The tips of my fingers burn to reach for my phone. I haven’t touched it since we sat down, to resist watching Antonio’s PSN interview. He left on Tuesday to record it after returning from Houston late Sunday night. I was in Central New York last weekend, visiting farms that are part of a food equity collective with urban growers. By the time I came home, he was gone.
“Miriam, are you okay?”
“Yup,” I lie. It’s a struggle to sip my wine with a straight face. Pounds of sugar in my glass aren’t a requirement, but good gracious, this is dry. “What did you ask me?”
“Did you always want to be an engineer?”
“Back to shop talk, huh?”
His shoulder lifts. “Indulge me.”
“Yes and no. Most of my toys as a kid were robotics and science kits.”
“Legos?”
I smile. “Those too. What about you?”
Kieran’s mouth tangles in a frown. “I didn’t have a choice.”
My face sours. “What does that mean?”
He laughs at my grimace. “It could be worse. My family’s legacy is at Maple King. My father. My mother. My grandparents.”
It sounds like a cult where you sacrifice newborns every generation for wealth and status, but I keep quiet. Maybe I should send my parents a thank-you for not forcing me into a career. Not that they could have if they’d tried.
“What would you do if you could choose?”
It’s a simple question, but it catches him off guard. He stares with narrowed eyes and a creased forehead like I asked him to explain theoretical physics.
“I don’t have an answer.”
“That’s sad.” I pop a shishito pepper into my mouth. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive.”
He laughs. “You fascinate me.”
“I don’t know why.”
“You’re honest and don’t seem rattled by what people think.”
“Don’t forget clumsy and smart.”
“And stunning.” He eyes me. “Are you doing what you want to do?”
Saved by the server.
I say a quick prayer before digging into my Cajun salmon. It’s not the ideal dish for a first-date kiss, but I have no plans to kiss anything but my toothbrush before I go to bed.
“I enjoy applying what I learned in practical ways,” I say. “I want to own patents. Wow, I never admitted that out loud until now.”
An idea formed during a recent visit to an urban farming site in Buffalo. Climate resilience is a concern. Summers are hotter. Blizzards are more commonplace. Machinery struggles to withstand extreme weather with its current materials.
“I’d need the proper environment to conceptualize and prototype my idea, and programming,” I say out loud to myself. “I can do it.”
Kieran studies me. “A patent is ambitious.”
“But not impossible,” I add.
“Correct.” He smiles. “The offer to use our lab still stands.”
