“Fair. We’re on the way to pick up the rental car, so I don’t have a lot of time,” she informs me. “Wait, did you run into Jacob?”
“No, not yet. Thank god.” I loosen my hair out of its bun and comb through it with my fingers. “But I need your advice on something.”
“Okay, shoot.” Karo doesn’t even hesitate after years of operating as my second opinion on problems spanning the social, professional, and sometimes also academic realm. She’s given me advice so many times that sometimes I forget I’m the older sister.
“How bad would it be if someone at your office mistakenly assumes you’re together with your colleague… let’s say the one with the pizza socks—”
I hear Lennart giving directions in the background. Then, Karo: “Adam?”
“Yes. That one. Let’s say you didn’t correct them, but agreed, thereby making it sound like you were together. But both Adam and you know it’s not the truth and you don’t even like Adam—you actually really,reallydislike him—and now you need to explain to the people in your office that you’re not together, even though you literally agreed that you were. What are the chances of others thinking you’re unprofessional and a liar?”
For a moment, the line is silent. Then Karo asks, “Is that a trick question? Because we both know you’re the numbers whiz, but it seems pretty obvious that the chances would be very high.”
Well, isn’t that great.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I did something really stupid,” I finally admit.
“Like making someone think you were dating a colleague of yours?”
“Precisely,” I grumble, grinding my heel into the armrest of the couch. “She saw us holding hands—”
“You were holding hands?” Karo gasps. There’s some commotion in the background, then I hear Lennart ask, “What, your sister?”
“We weren’t holding hands,” I correct. “She thought we were.”
“Is he at least cute?”
“What?”
“Is he—”
“No, I heard what you said. Why on earth would that be relevant?”
“Well, if someone put me in a relationship with a rando, I’d hope they were cute. So. Is he?”
The moment that set off this terrible chain of events flits across my mind, Lewis’s and my hands linked and our gazes locked for longer than any stranger can justify. From a scientific standpoint, purely objectively speaking that is, he does have his attributes. I guess with his swooping hair and those clear blue eyes, strong arms and bashful smile, you could even call him cute. Not that any of that matters, because, cute or not, he screwed me over four years ago, he continues to criticize my work, and he annoys the hell out of me just by existing.
“If you like constant fighting and know-it-alls, I guess you could call him cute.”
“Sounds just like your type.”
I groan. “You know, if you were standing next to me, I’d push you into the wall right about now. But really,” I say, growing more somber by the second, “I don’t know what to do.”
“You could tell the truth?” Karo suggests over the noise of a car door shutting.
“I should.” I sigh. “But lying is not just a bad character trait—for someone whose work is reason and figuring out the true mechanisms behind how the world works, it’s theworsttrait. Not to mention that the most important people from my field are at this conference. It’s a small community, and word travels fast. I’d be judged big-time, something I absolutely cannot afford, especially now when my funding is running out.” I rattle off the flowchart from bad decision to sudden career death that I’ve plotted out in my head. “I’m still waiting for the outcome on that big grant, and what I did doesn’t exactly speak for my integrity—scientific or otherwise. I need my colleagues to know they can trust me, not to make them wonder what else I’d lie about.”
“Crap, okay.” Karo hums. “You’re right, it doesn’t sound like telling the truth is the best option.” When she falls silent on the other end of the line, I get up and start pacing from thecouch to the kitchen island. Illustrated postcards and photos from trips across the world are tacked to the sunflower-yellow kitchen cabinets. The studio I’m staying in is small but more welcoming than my place back in the Netherlands, where the rooms are empty save for the content of two suitcases, mismatched secondhand pottery, and the furniture that came disassembled and flat-packed from IKEA.
“What are the odds that this person didn’t tell anybody else?” Karo pipes up. “That they ultimately don’t care who you do or don’t date?”
“Given that she’s Jacob’s fiancée,” I say, “I’d gauge that those odds are pretty low.”
“Oh,Hasi.” Bunny. Her tone is soft, and I hate how small it makes me feel.
“She’s really nice. Considerate. Wanted to tell me the news in person. Probably also extremely smart, otherwise she wouldn’t be working for Jacob.”
“Hold on, she works for him?”
