Love According to Science

by Kingsley, Claire

  “God, Moll, you need to stop calling me twinkie. Where did you come up with that, anyway?”

  “Because we’re twins. Twinkie has the word twin right in it.”

  “You’ve been calling me twinkie our whole life because it has the word twin in it?”

  She laughed. “Yes. You didn’t know that? I thought it was obvious.”

  “Not obvious, weirdo. Can’t you come up with something better?”

  “Nope. It’s too late. You’ll always be my twinkie.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just promise me you won’t teach Kate to say it.”

  “Fine,” she said. “So how’s Hazel? I thought you might bring her with you.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because there’s obviously something going on between you two.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  Martin brought Kate back to Molly. She was free of her swaddling blanket, dressed in a white onesie, her tiny limbs wriggling.

  Molly put a curved pillow in her lap and Martin handed Kate to her. “That’s bullshit, and I need to feed her.”

  “Should I go?”

  “No, it’s just breastfeeding. If you’re afraid of catching a glimpse of my boobs, don’t look.”

  I waited while Martin helped her get the baby situated. I didn’t want to catch a glimpse of my sister’s boobs, but it was easy enough to look away. And hopefully we could talk about something else.

  “As I was saying,” Molly said, finally, “I know you’re not just friends with her.”

  I groaned. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Martin sat on the couch next to me and gave me a sympathetic glance, as if to say, good luck getting her to drop it.

  “Fine, we’re sort of more than friends. I think. I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I wished I knew. “I guess we’re friends with benefits.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “See? I told you. Commitment issues.”

  I spread my hands wide. “Why do you assume that means I have commitment issues?”

  “Friends with benefits?”

  “She said it, not me.”

  “She told you that? She said she doesn’t want to date you?”

  “No, but that’s what she told her friends.”

  “How do you know?”

  I didn’t need to get into that. “Long story.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she pressed her lips together, studying me for a long moment. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. We basically hated each other at first, so friends is good. And the benefits are really good.”

  She kept scrutinizing me. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  Neither do I. “I told you, it’s fine. It’s not like she’s forcing me to do anything.”

  “She better not.”

  “Trust me. That’s not an issue.”

  “Okay, good. Like I said, I just want you to be happy. And I don’t understand how a girl could be with you and not want to keep you forever.”

  I tried not to flinch, but damn, that stung. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? No one had ever felt that strongly about me.

  And the truth was, no one was ever going to, whether I wanted it or not.

  31

  Corban

  “We need love. We need loving relationships. It doesn’t have to be marriage. But sex is the most healing thing you can do to your body.” ~ John Gray

  After leaving Molly’s, I went home, feeling kind of shitty and restless. I thought about going climbing, or maybe to the gym to see if the dads were playing basketball. Neither of those sounded all that great. They weren’t what I really wanted to do tonight.

  There was only one thing—one person—I really wanted.

  “Fuck it,” I muttered to myself and texted Hazel. If we were friends with benefits, there was nothing wrong with texting her for a booty call.

  Me: Hey. Busy tonight?

  Hazel: No, why do you ask?

  Me: Do you want to come over?

  Hazel: I just took a batch of sugar cookies out of the oven. Would you like me to bring them?

  Me: Are you kidding? Obviously yes.

  Hazel: Send me your address and I’ll be there shortly.

  I texted her my address and tossed my phone on the counter. Her cookies were great, but that wasn’t why I wanted her to come over. Of course, I wasn’t going to turn them down either.

  She arrived about fifteen minutes later. I didn’t even pretend I had another reason for inviting her. As soon as she came inside, I took the container of cookies out of her hand, set them on the table, and kissed her. Kissed her hard and deep so she knew how much I wanted her.

  How much I needed her.

  The way she tore my shirt off made it easy to pretend she needed me too.

  We stumbled into the bedroom and made short work of ripping off our clothes. Fell onto the bed. She was soft and delicious, and it felt so fucking good to be inside her again.

  It was stupid how much I needed this. How badly I craved her. But tonight, I didn’t care.

  Afterward, we lay together beneath the sheet. She rested her head against my shoulder while I absently played with her hair. My room was in total disarray. We’d knocked over the lamp, the comforter was on the floor, and our clothes were everywhere. I couldn’t seem to contain the beast when I was with her.

  “How’s the training for your half-marathon coming?” I asked. “The race is soon, isn’t it?”

  “It is. We’ve been progressively adding mileage.” Her voice sounded relaxed and sleepy.

  “Do you feel ready?”

  She hesitated before answering. “To be completely honest, I’m not sure. This particular training program doesn’t include completing the full distance prior to the race. When I read the research behind it, the training program seemed quite sound.”

  “But?”

  “But now I’m worried about my ability to finish.”

  I tightened my arm around her. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. You’re going to do great. Just imagine how amazing you’ll feel when you cross that finish line and see everybody cheering for you.”

  She laughed softly. “The finish line will be crowded with strangers, but I suppose you’re right. That will be an exciting moment.”

  “You don’t think you’ll have anyone cheering for you at the finish?”

  “No. My girlfriends will be running. And I don’t know who else would come.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear about it the next time we talk. But they wouldn’t come all the way here for something like this. Plus, they’re not comfortable in crowds.”

  It made me kind of sad to think about Hazel crossing the finish line with no one to cheer for her. Maybe I’d have to fix that.

  “Speaking of families, how’s your sister?” she asked.

  “Tired, but they’re all doing really well.”

  “That’s good to hear. I imagine the transition into motherhood would be challenging.”

  “Yeah, although Molly’s the type of person who’s good at everything she does. She already looked like an expert mom.”

  “Sounds a bit like you.”

  I glanced at her. “No, I’m pretty much the opposite of my sister.”

  “But you’re very competent at a number of things.”

  “Mostly just math.”

  She shifted, the bare skin of her leg sliding against mine. “You’re skilled at more than just math.”

  That made me crack a smile. “Okay, I’m good at sex too.”

  “That’s an understatement. You’re exceptionally talented.”

  “You’re right, I’m amazing.” I squeezed her and she laughed softly. “But that’s not exactly the sort of thing that makes your parents proud.”

  “I suppose not, but you have no shortage of qualities to eli
cit parental approval.”

  “My parents are hard to impress.”

  “How so?”

  I paused for a long moment, still sliding my fingers through her hair. “To them, being good at one thing never made up for all the other stuff I was bad at. They wanted us to be well-rounded, so they pushed me to do things to balance me out. Like even though I was bony and awkward, they still signed me up for soccer and Little League. And in high school, they made me go to all the pep rallies and school dances, insisting that I needed those experiences. I’d have been happier to stay home reading comics, doing extra math assignments, and watching nature documentaries. But they didn’t want their son to be weird.”

  “They think you’re weird?”

  “I am weird.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Well, they wanted me to be more like Molly.”

  “It sounds as if they unfairly compared you to your sister.”

  “They probably did, but I get where they were coming from. Research from longitudinal happiness studies supports it.”

  She lifted her head. “What research?”

  “Happiness studies show that across cultures and socioeconomic groups, the one thing that defines people’s lifetime happiness is the quality of their relationships. Not wealth, education, career, or social status. Nothing predicts happiness as conclusively as close, meaningful relationships.”

  “But you have meaningful relationships. You’re very close to your sister.”

  “I know. But I think my parents see success as having it all. A good career, a house with a white picket fence, a couple of kids. That was what they both wanted out of life, so they want the same thing for us.”

  “I appreciate their desire to see their children lead happy, productive lives…” She trailed off, sounding uncertain.

  “It’s simple. I got good grades, but Molly got good grades and had a million friends. I have multiple college degrees, but she has a degree and she’s married and starting a family. Being good at math doesn’t cut it. They don’t understand why I can’t be smart and fit in.”

  “Fitting in is overrated.”

  “Yeah, true. It took me a long time to accept that being a data nerd is just who I am. But humans are social animals, so ultimately being a math genius isn’t what’s going to make me happy. My parents can see that, and they don’t think things will ever change for me. My mom gave up on that a long time ago.”

  And that was why my parents’ lack of approval stung so much. They were right. I wasn’t happy. Not really.

  “Gave up? Gave up on what? On you leading a happy and fulfilling life?”

  “I guess. But it’s fine. I have a good life even if they don’t think so.”

  This conversation had bypassed deep and gone straight to uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

  Before Hazel could say anything else, I unwound myself from her. “I just remembered you brought cookies.”

  She hesitated and I could practically feel her thinking. The wheels turning in that big brain of hers. I probably shouldn’t have told her all that. Especially the part about my mom giving up on me. It sucked to say it out loud and it was worse saying it to her.

  Thankfully, she let it drop. “I did bring cookies, although I doubt they’re still warm.”

  She sat up and started feeling around for her glasses. I put mine on and found hers on the nightstand. We got dressed, and for the first time, we kept hanging out after having sex. Usually, once we got up, that was it. One of us left.

  Tonight, we settled on the couch with her container of cookies. They were crisp on the outside with soft, chewy middles and a sprinkling of sugar crystals decorating the tops. Delicious. I clicked through Netflix while we ate, and she pointed out a documentary about penguins. I’d seen it before but turned it on again anyway.

  She went home after it was over, leaving me with the rest of the cookies. It was late, but I wasn’t tired. Not tired enough to sleep, at least. I took a cookie to my desk.

  A stack of unopened mail was in my way, so I scooted it to the side. Sticking out of the middle was a thick envelope. I pulled it out of the pile. My name and address were handwritten in fancy script. I had a feeling I knew what this was.

  I popped the flap open. Inside, I found a gold embossed wedding invitation with an RSVP card and a self-addressed stamped envelope. It was for Julia Rubin and Easton Donnolly, a couple who had used my questionnaire about six months ago.

  There was a note among the formal wedding stationary.

  Corban,

  We wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for you. You’re a genius. Thank you for everything.

  Love,

  Easton and Julia

  The note slipped from my fingers and I let it fall to my desk. I picked up the RSVP card. They’d written my name on the line and beneath it was a little box next to the words plus one.

  The box was empty.

  Of course it was. I never had a plus one.

  Although—the wedding was two months away. Could I ask Hazel to go with me?

  But why? You didn’t go to a wedding with your fuck buddy. Granted, you probably didn’t go to the hospital to visit your fuck buddy’s newborn niece either, but that had been an accident. It didn’t mean we were together.

  It didn’t mean my questionnaire had worked on us.

  I glanced at my still-closed laptop, knowing the truth, even though I didn’t want to admit it. I’d gotten my hopes up. I knew better, but deep down, I’d wondered if maybe this time things would be different. Maybe this time, my questionnaire would work on me.

  It hadn’t.

  And I knew it was stupid to get bent out of shape about it. Something about me was broken and science hadn’t helped. The data hadn’t told me what was wrong with me. My parents hadn’t been able to fix it. Me and my genius IQ hadn’t been able to either.

  Except, in a way, my questionnaire had worked. That was the real truth I’d been avoiding. The realization sat deep in the pit of my stomach and tried to work its way to the surface every time I saw her.

  I was falling in love with Hazel.

  The problem was, she wasn’t falling in love with me. She liked me. She liked sleeping with me. But that wasn’t the same, and at the end of the day, it wasn’t what I wanted.

  And it really fucking sucked.

  32

  Hazel

  “For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.” ~ Carl Sagan

  Erwin sat next to my feet, looking up at me expectantly. I glanced at his dish, wondering why he wasn’t eating his breakfast, but it was empty. I had to leave for work soon and I’d forgotten to feed him.

  “No wonder you’re looking at me like I betrayed you.” I filled his dish with wet food, and he plopped down in front of it. Now that his infected tooth was fixed, he was eating normally again. It was such a relief. I was familiar with the various potential diagnoses for a cat who refuses food, and most of them were not something a pet owner wants to hear.

  “I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late.”

  Erwin glanced up at me, then turned his attention back to his dish.

  “Stop judging me.”

  I’d been up half the night researching. What Corban had said about his parents baffled me. They weren’t impressed with his accomplishments? How could they view him as inferior to his sister just because he was single?

  He had multiple degrees in two different fields. He’d invented the algorithm that drove the most widely-used dating application in the world. And regardless of my early criticisms of his accelerated intimacy theory, he’d done excellent work. He’d come at the question of how to create emotional intimacy from an interesting angle.

  He wasn’t just impressive. He was remarkable.

  I was the first to admit I didn’t have a close relationship with my own parents. But that wasn’t the result of a painful childhood or the pressure of unreasonable expectations. My pa
rents were quiet, private people, much like me. They lived several hours away, and we saw each other a few times a year. I didn’t need more from them. But I also knew they viewed me, and my life, favorably. They were proud.

  Corban didn’t believe his parents were proud of him.

  I’d picked up on the pain in his voice when he’d said his mom had given up on him. It had stirred something inside me. My inner scientist wanted answers. Did the fact that Corban and Molly were twins influence their parents’ comparisons of their children? How had that shaped Corban’s self-perception, and what did it mean for his ability to form relationships as an adult?

  There was something else driving my curiosity. Something I didn’t quite understand. It was a feeling, an emotional response to the hurt I’d felt when he’d talked about his parents. There was a familiarity to it, and yet I couldn’t seem to untangle its meaning. All I knew was that I felt something—something big and deep.

  I’d shied away from it last night, and I pushed it aside now. This wasn’t about me. It was about Corban.

  The desire to better understand him had kept me up until my eyes had gone dry and the words on the screen blurred. I knew one night spent poring over research studies wasn’t enough to reach solid conclusions. But it had left me with a few potential insights, as well as numerous questions.

  I’d printed out a stack of information—excerpts, overviews, graphs and charts. Data. Good, solid, reliable data on everything from attachment theory in adults to twin studies to psychological models of parent-child relationships. I gathered everything up, tucked it into a folder, and headed to work.

  Corban wasn’t in his office when I arrived. I caught a few glimpses of him during the first few hours of the workday, but we were both busy.

  Despite my other responsibilities, he was never far from my mind. I cast furtive glances at the folder sitting on the corner of my desk. The information buzzed in the back of my brain—data, theories, and unanswered questions.