23. Flow Cytometry
23
Flow Cytometry
Flow cytometry: A technique in which lasers are used to analyze the physical and chemical properties of cells.
OLIVER
A couple nights after we made our deal, I felt like crowing when I welcomed Tessa Wright into my kitchen. She was willing to give me a chance. She wouldn’t admit it, but our hookup in the supply closet had to mean something to her, or she’d never have come, not even to advance her project. After she told me the real story of Red Rover, I knew she had integrity.
Integrity was sexy.
“This is, um, nice,” she said. She nodded at the big windows that would have given us a view of the live oaks that surrounded the house if it weren’t dark outside. My house wasn’t the biggest or most luxurious in Los Altos Hills, but its wooded property reminded me of growing up in the Northeast. “You don’t have a gate. You never have trouble with trespassers?”
“Sometimes there’s a stray hiker or two who wander off the trail. More often, it’s foxes or bobcats. An occasional coyote.”
“Hm.” She tore her eyes away from the windows. “Smells good.”
“Thanks. Everything’s ready. You can wash up in the bathroom around the corner there while I plate it up. Is sauvignon blanc okay?”
“Sure. Only one glass, though, since I’m driving.”
“Of course.” No matter how much I wanted her to stay, I’d be telling her goodnight before midnight. I’d vowed to slow things down and build our relationship on a rock-solid foundation.
That didn’t mean I didn’t watch her glorious ass and her swaying red mane as she turned and walked down the hall. But when she closed the door, I took a deep breath to reset my brain and got back to work.
Between the two of us, Simon had always been the foodie. Still, I knew my way around a kitchen. When I asked her about food sensitivities, Tessa said she avoided dairy and red meat, so I roasted fingerling potatoes and broccoli and grilled some chicken breasts, which I topped with mango salsa.
She was back in a couple of minutes, and I set our plates on the granite island, figuring it would be more intimate than the dining room.
She stared at the plate. “You made this?”
I glanced at the dirty pans in the sink. “Yeah? Do you not like it?”
“No. It looks delicious. I’ve never met someone who enjoys cooking. Besides my friend Savannah, who’s…yeah.”
“Why don’t you like cooking?” I asked.
She picked up her fork and stabbed a potato. “I guess it reminds me of home. How things used to be before my mom died.”
I stilled, like if I didn’t move, she’d forget I was there and keep talking.
“When I’m in the kitchen, I think of her. How our lives could’ve been.” She wrinkled her nose. “Tell you what I’ll never do again: cook over a campfire. I did way too much of that as a teenager after she…after.” She bit into the potato and chewed, then she hummed. “Great potatoes.”
“I got them at the farmer’s market last weekend.”
“Savannah loves the farmer’s market! You two should meet. You’d love each other.” She took a bite of chicken.
I sipped my water. “I’d love to meet your friends. And your father, under better circumstances.”
“Oh, he’s gone back to”—she waved her hand in a circle—“wherever.”
“Wherever? You don’t know where he lives?”
“He prefers it that way. Off the grid. No one, not even me, knows where he lives. He doesn’t want to be monitored.” She shrugged. “It’s actually kind of impressive that he visits me. There are dozens of security cameras on my street.”
I hadn’t so much as picked up my fork. This was more interesting than food. “Because of his protesting…work?” Was that how he saw it?
“Mostly because of the conspiracies. You know, like 5G wireless is used to spy on people or the government will round up people like him who know the truth, etcetera.”
“Ah. And you don’t believe those things? No judgment.” I believed most of the same things my parents did, especially when I was as young as she’d been when she lost her mother.
“Which one? That vaccines have chips in them and doctors are making us sick? I mean, I understand why he believes the conspiracies. It was horrible watching my mother die, and it’s comforting to blame someone rather than the inherent unfairness of life. But no, I did research and found enough evidence that I didn’t believe the same things. You know, this chicken is really good. You should try it.”
“Talking with you is much more interesting.” I leaned an elbow on the counter.
She looked down, letting her hair conceal her pink cheeks. “You’re creeping me out. Eat.”
I did, and we talked about mundane things, like work and my house, while we finished dinner and then cleaned up the kitchen. I refilled my glass of club soda and carried her half-full wineglass to the couch. She nestled into the corner, and I sat a cozy distance away on the adjacent cushion.
She sipped her wine. “Thanks for having me over. Dinner was delicious.”
My heart skipped. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“Shouldn’t I?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Before we do something we have to tell West about?”
I leaned back against the cushion. “I’d like to tell West about us.”
“Us?” She flicked her hand between the two of us. “This was just dinner, according to our deal.”
“Our deal was that you’d give me a chance. Which means an emotional connection.” I swallowed. “I feel an emotional connection.”
“What if I don’t?” She squared her jaw.
I lifted the shoulder that wasn’t sunk into the couch. “It doesn’t change how I feel. And how I feel could affect how we work together.”
“Not yet.”
“Not…yet?”
“Don’t say anything yet. Please. I… When Harry and I were together, everyone knew. I tried to be discreet, but—and I only figured this out later—he knew if everyone was aware we were sleeping together, that’d give him more power. And I guess it did. Anyway, I…” She swallowed. “I don’t want to be like Harry.”
From the strain in her voice, the pained expression on her face, I knew how hard it was for her to say his name. So, as gently as possible, I said, “Not that I’d ever want to hurt you, but it’s safer to tell West. In case things don’t work out, you’d be protected. But I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“Thank you. Safety is a big thing for you.” It wasn’t a question.
“My dad’s in insurance.” I shrugged, like it explained everything. “He’s all about managing risk. Nonslip rugs. Fire ladders in the upstairs bedrooms. Every time it snowed when I was a teenager, he’d take me to a parking lot to practice handling spinouts. I guess I internalized it.
“Which is why it shocked everyone when Simon and I started the company. It was the riskiest thing I could’ve done. But Simon was so confident, so persuasive, he convinced me it was a risk worth taking.”
“He was right,” she said. “You built something great.”
“We did. But when he…” I almost stopped there, to let her intuit the end of that sentence. But she’d been open about her dad, so I could be vulnerable too. “I knew his partying was out of control. I talked to him about it, but it pissed him off. So I stopped saying anything. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d nagged him nonstop. Then maybe he wouldn’t have gone to that last rave. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so drunk he stepped off the curb into traffic.”
“My god.” She set her hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” My arm warmed under her touch.
“And that’s why you don’t drink?” She dipped her chin at my sparkling water.
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not responsible for his actions, any more than I’m responsible for my dad’s.”
“I know. Intellectually, I know.”
Her smile was tight. “He’d be proud of you for the work you’re doing.”
“I know that too. Still, I miss him.”
She rubbed my arm, and I put my hand over hers. I stared deep into her eyes. They were the color of a salt pond, deep and clear. I could see straight through them to the kindness she tried to conceal underneath her scientific exterior. I could love this woman.
Like she read the thought on my face, she slipped her hand from under mine and stood. “I should go.”
I rose too. We were close enough that I could’ve counted the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. For a second, I considered closing the distance to kiss her again. To give her what her wide pupils said she wanted.
She wanted what was easy. Something we didn’t have to make public, a fling she could walk away from. But I was starting to think I’d never walk away from Tessa Wright.
So I stepped back, away from the temptation of the freckles I wanted to count everywhere. “Can we do this again?”
One side of her mouth turned up. “Okay, I’ll let you cook for me again.”
If that was what she could give, I’d take it.