"Admit that if I was headed to Colorado, you'd get there," he said. "You'd restructure your research schedule and convince a university to hand over some lab space, and you'd be there within a couple of months. A year, tops."
So interesting, this thread. Perhaps if I studied it long enough, I'd be able to abstain from this conversation altogether.
"Admit that Boston is dangerous," he said. "That coming home is the only thing that actually scares you."
None of the usual suspects scared me. Danger didn't scare me. It should, but it didn't, and I couldn't trace the exact origin of all that. Maybe it was the brutally abusive father; maybe it was running toward the lava flows instead of away from them. Either way, I was steeped in danger, but more than that, darkness.
I used to spend my time calculating when volcanic eruptions would obliterate human existence and send enough ash into the atmosphere to induce the next ice age. On the surface it seemed that my new explorations were less disastrous, but when all the political clutter of climate change was brushed away, I was calculating how long it would take for the remnants of the last ice age to raise sea levels and alter civilization as we knew it.
And that didn't scare me either. I didn't wallow in that black hole of uncertainty because I didn't see it as entirely uncertain. If anyone was living proof that even the most damaged creatures could recover, it was me.
But home… There was no volcano with the potential to hurt me the way that city—and everything there—could.
"You're scared," he said softly. "But you can end this."
"I'm scared," I said. "And even if it ends, I don't think I can go back to Boston. I can't stay there, Nick."
He ran his knuckles down his belly with a resolute nod. "Let me worry about that, lovely."
Chapter Thirteen
Nick
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: November 20
Subject: I know it's not Thanksgiving in England, but…
When was the last time you were home for the holidays? I got back to Dallas for Thanksgiving and Christmas two years ago, but I'm either working or on-call every day in December. The joys of being the newest attending, I guess.
My mother understood during my internship and residency, but she's less thrilled about it now. Then again, she has Maya and Dahlia's kids to spoil at Christmas, so not making it home isn't the biggest deal in her world.
What do you usually do this time of year? I hate the idea of you being alone. I hate it more than I already hate you being alone as it is.
* * *
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: November 20
Subject: I know it's not Thanksgiving in England, but…
There's always someone who insists on herding the stray cats and hosting a non-denominational event around the holidays. Always, and they never take no for an answer. I say this as the person who tries to get out of the non-denominational hodgepodge events.
Back in Iceland, there's a researcher who shares lab space with me, and he's been there for several years with his family. He's having all the forlorn Americans over for pseudo-Thanksgiving later this week. I'm sure there will be someone at Oxford who does the same thing.
The Iceland guy, he's an interesting one. We talked about the ancient Gálgahraun lava field outside of Reykjavík before I left. It's apparently inhabited by elves. Huldufolk, to beexact. The locals have some strong feelings about researchers traipsing all over the elfdom. It started with me asking whether he knew of any grocery stores that carried premade cookie dough. I think it was his way of apologizing, maybe.
Like, no cookie dough, but we do have elves so that's something.
It's not traditional American Thanksgiving, but I am having dinner with Lauren's brother Wes over the weekend. He's in the area for something James Bond-inspired, and it seems he has a few minutes when he's not averting some international crisis. So that's nice. It's better than elves.
* * *
