Chapter 8
ANSON
“Ineed Benji’s address.”
Beck sighed. “We’re stalking now?”
“What? No. I want to send over some food.”
The sound out of Beck’s mouth was ostensibly a laugh, but it burst out of him like a bark. I did not recall ever hearing that level of frustration in Beck’s tone before.
“Oh, the irony,” he muttered before the laughter left his eyes completely and he looked at me sternly. “You’re serious.”
“Of course, I am.” I rarely said things I didn’t mean, and Beck, of all people, knew this about me. “I kept him … We were working for a very long time.”
“Uh-huh,” Beck groused. “Go get ready. I’ll handle it.”
“But I …”
“Go!”
“Send him those really good breakfast burritos from Handelman’s. Send a few. I don’t know what he likes.”
Beck glared at me, pointing to the closet he had built in my office years ago, arguing, If you’re going to practically live here, you might as well have a fucking change of clothes available.
I didn’t move right away, my desire to finish the task at hand—Benji’s breakfast—taking priority over everything else, especially another mind-numbing board meeting that required me to don a suit and pretend to pay attention to a cadre of other suit-wearing individuals.
Beck stalked to my desk and hit the intercom button on the phone
“Ross?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you please send an assortment”—Beck looked up, glowering at me—"of breakfast burritos to Benjamin Warren’s address.”
“From Handelman’s,” I reminded him. He scowled in return.
“Yeah. From Handelman’s,” he repeated to our assistant, Ross. “He’s a new hire. If he’s not in the system yet, you can get his info from Erin.”
I heard Ross respond with another “yes, sir” as I entered the closet and picked out a change of clothes.
Why is it that the hours tick by like nanoseconds when I’m in my lab but feel like an eternity when I’m sitting around our pretentious, glossy boardroom table, listening to a bunch of people in suits hammer at Beck for financial information while virtually ignoring me?
I can go hours without thinking about taking a break, or eating, or going home, but as I placed a small check mark on item number three (three!) of our monthly board meeting agenda, I was starving and could barely keep still.
The meeting ended as they always do, everyone smiling and shaking hands and agreeing to report back in a month with updates on this or that issue, usually having to do with the bottom line or public relations and not the science we were producing.
No one around that table cared to hear the details about the exciting innovations my team worked on every day to keep those profit margins high and keep us in the public eye.
Beckett had received approval for the agreement with Benji prior to the meeting, so when that came up on the agenda, it was quickly taken care of, with a note in the minutes that the board had unanimously agreed to the terms outside of the meeting.
It was the only time I was directly addressed by one of the board members.
“You think you’ve got another breakthrough on the horizon with Project Orthos, Anson?”
“Yes, I do,” I had responded as I crossed off item number four on the two-page agenda.
Hours later, after we saw the last of the board members out, Beck clapped my back.
“Good meeting.” I’d already removed my jacket and was in the process of removing my tie and rolling up my sleeves, my sense of calm rising with each action. Part of me knew I should be exhausted, but all I could think about was that Benji was on his way to continue our work.
I held up a finger to Beck and pressed an intercom button on the phone in the center of the table.
“Ross?”
“Sir?”
“Can we place another order with Handelman’s?”
Beck shook his head at me as I gave our assistant my order, including Beck’s favorite, and letting Ross know he should get himself something as well.
“You are unbelievable, Ani!”
“I’ve been told,” I responded truthfully. We dropped back into our chairs, and Beck began his debrief of the board meeting.
I knew he’d let me know if he needed my input, so I started calculating figures in my head while listening tangentially.
Only, my mind began to wander, and the calculations didn’t come.
Instead, I found myself picturing Benji downstairs in my lab.
Both of us writing frantically on smartboards, though I couldn’t see the figures in my mind.
I could only see his figure, lab coat dancing as he scribbled away excitedly.
I wanted to reach out to him, to envelop him, to feel that energy: to share it.
“... next round of raises. You okay with that?”
“Huh? What?” Beck just laughed at me, which was so much better than seeing him frustrated.
“I’ll email you the compensation spreadsheet. I need you to authorize the Q3 raises and the Q4 bonuses. By Friday, Ani. Let’s hit the board with those at next month’s meeting, assuming the profits keep trending like they’ve been.”
“By Friday. Got it. Don’t include me.”
“Ani …”
“Spread my bonus out amongst the ten percent of people in our lowest pay scale and up their raises.” I waited for him to fight me like he usually did. Instead, after thinking about it for a minute, he nodded.
“I’ll have Erin adjust the spreadsheet before she sends it. I still need it back by Friday. The board was in a good mood today. I want to get this to them and get it wrapped up at next month’s meeting.”
I set myself a reminder for Friday morning as I rose, heading for the exit to race toward my lab.
“Anson!” Beck yelled after me. “What about the burritos?”
“Save me one,” I called back.
I’m fairly sure I heard him mutter, “Unbelievable.”
I’ve often called my lab my sensory deprivation chamber—well, at least in my own mind I have. Maybe out loud to Beck once or twice as well? I say a lot of things in Beck’s presence since he’s really the only person I talk to on a regular basis.
I glanced at the clock and realized I’d been down there for an hour, and all I’d done was stare at my smartboard. Perhaps I’d needed a little respite after being up all night.
I’m not sure if the buzz of my phone was what made me check the time, but when I pulled it from the pocket of my lab coat, I discovered a series of texts from earlier in the day, all from Benji.
Did you buy me breakfast?
was followed eighteen minutes later with:
Oh wow, this burrito with the eggs and all the veggies is so good. My roomie likes the one with the sausage too. THANK YOU.
That was followed by a picture of a robot with a speech balloon also thanking me.
I began to type you’re welcome but decided that perhaps Benji preferred conversing in images.
New Day Tech held international publicity events every time we introduced a new emoji, but I’d always found using them such an odd way to communicate.
Beck and I texted all the time, but we never sent each other GIFs or smiley faces.
Before I could click on one of the images that was automatically suggested for my reply, three dots showed me that Benji was typing again.
I’ve been working all morning,
he began.
Check out the spreadsheet.
The dots continued, but I cut him off, forgetting the GIF in favor of a typed response.
Can you come to the office?
His reply was immediate.
When?
I quickly found an image of the word NOW? with a paisley background that was aesthetically pleasing and sent it, fairly proud of myself but also thinking that it would have been just as easy to type out that little word.
His response was sent quickly—three letters—
OMW.
I couldn’t concentrate on my work.
Assuming that he lived near MIT, I calculated that it would take Benji about forty minutes to arrive if he hit the T just right, so exactly forty minutes later, I found my way up to the lobby of our main entrance, which is where Beck hunted me down.
“Anson, what are you doing here?” he said as he approached me, but before I could answer him, his attention, and mine, was drawn to the entrance.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ani. What is he doing here?”
An unassuming Benji walked through the outer doors in khaki shorts and a navy-blue button-down covered by a gray zip-up hoodie with red MIT lettering. The handles of a paper bag hung off one of his slim wrists, bouncing against him with every step.
“I have that sweatshirt,” I mumbled as we watched him approach the second set of doors.
Then, to Beck, I answered, “We’re working on …”
“I know what you’re working on! He’s not on the payroll yet, Ani.
We barely agreed to hire him twenty-four hours ago.
His background check isn’t even finalized!
He shouldn’t be here,” Beck fumed, lowering his voice as Benji arrived in front of us, a backpack slung over one shoulder, the paper bag providing the only kinetic energy as Beck and I stared at Benji, and Benji smiled at me.
“Hi,” he breathed softly, proffering the paper bag. “Figured I owe you lunch. Have you eaten?”
“You brought lunch?” I asked.
“Sandwiches,” he confirmed, looking down at his shoes. “From George’s Deli, near …”
“It’s just off campus! Wow. Are they still in business? I used to eat there all the time.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Beck repeated, scoffing, forcing me to tear my eyes from Benji’s face. I glanced at my friend in question but quickly realized Benji was slowly lowering his arm. I had been so busy staring at him in pleased surprise at his gesture that I hadn’t taken the bag.
I snatched it then, perhaps with a jolt of quickness to make up for it. The move threw Benji off-balance, and my other arm came up to steady him as he gave a little hop.
“Sorry.” I smiled, my hand wrapped around his bicep, the feel of warm, lean muscle underneath the soft sweatshirt distracting me.
“No problem.” He smiled right back, his eyes locked on mine. I thought I felt his arm flex, and my grip on him tightened as I mapped the richness of the liquid brown that looked back at me. Did everyone have eyes that radiated color like that? I wasn’t much for making eye contact, so I wasn’t sure.