Climbing required focus. Just the placement of my hands and feet. Shifting my body weight for balance. I was bouldering today—free-climbing without a harness or ropes—so every position was important.
But even though I was traversing across a challenging section of wall, making my body burn with effort, my head wasn’t nearly as clear as I wanted it to be.
Damn it, Hazel, why are you ruining my Saturday?
I couldn’t stop replaying the moment she’d said be adventurous sexually. Those words coming out of her pretty mouth had set off a cascade of thoughts and fantasies.
How adventurous was she? Were there things she dreamed of doing, but hadn’t? Things she liked that I could do better than her previous partners?
Frustrated at the sudden intrusion into my calm, I maneuvered sideways to put myself in a better position. My fingers gripped the hand-holds, and I kept my body pressed against the artificial wall. I glanced down, noting the location of the ground. It was all too easy to lose track of where you were. That tended to be how accidents happened.
I’d tried rock climbing in college and discovered I really liked the sport. For a kid who’d grown up believing he was hopelessly un-athletic, finding something I was good at physically had been a big win.
What climbing did for my body didn’t hurt either. I’d put on quite a bit of muscle, even more than when I’d started working out in high school. And as it turned out, muscles made a nerdy guy a hell of a lot more attractive to members of the opposite sex.
Even if I’d hated it, I probably would have kept climbing just for that reason.
I got to the end of the course and made my way back down. When I was close to the bottom, I pushed off and let go, landing on my feet on the mat below.
Even though I’d already worked up a sweat, I decided not to go home. I wanted to beat myself up a little more. Maybe that would finally get Hazel out of my head.
I walked down the street to my gym and joined some guys in a game of basketball. That was another sport I’d gotten good at. Or good enough, at least. I could sink three-pointers like a boss.
After two games, I headed home, exhausted, sweaty, and starving.
And discovered I had an almost-empty refrigerator.
With a groan, I grabbed my wallet and left before I could collapse onto the couch and decide I could make do with a slice of cheese and some stale chips, which were the most substantial things I had left in my kitchen.
The corner store a block away had a nice deli with good hot meal options. I grabbed a container of meatballs and a couple of bags of groceries so I wouldn’t be scrounging for something to eat tomorrow.
I carried the bags to my building, the scent of the meatballs making my mouth water. My stomach gnawed at me. By the time I got to my door, I was well past hungry and deep in hangry territory, as my sister would say.
I set the bags on the ground and reached into my pocket for my keys.
Oh shit.
My keys weren’t there.
With a growing sense of alarm, I stuffed my hand into my other pocket. No keys there, either. I had my wallet and my phone, but I’d walked out the door without my keys.
Hoping against hope, I tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Damn it, why did these stupid apartments have doorknobs that were so fucking easy to lock without meaning to?
I barely resisted the urge to kick the door. Instead, I called Molly.
“Hey twinkie, what’s up?” she asked.
“Can you do me a favor that’s not a big deal? And by not a big deal, I mean it’s probably really inconvenient for you.”
“That’s quite the set-up. What do you need?”
“My spare key.”
She groaned. “Did you lock yourself out of your apartment again?”
“Maybe?”
“Corban, what is wrong with you?”
“Can you lecture me when you get here? Preferably after I’m in my kitchen eating the meatballs I just picked up.”
“Oh my god, are they the ones from that store by your building?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Molly, you’re not getting my meatballs. I’m—”
She hung up.
I thought about kicking the door again.
My stomach growled, protesting the proximity of my dinner and the fact that it was still in the bag instead of my mouth. Maybe I’d just sit here and eat with my hands.
A glance toward Paisley’s apartment gave me another idea. She’d have forks.
Hoping she was home, I picked up the bags and knocked on her door.
She answered dressed in a cropped shirt and yoga pants, her hair in a ponytail. “Hi there.”
“Hi, Paisley.”
Her eyes flicked to the grocery bags. “What’s all this? Are you coming over to cook me dinner?”
My brow furrowed. “No. I locked myself out of my apartment. Molly’s on her way with a key. Can I wait inside?”
“Yeah, sure.” She stepped aside so I could come in.
I went straight for her kitchen—her apartment was a mirror of mine—and set my bags on the counter. “Do you mind if I eat my dinner? I’m starving and if I don’t eat it, Molly will steal it when she gets here.”
“No, please do. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. Where do you keep your forks?”
She leaned her hip against the counter and pointed to a drawer. “In there. I was just kidding about you making me dinner, by the way.”
I grabbed a fork and glanced at her. “Yeah, I know.”
“Obviously you wouldn’t just show up and cook for me.”
“Right, I don’t know why I’d do that.” I fished my to-go container of meatballs out of the bag, my salivary glands doing double duty.
“Yeah, so… Can I get you something to drink? A beer or glass of wine?”
“I’m good. I’ll get some water when I get home.”
“Well, that’s silly. I can get you a glass of water.”
I took a seat at the small kitchen table and dug into my food. Oh my god, it was good. I liked their meatballs anyway, but as hungry as I was, this was like the best meal I’d ever eaten. Paisley put a glass of water in front of me, then sat in the chair on the other side of the table.
“Thanks,” I said around a mouthful of food.
“Sure. Why are you all sweaty?”
“I went rock climbing. And then played basketball.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were into rock climbing.”
“Yep.”
“Wow.” She reached across the table and squeezed my bicep. “That must be why you have these.”
My brow furrowed again, and I glanced at her hand. “Yeah.”
She smiled and pulled her hand away. “So, Molly said you got a new job. How’s that going?”
“Mostly great.” I took another bite of meatball. “I’m working on some stuff with motion capture technology that’s really exciting. Plus I’m introducing my boss to data analysis techniques that better codify subjective answers to survey questions.”
“Oh.”
“Even my boss was surprised at some of the results. It’s not that what I do changes the data, but when you can look at it in new ways, sometimes it tells you things you would have missed otherwise.”
I stopped talking because the glazed-over look in Paisley’s eyes cut through my usual obliviousness. I knew that look. It either meant she didn’t understand what I was talking about, or she didn’t care.
I got that look a lot, and I’d learned to shut up when I noticed it.
“Hmm,” she said when I didn’t continue. “You said mostly great. Why not all great?”
Shrugging, I took another bite. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to talk to her about Hazel. I could have. Who didn’t have a frustrating coworker? Paisley would probably commiserate with me. But I had the weirdest feeling that if Paisley said anything bad about Hazel, I’d get mad. Ju
st the thought of it made my back clench and my shoulders tighten.
“It’s just work,” I said finally. “You know.”
“Do I ever. I don’t know why I ever thought working for lawyers would be a good idea. I know I’m just the receptionist, but I work hard and deserve respect like anyone else.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure the wife of one of the partners is trying to get me fired.”
“That sucks. Why would she do that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, she just hates me. So do the other women in my office.”
“You don’t get along with any of the women in your office?”
“Not really. But I’m used to it. I’ve never had a lot of girlfriends. Except for Molly. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but women are usually jealous of me.”
She did sound conceited, but I decided to keep my mouth shut about it.
“That’s too bad.”
My fork hit the bottom of the cardboard container. I’d inhaled the entire heaping portion of meatballs. Oops. I’d meant to leave one or two for my sister. I’d have to make it up to her later.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.” Paisley curled the end of her ponytail around her finger. “They’re just gossipy bitches anyway.”
I tapped my foot beneath the table. Where was Molly? How long was I going to have to stay here? Now that I was no longer in danger of immediate starvation, I didn’t particularly want to be in Paisley’s apartment.
What was Hazel doing this weekend? I’d overheard her say something about a wedding. Had she brought a date?
God, why was I thinking about her all of a sudden?
But really, what was she doing? Probably having adventurous sex with someone.
“Are you okay?”
I startled, looking up at Paisley. “Yeah. Why?”
“You just looked like maybe you were upset about something for a second.”
“No, I’m good.” I grabbed the remnants of my meal and held up the fork. “Do you want me to wash this?”
“That’s okay, just put it in the sink.” She paused, still twirling her ponytail. “So Corban, do you want to—”
Whatever Paisley was about to say got cut off by a knock at the door.
“Good, that’s probably Molly.” I tossed my to-go container in the garbage and answered the door.
Molly looked like a less nerdy, female version of me. Same dark hair, although hers was cut in a chin-length bob that she kept tucked behind her ears. Same brown eyes, but no glasses. Same nose, similar mouth. No one ever doubted we were related.
“You didn’t save me any meatballs, did you?” Her white t-shirt said baby bump in swirly black letters, and she rested her hands on her belly. She’d gotten bigger since the last time I’d seen her. Or rather, the baby had, stretching her body with it.
I winced. “I was hungry.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed past me. “Hey, Paisley.”
“Hi, Moll. Oh my god, look at you.” She got up and hugged my sister.
Molly’s husband, Martin Tan, strode in behind her with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He’d been born in Singapore, but his family had moved to the States when he was a baby. We’d gone to college together, which was how he’d met Molly. He was a data nerd like me, only infinitely cooler—good-looking, well-dressed, and funny. More like Molly.
“Hey, man,” he said with a nod when he walked in.
“You can just let me into my place.” I couldn’t explain it, but I had a rapidly growing urge to get out of Paisley’s apartment. I went into the kitchen and grabbed my groceries. “I have cold stuff I need to put away, so…”
“Okay, okay,” Molly said. “Maybe I’d be moving a little faster if you’d saved me some meatballs, but whatever.”
“Do you need me to run down there and get you meatballs, baby?” Martin asked.
Molly scrunched her nose. “Would you mind? It sounds so good.”
He smiled. Placing his hand on her belly, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “What my baby wants, my baby gets. I’ll be right back.”
“Why don’t you guys just hang out here?” Paisley asked. “Martin can grab dinner for everyone, and I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
Molly glanced at her husband. “That sounds good to me if you don’t mind. And since I can’t drink the wine, would you pick me up something yummy and pregnancy-friendly?”
“Sure.”
I really needed to find a way to nope out of this. I’d been around people all day. I might have overcome the worst of my shyness, but I was still an introvert. I needed downtime.
“You guys go ahead, but I’m going to head home. I have some work stuff I need to do.”
“On a Saturday night?” Molly asked. “Come on, Corban.”
“Maybe another time.” I kept inching for the door.
Molly gave an exaggerated sigh. She reached into her pocket and pulled out my spare key. “Fine. Here’s your key, you big loner.”
I shifted my groceries so I could take the key.
“Oh, you know what you should do?” Molly asked, moving the key just out of my reach. “Get a copy of your key for Paisley. Then next time you lock yourself out, you won’t have to call me to get back in.”
“I’ll get a copy made while I’m out.” Martin took the key from his wife. “Let’s go. I’ll let you in your place on my way out.”
“That’s a great idea,” Paisley said. “I’ll give you a copy of mine, too. It seems silly that we haven’t done that already.”
“Okay, sure.”
I said goodbye to my sister and followed Martin out the door. He let me into my apartment and sure enough, my keys were right there on the table. I rolled my eyes. Figured. I didn’t know why I did things like that. But it was nice of my sister to bail me out—again. I just felt like a dork for still needing it. You’d think I’d have gotten the hang of this adulting thing by now.
I could analyze complex data sets or write a sophisticated algorithm that accounted for hundreds of different variables to match potential romantic partners, but I couldn’t remember my keys.
I was kind of hopeless.
12
Corban
“The demand to be loved is the greatest of all arrogant presumptions.” ~ Friedrich Nietzche
I didn’t see the tiny intruder on my desk at first. My mind was occupied with too many other things to notice much about my surroundings. Data mapping, response rates, complex algorithmic calculations. Not to mention my grant proposal.
Hazel was in there too, but I was trying to pretend she wasn’t.
I’d already been at work for a few hours when I finally saw the penguin figurine sitting on my desk. How had I not noticed it until now?
Shaking my head, I picked up the little penguin. Nice one, Hazel.
I ran my thumb over the smooth ceramic surface. It was only a few inches tall, painted shiny black and white. She’d obviously put it there to poke at me over the favorite animal conversation. I still felt like a dork for backtracking when I’d said penguins. Lion or grizzly? Really, Corban? I didn’t know why I’d done that. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress her. Why did I care if she knew I liked penguins?
I set it down off to the side behind a stack of books. Next to the other little penguin I already had.
They kind of matched.
Suddenly, my mind lit up with another way to mess with her. She wanted to tease me about my favorite animal? She didn’t have a favorite, so I’d start putting a different animal on her desk every day. I did a quick search on Amazon and found several sets of small plastic animals. Zoo animals, safari animals, marine creatures, household pets. I even found a package of dinosaurs.
Hazel was going to get a menagerie.
The scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread wafted into my office, pulling my attention from my prank planning. What was that? Where was it coming from?
Like a cartoon character following a tantalizing scen
t he can’t resist, I practically floated into the hallway. I paused in the doorway of Hazel’s empty office. It smelled good in there, but that wasn’t the source. I kept searching, sniffing the air. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. I hadn’t even been hungry a minute ago, but whatever I was smelling had triggered a chain reaction of responses in my brain and body.
My nose led me to the staff lounge where a knot of people had gathered around one of the tables. They were chewing, licking their fingers, and emitting a chorus of satisfied murmurs.
“Hazel, these are the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever eaten.”
Hazel? Oh, boy.
The little crowd parted, revealing a triumphant Hazel standing in front of two trays of fresh cinnamon rolls. Her blouse was beige today, paired with a black skirt, and it was weird that I noticed what she was wearing given the other sensory stimuli demanding my attention—namely, the smell of those cinnamon rolls. But I did notice. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, her dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and her nails were painted soft pink. I’d never noticed her with painted nails before.
“Corban, you have to try one of these,” Elliott said. He popped a bite in his mouth and closed his eyes. “These aren’t on my diet, Hazel. I should be mad at you, but they’re too good.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
A few of the other staff members thanked Hazel and wandered off, still pulling apart sticky bites of cinnamon roll. My eyes flicked between Hazel and the trays, my stomach shouting at me to get one and shove it in my face immediately.
For half a second, I wondered if she’d let me have one.
With precise movements, she cut a thick cinnamon roll, the top bathed in white sugary frosting, and set it on a napkin. Meeting my eyes, she lifted it and held it out.
I took it and oh my god, it was still warm. “Thanks.”
Biting my lower lip, my mouth watering at the delicious aroma of fresh bread and cinnamon, I pinched a soft bite between my thumb and forefinger. Hazel watched me with eagerness in her eyes, like she couldn’t wait to see me taste it.
Love According to Science Page 9