19
The apartment door slams open as I barrel in, snow boots pounding salt into the hardwood floor.
“I’m late! I have to change! Gosh darn it!”
I throw down my purse and charge straight into my room.
“The fricking train… I swear every train except the B came in like ten times before a single B showed up.”
I dump a basket of beauty supplies out onto my bed, then frantically rummage through them.
“I was doing mental calculus like should I take the C to Coolidge Corner and walk? Should I take the Red Line to Harvard and transfer to a bus? But every time I thought about getting on a different train I was like no, surely the next one will be a B. And look at where it got me!
Now I just got here and we have to leave in like 20 minutes and I haven’t even started doing my hair. Why is life this way?”
Andy comes up to my open door and says, with uncanny calm, “We can take an Uber. You have time.”
“I still don’t know what I’m even doing with my hair.” I whip around—where the heck did I put my curling iron?—and catch a glimpse of Andy in the doorway. I’d been in such a rush on my way in that I barely glanced at him, but now…
He takes up nearly the whole door frame with a casual lean, tall as he is.
His black suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the sharp white shirt and black tie underneath.
Simple. Classic. Painfully hot. (Ugh!) He gives me a one-dimple smile, and I realize inviting him to this event was tantamount to self-torture.
“I think you could go as you are,” he offers coolly.
“Ha. Right,” I deadpan, forcing myself to look away from him and continue scavenging through my mess.
“If you’re going to look like that next to me, I barely stand a chance. Do we think the pope is available to perform a miracle on short notice? And can he do them over the phone or is that strictly an in-person service?”
“I don’t think that’s how being the pope works.”
“Well then how useless is he!” Giving up on the curling iron for now, I spin around to face my friend. “Okay Andy, I love you, but can you leave so I can change?”
He does, and once the door is shut behind him, I bend down to fish my new dress out of the hot pink Garment District bag.
Thank God it doesn’t need ironing—at least I have one win for the day.
Though suddenly, as I’m faced with the imminent prospect of putting it on my body, does it look smaller?
And the fabric really has no stretch at all…
but at this point it’s the eleventh hour, so there’s nothing for it but to cram myself inside somehow.
After three failed attempts to zip up, I realize I’m going to have to make myself smaller by any means necessary, including removing my bra.
Normally I would be worried about being unprofessional, but the fabric is actually quite thick, so I think it should be fine.
Ultimately, with a held breath and a firm grip, I succeed in fully closing the zipper under the left arm.
(Why wasn’t the zipper on the back like a normal dress?
Who made this death trap? Fricking Garment District…)
Then, in another small mercy, I spot the end of my curling iron sticking out of my nightstand drawer. Success!
Quickly checking my phone, I have maybe ten minutes left to curl my hair and throw on some makeup. So much for Lia’s grand vision of me looking amazing enough to make Andy “confess his love” tonight. It’s not like that’s how anything works, anyway.
When I finally emerge from my bedroom, Andy is pacing in the kitchen. “Ready?” I ask, giving my dress a final smooth-down. Andy halts and looks up at the sound of my voice.
He doesn’t answer the question. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, his eyes track a path down my body, over the fitted bodice of the black dress, down to where it flares out at the hips, to my semi-opaque tights and plain black heels, then back up, slowly.
Eventually, his dark eyes meet mine as he says, “You look great.”
That man has been in love with you for years, Lia’s traitorous voice echoes. And I guess I’m still breathing despite it all, because I manage to say, “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. There’s at least ten feet and a table between us, but he might as well be dragging his thumb across my lip for how intimately I feel his attention.
Then his eyes shift, just a few inches, to the small red jewels hanging from my ears.
“You’ve been wearing those a lot recently,” he says, tapping his own lobe.
“Have I?” I ask, and hope he understands everything I can’t say out loud when I add, “They’re my favorites.”
Another charged beat pulses. Then Andy seems to remember himself enough to glance down at his watch. And he’s right, we really don’t have time for all this.
“Here,” he says, reaching for my coat on the hook and holding it out to me. “Can’t have you late for your big day.”
One Uber ride through relatively light traffic later, Andy and I walk into the new Unlocking the Universe exhibit wing at the Boston Museum of Science.
Every inch of the space has been meticulously and creatively envisioned.
No thanks to me—to be clear. I just sent some emails and told people when they were going over budget.
But the designers did a really amazing job.
Interactive screens transport visitors through time and space.
There are colorful LEDs along the walls that create a feeling of motion.
Giant planets hang from the ceiling, and invisible projectors trace patterns along the floor to guide our guests’ eyes and footsteps.
Every sense has a sensation. I feel almost giddy as I watch groups of adult patrons in formal attire start letting their inner children play and explore.
Even stoic Andy reaches out to turn a hand crank model of the Milky Way.
Slowly, we wind our way towards one of the bars. We only get soda water—I don’t want to drink before my remarks, and Andy is too courteous to leave me behind. Plus I’m way too keyed up to eat any of the hors d'oeuvres being passed on silver trays.
I force small talk with a number of slightly familiar faces in the crowd: colleagues, donors, trustees.
All the while, my arm is looped through Andy’s, who says nothing to anyone.
But I wouldn’t expect him to; that’s not why I brought him.
I brought him to anchor me as my nerves soar, and at that, he’s doing a phenomenal job.
Eventually, an intern lets me know the program is about to start. I turn to Andy with a smile and a bounce. “Wish me luck!”
His mouth says, “You’ve got this.”
His eyes say, I see through that bounce. I know you’re nervous out of your mind, but don’t be.
I try to listen to both.
Mariane is waiting for me in the long backstage hallway. “Hey,” she whispers. “You ready? You look great!”
Our Board Chair, Adira, takes the stage, and the room hushes as her remarks begin.
“I think so,” I squeak back to Mariane, soto voce.
“The mic on the podium is adjustable,” she tells me. “Feel free to raise or lower it when you get up there.”
“Got it.”
I watch Adira speak from the wings, my palms growing clammier with each passing sentence. I wipe them on the skirt of my dress in an extremely unsubtle way that has Mariane asking, “Nervous?”
“Not really,” I insist. “We rehearsed so much. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
But Mari knows me well enough to know I’m lying, and benevolently offers a topic for distraction. “Did I see you with a date earlier? Who is he?”
“Oh that’s just Andy. He’s the friend I told you about, the one I’m living with now.”
Mariane’s eyes visibly widen. “Friend? Okay then…”
“What?” I hiss.
“I get it.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I’m your coworker. This is a job and stuff. You don’t have to tell me what goes on at home…” The suspicious look she gives me out of the corner of her eye completely belies her words.
“Mari!”
“Honey, good for you! If I was single and that man offered to take me home, I would crawl there on my hands and knees.”
“Oh my god.” Now my palms are sweating for a completely different reason, and it takes all of my willpower to keep my volume down.
“We are just friends. And platonic roommates. Nothing is happening there.”
I shake my head and look away, hoping the hallway lights are too dim for her to read my expression.
“Now I could stand up here and gab all night,” says the voice onstage, “but I know you all want to hear about the real impact of your support. So, without further ado, it is my great pleasure to introduce Program Manager Sophie Lindell,
who will share more about what this new exhibit means for the future of the Museum of Science.”
And that’s my cue. I walk onto the stage, nervous as a minnow on a hook, trying to remind myself that most of the people in this room don’t really care what I say. Rational thinking, however, cannot stop the heavy pounding in my chest.
“Thank you for that warm introduction, Adira,” I say into the podium mic. “And hello everyone. As Adira said, my name is Sophie Lindell and I am the Program Manager for the new Unlocking the Universe exhibit here at the Museum of Science.”
My voice is shaky—darn it. And now that I’m focusing on that fact, I’m sure it’ll just get shakier. I consciously take a steadying breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Then I spot Andy in the crowd. Him and his two-dimple smile, just a few rows away, shaking his head like he can’t believe I’m speaking to this huge crowd at this fancy gala.
And he looks so inexplicably proud of me, even though I’ve barely done anything yet, that my nerves melt with the rest of me into a puddle on the floor.
I say my next line directly to him, like we’re rehearsing in our kitchen and no one else can hear.
“The initial idea for this exhibit came from an icebreaker at a staff retreat a few years ago.”
My voice sounds steadier already, so I continue.
“We asked our staff, ‘What is the first science concept you learned as a child that amazed you?’ Then we asked, ‘What’s a science concept you never learned as a child, but you wish you had?’...”
Every time I look up from my notes, I look for Andy’s face in the crowd first. He’s like my charging station—when my battery gets low I find him and build up the will to engage the crowd.
“...Fortunately, as technology advances, and science education forges new frontiers, museums have a new opportunity to put the universe in the palm of a child’s hand...”
I feel the rhythm of it now, and you know what? This isn’t so bad. I say one of my scripted jokes—cheesy as it is—and the crowd actually laughs with me. It’s not a roar, but it’s a titter, and that’s enough.
“...Through a combination of tactile models, cutting-edge visualization screens, and even 3D projections, Unlocking the Universe provides developmentally appropriate and interactive experiences for learners in a wide range of ages…”
When my remarks conclude, the audience is generous with their applause.
(What was I worried about? I should’ve known they would be nice to me!)
Then the program finishes with a few quick video clips from our pilot test group.
I’ve seen them a million times, so although I’m still standing at the side of the stage, I look away from the screen and glance around the room.
When my eyes find Andy now, his expression has changed.
It’s yet another look I don’t know how to interpret.
The only way I can describe it is sincere.
Almost Nolan-esque in its openness. The corner of his mouth thinks about a smile, but his eyes look…
determined? wistful? somewhere in between?
And I could tell myself, sure, that’s a look one friend could give another friend.
But the evidence is mounting that it’s more than that.
He kissed me! And yes, he freaked out afterwards—but so did I, and lord knows that doesn’t mean I don’t want him.
Caught in the spell of his attention, I almost feel brave enough to do something about it. To go home tonight and demand he tell me his feelings, and demand of myself that I do the same.
Almost.
When the video ends and I step back out into the wings, Mari greets me with a feline grin.
“Were you looking at him?” she asks—no longer forced to whisper with the remarks finally behind us.
“Who?”
“Your ‘platonic roommate.’”
I hedge. “A little bit… Why?”
“He was staring at you like you hung the Moon.”
I roll my eyes, because what else could I possibly do—here, now, away from him. “He was not. That’s just how handsome people look when they’re listening.”
Mariane pokes me in the arm like a child. “So, you admit he’s handsome?”
“Mari!” I chide for the second time tonight—a feeble comeback.
“Here’s what I think,” she continues. “You remember when you told me the reason you love sticky notes? Because it’s easier to think clearly when something is right in front of you? Well, this man is right in front of you, Soph, so it’s time to start thinking clearly about what you want from him.
Because I would bet anything he’s yours for the taking.”
She squeezes my arm once, then walks away. And it’s for the best, because I can barely remember how to speak. I need champagne. And I need Andy.
I walk back into the main event space to find the guests eating, drinking, and socializing much more boisterously than before. The room feels loud and full. It’s a sea of men in dark suits and women in colorful satin, with one human life raft floating in the middle.
My best friend is leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, waiting for me.
“Hey,” I say, walking straight into his arms.
“You were amazing,” he says into my hair.
“Thanks.” I pull back to look at him. “Can we drink now, please?”
He laughs and follows my lead towards the bar. He’s a half-step behind me, and I feel a broad palm touch my lower back—feather light, only the slightest warmth pressing through my dress, down to the skin that wants more.
We order champagne as I silently remind myself I am at work right now, and I do not have the bandwidth to ask Andy what are we and what is happening and what if what if what if? Proving this point, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find our Board Chair behind me.
“Adira, hi!”
“I won’t keep you from celebrating,” Adira says, nodding down towards my glass.
(I’m allowed to be drinking, I’ll have you know.
But even so I feel mortified.) “I just wanted to personally congratulate you on an amazing launch.”
Adira’s in her mid-70’s, with peachy skin, curly silver hair, and an air of subdued confidence.
She shakes my free hand as she says, “Of course, I hope you’ll stay with the museum forever, but if you ever need a reference in the future I hope you will use my name.”
“Wow.” I shake her hand more rapidly, going for grateful but landing on crazy. “Thank you, that means so much. I honestly wasn’t sure how the trustees felt about this exhibit from the preview a few weeks ago.”
“You mean Jeff, right?” she asks with a scoff. “He’s an idiot.”
Andy turns his bark of laughter into a cough—unsubtly.
“But who cares about him?” Adira continues, handing me her business card. “Reach out to me directly if you ever need anything.”