The Chemistry of Love(2)

First, I resolved to figure out a way to start my own company. I’d take business classes, learn how to find investors, whatever it took. I was personally terrified of change, but I wanted this enough that I hoped I might actually do it.

The second thing I wanted to do was tell Craig how I felt about him. Another terrifying thought, but I’d been in love with him for two years, and after another holiday season spent with my grandparents and their menagerie of birds, I was ready for something more.

A real relationship with the perfect man.

I scanned my badge at the sensor and heard the door to the lab unlock. I walked quickly to my station, ignoring the stares of the other chemists. I hated this uncomfortable feeling.

That was my third resolution. To never be late again.

To never put myself in a position where Jerry might coldly berate me.

I got to my workbench and put my backpack in my bottom drawer, on top of my folded-up lab coat. I remembered that I was chewing gum, as I often did when I felt anxious or needed to concentrate, and I tried to be discreet as I leaned over to spit it out in my trash can. Another thing Jerry hated. Gum chewing while working.

I sat down and had just nudged the drawer shut when I felt someone standing next to my stool.

“Anna! Finally. Here.” Catalina placed a beaker down on my workbench. It was filled with an odorless clear liquid. Which made me remember that in my rush that morning, I’d left my Hydro Flask at home.

I grimaced. I tended to get caught up in my projects and would skip lunch and all fluids—I would definitely dehydrate myself if I didn’t have some water at my table. “What’s this?” I asked her.

“I brought you some cyclopentasiloxane.”

“Why?”

Catalina looked at me like I’d flunked Basic Analytical Chemistry. She was the only person in my life who had ever looked at me that way. “Because the project you were working on before the holidays? The mythical lipstick that’s all-natural and chemical-free, made of the tears of a unicorn and pixie dust? The one that crumbled after you baked it?”

Right. I’d been working on a new formulation that had been requested by one of the product developers. A long-lasting lipstick that the company could market as organic and sustainable, without any of the -ites or -ates that consumers told us they didn’t want / were afraid of. Which always struck me as a bit strange, considering that cosmetics was one of the most regulated industries in the entire country. “Cyclopentasiloxane is a chemical,” I reminded Catalina.

She rolled her eyes. “Barely.”

I got her annoyance. It was something she and I had discussed often. The kind of makeup we were supposed to create—it was a little like somebody bringing you the most moist, delicious cupcake you’d ever eaten and then saying, Now make me something exactly like that, only it has to be gluten-free, vegan, no sugar, and nonfat.

There was no way.

Although my goal was always to make as close an approximation as I possibly could.

“But it still counts as a synthetic substance,” I said.

She shook her head as if she disagreed with me. “Adding this to your mixture will make the lipstick go on smoother and prevent the crumbling.”

Catalina was right, but I’d have to figure out another way.

The crumbling lipstick hadn’t happened solely due to lacking a silicone element. I’d been extremely distracted that day. I’d almost smacked face-first into Craig in the break room.

I’d never seen him there before—it was a bit like being out for a hike and coming across a wild horse on the trail. Yes, that animal belonged in the outdoors; you just weren’t expecting to see such a magnificent creature on one of your daily walks. It took my breath away.

And even after I blinked slowly several times, Craig was still there, all cute and tall, and it was like my brain couldn’t compute that we were sharing the same space. That he was in the room where (when I remembered) I ate my greek yogurt.

He smiled, nodded, and then left. While I stood there feeling like I’d been hit by a delivery truck.

“Duck me,” Catalina said, looking at me. Her resolution was to not swear, and so she’d been using the substitution word my grandpa had suggested. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Catalina put one of her hands on her hip. “You get this goofy look on your face whenever you think about that waste of space.”

I didn’t know whether to deny her true accusation or defend Craig’s honor. For some reason, Catalina didn’t like Craig and tried to find his flaws.

“He’s not a waste of space,” I protested.

She rolled her eyes. “Look at his hair. Too much gel. Like he fell in a vat of boy bands. Hair should not have the same consistency as piano wire.”

“That’s not—”

“Not to mention, he drives a truck, which is a definite red flag.”

“What? That’s not a red flag.”

Catalina shook her head. “If it’s not red, it’s at least orange. Because the size of a truck is inversely proportional to the size of his manhood.”

“Untrue.”

“Anecdotal maybe, but I have personally conducted a thorough study on the subject. It’s true. And Craig’s truck is enormous. I’m just saying.”

Now I really had to defend his honor. Not that I had any firsthand experience, but it seemed like an unfair accusation. But from the look on her face, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to bring her over to my side. She didn’t have to like Craig, but at the very least, she could be supportive. “I wish you’d get on board with me being in love with him.”