Chapter 11
BENJI
When we returned from the park, Beck shooed me out of the office almost before my last bite of taco, but day after day, Anson and I continued our routine.
I showed up in the afternoon. We’d eat in Anson’s office, sitting side by side or one of us hovering over the other’s shoulder as we reviewed our work on Anson’s computer screens.
Aside from the first day, they’d become working lunches, with little to no talk of personal matters and absolutely no hand-holding. We never mentioned our few minutes in the Commons, or how I’d brushed his hair back, or held his hand as we knelt in the grass.
Each day we’d head down to the lab eventually and continue the day’s work.
Some days saw exciting breakthroughs, and others consisted of us staring at an issue, sometimes talking it through together, sometimes each of us quietly contemplating the problem from across our shared desk, hunched over our own computers in concentration.
A second gaming chair arrived early on that Anson called mine.
It had been days, so the mantra of holy fucking shit really should have dissipated from my mind, but despite the amount of time I spent with Anson, the phrase still pulsed like a syncopated drumbeat every time I thought about him, which, as it turned out, was most of the time.
Even when I was focused on our project, something I mostly did from Anson’s private lab, with Anson by my side, part of me was this thrumming, hyperaware ball of energy that had nothing to do with robotics.
One evening I paused what I was doing to watch one of the 3D printers finish its work. After a few minutes, I realized that Anson wasn’t typing either. I expected to find him mesmerized by our project coming to life before our eyes as well, but instead, I found him staring at me.
I could feel a blush rising on my cheeks, and I let out a little chuckle.
“I really love watching these printers work. Especially when it’s something I’ve created,” I began to ramble.
“Or, well, in this case, something we created! It’s like, I know we designed it, and I know what it’s supposed to look like, but I still love watching it grow from nothing into …
” I looked away from Anson and gestured toward the printer.
“It really is fun to watch a project take form, isn’t it?” Anson agreed. He came around from his side of the desk and stood next to me as we both silently watched what was actually just a fairly simple support rod come to life in the printer bed.
“Good work today, Benji,” he eventually said over the clicks and whirrs of the machine.
It took a few beats before I was calm enough to reply with a simple, “Thank you.”
We watched for a few more minutes, Anson’s backside resting on the edge of the desk, me working hard to ignore that fact by staring at the printer. I may have been failing when two things happened almost simultaneously.
Anson straightened and began to lean, turning toward me right before we could hear the lab doors opening.
“There you two are,” Beck began as if he were surprised to find us exactly where he knew we would be and as if the word two was vulgar.
Both Anson and I jumped up when Beck stormed in as if we’d be caught in the act. Had we been caught in the act? It sure as hell felt like Anson was leaning down to … Goddamn it, Beck!
What had he interrupted?
Beck looked quickly at the plastic forming in the printer, barely sparing a glance my way before addressing Anson.
“I need you to review the financial report before morning. Why don’t you two wrap it up.” If humans could spit fire, Beck would have burned the building down with the phrase you two. He was in a particularly bad mood that evening. “And we’ll see Benji in a few weeks.”
A few weeks! I still had time before graduation.
I opened my mouth to protest, thinking about all the time and momentum we would lose, but Anson looked at me and gave me a small head shake. How I knew what he was communicating was beyond me, but I kept my mouth shut.
“It is getting late, Benj,” he said, and my heart may have stopped waiting for the “ee” that never came. I looked at Beck, and he’d gone pale, his eyes wide. Anson, I thought, didn’t realize what he had said or how either of us had reacted to it.
“Of course, Anson, Beck. I’ll get out of your hair and see you soon.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I walked to the T, and I read the text from Anson while I waited for it.
Ani: As Beck keeps reminding me, you are under no obligation since your official start date is still over a week away, but if you want to see the final product off printer three, I will be in the lab after lunch tomorrow as usual.
Ani: I finished reviewing the financials this morning. Don’t tell Beck.
I had a goofy smile on my face for the entire ride back to my apartment, and I returned to New Day Tech the following afternoon just as Ross was setting out lunch for two in Anson’s office.
Beck and Anson had adjacent offices, so most days, Beck found some excuse to visit while we ate lunch. He wasn’t surprised to find me there. Annoyed, but not surprised. Anson must have spoken to him.
Early on when Beck would barge in, I would jump up from my place, hovering over Anson’s shoulder. Eventually I stopped that but I still instinctively took a step back every time he barged in.
The first time I was sitting at the computer instead of Anson when Beck walked in, Anson didn’t react at all.
As a matter of fact, I recall him leaning in closer to look at something on one of the screens, his sandalwood scent filling my nose, his pulled-back hair right there in my periphery.
Beck could probably see the flush on my cheeks from the light of the computer screens.
I really wanted to get along with Beck and didn’t know what he had against me, but at least I didn’t have to worry about pulling all-nighters, because like clockwork, Beck continued to show up in the lab and not so subtly send me on my way each evening.
Despite my efforts to keep an eye on the clock, it came as a surprise to Anson and me every night; that's how engrossed in the work we were.
I got the sense that Anson being engrossed in work, and Beck being the one to remind him to do things like eat and sleep, was common practice at New Day Technologies.
Every time Beck glared at me like I was an anomaly in his data set that he wished he could simply delete, I tried to remember that he was just looking out for his friend and partner.
I knew you couldn’t just delete an anomaly; you must figure it out, make it work. Getting Beck to like me was just another equation to solve as an (about-to-be) employee of New Day Tech.
One day during the third week of our time together, we were in Anson’s dimly lit, wood-paneled office.
A ridiculously large tub of French fries sat on the desk next to the keyboard.
Beck had scowled when he saw them, and I’ll admit, we did usually pick healthier food, but Anson had actually suggested burgers and fries, and I was more than happy to oblige.
I was unnaturally elated to be giving Anson what he wanted.
For someone who could have anything he asked for, no matter what the cost, Anson didn’t seem to ask for much for himself.
Beck hadn’t stayed long that day, mumbling something about us enjoying our burgers as he left with a promise from Anson that they would meet first thing the following morning to review some expense report. Translation: we’d be seeing him again before eight p.m. so he could kick us out of the lab.
Burgers done, I was surreptitiously watching Anson as he sat at the computer, fingers flying.
I stood behind his butter-soft, high-backed chair, slightly to the side, ostensibly so I could see over his shoulder.
In truth I wasn’t paying any attention to the computer screens as I marveled at the man in front of me, whose simple pleasure was a hamburger and fries, a man who could get lost in a project and forget to eat and sleep.
A man with a nagging, and okay, caring best friend.
A man, not an icon, not a hero. Just … a man.
And your boss, my mind tried to warn me.
Anson asked a question, pulling me back to the task at hand, causing me to tear my eyes from him as we bounced ideas back and forth, and I watched another part of our project come to life on the screen.
Occasionally, I’d lean forward over his shoulder to reach the greasy bucket on his desk and pop a fry in my mouth.
The pungent French fry grease permeated the room, but each time I leaned in, despite moving closer to the blotchy cardboard bucket as well, all I could smell was this odd mixture of sandalwood and Anson.
It was a scent I had come to know and one I missed when we weren’t together.
With every single handful of fries, I would straighten back up quickly and shove the food in my mouth, barely able to keep myself from leaning closer to find out if he’d tapped a drop of the cologne behind his ears or simply sprayed it all over his body.
The mouthful of fried potatoes kept me from whimpering or sighing at the thought of finding out.