Chapter 16 Variation in Genetically Complex Traits
VARIATION IN GENETICALLY COMPLEX TRAITS
*Samantha*
Andreas set my suitcase down inside the door and said nothing.
At least at first glance, the interior appeared unchanged.
I shrugged out of my jacket. He took it from me without asking.
It was so automatic, the remembered steps to a dance we’d done at least thirty times before.
I almost laughed, like my body and his had a sequence of default rituals regardless of what our actual brains thought about them.
He hung our coats up and stepped back, hands at his sides.
For a second, despite the stress of the day, I thought we’d crash together in one of those cliché, forbidden-urge embraces.
Instead, we simply existed together. Me looking at him while he studied his shoes; then him looking at me while I reacquainted myself with the walls.
Part of me wanted to say something clever, or silly. Ideally, both. Cut the tension with my usual scalpel. The rest of me was so exhausted from the last twenty-four hours, all I could muster was, “I should get some sleep.”
Andreas cleared his throat. “Do you want any tea first?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll go right to—uh—bed.”
He nodded, his gaze flickering up to mine, then away. He cleared his throat again. “Sleep anywhere you like.”
I opened my mouth to question him about the strange statement, but Andreas grabbed the handle of my suitcase and carried it through the entryway toward the living room beyond.
The quiet echo of his footsteps paired with the gentle comingling smells of rosemary, wood polish, and the spices he used liberally to season his vegan dishes—all of it so familiar and precious in my memory—made me realize that, for all the weeks I’d lived here, I’d never once heard Andreas slam a door, stomp his feet, set a glass down too hard on a table, scrape a chair against the floor, or make any other thoughtless loud noise.
He disappeared around the corner, and I stood alone in the entry, letting the silence settle. Something about the stillness here felt different from my own apartment, or anywhere else I’d lived. It wasn’t simply the absence of noise, or even the absence of clutter.
It was Andreas.
He was a quiet, thoughtful, and careful person.
His place felt quiet, thoughtful, and careful.
Which made me wonder, why would he invite me back into his gentle and peaceful living space?
He claimed to love me, but why? What did he even see in me?
I wasn’t quiet. I was reactionary instead of thoughtful, and not at all as careful as I should be.
Logic told me I should frustrate him, not attract him.
Eventually, I followed the sound of his footsteps, catching sight of the huge black circular table that anchored the large living room.
It was here that the memory of my last morning in this apartment—stuffing my comforter and sheets into trash bags, angrily sorting out everything he’d purchased for me, folding and refolding my clothes—rose up like a poltergeist.
Similar to the entryway, everything appeared the same. The living room still had the same couch, where I’d woken up straddling his lap, where we’d made out more than once. Even the throw pillows were neatly arranged, just the same.
But as I walked further into the room, I realized something had changed.
The Christmas tree still sat in the corner, wedged between the window and the wall, but it was long dead.
The needles, once dense and shockingly green, now drooped in sad, brittle clusters, brown as hay.
It looked like it would disintegrate if you sneezed on it.
The lights and ornaments still wound around the branches, but the bulbs were dark.
I caught myself gaping at it and tore my eyes away, refocusing my attention.
Sneaking a peek at Andreas, I realized he’d noticed my staring.
His cheeks had turned faintly pink, and his mouth twisted as if he were about to mention the presence of the tree before I did.
His mouth opened, then closed, then he gave his head a little shake.
I felt myself wanting to apologize for noticing, but instead I said, “It’s still up.”
He nodded but offered no explanation.
A joke, a bad one, tumbled out of me. “Waiting until after Christmas in July?”
Andreas cleared his throat a third time and gathered a deep breath. “I could not bring myself to have it removed. Thinking about it not being here . . . hurt. A lot.”
Ah, yes. Andreas is in his brutal, blunt honesty era.
As we silently traded stares, I told myself not to ask Andreas any more questions unless I wanted to hear the truth. Complete honesty seemed to be all he would offer me from now on.
Breaking the suddenly tense moment, he pointed at my suitcase. “I put it there for you.”
“Thank you.” Rushing forward, I picked up the bag. “Well, uh, good night.”
“Good night.” His voice sounded gruff, strained, but not unkind.
I carried the suitcase toward the back bedrooms, feeling Andreas’s attention on me until I walked a distance down the hall past where he could see.
The door was cracked to the bedroom that had technically been mine from mid-November to late December.
Upon first glance, I—once again—found everything exactly the same.
The mattress was still bare. No sheets, no pillows, just a beige slab in the middle of the room.
I frowned at it, then scanned the rest of the space. All the items Andreas had bought me—the stationery, the candles, the stylish clothes—were where I’d left them, stacked neatly on the dresser. Even the little box of tea was exactly where I’d left it. Nothing had been moved or touched.
Setting my overnight bag on the bed, I unzipped it and fished out my phone. A text from Tara, the timestamp from fifteen minutes ago, flashed on the screen.
Tara: I can figure out the night-shift roster if we start in two or three weeks.
A month from now would be better. We were already stretched thin when we covered you at the hospital during the overnights last weekend, and I only got the backup then because I said it was a temporary situation.
I’ll need to negotiate with the boss upstairs in order to get more guys assigned.
Get your door lock switched out ASAP so you can sleep at home without worrying about sleepwalking out of the apartment.
Sorry I can’t be of more help this time.
Tara had been equal parts frustrated and relieved when I’d informed her after lunch that I had decided to stay with Andreas tonight. Andreas’s offer was the best, simplest, and most logistically reasonable solution to my immediate dilemma, which was why I’d ultimately agreed.
First of all, he’d volunteered. Secondly, I couldn’t keep imposing on my friends and hoping they were light sleepers. Or imposing on Kaitlyn, Martin, and Joey. I needed a sustainable solution that didn’t require me to burden anyone else.
Plus, Andreas and I already had a system to keep me inside the apartment should my subconscious wish to flee. Like before Christmas, Andreas would lock the exterior door with a code tonight. I wouldn’t be able to leave until he typed in the code.
And this was what Tara referred to in her text when she’d mentioned having my apartment’s door lock switched ASAP. If I had the same lock installed that Andreas owned, then I could do something similar at my own apartment. But obviously, not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either . . .
I texted Tara back.
Sam: Please don’t worry about it. We’ll figure out the night-shift situation if needed. Thank you for all your help. I’ll get the lock installed ASAP.
There were no other texts, no missed calls, nothing else in the digital universe that demanded my attention.
I set my phone on the nightstand and rifled in the bag for my pajamas—a pair of old joggers and a T-shirt with a faded university logo—and was about to hunt for a towel when I realized, since I’d always used my own sheets the last time I lived here, I didn’t know where Andreas kept the sheets, or even if there were any clean ones.
Leaving my suitcase on the bed, I padded back out into the hall.
Andreas sat at the circular table, a book in one hand and a glass of something the color of honey in the other. There was a level of tiredness in his posture tonight that made me hesitate asking him for anything. But I needed sheets, a pillow, and a blanket.
Hovering on the threshold, I eventually cleared my throat.
Andreas lifted his eyes immediately and—is it my imagination, or does he look . . . hopeful?—tilted his head to the side as if inviting me to speak.
“Where are the sheets?”
His face seemed to fall subtly before he cloaked his expression, arranging his features into their usual calm mask. Setting down the glass and book, he stood. “Oh. Sorry. Yes. I forgot.”
He gestured for me to follow and walked to the entryway closet. There, he opened the door, and pulled out a drawer, bending then straightening. He turned, holding a bundle of sheets.
I held my hands out, but he tucked the sheets under his arm. “Since you are my guest, I should be the one to make the bed. You brush your teeth and do whatever else is required while I see to it.”
I felt my hands go slack and let them drop to my sides. “Okay. Thanks.”
We walked single file back down the hall to the bedroom.
I relocated my bag so he could make the bed, then I grabbed my things and left for the bathroom.
It was spotless, as always. The towels were perfectly folded on the rack, and all of the old bath and body products that Andreas had gifted me were still lined up along the shelf above the sink and around the shower, including the little bottle of perfume I’d loved.
I stared at the bottle, then at my own reflection in the mirror.