“I’m glad you asked, Miller.” She lifts her chin, eyes that remind me more and more of crystals on me when she takes a small sip of champagne. “The answer is no. There’s too much evidence. The Chicxulub crater was found in the early nineties, it stretches over 180 kilometres, and drilling projects have shown that granite in the peak ring must have been ejected in minutes from deep within the earth, but it’s missing all its gypsum.”
I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about, but she’s been pretty good at dumbing everything down for me until now.
She pads across the floor, hanging the pointer back up on the wall before turning to the exhibits surrounding us—fossils and models of dinosaurs laid out across the room, grazing in grass, standing in riverbeds, propped up on rocks and generally looking like they’re just living whatever lives dinosaurs lived.
“But there’s actually a lot of debate about the how behind it all.” Ren takes another sip of champagne before her hand finds mine and she pulls me towards the triceratops. “Scientists and researchers say the impact event rapidly acidified the oceans and created long-lasting effects on the climate. Some researchers think it was sudden, and other people think it took place over years. It’s hard to say because the fossil record is technically incomplete.” She shrugs, the silk of her dress shifting when she steps over the small barrier into the exhibit. “Some people say it was a combination of things with a lot of contributing factors like volcanic eruptions and changes in sea level.”
“Is it okay—” I pause, half over the barrier with my hand still in hers, feet firmly planted on the floor.
Ren glances back with a tiny smile, and I might imagine it, but I think she squeezes her hand in mine before she lets it go. “Collections Manager says it’s allowed, if you don’t tell.”
“Our secret, then.” I lift my brows, bringing a finger to my mouth.
Her head whips back over her shoulder. “Don’t touch the fossils.”
Raising my palms, I follow her over the barrier into the exhibit. I glance around at the fake rocks forming a jagged cliff face against the wall, the riverbed that looks like it’s just paint up close, and the small collection of fake eggs, some with cracks dotting their surfaces, all spread out around the triceratops fossil in the centre. Shoving my hands into my pants pockets so I don’t accidentally bump into anything, I ask, “You didn’t really answer my question. What do you think?”
“That the dinosaurs went extinct sixty-six million years ago, and how lucky am I to study such a lasting legacy?” She spins around with a soft smile before waving a hand. “Who knows, really? People argue about multiple impact structures at once, too. But I think, probably—” She rests her shoulders against the opposite wall, painted with swirls of green meant to represent towering ferns, sliding down until her legs stretch out across the fake grass. She adjusts the hem of her dress across her shins before shrugging. “I think multiple causation makes the most sense. Volcanism, marine regression, and then impact from at least one asteroid. Perfect storm, and we’ll probably never know the exact truth.”
I slide down against the uneven, fake cliff face, until my legs are stretched out, almost touching hers. “Are there any fossils or ... I don’t know ... places that support the idea that it happened all at once?”
“Sure.” She nods, considering over a final sip of champagne before she sets the empty bottle beside her near the nest of eggs. “There’s a lot of evidence for the impact event in general. The Tanis site in ...” she trails off, sticking her tongue out and making a face. “Hell Creek.”
“What’s Hell Creek?” I ask. “Sounds like a shithole.”
She giggles, and it turns into a snort that blooms a blush across her cheeks before she shakes her head. “A very large formation of upper Cretaceous and lower Paleocene rocks that stretches across Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming. Very famous. Very important. It’s where very famous and very important people go to make very famous and very important discoveries. Like ... Scott.”
Her voice catches on his name, and she tries to force a smile.
I tap her foot with mine. “What’s his deal?”
“He’s my ...” Ren trails off again, glancing down at her hands where her fingers knot together. She gives a wet laugh before she looks back up at me. “We were together. For a long time.”
I blink. “What? That guy? Why?”
“When I was eighteen, I had my reasons.” She sniffs, grabbing the champagne bottle, rolling it between her hands like she wishes there was still something left. “They weren’t very good ones though, in retrospect.”
“Sorry, that was rude. I, uh, I just meant—” I wave a hand towards her before tugging on the ends of my hair. “Look at you. Come on. You could have anyone.”
“Miller Colson-Burke likes pretty girls,” she murmurs through a scoff, eyes on the peeling champagne label before she glances up to me with a wince. “Sorry. Sorry. That wasn’t—it’s just something Scott said to me earlier this week. He was just posturing. It wasn’t personal.”
“I do like pretty girls.” The part of me that woke up when we had coffee two weeks ago and decided she seemed like someone worth flirting with grins when I say it, but this feels infinitely more important than flirting ever was. Leaning forward, I dip my chin so I can catch her eyes. “And you are one. But I’m serious, why him? Only met him once and I know enough to know I won’t be interested in a repeat performance.”
She rolls her eyes before lifting a shoulder. “Eighteen-year-old me wanted to be wanted so badly she didn’t care by who.” Her thumb runs along the curve of the bottle. “She should have, though.”
“How long were you together?”
“Almost ten years.”
“Wow,” I exhale. “Long time.”
“Yeah.”
“Longer than my longest relationship by about nine years and five months.” I tap her foot with mine again, and I think the corners of her smile tug upwards.
Ren glances at me from underneath lashes that kiss her brow. “So, you do like pretty girls, the rumours are true.”
“Sure,” I concede. “Some of them, anyway.”
