I’d forgotten the hum of his voice. The sound of it feels like stepping into a warm kitchen after a bike ride through the rainy Dutch winter.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I had a job interview.”
He continues as if he didn’t hear me, “So that’s what I’m doing here. You weren’t here so I gave my guest lecture. I guess everything I had to say was pretty old news to you.”
There’s a strain in his voice, the one that makes his laughs go dry and his words sound a little painful. I didn’t think I’d ever become the target of this version of his voice.
“It was,” I say, but before I can lay out my next words, Lewis beats me to it with a sullen, “Gee, thanks.”
“No, it’s…” I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to tell him that I’ve combed through his papers to get a little piece of him, something just for myself, and with every rereadI missed him more, his sharp mind and his meticulousness and laser focus and drive and his soft laughs and his patience and—
He’s turned away from me and is sitting with his head in his hands again. And all of this is going so wrong, and I still don’t know what he came here for, but I do know that if I don’t speak now, he might walk out of my life and I might not get this chance again. The thought sends my heart into a panicked staccato, and my motor cortex scrambles some random signals to open my mouth.
“I read your grant.”
Weird opener. But okay. That’s where we’re going.
“And it’s brilliant. I can’t believe how fucking brilliant it is and I’m almost jealous I didn’t put it together except I know with you it’s in capable hands,” I go on, voice overflowing with excitement for him, “and I didn’t say this the first time, even though you massively deserve it, but congratulations.”
“You did tell me,” he murmurs, almost too low to hear.
“What?”
“Congratulations. Then.”
I cringe when the words loop back through my mind.Congratulations on your fucking grant.
“Not for real. Not seriously. Listen. There’s something I came to say to you, too,” I begin the speech I should have rehearsed better on the train. “Usually, this time of year—the summer—is what I love most about work, because I get into this flow where I feel like I’m part of this huge dialogue in science.”
Lewis tilts down his chin, but at least he’s letting me get the words out. I suppose it’s all I can ask for after everything I said in anger the last time we spoke.
“But this summer, no matter how hard I chase it, I can’t get into it. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says, but there’s frustration lacing his words and tightening his jaw.
I didn’t expect him to be so closed off and it almost makes me abort the whole mission, but I push on.
“No, you don’t understand. Research doesn’t feel right anymore because it’s not. Not without you. There’s this giant Lewis-shaped hole. Like I lobotomized you out of my life but did the worst possible job of it. I still get these phantom pains, as if you’re sitting next to me, commenting in the back of my mind. Snarky words when I’m doing a sloppy job, jumping to conclusions too quickly, or spinning my results into a neat little story.”
Now that the first bit is out, I allow myself to finally lift my gaze from where I’ve been staring at the floor and find him looking at me with a furrowed brow.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I pushed you away and I’m so sorry that I did. How I did it. You not telling me about the grant hurt me, and when I found out, I saw myself being sucked into someone else’s agenda again and could only think of pushing back. I’m sorry for what I said to you. It was horrible and, more importantly, so far from the truth.”
Something flashes behind Lewis’s eyes, but his face remains impassive, and I can’t tell if he’s battling with his emotions quietly or if all I have to say leaves him cold. I touch my chest, right where fear drills a hole into it.
“I think I was scared,” I go on. “Of you. How you’re able to see through me and understand me. I was afraid of everything I was feeling for you and all the ways it could go wrong. But it’s like you said. No matter how much we try to plan and control as scientists, sometimes it takes a leap of faith.”
I feel like that first day we met on the plane, trusting another person with my panic as we were hurtling through thesky. But I have to do it,sayit, even if it feels like free-falling into the unknown.
“So I guess, here I am, doing just that. Betting on all the ways it might go right. Because I love you.”
I barely hear my own words over the deafening thud of my heart, but they’re out. Lewis blinks slowly, and lifts one hand, just to hook it into the pocket of his blazer.
I’m not sure what I expected him to do after my confession, but it wasn’t this: Lewis jumps to his feet, so fast I step back in surprise, and heads to the lectern, where he smacks a button until the projector whirrs back on. The last slide of Lewis’s talk lights up on the wall, a photo of his lab, the logos of all the research foundations supporting him, and the special thanks to his colleagues who contributed to all the data he presented.
“You asked me what I was doing here, so I’d better do what Iactuallycame here to do, which wasn’t my guest lecture.” Lewis taps another button and the slide switches to a new one, blank except for the Sawyer’s logo at the center of the screen. “At the start of the summer, when I boarded that airplane to the Sawyer’s, I was ready to just survive the trip. You know, with how little I like networking and with how nervous I was to see my brother again.” Lewis pauses, and in the silence my memory overlaps with his. His hands in mine on a shaky flight. “And somehow, you made everything I was dreading so much fun. And I wasn’t sure if it was just that—that you were a distraction, a happy one, and I got swept up in it.”
Oh.A distraction. Is that really all I was for him?
