He was senior enough that he usually got a private room and did not have to share with anyone, but if the station was atmaximum capacity he would get assigned a roommate no matter what.
I walked across the wooden boardwalk that connected all the buildings. It was a clear and beautiful austral summer day. There had been years in the past where I had taken this same path and the boardwalk railing was all I could see — during the famous Antarctic blizzard conditions, whiteout usually set in and you could not see your own nose. The boardwalks were lifesaving. In a matter of minutes you could lose your orientation otherwise, and there was nothing else for miles on this white desert continent except these tiny clusters of buildings around the station.
I did not even need gloves. That was how warm it was today. According to Marcus, the glaciologist and probably the most senior researcher on the station, the weather on the Antarctic Peninsula had become milder and milder over the decades. Just a few decades ago the glacier behind the station used to be so close that the meltwater would be piped in as the humans’ drinking water supply. Now it had retreated so far back that we used desalinated ocean water instead.
I glanced to my side. The dark waters of the ocean were speckled with chunks of ice. It was not too bad this close to the station, but the further out you went the more the broken chunks of ice were everywhere, making navigating the Zodiac a nightmare sometimes. Further out on the water it looked like we were floating in a giant glass of Coca-Cola. I had read that description online somewhere and it had stuck with me ever since.
At the R&R building I flipped my name card from OUT to IN before I walked down the corridor toward Sam’s room.
“You are late today.” The station engineer passed me in thehallway.
“Why does everyone have to remind me,” I grumbled under my breath.
You would think that the station being in one of the most remote places on the planet it would be an introvert’s dream come true, but it was exactly the opposite. I had met people from other research bases like McMurdo, which was the largest one, and it seemed the culture was very different there. Those bases operated more like a little village whereas at Waypoint we were like one very large family.
Everybody knew everybody’s business. There was no privacy, and you certainly could not be a loner introvert because nobody would leave you alone.
Still grumbling about the station engineer, I flung the door open to Sam’s room and promptly forgot everything — the station engineer, the weather, the ocean.
Sam was standing in the middle of his room dressed in nothing except a pair of jeans.
My brain instantly went offline. This man had been torturing me since I was fifteen with his dark eyes, his brooding looks, and his sculpted physique. Even though we worked as partners I tried to stay away from moments like this one, because of what was happening to me right now. He had no right to look this good. He was a boat operator and logistics guy in this godforsaken remote place. Why did he have to look like a Calvin Klein model.
“Close the door,” he said in his deep voice, and ignored me while he pulled on a skintight white t-shirt and then a sweater over it.
“Huh?”
I was having trouble processing language. All my blood had rushed south. The number of times I had been in danger ofsporting a full hard-on in the presence of this man was too great a number to contemplate. He had always had this effect on me, which was really unfair.
Fifteen-year-old me had met him and developed the most massive crush ever, and it had only gotten worse as I grew up and he became even more attractive to me.
“Close the door,” he repeated, his back toward me.
“Oh right,” I mumbled as I finally got my bearings and stepped inside his room.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why — but why — why were you changing?” I stammered like an idiot.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, probably noting my uncharacteristic stuttering.
“I went diving with the B14 team,” he said.
“You already went diving and you are back?”
“I waited for you,” he replied calmly, turning back toward me and sitting down on the bed to fasten his boots.
I was suddenly dismayed to realize he had already had his breakfast. I knew that sounded ridiculous, but this was my ritual every morning — I trekked down from the Main to the R&R building, then we walked back together and had breakfast in the cafeteria. No matter how bad it was outside, how cold, how miserable, I always made the walk. The whole station knew.
I was late today, sure, but couldn’t he have waited for me? After years of doing this? I supposed I was attached to this stupid morning routine, which was admittedly my idea. Not that he had ever asked me to do it. But he wouldn’t stay in that building, so what else was I supposed to do?
My expression must have been all over my face because suddenly he rose to his feet and crossed the distance betweenus until he was standing right in front of me.
“Hey,” he lifted a hand and rested it on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. What could I say — that he shouldn’t have eaten breakfast? That he should have just kept waiting for me? I was not a fifth grader.
Even though I was usually the class clown, I did have my pride, especially in front of him. I wanted him to take me seriously, and he did. He treated me like the professional I was. He respected me as a diving partner and as a researcher. But it was always with this air of taking care of me.
