Chapter 12 Multicellularity and Development
MULTICELLULARITY AND DEVELOPMENT
*Samantha*
I squared my shoulders and crossed the distance to the waiting area and planned what to say. As I approached, I noticed that Andreas was watching a video on his phone. For a second I thought it was of puppies. But as I drew closer I realized the video was of baby wolf pups.
He didn’t see or notice me at first, which was more indicative of how absorbed he was in the video than the stealth of my approach.
Thus, I cleared my throat, and he jerked his head up, blinking and meeting my gaze.
There was mild but genuine surprise in his eyes, which was quickly masked by his usual cool, aloof expression.
“Hey.” I meant to tell him thank you for everything and then walk away, but instead my mouth blurted, “What are you watching?”
He pocketed the phone, a trace of something passing behind his expression. “Nothing important.”
I felt a flicker of disappointment. Nakita told me a few weeks ago about Andreas’s work with an exotic animal shelter.
I assumed the video was related to this work.
I also assumed he still saw no reason to share this information with me, even when I asked.
His current lack of sharing shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did. It stung.
I would get over it.
Standing up straighter, I hardened my voice and attempted to mimic an approximation of his stoicism. “Fine. Thank you for your help over the last few days. It was appreciated.”
“You are welcome. Before I forget again, and since you have not asked, I want to ensure you are aware: Dr. Hauser was approved as the proxy for your shares on Friday. She is, and you are, all set.”
“Oh. I see.” I felt suddenly winded at the realization I’d completely forgotten about Dr. Hauser and the shareholder meeting.
When I’d emailed her yesterday that I might not be back to work this week, she’d responded with a simple, “Okay. Keep me in the loop.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to ask her about the shareholder meeting. Interesting how a life-or-death situation involving my best friend completely wiped my brain of all other priorities.
However, Kaitlyn was on the mend. And now it was time to get back to the real world.
Thus, I continued with the second half of my planned statement. “Uh, thank you for that as well. But, as I said early Saturday morning, I do not feel indebted to you. And you don’t need to come back to the hospital. In fact, please don’t. Have a nice night.”
I turned to go, but before I could take a step, he reached out and caught my hand. He pulled me down onto his lap and enclosed me in his arms.
Then he lifted the phone, set his chin on my shoulder, and unpaused the video. The screen filled with tiny, mewling wolf pups rolling around a patch of straw.
“There is an animal sanctuary I, uh, help. Or work with, raise money for, whatever. And their wolves just had babies. They set up a livestream, so people can see them.”
“I see . . .” I managed, still more than a little startled by the abrupt lap sitting.
We watched the pups in silence while my brain struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
If there was a way to measure the complexity of a moment—to gauge the number of unresolved needs and unspoken regrets swirling in a single human body—then I was, at that instant, setting some kind of record.
My first impulse was, oddly, to settle in and watch, to let myself be held.
The wolf pups were objectively adorable.
Tiny, squirming, impossibly soft looking.
Their mother, a gray-and-white blur, kept nuzzling them, pushing them into a pile, then circling the perimeter, ostensibly to search for threats.
The camera shook a little as it zoomed in, and someone off-screen laughed—a thin, tinny sound that made the whole thing feel more real, less like a nature documentary and more like true surveillance footage.
Andreas kept his arms loosely wrapped around me, his chin balanced on my shoulder, his breath shallow. Maybe on purpose? So as not to disturb my viewing of the wolves.
If I’d wanted to, I could have said something cutting and ended the moment immediately. Instead, I stayed. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was simply weakness. A desire to let the pretense hold for another minute, to accept this thin slice of affection even though I knew it wouldn’t last.
Yeah. It’s probably weakness.
I tried to ignore the way his body felt under mine. The hospital waiting area, with its bolted-down chairs and infinite echoes, faded into the background. There was just the video, and the warmth of him all around me, and the absurdity of the entire situation.
So we sat like that, the two of us, pretending we didn’t notice the way our bodies had mapped themselves onto each other’s, and I found myself wondering why neither of us could figure out how to be brave at the same time.
That was when I remembered who I was, and who he was, and who we had failed to be together.
My body suddenly and reflexively recoiled, reminding me that, no, we were not in that place anymore, that his right to pull me onto his lap had expired months ago.
No strings, no feelings weren’t going to cut it.
It didn’t matter if he loved me or if I still loved him.
I needed more than a small slice of Andreas, more than the bare fractions of himself he was willing to share.
I pushed him away and moved to stand.
He released me immediately, his arms falling away from my sides as if they’d never meant to hold me there in the first place.
I stood quickly, maybe too quickly, brushing imaginary dust off my jeans and straightening my shirt with mechanical focus.
He rose as well, but more slowly, as if his body couldn’t quite keep up with the recalibration of the moment.
We ended up facing one another, the only people in a radius of at least ten yards, silence made impossible by the distant burble of an intercom and the occasional squeak of rubber soles on linoleum.
I couldn’t make myself look away, and he seemed equally rooted, his green eyes flicking across my face in rapid, uncertain micromovements.
My heart beat so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Every detail of the last seventy-two hours—every word, every mistake, every sideways glance—hung between us like holiday ornaments on a dead, undecorated tree.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
I realized my own hands were trembling, so I jammed them into my pockets.
I wanted to say something—anything—but the words got stuck somewhere between my chest and my tongue.
I could tell he was waiting for me to go first, as though he’d decided that after sharing a sliver of his interests with me, it was now my move.
If we’d been in a movie, this would be the scene where the characters kissed and all the tension evaporated, replaced by swelling music and a fade-out.
But we weren’t in a movie; we were in a hospital, and I was exhausted, and the only thing swelling was the sense of loss expanding in my chest cavity.
He looked down at his sneakers, then back up to me. His features had rearranged themselves into something softer, something that made my insides warm and an alarm bell sound between my ears.
Stop being weak!
In a desperate attempt at strength, I blurted, “Well, goodbye,” and moved to leave.
I didn’t manage a step before he caught my wrist again, asking, “Have you really never looked me up online?”
I paused, turned back. Seeing no reason to keep the information from him, I said, “I looked you up once, when I was sixteen or so.”
“Truly?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
I nodded.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and let go of my wrist. “I have never been to university, never applied for one.”
I waited, not sure if this was meant as a confession? A humblebrag? Or . . . what was this?
Andreas shoved his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. “All I know how to do, all I was brought up to do, is play chess. Since we last saw each other when I was eleven, all I live and breathe is chess. It is the only thing at which I excel. I am incredibly boring.”
“You can cook, though,” I said, uncertain why I felt the impulse to defend Andreas to himself.
One side of his mouth lifted. “I like to cook. Otherwise, I would not know how.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you only do things you like to do?”
He shrugged. “I call it avoidance of time-wasting activities, but laziness is a better word for it. I do not engage in activities I consider a waste of my time, or tasks I do not wish to do. This also means I do not save as much money as I should since I outsource any task I dislike. Cleaning, as an example.”
A laugh snuck out of me. “Is that why you pitched such a surly hissy fit when I insisted we carry the Christmas tree and set it up ourselves?”
He was silent for a beat, blinking once, the curve of his mouth looking suddenly wry. “I did not throw a ‘hissy fit.’ But I concede to being surly, as you say.”
“As long as you admit that you were surly,” I said under my breath, smirking to myself.
His eyes narrowed. “I hate being laughed at and have difficulty being the butt of a joke. My mind immediately goes to revenge. I am also a sore loser and am bad at losing. Anything. But especially games.”
“You mean . . . board games?”
“And card games. Any games. I take them too seriously, and literally. I am a terrible joke teller, I think because I am too serious. My timing is always off and my delivery is terrible.”
That pulled a genuine smile from me.
“You are great at telling jokes,” he said like he meant the words, but it also sounded like an accusation.
Regardless, I tipped my head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Thank you.”