Chapter Fourteen
Bernie
“Knock, knock,” Gail says from my doorway, startling me from my Excel trance. I swivel toward her. “Heard from Chen yet?”
I shake my head, and Gail purses her lips. It’s only been a day, but I think we were both hoping that the lab issue would get resolved easily. After Ash left yesterday, Gail came to check on who we emailed. She’s probably as eager to hear from the engineering faculty as Ash is.
“I don’t think all faculty are back yet. Classes don’t start for a few more weeks, and I know everyone is getting ready for that, plus faculty retreats. I will send a reminder email tomorrow.”
“Keep me posted.” She hesitates like she’s not sure how she wants to word something. I brace for impact. “I hate to ask you this, but Myers called me to let me know an office wasn’t ready for Dr. Mishra yet. Are you okay with him sharing your space for a week or so?” She gestures to the small desk in the corner for our student workers. “You’re the only one with a spare desk and I’d rather give him the option versus asking him to work from home.”
What am I supposed to say to that? No, Gail, he can’t work in my office because he gave me the best sex of my life and I don’t want to be haunted by all the orgasms I won’t be having?
The problem is I’ve never been territorial about my space. It’s easy for me to zone out when I work which is why our student worker worked in my office. If I protest, she’ll know something is up.
“Shouldn’t Dean Myers be taking the lead on this?” I hedge. It is a little unusual for Gail to be dealing with this level of detail.
“I’m not ready to pass it on. This grant is time-sensitive, and I’m not convinced Myers is on board to be a good steward yet. Also, Mishra is a liaison, so he could fit with both groups.” If that wasn’t a fancy way of saying she was worried Myers was going to screw things up, I don’t know what is.
“Umm…sure.” I draw the word out. She raises an eyebrow at my response and comes to stand fully in my office.
“Is there a problem?”
“No--not a problem. I’m sure it will be fine.” I force my face to smile and I know she can see right through it.
“Good, I think you’ll work well together. The structure of his grant reminds me a lot of your work and I’m curious to see how our portion of the grant will compare to MIT’s. I’ll send him an email letting him know he has space here if he wants it.” She turns to leave, completely oblivious to the anxiety she’s leaving behind.
“Okay, good. I will keep you posted about the lab.” She waves on her way out and I glance at the clock on my computer screen, eight forty-five. When will he come? Will he come?
I miss you , he texted me. Why was that text haunting me? Why did I keep re-reading it, re-reading all his texts?
Because you’re an idiot, I tell myself, and I force myself to blank my mind and pretend like everything is totally fine.
***
“I hear we’re roomies,” Ash says, snapping me out of my concentration--again. Unfortunately, this time, I gasp like I’m about to be murdered. When I’m in the zone, it’s like the world drops away, everything becoming distant and quiet.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ash says from my doorway. I take a deep calming breath before looking over at him. He has the decency to look a little guilty for startling me. I glance at the time, one thirty. My eyebrows raise, a little surprised considering how pushy he had been yesterday.
He holds up a brown bag. “I brought lunch,” he offers, jiggling the bag like he’s trying to make me smile. I bite my bottom lip to keep it in line because I will not let his mouth give mine any ideas.
“Nice,” I tilt my chin toward the desk in the corner. “You’re welcome to work there. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to keep–” I stop talking when he walks forward and pulls out the chair on the other side of my desk. It’s a U shape with my computer and monitors in the center and work surfaces on either side. On my left, a long table section stretches under a wall of windows. On the other side is an empty expanse of wood where visitors set their things. I watch in shock when he carefully sets his computer bag on one side and then starts taking out container after container from the bag.
“I hope you like Indian food,” he says, pulling out napkins and small bowls. “I found an international grocery store, bought a ton of things, then decided to make us lunch.” He opens a steaming container and starts to spoon rice into a bowl. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
The big metal spoon is hovering over the bowl. I lift my eyes from the spoon, and he arches an eyebrow, holding my gaze before heaping more rice into the bowl--basically daring me to tell him I don’t want it. My stomach gurgles audibly at the smell coming from the bag, and he smiles, big and bright.
Cheerful Ash-hole .
“I packed,” I say evenly, and he sets the bowl down to reach for another container. He opens it, and a complex combination of fragrant spices fills my office, making my mouth water. The takeout options in Indiana aren’t awful, just a lot different than what I was used to in the Northwest.
“Now you can save it for tomorrow,” he says with an irritating amount of cheerfulness. I watch as he spoons some kind of tomato-based sauce with chunks of vegetables and potatoes on the side of the rice.
“Sorry, I’m vegetarian, I should just eat my own food.” I push away from my desk and stand.
“Yep, so am I.” He stands, hands me the bowl, and then sits back down. He picks up a second bowl and repeats the process. I stand there stupidly as he licks the spoon and closes the containers before reaching into the bag and pulling out a package of flatbread. “Full disclosure, I did not make this. The owner of the grocery store had some laccha paratha, and I couldn’t say no.” He opens the package, lifts some bread, folds it, and holds it out to me. I must take too long because he rises up a little from his chair and places the bread on the rim of my bowl.
“Come on, sunshine, have a little taste,” he says softly before dipping his own bread into the stew and taking a big bite. I sit slowly, lowering the bowl to my desk. I don’t know what I was expecting when I braced myself for him to invade my space. That’s the problem: he never does what I expect. I spoon some of the vegetables into my mouth. They’re soft and a little spicy.
“Good?” he asks, and I nod slowly before tearing off some of the bread and dipping it into the spiced tomato sauce.
“Thank you,” I grumble. I’m still mad at him from yesterday, for everything really, and I don’t know what to do with his kindness. His sweetness.
“You like mangos?” He pulls out some juice boxes from the bag and sets the bright yellow box in front of me. “Ever had mango juice?”
“No, I’ve never seen it. I’ve only really eaten Indian food in a restaurant, never tried to make it or been to an Indian grocery store.” I’m about to reach for the box, but he gets there before me, poking the small straw for me and setting it by my bowl.
“Oh, yeah?”
I nod and take a sip of the sweet juice. “This is good.”
Ash gives me that full-face smile, and my face automatically tries to match his. I immediately frown and set the juice down before taking another bite.
“Yeah? I was surprised to see it. My dad used to buy this for my brother and me when we were kids. I thought you might like it.”
My heart pinches a little when I process that he’s been thinking about me. He’s a lying asshole, Bernadette Murphy. Do not get sucked into his bullshit , I remind myself even as I shove more bread into my mouth. I fully resent how delicious it is.
“Did you really make this?”
“Uh-huh. It’s called Aloo Baingan. It’s potatoes and eggplant. I don’t know how authentic it is, but it’s how my dad makes it. His parents are from Northern India.”
“It’s really good, thank you.”
“No problem. You know I like to feed you.”
I can feel my face close down at the memory of him kissing my shoulder, and asking for my Chinese order. “Yeah,” I start to spin my chair to the left, back to my monitors, but he reaches his hand across the table, wrapping those long fingers around my wrist.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He rubs his thumb over my wrist before letting go and sitting back. “Sorry, I’m just messing everything up.”
“You shouldn’t have said that. And stop calling me sunshine,” I remind him before shoving more food into my face because it really is good.
“I wanted to tell you sorry for yesterday. I–I shouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t mean to be pushy, I just–it was good to see you.”
That’s just incredulous. Anger starts to build in my chest and I grip the spoon tighter than necessary to keep myself from throwing it. “Why?” I growl.
“Why?”
“ Why was it good to see me? You don’t even know me, Ash. We slept together, so what? It was fun, but now it’s over, just let it go,” I whisper-hiss, fully aware my office door is open.
He leans forward, pushing his bowl aside. In a hushed voice, he says, “Can you really tell me that it wasn’t good to see me? That you felt nothing?”
He looks so serious and I want to shake him. The worst part is that I can’t answer his questions honestly, and it makes me angrier. “Are you trying to gaslight me or something? Do we live in a different reality? You-Lied-To-Me.” I overenunciate each word like if I say it slowly enough, he might understand.
“I’m not trying to convince you that I didn’t do something wrong, Bernie. I’m trying to prove that I deserve the chance to fix it. That I’m someone worth getting to know and that this is worth seeing if it grows into something. I’ve been trying to do that every day since you left Boston.” His hands slide across the top of my desk like he’s trying to decide whether or not to reach for my own. He seems to think better of it and keeps his hands to himself.
“There’s nothing to fix,” I say firmly, and I can already imagine Pru’s bawk bawk noises when I tell her about this later.
“Okay. Then how are we going to do this for the next year, huh? You’re just going to pretend like nothing happened? That we’re nothing to each other?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically and ignore the hurt in his eyes. His feelings are not my problem , I remind myself when he sits back in his chair and idly swirls his spoon in his food. We both seem to have lost our appetites.
I miss you . His text pushes to the front of my mind. I loathe that I feel like the villain, that I want to make him feel better. I resent that I shared my body and started to dream about someone who lied to me. But I think most of all, I hate that I still want him.
I think about the long car rides ahead of us, the meetings with firms--the endless meetings. I know it will be torture unless we make some kind of peace.
“Look.” I scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t want to be mad at you. Let’s just call a truce, okay?”
“A truce?”
“Yeah, we have to work together. So, let’s make a pact to forget about before. I’ll try to let it go and you’ll stop bringing it up. Let’s–let’s just start over.” I reach a hand out to shake on it. For a moment I think he’ll refuse; keep pushing. I know Stephen would. He liked to push, push, push until I gave in to whatever he wanted, twisting my feelings until I couldn’t remember what I wanted in the first place.
Ash’s warm hand brings me back to the moment.
“Friends.” He shakes my hand up and down, heat from his hand chasing the nerves up my arm.
“I didn’t say friends, I said a truce,” I swear his thumb grazes my knuckles before he drops my hand.
“Yes, and you said we were starting over. I try to make all my work colleagues my friends.” He smiles before taking another bite of bread. “Now buddy, are you going to eat your food before it gets cold?”
I think I’m going to need alcohol before this week is over.