I take a deep breath, focusing on our linked hands. “The Sawyer’s Summer Seminars I’m attending—if that tells you anything—is organized by my ex. We were together when I lived in New York, but then I left and we… Well, we didn’t part on good terms, and I’m not at the point where I thought I’d be when seeing him again.”
“You’re not over him?”
I look up and find Lewis scrutinizing me. Shame burns in my throat, a phantom reaction as Jacob’s words from five years ago come echoing back.
“I’m sorry,” he starts. “That was a personal question.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m one hundred percent over him, it’s not that.” I swallow thickly. “But at the end he told me I’d end up unsuccessful and alone.”
Lewis’s cringe mirrors the feeling that’s buried deep in my stomach. Naive younger me was convinced Jacob had no clue, that his retaliation was only meant to hurt me, but in the days counting down to this flight, and at the prospect of seeing him again, doubt has crept in. He’s always been good with people, and he knew me more intimately than anybody else.
What if he was right?
“I don’t care so much about being alone,” I continue. “It makes the nomadic life of academia a little easier. But I’d pictured myself starting the tenure track by now. Job security. Staying in a city for more than a year or two. More high-impact publications. Something that would make it all worth it. Something to show him how wrong he was.”
Although it’s only half of thebut, off-loading my worriesto someone is freeing. Vulnerability is not my strong suit, but Lewis makes me feel at ease—and knowing that I won’t see him again makes it easier to open up.
The other half of thebutis a little more complicated. It involves a know-it-all scientist who goes by the name of Theodore L. North. Once upon a time, I thought we could be friendly colleagues, but then he tore it all down with a paper he published, making it clear that his life’s mission is to sniff out any and all weaknesses in my academic papers. I don’t know what I did to him, because while he loves scrutinizing me, he seems perfectly generous with the rest of the scientific community on social media. He makes his data sets openly available, hosts online panels to amplify researchers from underrepresented communities, and every month, he dedicates a day to giving online advice for people who are starting out. Although we both work in memory research, we’ve never crossed paths. But I know he’ll be at the Sawyer’s, and I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to finally putting a face to the name, or if I dread having to fight our battles in person.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Lewis says, tilting down his head so he can look me straight in the eyes, “this ex of yours sounds like a douche. Good that you put your career first and don’t let yourself be intimidated by him.”
“Thank you.” I smile at him. They may be a mindless offer of kindness, but his words ease something in me. Maybe Murphy’s Law is a lie after all. Without this seat change, I’d be freaking out all on my own. “Now, please tell me you have nicer reasons to be traveling.”
“To be honest, I’m also torn about my trip.” His eyebrows pinch together. “I’m traveling to the Sawyer’s as well, which is exciting.”
Columbia University is hosting this year’s Sawyer’s Summer Seminars, with topics ranging from the neuroscience ofmemory to personalized medicine and antimicrobial peptides. I’m about to ask which one he’s going to, when Lewis continues, “But I also have family in New York, and I should probably make an appearance at a few things that are happening there.”
“Like?”
His gaze swivels past me, and for a moment he looks lost in thought. Then he focuses on me again, and his voice is low as he responds, “My little brother’s college graduation.”
“That’s exciting.”
“Yeah, well,” Lewis replies, as if it’s anything but. “He doesn’t even know I’ll be in the city, so I’m not sure I’ll go.”
He sounds like it’s normal to skip a sibling’s graduation. To me, the thought of missing any of the big events happening in Karo’s life feels wrong. When she got promoted to her current job as social media manager at a publishing company, I felt sad for a whole week because I was too tied up at the lab in Phoenix to fly out and celebrate with her, and although we live on the same continent now, the seven-hour train ride that separates us still feels too far.
“What’s holding you back?”
Instead of answering, he tips his head to the ceiling. “Looks like we’re finally in the clear.”
There’s a blank screen where the seat belt sign used to be. A flight attendant wheels a food cart down the aisle, and the plane seems mercifully steady. Enough for me to finally lower my shoulders.
I’m burning with curiosity about his relationship with his brother, but it’s obvious he’s in less of an oversharing mood than I was so I don’t push. “Thank you,” I say instead, and give his hand one last squeeze before I let go. “Should we look at your abstract then? The deadline is in a few hours, right?”
“Noon—the conference is in Auckland, so midnight intheir time zone. It’d be nice to go. I’ve never been to New Zealand.” While Lewis pulls his backpack out from under the seat, I bring myself into work mode and tie my hair into a bun. The back of my neck is still slick with the traces of my panic. “But first, I need to shorten it massively. I’m not sure what your area of expertise is, Dr. Frances…?”
“Silberstein,” I supply. Lewis’s laptop slides out of his hands, and I catch it against my thighs. “Actually, my name is Franziska, but I go by Frances ever since I moved to the US. Lived in the UK, for a bit, too, which is why my English is all over the place. Anyway. My area of expertise is cognitive neuroscience. I investigate the mechanics of memory in the human brain, so I’m not sure how much I can help with your physics stuff.”
He frowns. “Physics?”
I wave to the tinted window, where the clouds pile up behind the tip of the wing. “I assumed. Since you gave me a quick rundown of aerodynamics.”
“Um, I’m not a physicist. Just a bit of a nerd, that’s all.” His cheeks redden again.
“What’s your research about then?”
He seems strangely nervous, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down the column of his throat. “I’m a neuroscientist. Cognitive neuroscientist, to be precise.” He pauses and fumbles with the crew neck of his T-shirt. “I think… we’ve exchanged a few emails.”
