8. Hypothesizing
8
Hypothesizing
I t’s December 30th. The day Eleanor was not planning to go see Aiden play. Not see him dominating the room with his drumming skills. Not put her willpower to the test. And mostly not spend her time constantly thinking about him. But all of these plans have obviously failed, seeing as she’s freezing her butt off strolling the wintery D.C streets, making her way to this SigmaV bar.
The past week had gone by slowly. Eleanor was able to dig out her misplaced file thanks to the search function on her computer—her most-used function right after the ‘undo’ button. Two incredible features that could have served her well had they existed in real life. Especially the latter—she would have been able to undo the frantic running in the airport to a very slow, turtle pace, maybe even snail-pace walk, on her way to that charging station. Or better yet, go find another charging station, avoid that fall and the lingering consequential concussion-like symptoms. Avoid meeting that life-changing guy.
Oh, did she say life-changing guy? A Freudian slip. Meant to say life-saving guy… The drummer and the owner of her favorite-shade-of-blue stunning eyes who’s been inhabiting her thoughts lately—also known as Aiden. So yeah, the ‘undo’ button. Because not meeting him in the first place would have been more in line with her original plans, where science proudly sat on its rightful throne as the one and only thing on her mind. Always and forever. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Would it, though?
She’s done designing twenty primer pairs and loading them into the cart of her favorite primer synthesizing vendor, ready to order once she’s set up in all of the GERI systems. She’s also read the entire list of papers she’d downloaded during the last month while planning for her relocation. And cleaned up the apartment—twice. Watered Alannah’s plant-babies while adhering to each and every single sticky note instruction carefully. Then video chatted with the family back home—parents, grandparents, Har’el, her cousins, Gillie—multiple times. Then played catch up on some lost sleep. And last but not least, attempted to take a walk outside, which was a big mistake because it’s so freaking cold, and she hasn’t found the right mindset or the right place to get herself an actual winter jacket. And mostly because all the beautiful jolly holiday decorations, lights, and music made her self-inflicted alone feel even more lonely. The loneliest.
And this came as a surprise, because she had no idea, never having gone through it before, that loneliness feels a million times worse on holidays—especially Christmas—despite being Jewish and all.
So now that she’s officially exhausted all means of occupation, she’s in desperate need of getting into a lab, any lab, lining up those microcentrifuge tubes and run a few experiments. She’s contemplated breaking into GERI, but decided that getting herself on their naughty list before her first day on the job might be counterproductive. Unlike her PhD department back home, there’s no one she can call to let her slide through the gate, unlock a back door, leave an open window…
And although her last lapse in judgment—based on her own historical data—hadn’t ended up well for her, she seriously considered allowing another. Her conclusion so far has really been based on a sample size of one. One single, annoying lapse in judgment, bearing the name of Oren Hason. And everyone in the entire state of Israel, thanks to Oren being the paparazzi’s favorite, knows how that ended. But as a scientist, she knows all too well that sound conclusions cannot be based on a single data point—public as it may be. One can’t even calculate a p-value for that.
No.
At the very least, three data points are needed. Which means she’s allowed at least two more mistakes, two more observations before she can wholeheartedly claim that these things are true trouble. Worse comes to worse, she’ll end up with another stupid tattoo. But that can probably be avoided if she limits herself to no more than one beer on nights out.
So driven by a purely scientific motive to collect evidence and add data points to her hypothesis (yes, that same one involving impulsive decisions and unfavorable outcomes), she completely ignores an important and well-established rule: that under no circumstances, should scientists test their own hypotheses on themselves.
She also ignores the fact that unlike typical experiments, this time she is actually hoping to dispute her hypothesis rather than prove it. Which would mean that following her heart… err… impulsive instinct, doesn’t always lead to trouble.
Impossible.
And since Eleanor has been suffering from a severe case of boredom, jet lag, hunger, and a bunch of unexplained concussion-like symptoms—she also ignores the fact she no longer likes music. Which is how she finds herself on her way to SigmaV, clutching Aiden’s washed and neatly folded hoodie, her excuse for showing up here.
According to the esteemed Dr. Google, the place is casual (attire-wise) and a short, ten-minute walk from her apartment. This time, for a change, Eleanor made sure to switch from that little car icon to the pedestrian option. She’s already made that unfortunate oversight several times.
The unfavorable—gently put—outdoor conditions make the ten-minute walk feel more like thirty minutes, despite her resorting to running for the most part. When she finally pushes open the much-anticipated glass door under the SigmaV sign, she sighs with relief. Well, more like finally breathes, because her throat burns from the cold air, and her face defrosts so quickly her cheeks sting. A quick look at her watch shows it’s about halfway through the show. Fashionably late. She sniffles and looks around, willing her teeth to stop chattering.
The smell of food and beer, sounds of people chatting, glasses clinking, instantly warm her up. It reminds her there’s life out there—outside her desolate apartment, and mostly outside her own head. The being-alone sensation she was supposed to enjoy slowly melts away, and the music she’s supposed to not like is admittedly good.
Her eyes spot Aiden, positioned behind a drum set on stage, sticks in hands. In his element. So focused, so serious, so handsome.
Wait, what?
The corners of his mouth pull up a tad as he exchanges a quick nod with the band. And before she realizes, their next song seems to sound like an upbeat version of Shinedown’s “ I’ll Follow You.” Did he plan this? He did make a threat-promise to play her used-to-be favorite band.
She wishes she’d come a few minutes later and skipped that climax in the song, that moment where the drums kick in, bringing the whole thing together, because it’s making those little hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, and undoubtedly makes this one specific handsome drummer shine. And despite her declaration about not liking music, this is a good song to display her new favorite stranger’s talent. An uncalled-for excitement fills the air, and a fresh crop of goosebumps appears on her skin even before her last bout dissipates.
No, not again…
What is it with her and drummers? And this new storm inside of her, who invited these butterflies?
She shakes her invasive thoughts away and takes a seat at the bar. It might be her imagination, but Aiden’s eyes seem to travel in her direction and stay there, an actual smile now playing on his handsome face.
For her?
Eleanor is that person who would wave back enthusiastically at a complete stranger waving from across the street, just in case it’s meant for her. She’s well-aware that she has terrible facial recognition skills. Not the case now, but from that little bit of time spent around this man up there, she is pretty certain that he doesn’t smile very often. Eleanor would not want to steal that smile away from its rightful recipient. So she takes a quick glance around, expecting his plus-one to come into view, but there’s no one behind her. Looks like Eleanor might be the proud beneficiary of this heart-swelling smile.
So she smiles back. And waves. Because… Why not?
Two girls on the other side of the bar are eyeing her suspiciously. She wouldn’t be surprised if one of them is Aiden’s girlfriend, probably the beautiful, possessive blonde with the too-short, too-tight black dress. In fact, it wouldn’t be much of a shocker if there was already a lineup of future girlfriends just preying on that girl’s downfall. But Aiden seems oblivious, eyes focused on his drums, or occasionally meeting Eleanor’s eyes. Helping her win herself some criticizing looks from the two girls. And lose some heartbeats in the process.
Look at her, already a crowd favorite, always making new friends…
Well, at least it’s not all over the gossip columns.
Yet…
The band is now playing an original song. Their lead singer is quite good, but it’s hard to tell, because her eyes and ears are so focused on the drummer.
Ugh.
Music is what reminds her of Oren, the number-one reason for her no-music rule, one of several rules she abides by, which is where her strict no-romance rule lives as well. She banned these things a while ago because they bring uncalled-for gloominess with them.
And longing.
And disorientation.
And they mess up with her focus.
But interestingly enough, sitting here, at this moment, locking eyes with Aiden, watching him orchestrate the beats and control the atmosphere, doesn’t make her sad.
No, not today.
In fact, there’s a slew of other things she’s feeling right now, and sadness is definitely not one of them.
“Anything to drink?” The bartender stops by her.
“Water please,” she says, offering a smile in response to his disappointed look. Got to keep her self-control in check. But he nods kindly and moves on.
The show ends. Warm cheering and clapping from the crowd. Some high-fives and hugs amongst the band members, and Aiden’s off the stage, making his way through the crowd. His strides are confident and determined. Eleanor bets he’s making his way to the two girls that are ear-to-ear smiling at him. She looks down at the menu, busying herself with the important technicalities of her next meal. After all, she’s only here to return his hoodie, and she’s starving. She may order to-go though. Eating alone is not her thing.
“Hey stalker, you came.” A voice startles her deep debate over food options, making her drop the menu to the floor. The owner of the voice leans down to pick it up before Eleanor has a chance to process, giving her a nice glimpse of his back and shoulder muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. Not that she was planning on looking, but now that she has…
Damn.
“Hey stranger, nice job out there! I came to return your hoodie.” She jumps off the stool and stands, shoving the hoodie into his arms to fill up the space between them. Before she uses her own body to close that gap, that is.
“Despite your strong aversion to music?” A content expression on his face.
“Despite that. But you should have warned me you were going to play Shinedown songs.”
“I keep my promises.”
Apparently so.
And it’s the way he says this last statement that’s doing all kinds of things to her.
“Yeah, well, anyway, thanks for letting me borrow your hoodie. And again, for letting me fall into your lap, that was a real face-saver, literally. And for letting me sleep on your chest on the plane, that was fun,” she prattles on. She can’t ignore the piercing stares from those two girls on the other side of the bar. His girlfriend might not be too excited to hear the details surrounding that flight. And although they’re too far away to hear anything, she decides to stop there and let him go back to his life.
Or wife?
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“Hey A!” The bartender approaches for a fist bump with the star drummer, then smirks at Eleanor from behind the bar. “More water for you, hon?”
“Sure, thanks.” She takes a last sip and pushes the glass toward him.
“Can I get you an actual drink?” Aiden asks.
“I was actually about to leave anyway.”
Yes, leave. Better safe than sorry—it’s a brilliant quote she needs to start taking more seriously.
“Leave? You were looking at the menu a second ago.” Aiden studies her.
“Nah, just doing my due diligence on types of foods served at bars in America.” Her stomach growls in disagreement and she crosses her arms around it in a lame attempt to make it stop. The background music ends exactly at that one quiet moment her stomach decides to rumble yet again.
“Uh-huh,” Aiden says, looking at her crossed arms.
Busted. Another proof that music is just never on her side.
“No, really.”
“Very convincing,” he quips. “Can I get you anything to eat?”
“Hmmm.” She means to say no, but some parts in her brain seem to have fallen asleep on the watch.
“Burger and fries? Or you have something against junk food too?”
“I don’t have anything against any food. Well maybe against Brussels sprouts, but I doubt that they serve those here.”
“Two burgers, no Brussels sprouts,” he says to the bartender, amused. “Beer? Wine?” His blue eyes turn back to her, and she shakes her head a bit too vigorously. Can’t trust this mouth of hers to adhere to her strict rules. “So water for me too,” he says. The bartender nods and disappears from sight.
“Avoiding alcohol?” Aiden asks matter-of-factly. He takes the seat closest to Eleanor, motioning for her to sit as well.
“Yes, but not for the reason you might think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
Yeah, how does she know what he thinks?
She shrugs and sits down. “I tend to do stupid things when I drink. Last time it ended with…” Eleanor stops to rethink that last statement. She may want to skip the part that describes the tattoo on the left side of her butt. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say my alcohol dehydrogenase is probably on the lower side.”
“Now I’m curious. Does it have anything to do with your dislike for music?” He looks intrigued.
“In a way. Just a guy I don’t particularly want to recall.” Well, since she’s already walked herself into it, she might as well. “Oren, my mythological ex.”
“Your what?” His eyebrow furrows. A gorgeously sexy gesture. “Is that even a thing?”
“My mythological ex , is that not a term in English?” And since Aiden looks a bit clueless, she goes on “You know, THE ex… It’s a mythical status.”
“I would love to know what prospects upgrade an ex to a mythical level.” Even dubious looks adorable on him.
“Again, not what you think.”
“Again, how do you know what I think?” A small smile playing under his breath. And she wants more of it.
“I can imagine you were thinking about the sex. Yes, it was legendary, that’s how drummers are, I guess, but that’s not why.”
“I wasn’t thinking about sex,” he says in feigned offense. “I hope you are aware that guys are capable of forming complex thoughts that are beyond sex.”
“I’m aware.”
“But back to your fun fact about drummers—” He moves to the second part of her statement.
Oh shit. The things she does and says around this guy are just incredible.
“Oh, I was joking. I’ve only been with one drummer, so I can’t really provide any statistics about it yet.”
“ Yet ?”
“Did I just say yet ? Sorry, I meant regret .”
So lame.
“Uh-huh.” His lips twitch to a real smile now.
“See? And I haven’t even taken one sip of alcohol.” She takes a sniff of her glass. “What are the chances the bartender spiked my water? You don’t want to know what happens when I let alcohol into my system.” This makes him chuckle. A marvelous sound. “So anyway, mythological means this stupid ex of mine has been elevated to a legendary rank in my brain, and that’s where he’s been stuck since we broke up five years ago. And unfortunately for me, that’s probably where he’ll stay.”
“Sounds like a myth. Mythological exes,” he shrugs, “they don’t exist.”
“Not ‘they,’ just one, and he exists in my head.”
“Because that’s what you decided you want to believe in.” He touches her hand while he speaks, obviously passionate about this topic. The girls from that other side of the bar take notice.
Her swarming butterflies take notice too.
“Maybe you’re right but I’m not planning on testing this hypothesis. There are too many hypotheses I’m already working on as it is.”
Including the current one. The kind that will hopefully not put her heart on the line again.
“Noted,” he says, filing away that information.
“By the way, I think your girlfriend there is not enjoying our conversation.” Eleanor takes the opportunity to divert from her slippage.
“What girlfriend?” Aiden looks confused.
No girlfriend? Or she’s not here?
“That one.” She gestures with her eyes, and he turns his head slightly, really just for a second.
“Why do you think she’s my girlfriend?” He frowns, returning his gaze to Eleanor.
“She’s been giving me these angry looks since I walked in. And the way she looks at you, I can tell.”
“I don’t even know who she is,” Aiden says, stupefied.
“Seriously? Well, maybe she’s a fan then.”
“I don’t have fans,” he chuckles.
“Aiden, you’re a drummer.” Her hand gravitates to his arm. Her fingers haven't completely regained their normal temperature from being outside earlier and his warm skin feels like a welcomed fix. He doesn’t seem to object, so she leaves her hand right there for a few more seconds, just until she defrosts a bit. That ghost of a smile plays on his lips again, as if he’s battling whether to let it show or not. And she realizes that for the first time in forever, her mind didn’t wander back to Oren when she said the word drummer .
“I play the drums, I’m not really a drummer, ” Aiden says bashfully as the bartender comes back with their food. It smells delicious.
Humble. She likes that in him.
“This is good,” she says after taking a giant bite of her burger. “I am famished!”
“I can tell.” He takes a bite as well, a little more reserved than her ravenous eating at the moment, but hey—it’s not like she’s planning on seeing him again anyway.
“So I take that you don’t have a mythological ex?” She tries to shift the conversation from her complex relationship issues to possibly his.
“No, I’ve never even heard that term until now.”
“Ah, interesting,” she says without taking a break from chewing.
“Not really.”
“Oren used to say that everyone has a mythological ex.”
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t know. But it seems you have a solid opinion you’d like to share.”
“I think it’s a load of crap. I think he liked the idea of keeping a piece of your heart to himself even after you two broke up.”
“Ah.” She considers it. “It does sound like something Oren might enjoy.” Then she steals a French fry off Aiden’s plate for good measure.
Maybe he has a point.
“Help yourself,” he says, pushing his plate closer to her.
“Just checking if yours taste the same,” Eleanor laughs, feeling much better now that her stomach is busy digesting.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Do they taste the same?”
“Uh, no, yours are better,” she says in a serious tone, feeding him one of her fries. He seems surprised by her possible boldness but cooperates.
What is she doing?
She’ll do anything for another one of these smiles…
What? NO.
“Yeah, you’re right, mine are better.” He chuckles as their eyes meet. “So how are you finding the US so far?” He takes a sip from his water.
“Interesting.” She tries to put the last few days’ worth of adjusting into words. “No ceiling lamps, and it’s so cold here, even in my apartment. I think I need to get another blanket.”
“Is your apartment’s heating system not working?” A small dose of concern crosses his expression.
Eleanor shrugs. “Also, it’s so quiet here, lonely almost,” she adds. And as the words leave her mouth, she wants to take them back. It sounds way too desperate, and forlorn is not her thing. “I’m just waiting for this holiday season to end so I can finally go to work.”
Aiden smiles. “What do you do for work?”
“Science. I’m a scientist.”
“That I could definitely guess.”
“What gave it away?”
“The Nature Review paper you were so eager to read at the airport. The data you were mining on the plane.”
Does she want to talk about work? No, not really.
“What’s your favorite band to play?” She quickly changes the subject; Oren hated science talk. Also, avoiding technical details about her work will make it easier to steer clear of getting too personal or anywhere near the term that scares her the most… Relationship .
She came here to return a hoodie.
Stick to the plan.
Aiden cocks his head to the side, clearly aware of her tactic, but plays along. “The Beatles are my absolute all-time favorite. Their songs are constantly in my head. There’s something uplifting about their music.” His eyes shine when he says it.
“But they have some sad songs too, no?” And she’s heard quite a few of those. Her dad used to sing “Eleanor Rigby” to her until she was old enough to understand the words and asked him to switch to something less depressing.
“That’s true. And I like their sad songs too,” he says, studying her expression intently.
What is he thinking?
“What do you like to do for fun?” he asks, accepting her attempts to keep the conversation light. And she’s grateful for that. Serious conversation, in her mind, runs the risk of bringing peoples’ hearts closer. Eleanor has no plans going there. Not with anyone. Not ever.
“I don’t do fun,” she says.
“Why not?”
“I mean besides work,” she admits.
“So no mountain climbing? Cliff jumping? Skydiving?”
“Nope. Science is my hobby,” she admits. At least for the past few years.
“Mine too,” he says in earnest. Strange statement coming from a drummer, but hey—who is she to judge. She looks around. The bar has emptied by now. Even those two girls left. How long have they been sitting there?
Aiden tries to pay for the food, but the bartender insists it’s on the house. They step out, back to the cold.
And no, she is definitely not prepared for the outside breeze. More like arctic freeze, especially with the drop in temperature once the sun—which is deceiving anyway—is no longer visible. After-hours December coolness is apparently much worse than during the day, that much is obvious. She better start getting used to it.
“Where’s your jacket?” Aiden demands.
“This is my jacket.” Eleanor points to the fleece layer she’s trying to zip up, her hands already shivering from the temperature drop.
“That’s not a jacket.” Being the helpful guy that he is, he steps closer and helps her with the zipper like it’s the most natural thing to do.
Hmmm, he smells so good.
“Yes, I can see why you would think that now,” she tries to say through her teeth chattering.
Aiden shakes his head in disapproval and takes off his jacket, handing it to her, but she refuses.
“No, no, we’ve been there with your hoodie already, I can’t keep borrowing your clothes.” She hands it back.
“Right,” is his response before he wraps his winter jacket around her and zips it up with her arms trapped inside.
“Hey!” she giggles, pushing her hands through the sleeves.
“Can I give you a ride home? I don’t want you to freeze to death.”
“No need, it’s a ten-minute walk, and now I’m not cold anymore and you don’t have a jacket.” She grins.
Aiden shakes his head again, then puts on the hoodie she’s just returned, layering over the sleeveless T-shirt he was wearing. “I’ll walk with you then.”
“You’ll be cold!” is her lame attempt to protest, but really, she doesn’t mind the company, and there’s nothing that would convince her to take this toasty jacket off her right now. So instead, she opens one side of the coat and tries to partly cover Aiden’s side with it, huddling close to him, squeezing herself against him. It barely covers his lats, but the proximity to him feels unexpectedly uplifting.
There’s a quizzical look on Aiden’s face, perhaps even a pent-up breath, but he plays along. He keeps her warm. And he smells heavenly. That’s why she lets herself remain exactly where she is as they stride in unison to her apartment building, enjoying the holiday decorations and lights all around. And when Aiden asks if she wants him to take a look at the faulty air conditioning, she lets him in. She attributes her current lapse in judgment and the erratic beating of her heart to the fact that he too is, as was her one mythological ex, a drummer.
“You can’t set it to sixty degrees and expect the place to be warm,” Aiden says after a complete assessment of her thermostat.
“I don’t,” she huffs, affronted. “I keep bumping it up to eighty every time I walk by, and it always goes back to sixty.” She takes a step closer to demonstrate how she’s been operating the old console on the wall, feeling an incredible pull surrounding them.
“Mad looks cute on you,” Aiden smirks. “Just press this button after you set the temperature you want.” He points to the little circle in the middle of the panel that’s labeled ‘hold.’
“That simple? Ha.”
Annoying air conditioning.
“You’re welcome.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Nice plants by the way,” he says, observing the colorful little notes still attached to each one of the pots.
“Thanks. I guess my roommate really likes plants.”
“Seems quite particular about their care protocols.”
“Very,” she says. “I had to put a reminder on my phone, so I don’t forget to water them. Don’t want to ruin my first impression.”
“You got your phone back!” He makes the observation.
“Yes! Now you can officially remove WhatsApp from your phone if you haven’t already.”
He pulls out his phone.
Wow, can’t do it fast enough.
“Sorry, I have to take this one,” he says, and she realizes it’s buzzing. “Kim, everything okay?” Aiden says into that annoying little device. Concern fills up his already serious face. Eleanor can hear a woman’s voice fussing on the other side of the line but can’t make out what she’s saying. “I’ll be there shortly,” he says, then hangs up the call.
The jealous girlfriend? Worried wife?
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“I have to go, I’m sorry,” Aiden says, grabbing his coat from the sofa. He gives her a curt, maybe pained look before turning to leave.
“Thanks for fixing my air—" she calls after him, but he’s already gone.
Despite the fact that most hypotheses in the history of science have failed miserably (or at least more often than not), the one personal hypothesis that Eleanor was hoping to disprove for a change is kind of showing signs of being indisputable.
What would Murphy have to say about that?
Her PhD advisor says that failed hypotheses improve creativity.
Eleanor can only say— Drummers… She really should have known better by now.
This was her one chance to break free. Her little experiment is clearly not going in the direction she… Wait, was she hoping it wouldn’t work? She’s not sure anymore, but Aiden is clearly busy tonight, and not with her, and that doesn’t make her feel good. So she puts on her plaid pajama pants and an old comfy T-shirt, brushes her teeth and bickers with her reflection in the mirror—can she finally refocus her mind on her mission? That one mission that doesn’t have Aiden in it. The one she came all the way to the U.S. for?
Well, of course not. Because Aiden has to do this silly, adorable thing and text her. To her cell phone. Even though she never actually gave him her number.
“It’s me,” he writes, as if he’s the only ‘me’ on her mind right now.
Which is painfully true.
“Who’s me?” She can’t help herself. If he has a girl waiting for him at home, he can’t possibly be Eleanor’s me.
“Don’t get mad, your mom gave me your number.” He ignores the question.
Moms… Urgh!
“Is she awake right now? I’m going to have a word with her.” Midnight… that means 7 a.m. Most likely awake.
“She is.”
“Why are you texting my mom for?!”
“Actually, she texted me.”
“What?! Why?”
“To ask if I could take you winter jacket shopping.”
“I don’t know, can you?” she snaps. But of course he can’t see that over text.
“If you want.”
“I don’t believe you!” she writes back. This guy has the nerve—doing these endearing things when he has a girlfriend.
Aiden sends a screenshot of his recent chat with her mom.
That’s not the part she didn’t believe. It really does sound like her mom.
“I meant the other part.”
“What part?”
But then again—maybe he’s just being nice? Following her mom’s orders without any girlfriend disloyalty plans. She always jumps to conclusions so quickly. It’s not like he tried anything. And he did fix her air conditioning.
“You should have deleted the app by now.”
Really, it’s for his own good.
“I like this app, I think I’m going to use it regularly.”
“No, you shouldn’t…”
“Why not?”
“Shouldn’t be texting my mom.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know her.”
Because this is exactly the situation they should avoid.
“I am sorry I had to run earlier.”
Well, it was for the best. Can’t trust her with this gorgeous man alone in her apartment.
“No worries, thanks for fixing my air conditioning.”
“Is it starting to get warmer there?”
“It is.”
For multiple reasons.
“Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around noon.”
“What for?” She’s still feeling spiteful.
“We’ll go find you a coat.”
“Can’t, I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Things.”
“Take a break. Noon.”
“Don’t you have other things to do? It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“I could spare a few hours to make sure you won’t keep walking around in your fleece jacket. January is typically colder than December.”
“Seriously? It’s going to get worse?!”
“Depends on how you look at it,” he types. “With a good jacket you’ll be fine.”
Why does he have to be nice and listen to her mom?
“You are pretty convincing,” she writes back, ignoring orange lights, red lights, stop signs, speed limit signs.
“I know.”