Evolution (Fundamentals of Biology #3 | Hypothesis #9)

Chapter 1

THE HISTORY OF EVOLUTIONARY BIOLOGY

*Samantha*

Sitting in my old apartment’s tiny kitchen, I tried my best to listen as Nakita performed a play-by-play of last week’s online chess drama.

She stood at the counter, grinding gingerroot and peppermint leaves using a pestle and mortar.

Every now and then, she punctuated her monologue with a clatter of marble against marble, or the tap of her phone, like a one-woman percussion section with strong opinions about a global fandom.

Kendra was out, as usual—still spending most nights at her boyfriend’s place—and Diya, my favorite person in the world who currently hated me, was still sleeping off a night float rotation and was due to wake up any moment.

Thus, presently, it was just Nakita and me, plus a kitchen table that was approximately the size of a cafeteria tray, and a new, monstrous Edible Arrangement I’d brought as another peace offering.

The arrangement squatted on the stovetop like an alien queen head, bristling with pineapple stars and chocolate-covered strawberries, shedding flecks of coconut onto every available surface. It was, in a word, ridiculous. But it was also one of Diya’s favorite things to receive as a gift.

“—so then they said, if you read all the An-Romic fic, you’d know that it’s not even about the chess, it’s about the unresolved sexual tension,” Nakita was saying as she scooped the peppermint and ginger mixture into a tea infuser.

“But then obviously the An-Romval stans had to weigh in, and you know they’re feral about historical accuracy, so it’s just all-out war at this point with the An-Romvals on your side. ”

I tried to focus, but the bouquet kept drawing my eye, its bamboo-skewer spine slouching to the left.

It looked like it was leaning in, listening with interest to Nakita’s summary of how the online chess fandom was reacting to the latest news this week of Henrik and Tobias’s lawsuit against me.

Also, as far as I could follow based on Nakita’s descriptions, someone had snapped a photo of Andreas and Roman Buckley walking together in Central Park recently and it had caused a fervor of speculation.

Were they official? Were they finally dating now that Andreas’s fake engagement had been made public? Were they scoping out apartments together? Were they planning to get married and adopt children? Rumors were swirling like mad and Nakita was all over it.

“Sam,” Nakita said, waving a hand in front of my face. “You spaced. I just told you, the An-Romics are not very happy with you at all.”

I blinked and tried to rejoin the conversation at the last noun I remembered. “An-Romics?” I echoed, which bought me a solid three seconds as Nakita pulled off the little foil freshness seal on the bear-shaped plastic honey dispenser with her teeth.

“You know, the Andreas and Roman shippers. The An-Romics? Have you been listening at all? For someone who’s basically the main character in this whole debacle, you’re really bad at keeping up with your own discourse.”

Nakita finally plopped down at the table, slopping a mug of tea for me dangerously close to my left hand, and shoved a napkin toward me.

I made a face. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with all the names. And I still don’t understand why the Andreas–Roman shippers are called An-Romics when you told me the couple name for Andreas and me is Sam-Dreas, which makes a lot more sense, right?”

Nakita rolled her eyes, the way only someone who had, in her own words, “devoured three hundred thousand words of chess RPF in two days” could (where RPF stands for Real Person Fiction).

“Because there’s two sets of Andreas–Roman shippers.

Those that want them to be romantic—the An-Romics.

And those that love them as archrivals—the An-Romvals.

” She counted them off on her fingers, then reached over to the stove without even needing to stand, plucked a chocolate strawberry from the food bouquet, and crammed half into her mouth. “It’s a taxonomy, Sam.”

I smiled at her joke as I processed this. Forcing myself to feign interest, I asked, “But I thought you said the An-Romvals want them together as well?”

Truly, the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about was Andreas Kristiansen. But I couldn’t blame Nakita for constantly bringing him up to me.

The last two months had been a constant, headlong trip through the minefield of self-loathing.

After the new year, I’d invited myself over to the apartment and come clean to my former roommates about my lies, but none of the truly private details were disclosed.

Nothing about Andreas’s deceiving me about his reasons for approaching me initially; I didn’t tell them about Henrik and Tobias’s antics either, only that they opposed my inheriting the shares; and no mention of Andreas manipulating my funding with Dr. Hauser.

This was also the same amount of information I’d shared with my grandfather and—more or less—anyone at work who asked. I shared just enough factual information about the will and inheritance law to explain why I’d lied about the engagement as a cover for the adoption.

In my grandpa’s case, we were just starting to get to know each other again.

He’d been upset that I’d allowed myself to be adopted by anyone—especially someone with the last name of Kristiansen—and I didn’t want him worrying about me because of Henrik and Tobias.

But also, I didn’t particularly trust him yet. One step at a time.

Thus, Nakita thought Andreas and I were still on good terms and had no idea how uncomfortable these conversations were for me. But so what? I’d been the bad friend who lied. If Nakita wanted to talk about Andreas and the chess global online fandom, I would listen. I considered it penance.

Nodding as she chewed on the strawberry, she said, “Yeah, but the An-Romvals want Andreas and Roman together as enemies. They want them to be together, but—like—have them hate being together. You see?”

“I see,” I lied, sipping my tea. The peppermint hit my tongue like a fluoride treatment at a dentist’s office. “Thank you for the explanation and your patience with me.”

Nakita raised an eyebrow, then did a head-tilt squint as her gaze moved over my face. “Have you been sleeping? No shade, but you’re looking really tired these days.”

I considered deflecting, then decided it was less work to just say, “Not really. The new apartment has been an adjustment. I guess I’m not used to living alone.” This was true, but not the entire truth.

I wasn’t used to living alone and over the last two months since the will reading in Paris, I’d discovered that I did not like living alone. Also, I was sleepwalking again. Not every night, or even every other night, just enough to stress me out and make me dread my own bed.

But I didn’t want to tell Nakita about the sleepwalking for fear it would end up in a chess fandom RPF.

She sent me a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I totally get that. I would hate living by myself. Where is the apartment? Close by?”

I nodded, though I didn’t elaborate on exactly where.

I hadn’t moved into the apartment Andreas arranged for me.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it even though it appealed to my thrifty sensibilities.

Instead, upon arriving back in the United States, I’d checked into a Marriot near JFK and stayed there for two weeks during the holidays since all the other moderately priced hotels in New York City were booked.

I knew I wouldn’t be welcomed back here with my old roommates, not after all my lies, so I didn’t even ask. After the holiday break, Kaitlyn insisted I move in with them until I could find a permanent place.

In the end, after a month of searching, Martin and Kaitlyn—but mostly Martin—pulled some strings and helped me get an apartment in their building.

Only Kaitlyn and my security team knew where I lived.

I hadn’t told anyone else. As mentioned, Nakita was not known for her discretion, especially with strangers, or acquaintances, or taxi drivers, or people online.

After all the media attention since the will reading, the fewer people who knew where I lived the better.

Nakita gave me a squintier look, then changed track. “So, have you been able to make any headway with Diya? Is that why you’re here today?”

“Not yet, but I’m not just here to see Diya. I wanted to see you, too.” I tried for a little smile, but the best I could do was a brief uptilt at the corners of my mouth.

After I broke the news to my former roommates that my engagement to Andreas was fake, Diya had gone full ice queen.

She’d stopped replying to my texts, didn’t acknowledge me in the group chat, and never referred to me directly when we were in a room together.

Nakita and Kendra were both pretty mad, but nothing like Diya.

Nakita had started talking to me again within a month, and Kendra shortly after, but trying to get through to Diya was an ongoing struggle. Her sense of betrayal had the force of a neutron star.

But I got it. I did. I completely understood her perspective.

If I didn’t understand, I would’ve been a huge hypocrite instead of just a moderate-sized hypocrite.

I’d lied to them about Andreas being my fiancé.

We’d gone out to dinner with them before Thanksgiving as an engaged couple and put on a lovey-dovey show. No one likes being lied to.

Ask me how I know.

I wasn’t going to let my friendship with Diya go without a fight. Nakita, Kendra, and Diya were important to me. I was in the wrong and I needed to make it up to them.

Nakita sipped her tea, saying, “Just give her time. I’m sure when she sees this big fruit basket you brought over, it’ll soften her a little.

It’s all her favorite things. She’s always talking about how she wants more pineapple and less cantaloupe.

Thank you for the tea, by the way!” She gestured to the tin on the countertop near the sink.