and Dr. Grind.

“Yes,” they both said.

Cap thought about this. “And you’re my mom,” he finally said, pointing to Izzy, “and you would be my dad?” He pointed at Dr. Grind, who nodded.