Chapter One #2
I stay in my seat as the audience starts to file out around me, and it’s several minutes later that I see Alex’s mom heading to the front of the room. Alex is still up on the stage, taking questions and talking, and his mom stops back a bit, watching with a proud smile on her face.
I know how she feels.
When the rest of the room finally clears, Alex steps down off the stage, slipping his laptop into his backpack.
He’s smiling and happy and still looks just as confident as he did when he first started his presentation.
His mom wraps her arms around his waist in a big hug, and I finally stand up and start down toward the end of the row, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“. . . so impressed. I can’t believe you’ve done all that, and—oh, Nico! I didn’t know you were here!” Laina Hayes’s eyes light up when I approach, and she lets Alex go long enough to offer me a hug too.
Despite the anxiety still lingering from my unplanned train ride and then having to sit next to too many strangers for over an hour, I step right up into her arms and let her hug me. It’s warm and soothing, as it usually is now, although I remember a time when it was difficult to let her touch me.
“I barely made it on time,” I say when she pulls back. My eyes shift to Alex, who looks about ready to cry.
“You didn’t have to come,” he says, shaking his head softly, “but I’m really glad you did.”
I shrug. “I just wanted to learn all about dark matter and gravity and stuff. No other reason.”
He gives me a silly smile, then steps up to me, settles his hand on my hip, and places a light kiss on my cheek, lingering for an extra second with his lips against my skin.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and he kisses me again before straightening up. “Can you come to lunch with us? I couldn’t eat beforehand, but John and a bunch of others are headed over to San Agus, and we were planning to go meet them.”
I wish I could say yes, but I know the group—while his advisor and lab colleagues are all nice people, they also tend to get loud and rowdy, and I’m constantly on edge when I’m around them. I shake my head and frown. “I should get back to the studio.”
“Of course, yeah,” Alex says. He purses his lips and then turns to his mom. “Uh, can I meet you outside in a minute?”
“Sure, sweetie.” She smiles at me, too, and a few seconds later, Alex and I are alone.
He sets his backpack down on the ground next to him and then loops his arms around my waist and hugs me to him tightly. “Oh my god, man, I’m so glad you were here. As soon as I saw you . . .”
He trails off as he buries his head into the crook of my neck, blowing out a long breath, and I slip my arms around him and hug him back.
“You were fucking brilliant.”
“I was fucking nervous,” he corrects with a laugh. He straightens back up, shaking his head as he bends over to grab his backpack. “Did you see how many people were here? It was insane.”
“Did you see where I had to sit? Every seat was full. It was torture.” His smile falters, but I shake my head and slip my hand into his as we start toward the exit. “I’m fine. And I’m glad I was here if it helped you.”
“It definitely did,” he says.
I squeeze his hand, and he reaches ahead of us to push open the door. His mom is waiting in the lobby, and she smiles softly and puts her phone away in her purse when she sees us.
“I looked up the restaurant, and it seems like the train station is right nearby. So we can all walk together?”
Alex nods, still holding my hand. “Does that work for you?” he asks me, and when I agree, we start on our way, out of the building and then back across campus.
He and his mom talk most of the way, and he seems so happy and at ease that I’m reluctant to say goodbye when we get to the train station. But then he kisses me and tells me he loves me and that he’s so thankful I came. And he says he can’t wait to see me at home later.
Something about that makes my heart full.
We kiss again, and I hug his mom goodbye, though I’ll see her later, too. Then they turn and continue walking on to the restaurant while I make my way over to the platform to wait for the next train.
Not more than ten minutes later, I hop off the train at the Menlo Park stop, clenching and unclenching my fists as I try my hardest not to let anyone bump into me.
When I’m through the small crowd of people entering and exiting the train, I take a left and make the rest of the short walk back to the studio.
Greta’s here again, though she’s at her computer rather than working on the painting still sitting on her workbench, and when I walk in, she looks up with a kind smile.
“Welcome back. Everything okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Alex had a presentation today, and he was really nervous, so I went to support him.”
Her smile broadens. “How did it go?”
I sit in the swivel stool at my workbench and spin it around to face her, and then I briefly recount how amazing and genius-level smart my boyfriend is. The whole time, Greta watches me with that same knowing grin. When I finish, she nods and stands as she picks up a piece of paper from her desk.
“It’s so important to be supportive like that,” she says, starting over in my direction. “You two sound like you have a strong relationship. How long have you been together?”
“Five years. Almost six now, actually,” I say, and I look down at my hands in my lap. “But, uh, we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. He’s been there for me so much. It’s, um, usually me who’s in need of support. It’s nice to know I can be there to help him when he needs it, too.”
I glance up. Greta’s at her workbench now, half sitting on it while still smiling softly at me. She nods in understanding.
“Relationships aren’t one-sided, even if it seems sometimes like they are.
And, contrary to what some will say, they’re not fifty-fifty, either.
Sometimes one partner gives more, sometimes it’s eighty-twenty.
” She drops her eyes for a second and shrugs.
“Hell, I remember days when I couldn’t give anything, and Sabine .
. . well, she carried the weight until I could again.
It’s all about being kind and understanding and communicating.
And being there when you can, like today. ”
She and her wife have been married for almost fifteen years now, but they’ve been together for even longer. Twenty-five years, I think.
I hope Alex and I make it there someday.
My breath catches at the thought, and I look back down at my hands in my lap as I nod.
Moments from the last few years replay in my head—times when I’ve helped carry that weight for him without even realizing it.
Like that time he got really sick during finals week his freshman year and I spent hours calling and emailing all of his professors to reschedule his exams. And the time he forgot his student ID, which he needed to take his advanced physics midterm during his fourth year in undergrad, and I took a long lunch to bring it to him so he wouldn’t miss the exam.
And all the times he would have forgotten to eat if I hadn’t made dinner, not had clean clothes if I hadn’t done the laundry.
He supports me; he’s there for me when I need him in all the ways that count. But he needs me, too, just like he told me that morning at the airport in San Jose nearly six years ago now. And I’m suddenly so glad for the reminder.
After a few seconds of silence, like Greta knows there’s something big going on in my head, she clears her throat. “Here, this is for you. There was a phone call for you just before you got back. I took a message.”
I look up, and she’s offering me the paper she picked up off her desk minutes ago. “Ah, thanks,” I say.
She smiles at me, then tips her head toward her workbench. “Back to it, huh?”
I nod and swivel my stool back to face my workbench. The Mas?owski watercolor sits right where I left it, covered with a thin sheet of plain white paper for protection. I need to wash my hands before I get started, so I stand and start toward the sink, unfolding the paper on the way.
The words on the page stop me in my tracks before I even round the corner of my workbench.
For Nico—
Please return call to Cindy @ 402-555-7765
That’s my mom’s name. And my mom’s phone number.
And this is the first time she’s reached out at all in nearly six years.
I quickly crumple the paper up and toss it in the trash can. Then I force myself to move toward the sink again so I can get back to work.