Love on the Brain(4)
“There is this amazing project I’ve been wanting to kick-start,” she said with her usual enthusiasm. “If we manage to make it work, it’s going to change the entire landscape of the field. And that’s why I need my best neuroscientist and my best engineer to collaborate on it.”
It was a breezy, early spring afternoon. I remember it well, because that morning had been unforgettable: Tim on one knee, in the middle of the lab, proposing. A bit theatrical, not really my thing, but I wasn’t going to complain, not when it meant someone wanted to stand by me for good. So I looked him in the eyes, choked back the tears, and said yes.
A few hours later, I felt the engagement ring bite painfully into my clenched fist. “I don’t have time for a collaboration, Sam,” Levi said. He was standing as far away from me as he could, and yet he still managed to fill the small office and become its center of gravity. He didn’t bother to glance at me. He never did.
Sam frowned. “The other day you said you’d be on board.”
“I misspoke.” His expression was unreadable. Uncompromising. “Sorry, Sam. I’m just too busy.”
I cleared my throat and took a few steps toward him. “I know I’m just a first-year student,” I started, appeasingly, “but I can do my part, I promise. And—”
“That’s not it,” he said. His eyes briefly caught mine, green and black and stormy cold, and for a brief moment he seemed stuck, as though he couldn’t look away. My heart stumbled. “Like I said, I don’t have time right now to take on new projects.”
I don’t remember why I walked out of the office alone, nor why I decided to linger right outside. I told myself that it was fine. Levi was just busy. Everyone was busy. Academia was nothing but a bunch of busy people running around busily. I myself was super busy, because Sam was right: I was one of the best neuroscientists in the lab. I had plenty of my own work going on.
Until I overheard Sam’s concerned question: “Why did you change your mind? You said that the project was going to be a slam dunk.”
“I know. But I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Can’t what?”
“Work with Bee.”
Sam asked him why, but I didn’t stop to listen. Pursuing any kind of graduate education requires a healthy dose of masochism, but I drew the line at sticking around while someone trash-talked me to my boss. I stormed off, and by the following week, when I heard Annie chattering happily about the fact that Levi had agreed to help her on her thesis project, I’d long stopped lying to myself.
Levi Ward, His Wardness, Dr. Wardass, despised me.
Me.
Specifically me.
Yes, he was a taciturn, somber, brooding mountain of a man. He was private, an introvert. His temperament was reserved and aloof. I couldn’t demand that he like me, and had no intention of doing so. Still, if he could be civil, polite, even friendly with everyone else, he could have made an effort with me, too. But no—Levi Ward clearly despised me, and in the face of such hatred . . .
Well. I had no choice but to hate him back.
“You there?” Reike asks.
“Yeah,” I mumble, “just ruminating about Levi.”
“He’s at NASA, then? Dare I hope he’ll be sent to Mars to retrieve Curiosity?”
“Sadly, not before he’s done co-leading my project.” In the past few years, while my career gasped for air like a hippo with sleep apnea, Levi’s thrived—obnoxiously so. He published interesting studies, got a huge Department of Defense grant, and, according to an email Sam sent around, even made Forbes’s 10 Under 40 list, the science edition. The only reason I’ve been able to stand his successes without falling on my sword is that his research has been gravitating away from neuroimaging. This made us not-quite-competitors and allowed me to just . . . never think about him. An excellent life hack, which worked superbly—until today.
Honestly, fuck today.
“I’m still enjoying this immensely, but I’ll make an effort to be sisterly and sympathetic. How concerned are you to be working with him, on a scale from one to heavily breathing into a paper bag?”
I tip what’s left of Finneas’s water into a pot of daisies. “I think having to work with someone who thinks I’m a shit scientist warrants at least two inhalers.”
“You’re amazing. You’re the best scientist.”
“Aw, thank you.” I choose to believe that Reike filing astrology and cristallotherapy under the label “science” only slightly detracts from the compliment. “It’s going to be horrible. The worst. If he’s anything like he used to be, I’m going to . . . Reike, are you peeing?”
A beat, filled by the noise of running water. “. . . Maybe. Hey, you’re the one who woke me and my bladder up. Please, carry on.”
I smile and shake my head. “If he’s anything like he was at Pitt, he’s going to be a nightmare to work with. Plus I’ll be on his turf.”
“Right, ’cause you’re moving to Houston.”
“For three months. My research assistant and I are leaving next week.”
“I’m jealous. I’m going to be stuck here in Portugal for who knows how long, groped by knockoff Joffrey Baratheons who refuse to learn what a subjunctive is. I’m rotting, Bee.”