Love on the Brain

“THEY HIRED A neuroscientist,” Levi says, gaze locked on the podium where engineers with heavy Dutch accents are discussing their stimulation headgear.

I’d nod, but I feel queasy. MagTech’s helmets are at the same stage as ours. Maybe a bit further. A tiny bit further, but still. The banana I had for breakfast is lurching in my stomach. “Yup.”

“They solved the output location problems in a different way,” he murmurs. He’s talking to himself, one hand clenched on the armrest, white-knuckled.

Yep. This sucks.

Hey, Dr. Curie. I know you’re busy frolicking naked with Pierre, and I know that it’s unfair of me to ask, but if you or Hertha could do me a solid and zap MagTech’s stimulation headgear with radioactive lightning, that’d be lovely. If they patent the technology before we do, they’ll just sell it to whatever militia pays the most, and as you know, humans don’t need cognitive enhancement when it comes to killing each other. Kthxbye.

“They’re stuck on merging hardware and software,” Levi says.

“Yep. Just like us.” I squirm in my chair. This trip was pointless. Absolutely pointless. I want to go back to Houston and put in five, ten, twenty hours of work. Go through every single piece of data we’ve collected and see if I missed anything that will help us move forward.

This is a race. It always was, from the very start, but after the uncertainty of my first week on BLINK, I was so grateful for the opportunity to have a shot at it, it almost slipped my mind. Doing our best, making progress—that seemed enough. Spoiler: it wasn’t. For the first time in weeks I think, really think, about my job at NIH. I’ve been sending weekly reports to Trevor and the Institute director. There hasn’t been much of a reaction on their end except for “Nice job” and “Keep up the good work.” I wonder whether they read or just skim for buzzwords. Neural networks. Magnetic pulses. Neuroplasticity’s always a hit, too.

What would they say if I told them that MagTech might reach the finish line first? Would they blame me? Would my job be safe? And what would happen to the promotion I want? I’ll either be fired or work for Trevor in perpetuity—is this what my career ambitions have come to, an eternal quest for the lesser evil?

Become a scientist, they said. It will be fun, they said.

“Let’s go.” Levi springs up from his chair the second the presentation ends. “If we leave now, we can be home by mid-afternoon.”

I’ve never been more eager to get out of an air-conditioned room. “You want to hole up in the lab and work until you pass out?”

“Yup.” He pops the P.

At least we’re on the same page. “You know what?” I muse, weaving my way through the crowd. “I might have an idea on how to tackle the gradient fields issue—”

“As I live and breathe. Levi and Bee!”

We stop dead. But we don’t turn around, because we don’t need to. Voices are like faces, after all: one never forgets them, not if they belong to people who are important. Your parents. Siblings. Best friends, partners, crushes.

Ph.D. advisors.

“I cannot believe you’re here and I didn’t know it.”

Levi’s eyes lock with mine. Fuck, I read in the way his pupils dilate. I telepathically answer, Indeed. His expression darkens.

I love Sam. We both love Sam. I’ve never talked about her with Levi, but I know they had a special relationship, just like she and I did. She was an outstanding advisor: intelligent, supportive, and she cared, really cared, about us. After my falling out with Tim and Annie, I didn’t have the heart to tell her what really happened. So I made up some lies about a friendly breakup and about needing to be in Baltimore with nonexistent relatives. Sam was the one who helped me find my job with Trevor, and she never criticized me for turning down a better position at Vanderbilt. I always love hearing from her, catching up on her work, getting coffee together. Always.

Except for right now.

I smile as she engulfs me in a bear hug, and—okay, this feels amazing. She’s tall and sturdily built. A truly committed hugger. I find myself laughing, squeezing her back. “It’s so nice to see you, Sam.”

“That’s my line. And you, Levi, look at you. Are you even taller?” Their hug is significantly more subdued. I’m nonetheless shocked that Levi does hugs, and by the affectionate smile on his lips.

“Not that I know. It’s nice to see you, Sam.”

“Why didn’t I know you two were here?”

“Because we’re not on the program. We just drove up for a specific presentation.”

“We?” Sam’s eyes widen. She looks between us a few times before settling on Levi with a huge pleased grin that I cannot interpret. Then she takes one of his hands. “I didn’t know there was a ‘we,’ Levi. I’m so happy for you. I’ve been hoping for so long, and finally, such an incredible—”

“Bee and I are working together on a NASA project. Temporarily.” He says it quickly, like a teenager stopping his mother from revealing that he still sleeps with a stuffed triceratops.

Sam gasps, covering her mouth. “Of course. Of course, the NASA project. I can’t believe it slipped my mind. Still, you two should come to my brunch. In”—she glances at her phone—“ten minutes. All my grads are coming. Food’s on me, of course.”

Uh-oh.

Uh-shitshitshitshit-oh.

I glance up at Levi, ready to beg him not to make me watch Tim and Annie eat huevos rancheros for thirty minutes, but he’s already shaking his head. “Thank you, but we can’t. We need to get on the road.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’ll be less than an hour. Just make an appearance, say hi to everyone, have breakfast on me. You’re both so skinny.”

I wonder how one could possibly look at Levi’s chest, or biceps, or legs, or . . . anything, really, and think the word “skinny,” but he doesn’t skip a beat. “We need to get going.”

“You can’t,” she insists. Have I mentioned that Sam’s bossy? I guess it’s a professional hazard when you’ve been running a lab for decades. “You were my favorite grads. What’s the point of having a lab brunch if you two aren’t there? Might as well cancel!”

“You didn’t even know we were here until three minutes ago,” Levi points out patiently.

“But now I do. And . . .” She leans forward and puts a hand on both our shoulders. “I’ll be making an important announcement today. I’m retiring at the end of the semester. And once I’m out, I’m not planning to do the conference circuit anymore. So there might not be a next time.”

Levi nods. “I get it, Sam. But we really—”

“We’ll come,” I interrupt. “Just tell us where.” I chuckle at the excited way Sam claps her hands.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Levi asks me calmly once Sam is out of earshot.

“I’m sure I do not want to do this.” If I had to type a comprehensive list of the things I’d rather do, I’d need several gigabytes of cloud space. “But if she’s announcing her retirement and it’s important for her, we can’t not go, not after everything she’s done for us.” I massage my temple, thinking longingly of ibuprofen. “Plus, my old therapist would be proud of me.”

He studies me for a long beat. Then he nods, once. I can tell he doesn’t like this. “Fine. But if you’re not feeling well, you tell me immediately and I’ll take you away.” He speaks in an authoritative way that should make me want to tell him to shove it, but . . . it doesn’t. The opposite, actually. What a mystery. “And remember my hand.”

“Okay, Daddy.” I realize the blunder only once the words are out of my mouth. Since I can’t take it back, I turn around and walk out of the conference center, blushing. Oops.

What a cluster of a day. And it’s only seven minutes past ten.

•   •   •

VISUALIZE THIS: YOU step into a restaurant, and the hostess guides you to your party’s table. It’s round and full, but when you and your companion arrive two chairs will be pulled up, guaranteeing lots of cozy elbowing. Yay. You’re welcomed by many pairs of wide eyes, and gasps, and a few “My gosh, how long has it been?” Some are for you, some for your companion. Some for both. You realize that aside from the person who invited you, no one was expecting you. Double yay.

You want to focus on catching up, ask old friends about their lives, but there’s something that nags at you. A tiny worm slithering in the back of your skull. It has to do, you initially think, with the two people who’ve yet to stand to greet you, and with the fact that you used to be engaged to one of them, and to love the other like a sister. Fair. That would nag at anyone, right?

But then there’s an extra something cranking up the tension: almost everyone at the table knows exactly what happened between you, your former fiancé, and your not-so-sister. They know how poorly you left off, how you ended up having to find another job, how miserable it made you, and even though they’re not mean people, there’s a sense swarming around, a sense that a show is about to happen. A show that involves you.

You following this? Good. Because there’s one more layer to this onion. It elevates this brunch above your run-of-the-mill trash-fire, and it has to do with your companion. He wasn’t exactly a fan of yours the last time you two hung out with these people, and seeing you arrive with him is making their heads explode. They cannot compute. The show was always gonna be good, but now? Now it’s fucking Hamilton, baby.

Are you visualizing this? Are you feeling the deep unpleasantness of the situation smack inside your bones? Are you considering crawling under the table and rocking yourself to sleep? Okay. Good. Because it’s exactly where I’m at when Timothy William Carson comes to stand in front of me and says, “Hi, Bee.”

I want to kick him in the nuts. But I’m sad to report that there are lots of pairs of eyes on me, and while I haven’t passed the Louisiana bar, I fear nut-kicking might be considered assault in this great state. So I smile my best fake smile, ignore the crawling feeling in the pit of my stomach, and reply, “Hey, Tim. You look great.”

He doesn’t. He looks okay. He looks fine. He looks like a Cute Guy™ who needs a Dorian Gray portrait, because his rotten personality is starting to show. He looks acceptable, but nothing compared to the guy standing next to me. Who, by the way, is saying, “Tim.”

“Levi! What’s up?”

“Not much.”

“We gotta start working on those collabs again.” Tim puckers his lips like the asshole he is. “I’ve been swamped.”

Levi’s smile stays on, and when Tim leans in for a bro hug, he accepts it.

Which has me scowling. What the hell? I thought Levi was on my side. Which sounds stupid when said out loud, and unfair of me to expect, because Levi and I are barely friends and my battles are not his and he has every right to man-hug whoever. . . .

My train of thought fades as I notice Levi is not just hugging Tim. He’s also gripping his shoulders tightly, fingers digging painfully into Tim’s flesh as he murmurs something in his ear. I can’t make out the words, but by the time Levi straightens back up, Tim’s mouth is pulled in a thin, straight line, his face is milk white in a way I don’t remember ever seeing before, and his expression looks almost . . . scared.

Is Tim scared?

“I— You— I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, but Levi interrupts him.

“Nice to see you again,” he says in a commanding, dismissive tone. Tim must take it as what it is: an order to scurry away.

“What just happened?” I whisper while Levi pulls out my chair. Apparently, we’re in 1963.

“Look.” He points at Sam’s food. “They have quinoa bowls.”

“Why does Tim look terrified?”

He gives me an innocent look. “He does?”

“Levi. What did you say to him?”

Levi ignores me. “Sam, does that bowl have eggs in it?”

The first twenty minutes aren’t that bad. The problem with round tables is that you can’t fully ignore anyone’s existence, but Tim and Annie are distant enough that I can chat with others without it being too awkward. Aspects of this are genuinely nice—having Sam around, hearing that old acquaintances got married, had kids, found academic jobs, bought houses. Once in a while Levi’s elbow brushes against mine, reminding me that I’m not wholly alone. There’s someone in my corner. A guy who loves Star Wars, and is too tall for space, and will take care of a kitten for half his life.

Then there’s a lull in conversation, and someone asks from across the table, “How did you two end up working together, anyway?”

Everyone tunes in after that. All eyes are on Levi and me. Sadly, Levi is chewing on a potato wedge. So I say, “It’s an NIH-NASA collab, Mike.”

“Oh yeah, right.” Mike looks a bit buzzed, but he takes another sip of his punch. He was a third year when I joined the lab. Also: he was a shithead. “But, like, how are you two managing it? Levi, do you bleach your brain after every meeting, or . . . ?”

My cheeks burn. Some people chuckle, a couple laugh outright, and others look away, clearly embarrassed. Sam frowns, and from the corner of my eye I see Tim smirk. I wish I had a witty comeback, but I’m too mortified by the fact that Levi finding me disgusting is still the lab’s funniest inside joke. I open my mouth without knowing what to say, and—

“We’re doing great,” Levi tells Mike, his tone a mix of big-dick calm and I could kill a man with a beach ball. He leisurely puts his arm on the back of my chair, and plucks a grape from my plate. A deafening silence falls at the table. Everyone is looking at us. Everyone. “What about you, Mike?” Levi asks without bothering to look up from my food. “I heard there were problems with your tenure packet. How’s that coming along?”

“Oh, um . . .”

“Yeah. I thought so.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. I guess Levi’s done eating his potatoes?

“Out of curiosity,” he whispers in my ear once the conversation has moved along and Mike is looking down at his own plate, chastised. “Did everyone think that I hated you, back in grad school? It wasn’t just your delusion?”

“It was a widely known truth.”

His arm tenses around my shoulders, as tight as his jaw.

A few minutes later I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I have eye makeup on, but I say “Screw it” and wash my face with cold water anyway. Who’s going to be looking at my runny eyeliner anyway? Levi? Weepy Mess Bee is nothing he hasn’t already seen.

Then I notice her. Annie, in the mirror. She’s standing right behind me, waiting for me to finish using the sink. Except there are three more sinks, and zero other people in the bathroom. So maybe it’s just me she’s waiting for.

My head hurts. And so does my heart, around the edges Annie cracked in it two years ago. I can’t talk to her. Can’t. Can’t. I take my time drying my face with my sleeves. Then I buck up, turn around, and face her.

She’s stunningly beautiful. Always has been. There’s something indescribable about her, something magic that made me happy to be in her presence. Oddly enough, the feeling is still there, a mix of familiarity and love and awe that knifes deep as I stare at her face. Seeing Tim again was painful, but it’s nothing, nothing compared to having Annie right here.

For a moment I’m terrified. She can hurt me very, very deeply with just a few choice words. But then she says, “Bee,” and I realize that she’s crying. Judging by the burning in my eyes, so am I.

“Hey, Annie.” I attempt a smile. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I . . . yeah.” She nods. Her lips are trembling. “I love your hair. Purple might be my favorite.”

“Thank you.” A beat. “I tried orange last year. I looked like a traffic cone.” Silence stretches, wistful. It reminds me of when we’d fill every second together with chatter. “Well, I need to . . .” I move for the door, but she stops me with a hand on my forearm.

“No—please. Please, Bee, can we just . . .” She smiles. “I missed you.”

I missed her, too. I miss her all the time, but I won’t tell her. Because I hate her. Me and my multitudes.

“I’ve been listening to that album you gave me a lot. Even though I’m still not sure I like it. And last year I went to Disneyland and there was this new Star Wars park and I thought of you. And I haven’t been able to make friends in Schreiber’s lab because they’re all dudes. Total WurstFest™. Except for two girls, but they’re best friends already, and I don’t think they like me much, and . . .” She’s crying harder now, but also laughing in that self-deprecating way that is so Annie. “So, you and Levi, huh? He’s even hotter than back at Pitt.”

I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”

“You probably made all his dreams come true. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. Not that I’d seen him happy, like ever, before today.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Actually, Levi hated me,” I say stubbornly.

“I doubt it. Not by any definition of that term. He just really—” She shakes her head firmly. “This isn’t what I came to talk about, I don’t know why I’m going on about stuff that . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

I could pretend not to know what she’s apologizing for. I could pretend that I didn’t think about her every day for the last two years. I could pretend that I don’t miss the way we’d make each other laugh until our abs ached, but it would be exhausting, and even though it’s eleven fifteen in the morning, I am already so very tired.

“Why?” I ask. A question I rarely allow myself when it comes to Annie. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes close. “I don’t know, Bee. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years. I just . . . don’t know.”

I nod, because I believe her. I never doubted Annie’s love for me.

“Maybe I was jealous?”

“Jealous?”

She shrugs. “You were beautiful. The best in the lab. With the glamorous globe-trotting past. You were always good at everything, always so . . . so happy and cool and fun. You made it seem effortless.”

I was never any of those things. Not by a long shot. But I think of Levi—impenetrable, cold, arrogant Levi, who turned out not to be impenetrable, cold, arrogant at all. Being so dramatically misunderstood doesn’t seem that unlikely.

“And you and Tim . . . You and I were always together, but in the end, you’d go home to Tim and I’d be alone, and there was this . . . thing that I was never part of.”

“Were you trying to . . . to punish me?”

“No! No, I was just trying to feel . . . more like you.” She rolls her eyes. “And because I’m a dumbass, I picked the worst part of you to do that. Fucking Tim.” She lets out a bubbly, moist laugh. “We never . . . It lasted a week between us. And I—I never liked him, you know it. I despised him. You were so much better than him, and everyone knew it. I knew it. He knew it, too. The moment I did it, while I was doing it—I thought of you the whole time. And not just because he was a lousy lay. I kept wondering if doing such an unspeakably bad thing would . . . elevate me, somehow. Make me more like you. God, I was messed up. I still am.” She wipes her tears with two fingers. There’s already more, flowing down. “I wanted to apologize. But you blocked my number, and I told myself I’d give you space and see you at Vanderbilt. Then the summer passed, and you weren’t there . . .” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, and I think about it every day, and—”

“I’m sorry, too.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I may not have fucked your fiancé, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you felt like you weren’t good enough. You were my best friend, but I always thought you were . . . invincible.”

We are quiet until she says, “This is in no way meant as self-congratulatory, but I’m glad you didn’t marry Tim. I’m glad you’re with Levi. He’s the kind of person you deserve.”

I don’t see the point in contradicting her. Not when I agree with everything she’s said, including things that aren’t quite true. So I nod and make to leave.

“Bee?” she calls.

I turn.

“Would you mind it if I texted you, once in a while?”

I should probably be thinking big thoughts about forgiveness, and punishment, and self-preservation. I should throw the question back at her and ask if she’d let me text her if our situations were reversed. I should reflect on this when my brain is not a mushy mess. But I forget all the “shoulds,” and tell her the first thing to cross my heart. “We could try.”

She nods, relieved.

Levi is outside the bathroom, a hulking mountain leaning against the wall. I don’t have to ask to know that he saw Annie come after me, and decided to follow in case I needed him. I don’t have to lie or reassure him that I’m fine even as I wipe my cheeks. I don’t have to explain anything.

I can just nod when he asks if I’m ready to go, and take his hand when he offers it.