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 saysNeuroanatomy.
She shifts her neatly manicured index finger to the program point readingUsing 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 joiningworkshops 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 workingforhim, 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 forgranted 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.”
“Of course,” Vivienne chimes and we all stand up. But instead of saying her goodbyes, she blurts out, “Oh, one more thing.” Her eyebrows draw together, and as she fumbles with something on her left hand, she opens her mouth, as if to talk, then closes it again. “Jacob and I are hosting a dinner tomorrow at our home,” she finally says. “It’s not included in the program, because it’s an informal event for all speakers, but we’d love to see you there. We’ll email all the details sometime tonight.”
Dinner? Attheirhome?
Her words confirm my suspicion. There is no way that they’re living together as friends. Not when I know that Jacob has always despised roommates and could afford his own two-bedroom even back when he was a postdoc, thanks to his family money. But this also means that Jacob and Vivienne aren’t only dating—they’re serious enough to have moved in together.
“Sounds great,” I bring out and press my hands into my thighs, palms suddenly damp with sweat as I track the million details of her that exude elegance and put-togetherness and maturity. The subtle and symmetrical eyeliner, the whiff of cologne that’s flowery but not too sweet, the fact that she’sco-organized something as huge as the Sawyer’s, and is now calmly telling her boyfriend’s ex about their relationship.
