16. Cell Reproduction Mitosis
CELL REPRODUCTION: MITOSIS
*Samantha*
I felt ... uncomfortable.
Presently, we sat at the same black, circular table where I’d reviewed the adoption paperwork and where we’d discussed the initial stages of our plan, the details of the smoke screen, and our conditions for the subterfuge.
Thinking back, I marveled at my previous bold aplomb, showing up here in a skintight dress and stilettos, demanding that we get down to business.
Tonight, the dynamic felt incredibly different, and yet also exactly the same, which made no sense.
Peeking at Andreas, I took note of how his gaze moved over me now, dressed as I was in an old baggy T-shirt and equally baggy ripped jeans. His eyes held the same flavor of intensity as before. And this realization gave my usually imperturbable heart spikes of pause, confusion, and panic.
And that’s when the doubt crept in. Perhaps I assumed too much that night.
Glancing down at my T-shirt, I confirmed it was not at all sexy. I frowned and peered at him again, a new hypothesis forming, leading to a new conclusion. Perhaps this is not heat and interest in his gaze at all, but rather this is simply his normal expression ...?
Had I misinterpreted his interest two nights ago, and then again during our fake engagement dinner? Was this attraction I felt entirely one-sided? I swallowed around a parched throat, my previously controlled thoughts bouncing around the inside of my head like Ping-Pong balls.
“You wanted to talk.” Andreas’s flat statement pulled me out of my queasy contemplations.
I nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s right.” Folding my hands on the tabletop, I couldn’t help but continue to study him.
His gaze felt laser focused on me, and just as hot as it had two nights ago. And yet, after the long day I’d had, I knew I looked like an untidy, dusty, tired mess.
What is going on?
Andreas dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Samantha? Are you well?”
I nodded again, bringing my hands to my lap where I could twist my fingers without him seeing.
Forget it. Who cares if the attraction is one-sided. All you need to do is tell him that you find him irresistibly attractive, you have real feelings for him, and ask him to help you get rid of these feelings.
Inhaling deeply for courage, I mentally prepared myself for the necessary words, but instead what I said was, “So, Andreas. What are your thoughts on Jordan Peterson?”
Andreas’s expression changed from what I’d previously—and potentially, incorrectly—labeled as hot and interested to bemused with a single blink. “Pardon? Who is that?”
I twisted my mouth to the side. “You don’t know who Jordan Peterson is?”
“No.” His gaze flickered over me. “Should I?”
“What about Andrew Tate? Ring any bells?”
“No.” There was no recognition in his eyes. “Are you considering them for roles at Genetix? Are they scientists?”
Frowning dejectedly, I shook my head. “Not even a little.”
“Then, who are?—”
“Forget it.” I waved a hand in the air, batting away any follow-up questions, then let it drop. “Tell me, what are your thoughts on mRNA vaccines?”
He blinked twice, once more looking bemused. “Uh, I do not—I mean, should I not be asking you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I searched his words for a possible offensive meaning and frustratingly found none.
“You are the geneticist and know more about this subject than me.” When I continued to glare at him, he added, “What I mean is, I play chess for a living, an occupation that has nothing to do with medical science. Why would I think I know more about mRNA vaccines than a PhD candidate in genetics? That would make me a fool.”
I nibbled the inside of my bottom lip, growing more and more irritated by his lack of delusions of grandeur and his trust in highly educated experts. “Fine,” I bit out. “Then, how about, where do you stand politically on racism, as an example.”
He frowned at me, visibly confused, and exhaled a short laugh. “Okay, racism is not a political issue. It is a moral, ethical, human-rights, fear-based, lack-of-education issue, and should not be justified or condoned by political affiliation.”
Huffing, I gritted my teeth and turned my head away from his stupid handsome face. He had to possess at least one reprehensible, and therefore unattractive, opinion. Why couldn’t he just cooperate?!?!!
“Who is your ... favorite ... member of The Beatles?”
Now he narrowed his eyes on me, the side of his mouth tugging slightly upward. “George Harrison.”
DAMN IT!
“What about BTS?”
“RM or V.”
My lungs filled with the fire of exasperation because no one was this perfect. Placing my hands flat on the table, I leaned forward, preparing a rapid-fire question assault.
“Favorite flavor of ice cream.”
“Chocolate.”
I made a face, surprised. “Really?”
“Yes, vegan cashew chocolate ice cream is the best of the vegan flavors.”
I didn’t have any experience with vegan ice cream, so I moved on. “Charles Darwin or Karl Marx?”
“Darwin,” he answered immediately. “In my opinion, Marx misinterpreted natural selection to justify his philosophical and political ideologies.”
“Dog or cat?”
“Both. If you recall, I love animals.”
Shoot. That’s right. Unable to stop the question, I asked, “Is that why you’re vegan? Because you love animals?”
“No. Not really. It is mainly for health reasons.” He seemed to hesitate before continuing. “My mother died of colon cancer when I was eleven, she was just thirty-two. And her father died of colon cancer at twenty-nine.”
“Oh, Andreas.” My hand came to my chest where a sudden ache had made breathing difficult. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about your mom.” I fought the urge to rush over and hug him.
He shook his head, jaw clenching, and dismissed my concern. “It was a long time ago. But peer-reviewed studies have shown that a vegan diet greatly reduces the risk of colon cancer. Also, honestly, I do not enjoy the taste of meat or dairy.”
GAH! He’d mentioned peer-reviewed studies, not just research studies .’ Get a load of the size of this guy’s media literacy, ladies. Be still my heart.
But he’d also mentioned not liking dairy, and that was something I could work with. “Not even cheese?” I questioned. “You’re telling me you don’t like a good Camembert? Nothing alluring about Gouda? Really?”
He gave me a small smile. “No.”
I examined Andreas for a long moment, wondering if his opinion about cheese was enough to temper my attraction to him. Unfortunately, it’s not enough. Andreas was more beautiful, smarter, and cooler than my affinity for cheese, shockingly.
Now, if only he would say something rude about coffee ... But no . The first time we met weeks ago he’d ordered coffee. He liked coffee.
Sitting back in my chair, I rubbed my forehead. This was getting me nowhere.
Desperate, I tried for a more direct approach. “Tell me something, Andreas.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Tell me something unlikable about yourself.” I peeked at him, letting my hand drop to my lap again.
His eyes were on me, but they were unfocused, like he was in deep contemplation, attempting to decipher the riddle of my question.
“I do not und?—”
“I’ll start.” I crossed my arms and leveled him with a frank look.
“I still like watching old movies even though—when viewed through today’s lens—they are often incredibly problematic.
I don’t care. I still like watching them.
In fact, I enjoy the heck out of Some Like It Hot and I do not care that some people tell me it’s high-key sexist and homophobic. See? I’m a terrible person.”
Andreas’s eyebrows lifted until his forehead wrinkled. “I do not think that makes you a terrible per?—”
“Also, when I’m really busy, I don’t shower for days and days.” I gave him a flat look. “Sometimes longer than a week, and I kinda like the smell of my own stink.”
His eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut.
“Gross, right?” I wasn’t finished. “I would rather be late for a party than arrive on time, but without makeup. I hate going to parties without wearing makeup, but I procrastinate putting it on, which means I’m often late.
Yet, I’ll likely never change this about myself.
Also, I forget to check my mail and have a bad habit of missing important documents and letters, letting them pile up for over a month.
I don’t enjoy small talk and usually refuse to do it.
This means I frequently come across as abrupt or judgy, and I’m really okay with that.
” I paused, thought about that last one, then added, “Probably because I am both abrupt and judgy, so that’s on me. But, again, I’m okay with that.”
Andreas had leaned forward as I spoke and placed an elbow on the table. Most of his mouth and chin were obscured by his hand, his thumb and forefinger resting to either side of his nose. His half-lidded gaze seemed to bore into me, giving me the impression that he was listening intently.
“Let’s see, what else ...” I tapped my chin.
“Uh, sometimes people don’t like my face, or my aura, or my vibes.
I get that a lot. I know I sometimes say really stupid and ignorant things.
But since that’s something everyone does, I’ll give myself a pass and try to do better.
I also get mad and vindictive when I feel slighted or taken advantage of.
Oh! I drink too much coffee and then complain when I have trouble sleeping at night.
I also doomscroll on my phone if I have insomnia, and then complain even more about having trouble sleeping at night. It’s insufferable.”
“You have trouble sleeping at night?” Andreas tilted his head slightly to the side.