Chapter 5
THE ORIGIN OF LIFE
*Samantha*
The next morning, I arrived at my new office with a fresh head of broccoli from the corner produce stand.
The broccoli had been on sale and I hadn’t eaten a real, raw vegetable in ages.
Before you ask, I do like broccoli. But only when steamed or sauteed and covered in cheese sauce.
Taken with the idea of making nauseatingly healthy decisions, I’d bought it, and planned to devour the whole thing for lunch.
Presently, the head of broccoli spent the morning peeking out of my tote like an anxious green meerkat.
Yes, this was another classic Sam overreaction to an emotional crisis. I’d thought Tobias had threatened my PI’s funding, so I let Andreas adopt me. I saw Andreas last night meeting with Dmitry, so I planned to eat a head of broccoli. See? It all makes sense.
Last night, I’d gone straight from the car into Kaitlyn’s apartment building, refusing even to stop for groceries at the bodega, wanting to get to work being as busy as possible as soon as possible.
I’d thrown myself into domestic triage: making soup out of whatever was left in Kaitlyn’s fridge, feeding Joey, washing baby bottles, setting up the new humidifier, even refolding all of Joey’s clothes in the drawers.
Kaitlyn had returned from the doctor around seven, confirmed that she had a fever and a UTI, wolfed down a bowl of soup, pumped Joey’s midnight snack, and then put herself to bed.
Once they were both fully asleep and the apartment was spotless, I went downstairs and completed a brutal treadmill run in the apartment gym, hoping to make myself exhausted.
Then, I showered, returned to Kaitlyn’s, and crashed on the couch, telling myself it was so I could be available if she needed me. But really, it was because the thought of being alone in my new place made my skin crawl. Somehow I felt certain I wouldn’t sleepwalk with a newborn in the apartment.
This morning, I’d changed Joey’s diaper, fed him, and made a halfhearted attempt at small talk with Kaitlyn, who was in her own haze. I left only after confirming she was okay with me heading off to work and making her promise to call if she needed me to come back.
Tara drove me to campus under a gray, low-contrast sky.
It was technically just a few weeks into the new semester, but the halls were still half empty and weirdly quiet.
My new office was on the fifth floor, in an area I’d always associated with visiting professors.
I’d only just finished arranging my notebooks when Dmitry’s face appeared in the small window of my door.
He rapped lightly, then opened it just enough to poke his head and one arm through. In his hand he held a potted plant with neon green leaves and white spots. A plastic tag poked out like a little flag.
“May I enter?” Dmitry said, looking not at me, but at the ceiling as if he needed third-party approval.
“Yes. Of course,” I said, standing and pushing aside a box filled with office supplies. I cleared off the second chair in my office, sending a mouse pad tumbling to the floor.
Dmitry entered while I picked up the mouse pad. He closed the door behind him with a gentle click, and approached. Without further ceremony, he held out the plant at arm’s length. I got the sense it was a peace offering.
“It’s fake,” he said. “Because I know you can’t keep a plant alive.”
“Aww. Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched because he knew me so well.
Accepting the plant, I admired how bright and cheerful and fake it was. I felt suddenly inspired. Truly, I aspired to be as low-maintenance as this plant. It had no needs. Sunlight and attention would only make it fade and fray.
He sat, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Are you okay?”
I set the plant next to my computer monitor. “Yes. I’m fine. Why?”
He leaned back and examined my face with the kind of intensity usually reserved for examining Western blots. “You appear very tired. The circles under your eyes are starting to look like those black smudges athletes wear to avoid sun glare.”
I rolled my eyes and flopped into my chair, which squeaked in protest. “I’ve been sleeping at my friend’s house.
You know, Kaitlyn? The one with the cute baby?
She’s sick. I made her dinner and watched Joey—that’s the baby—so she could go to the doctor.
Then I stayed over and fed him in the middle of the night so she could sleep. That’s all.”
He squinted, unconvinced, and plucked a pen from my cup, clicking it with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
The silence stretched out a bit too long, so I kept talking, trying to sound casual.
“Also, I might have overdone it at the gym last night. I tried out one of those exercise programs on the treadmill where you walk through an ancient city—which means climbing up steep terrain—and the auto-adjust feature moved the deck to a thirty-degree incline unexpectedly. I almost fell off. It was trippy. Have you ever tried it?”
Dmitry shook his head, solemn. “No. I value my knees and dignity too much.”
“Dignity is overrated,” I tried to joke, but the silence returned. Thicker now.
He broke it with a tilt of his head. “You are not upset with me?”
I tried to remember if there was a plausible reason I might be upset with him and recalled my motivation for chasing him yesterday. “I am upset with you. You never sent your review of my methods outline and it’s due tomorrow.”
His lips tugged faintly to the side. “I have it done. I will send it today.”
I nodded, not actually caring about the status of my methods outline. I knew he wouldn’t let me down. Dmitry was reliable like that.
He watched me for another several seconds, and I could tell he was working up to something. As his eyes began to narrow, I braced for it.
“You are pretending to be ignorant. Thus, I have no choice but to ask you directly.”
Here it comes.
“Yes?”
He let the pen rest between two fingers and tapped it against his knee. “Do I need to know anything more than what you’ve already told me? I am speaking, of course, about what occurred between you and Andreas Kristiansen.”
I paused, the question landing like bad shrimp in my stomach.
I hadn’t discussed Andreas’s sudden appearance and behavior with Kaitlyn last night.
She’d been sick and, honestly, I didn’t want to.
My drama was so pathetically small compared to her actual physical suffering and the ongoing battles of newborn sleep cycles.
I hadn’t told anyone. Not Kaitlyn. Not Diya. Not even myself, really. After it happened, I’d shoved it away, wanting to label the whole encounter as irrelevant. He didn’t care about me, and I didn’t care to be used by him again. The end.
Dmitry allowed the silence to extend, then broke it with a dry, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I sighed. “This is personal stuff, the kind of stuff you and I don’t usually discuss. Our domain is work, work gossip and related memes and jokes, and food. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by pulling you into my personal drama.”
He nodded, not looking away. “First, thank you for that. Usually, your instincts would be correct. Second, I’m on your side, no matter what, no matter who.
Third, given your reluctance to pull me into your personal drama, but also seeing that you have clearly been suffering in silence like an anemic martyr for weeks and it’s been a vibe killer to be around, I have to tell you something. ”
I blinked, worried. “What?”
He crossed his arms, the pen now clutched in his hand. “Do with this information what you will, but Andreas Kristiansen is madly in love with you.”
I stared at him, not blinking. My mind went through at least twelve different types of emotional revival and collapse, all of which—I am certain—made it to my face. Then, I laughed. I laughed and laughed.
Through the laughter, I wagged a finger at my old friend. “You are hilarious. And that is impossible.”
Dmitry waited for my laughter to mostly subside before saying, “He contacted me over the weekend and asked if we could meet. So, of course, I said—”
“When? When did he contact you?” I interrupted, sniffing and wiping at my eyes. It felt good to laugh. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard.
Dmitry raised an eyebrow. “Saturday late afternoon.”
My brain immediately spooled back to Nakita’s unauthorized call to Andreas Saturday around noon. I felt my smile fade. Andreas had waited a few hours before reaching out to Dmitry.
“Okay. Go on,” I said, voice tempered now.
Dmitry leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. “He was very forthright, and told me that he wished to meet with me because he hoped I could help him with you.”
I felt a weird mixture of dread and something else, a flavor on my tongue I’d not experienced since I was a child and my grandmother tried to make me eat sauerkraut and vanilla pudding in the same meal.
“Help Andreas? With me?”
“That’s right. He said he did something that ruined your friendship—”
“Friendship?” Now I leaned forward. “He said ‘friendship’?”
Dmitry raised a hand. “Let me finish. He said he did something to ruin your friendship, and he needed to talk to someone who knows you well. He said he needed—and this is a direct quote—he needed help figuring out how to repair what he broke.”
I pressed my palm flat against the desktop, as if the solid surface might steady me, and spoke stream of consciousness. “I can’t believe he called you. I can’t believe he asked for your help.”
Dmitry’s lips quirked. “I can. You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You introduced me to him as your work husband. And I’m a guy.”
I squinted at him. “What does you being a guy have to do with it?”