Chapter Three #2
“Gladly.” His voice is infuriatingly unfazed as he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his navy shorts.
How can he stay so calm? After seeing him blush over the smallest things on the plane yesterday, this surprises me.
Is it only me who gets worked up when discussing science, or is he simply better at not showing it?
After a moment of tapping around on his screen, he zooms in on something and says, “This is what I mean.” He turns the phone around for me to see and I reach for it, but he lets go too soon, and it slides out of his fingers.
I lower my hand in a desperate attempt to stop it from shattering on the ground.
“Got it,” I yelp. But it seems he has, too, because his hand is suddenly wrapped around mine.
We both freeze. The calluses on the pads of his fingers and the strength of his grip transport me back to yesterday.
The flight, turbulence shaking us, his skin warm on mine.
I lift my gaze to find him looking back at me, the sharp focus in his eyes replaced by something else.
Something softer. Something that makes my throat so parched that I need to swallow.
He tracks the movement as his hand tightens around mine, and it sends prickles shooting up my arm and blooming in my rib cage.
“I—” I start without knowing where this sentence is supposed to lead.
What were we talking about again? My phonological loop has been swept empty. The corridor, the Sawyer’s sign-up, and whatever we were arguing about retreat to the background, put on standby by the blue of his eyes, and the memory of whispered words of kindness on a transatlantic flight.
I’m still looking into his eyes when the stab of heels echoing farther down the corridor yanks me back to reality.
“Hi there! I’m so sorry you had to wait.
” The voice is high pitched and has a slight accent that I can’t pinpoint.
I manage to drag my gaze away from Lewis and spot a slender woman wearing a dark green satin skirt and white blouse.
About half a head shorter than me, she has curly black hair that is swept back and pinned at the nape of her neck.
As she comes to a stop in front of us, her dark brown eyes dance over me, then Lewis, and finally come to rest on our clasped hands.
Her eyebrows inch up in surprise. “Ah, but at least you didn’t have to wait alone,” she notes, the smile on her face deepening.
Lewis seems to regain control of his body first, and pushes off the wall, then drops my hand as a blush creeps up his cheeks.
Even then, my fingers still tingle from his touch, but I shove the sensation aside. I smile at the unknown woman, ready to tell her that the hand-holding was a consequence of trying to save his phone. “Hi, I’m—”
“You’re Frances!” she exclaims, and foregoes my outstretched hand, pulling me in to kiss the air next to my right and left cheeks.
Awkwardly, I pat her shoulder. Who is she?
Was she in my grad school cohort? I don’t remember anybody dressed so elegantly, except for that one computer scientist who’d come in wearing suits.
The rest of us traded personal style for maximum comfort: hoodies, flip-flops, leggings, washed-out tees, oversize shirts.
Anything that was loose enough to not remind us of our bodies while we got into the workflow.
When she releases me, she shakes Lewis’s hand and I watch as he introduces himself as Theodore “but please call me Lewis” North.
“It’s so very nice to meet you. I’m Vivienne.
Vivienne Duchamps,” she introduces herself, her French accent fully coming through now.
Her name gives me a much-needed lightbulb moment.
She’s a postdoc in Jacob’s lab, the one who sent most of the Sawyer’s emails, but I’m not sure why she recognized me so quickly.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Frances.”
Her easy familiarity confuses me. “Oh, from who?” I ask.
“Jacob,” Vivienne says casually before dipping into the secretary’s office, as if she hasn’t frozen me in place with one word.
When she emerges with a stack of papers, she motions for us to follow her down the corridor.
“I’m so sorry again that you had to wait.
Regina, our secretary, had to leave early because of a family emergency, and then there was maintenance on the 1, so it took me a little while.
I hope you haven’t been waiting for long.
I’ll do the sign-in for you,” she says, a few paces ahead already, “and we’ll have you out of here in no time to enjoy the rest of your evening. Did you have a good flight?”
“Turbulent,” I answer at the same time as Lewis pipes in, “We made it work.”
Vivienne throws us a look over her shoulder, lifting her eyebrows. “Are you familiar with New York, Lewis? I know Frances knows it well.”
Oh?
“I was born and raised here,” Lewis replies as I try my hardest to figure out why Jacob talks about me to some random postdoc.
“Wow!” she says cheerfully. “Well, I’m glad this trip has given you an excuse to get a family visit in, too.”
Lewis murmurs a noncommittal, “Hmm.”
Inside what I assume is her office, Vivienne points to the round table in the left corner with four chairs around it, and suggests, “Why don’t you sit down while I get everything together.”
Vivienne’s is like any textbook academic office: crammed bookshelves, department-issued desk pushed against the window, and two large monitors, one of which is turned to vertical for better code visibility.
Unlike my desk, though, Vivienne’s is organized and clean: no discarded coffee mugs, no Post-its strewn around, and no mess of papers containing everything from student reports to printouts of scientific articles.
Instead, there are two wooden paper trays, neatly stacked on top of each other.
As I look around, I’m surprised she gets an office to herself as a postdoc—usually this honor is limited to more senior researchers.
I’m on my way to perch against the lip of the table when Lewis pulls out a chair for me.
“Here are the flyers that include the program for the next two weeks, the contact information from us organizers and all the speakers’ information.
You already received your time slots via email, right?
” She hands each of us a brochure, waiting for our respective nods, before continuing, “You’re, of course, welcome to join any of the other program points, except for the wet lab–based practicals.
Those have limited capacity.” She taps on the page Lewis has opened, where it says Neuroanatomy.
She shifts her neatly manicured index finger to the program point reading Using Virtual Reality for Human Memory Research—the workshop I’ll be giving—and adds, “In the computer lab classes there should be enough space.”
Lewis flicks up his eyebrows at me. I’ll personally see to it that there won’t be enough space for him to join my class.
The first week of the Sawyer’s Summer Seminars tends to be geared toward the younger cohort, with students joining workshops and small panel discussions, often led by early career researchers, like Lewis and me.
Then, toward the end of the first or beginning of the second week, the big names will arrive to present their newest cutting-edge research.
“The official program will start tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. with the welcoming lecture. I suppose you’ll be staying for the full two weeks since you’re both leading sessions on the last day,” Vivienne guesses and we both nod as she stacks more items on the table.
A sheet of paper, a laminated badge, a lanyard sporting both Columbia’s and Sawyer’s logos for each of us.
“These are your visitor passes. And here’s a map of the campus, though you probably won’t need that, Frances. ”
I want to know why Vivienne knows so much about me when she’s just working for Jacob.
It’s not like I’ve told any of my colleagues about him, not even the ones I grab a drink with after work or travel to conferences with.
In fact, the only people who know about him are my family and, thanks to my moment of vulnerability on the plane, Lewis.
Perhaps in the future I’ll tell a boyfriend about Jacob, but at this point it seems unlikely given how low dating ranks on my to-do list.
My stomach drops.
Dating, past relationships. Could Vivienne and Jacob… The thought is so jarring it’s hard to finish it even in the confines of my brain. Could she be more than just his postdoc? More than a friend?
I zone back in to the conversation when Vivienne finishes with, “I think that covers everything for now. Do you have any questions?”
I do, but none of them are related to the Sawyer’s program.
Like, why is Jacob in a relationship with someone from his lab again?
Someone working for him, no less. Did our breakup teach him nothing?
Do you know what you’re getting into, I want to ask her, by dating your boss?
I hope Jacob doesn’t take her for granted the way he did me.
I hope she doesn’t put all her brilliant brain cells to an end goal that will serve only him.
She claps her hands together. “And that’s it for the official details.”
Thank god we’re done here. I need to get out of this room so I can process this new worst-case scenario, the one my brain couldn’t even fathom when picturing this trip.
Dropping the stack of materials into my bag, I lift the corners of my mouth into a smile. “It’s all pretty clear,” I say, “thank you for checking us in.”
Lewis zips his backpack shut. “Yes, thank you so much.”