“I think you’d be fantastic at that,” I say.
Her eyebrows shoot up so high they almost disappear into her hairline. “Really?”
I nod. I mean it. “You’re articulate. You’re clearly passionate about it, which is half the battle. And from what I’ve seen, you’re good with people. You don’t talk down to them. Emma adores you, and four-year-olds are notoriously difficult to impress. Plus, you have the face for television.”
She blinks at me, and I realize what I just said.
“I mean—that came out wrong. I just meant—” I clear my throat. “You know what, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
But Annie’s smiling now. A real smile, not the polite one she’s been giving me all night. It’s a beautiful smile. “Thank you,” she says, and her voice is softer now. “That means a lot, actually.”
“What about you?” she asks after a moment. “Did you always know you wanted to be a teacher?”
I chuckle quietly. “God, no. When I was six, I wanted to be a garbage man because I thought riding on the back of the truck looked fun. When I was eight, I wanted to be a magician. I spent an entire summer trying to learn card tricks and nearly gave myself carpal tunnel.”
She laughs, and I realize I like making her laugh. I like the way her nose scrunches up slightly when she does it.
“When I was ten,” I continue, “I wanted to be a paleontologist because I was obsessed with dinosaurs. I made my parents take me to the Natural History Museum every weekend for six months straight. My dad finally told me I had to pick a different career because he couldn’t handle looking at one more T-rex skeleton.”
“What changed?” she asks, still smiling.
“High school psychology class,” I say. “I took it junior year because I needed an elective and it fit my schedule. But I ended up loving it. The teacher was this guy named Mr. Hirsch who made everything interesting. He’d bring in case studies about people with brain injuries who couldn’t form new memories or who saw colors when they heard music. I was fascinated by it. By how much we still don’t understand about how the brain works, how consciousness works, why we make the decisions we make.”
“So then you decided to study neuroscience?”
“Eventually. I started in psychology in college, but I wanted something more concrete. More scientific. Neuroscience gave me that. It’s this perfect intersection of biology and psychology and chemistry and philosophy, all wrapped up in trying to understand the most complex thing in the known universe,which just happens to be sitting inside our skulls.” I can hear myself getting more animated now, the way I always do when I get to talk about my work. “We know so little about it still. Why we dream. How memory actually works. What consciousness even is. Every time we answer one question, we find ten more we didn’t know we should be asking.”
Annie’s watching me with this look on her face that I can’t quite read. Interested, maybe. Or amused that I’m getting worked up about neurons and synapses at midnight in my living room.
“Do you believe in quantum physics?” she asks.
I pause. That’s not a question I was expecting. “Do I believe in it? Quantum physics isn’t a religion. It’s a field of study. It’s measurable, observable, testable.”
“But do you think it’s real? Like, the idea that particles can be in two places at once or that observation changes outcomes?”
“It’s been proven mathematically and experimentally countless times, so yes, I think it’s real. Whether I like it or not.” I lean back against the couch. “Quantum mechanics is one of the most well-tested theories in all of science. The math works. The predictions it makes are accurate to an absurd degree of precision. But does it make intuitive sense? Does it align with how we experience reality on a macro level? Absolutely not. It’s completely bonkers.”
“Bonkers how?”
“Bonkers like particles existing in superposition until they’re observed. Bonkers like quantum entanglement, where two particles can be connected across any distance and measuring one instantly affects the other, which Einstein called ‘spooky action at a distance’ because even he thought it was ridiculous. Bonkers like the double-slit experiment, where light behaves like a wave until you try to measure it, and then it behaves like a particle.” I pause. “The universe at the quantum leveloperates according to rules that have nothing to do with our everyday experience of reality. But just because something is counterintuitive doesn’t mean it’s not true. Some of the most important discoveries in science have been things that seemed impossible until we proved they weren’t.”
Annie’s quiet for a moment, and I realize I’ve just given her a lecture. Again.
I run a hand through my hair, slightly embarrassed. Rebecca would give me this look across the table, this tight smile that meantshut up, Leo, nobody cares about neuroplasticity or the default mode network or whatever you’re going on about now.She’d tell me later in the car that I was being inappropriate, that people didn’t know what I was talking about, that it wasn’t proper casual conversation. That I was showing off or trying to make other people feel stupid, which was never my intention. I just get excited about this stuff. I forget that not everyone does.
“Sorry,” I say. “That was a lot.”
But Annie laughs quietly, and it’s not the polite laugh people do when they want you to stop talking. “Honestly? I find it fascinating.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “You do?”
She nods, and she looks like she means it. “I can see why you’re a good teacher. You make complicated things sound interesting instead of intimidating.”
The relief I feel is disproportionate to the situation. “Why did you ask about quantum physics?”
She shrugs, pulling at that thread again. “I read a little about it in college. My roommate sophomore year was a physics major and she was completely obsessed. She’d try to explain things to me at two in the morning when she was studying for exams. Most of it went over my head, but some of it stuck. And I guess I was wondering if it relates to fate somehow.”
“Fate?”
