Love by the Numbers

by Karin Kallmaker

  As the truck rumbled its way to the top of the rise above the house, Lily rolled down the window to give Katerina one last wave. Their temporary escort of mounted riders was led by Leonid Junior.

  Nicole leaned across Lily to reach the window. She too waved and called out, “Yippee ki-yay!”

  Lily laughed as the men swung their hats over their heads in parting and galloped off to their rounds. For a few wonderful moments she soaked up the warmth of Nicole’s body against hers. She was highly doubtful that she’d get another opportunity.

  * * *

  “They all look alike.” Nicole surveyed the gate area of the international terminal at St. Petersburg’s Pulkovo Airport. “Faded cream-colored walls, plastic chairs. A duty-free shop, coffee shop, chocolate shop and—” She shook her head. “A TGIFriday’s, even here.”

  “It’s a definite letdown that our last meal before we get back to the US is airport food.” Lily paused next to her, then pointed. “I vote for the Siberian Crown or Mom Rush—Mother Russia.”

  “You pick.” Nicole didn’t think her stomach would find much difference between the airport salads at either establishment. “There’s a bank of pay phones right next to them.”

  Lily turned in the direction of the Siberian Crown. “There are more tables free in here. Let’s go in and order, then you call home.”

  After ordering an Olivier salad on a bed of greens, Nicole made her way to the pay phones. It was almost five p.m. in St. Petersburg and she was nearly certain that meant it was nine a.m. at home and her mother would definitely be up.

  Happily, the phone was answered on the second ring and her mother’s immediate relief was palpable.

  “I’m using a pay phone,” Nicole explained. “I called last night when we got to our hotel and left a message. Did you get it?”

  “Yes, I was very worried until then. Kate and I were at her doctor’s appointment. Lily sent me an e-mail too. She is very considerate. How did you damage a rental car?”

  “I had help from the road.” She smiled into the phone, reliving the surreal experience of standing in the dark surrounded by cowboys. She told her mother details of the breakdown—not enough to alarm her again—and went on to describe their rescuers. “It felt as if we’d fallen into a time warp.”

  “I cannot believe my daughter spent the night with communist cowboys.”

  “I don’t think they were overly much concerned with politics, Mom. And if you put it that way, what would my uncles think?”

  She was relieved to hear her mother laugh, miraculously clear after being conveyed through atmosphere and space and back again. “You were chaperoned by Lily. She would not let you get into a compromising situation.”

  If her mother only knew that Nicole wanted to get into a compromising situation with Lily. Desire had become a dull throb that could flare into a melting ache just from the vanilla and cherry scent of Lily’s shampoo. She glanced back at the restaurant and realized Lily had changed their seat location. She seemed to be in one of her rare reflective moments, pensive, a little tired.

  “I never expected to see my luggage on horseback.”

  “I can hardly believe it. Your sister says you have made it all up.”

  Lily sipped her water, glanced at her watch, then looked toward the phones. Over the distance their gazes locked. Nicole realized she could have happily stood there for a long time, just looking at her. While she had been as entranced by the Balkan choir in Moscow as Lily had been, she’d also been transfixed by the sight of Lily, eyes closed, with the music washing over her face. Eyebrows lifting slightly at the high notes, lips parting momentarily at the low tones—she had never looked more beautiful. That is, until the very next morning, standing in the cold daybreak air watching the sunrise.

  The pleasure of looking at Lily had her dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin spiraling upward. Together those chemicals created a peculiar dizziness. Excitement prickled along her nerves. Euphoria mixed with yearning. The brain chemical cocktail had a non-scientific name she used all the time in her speeches. She shouldn’t balk at using it, except right now she wanted to believe that if she didn’t name it, it didn’t exist.

  The emotion-that-shall-not-be-named…A foolish construct, she told herself. But if she didn’t name it and it went away, then she’d be better off.

  The phone was suddenly slippery in her hand. Blinking in surprise, she took her pulse. Her heart was pounding. She felt out of breath. Her norepinephrine and epinephrine were surging—as if she were afraid of something. Her ears felt hot and the terminal seemed all at once brighter—her pupils were dilated.

  She missed the next bit of whatever her mother was talking about as she sorted out the stimuli. She ought to have anticipated that response. As soon as her mind conceived that there was a source of constant happiness within her reach, her body feared that it would be taken away.

  There you have it, she thought. You’re living the emotional teeter-totter the study subjects talked about. Misleading feelings, ambiguous signals, unreliable ups and downs—ecstasy and terror, wonder and confusion.

  Well, she thought dryly, all those students who thought I wasn’t human, they were clearly wrong.

  “…packages arrived,” her mother was saying. “What shall I do with them?”

  “The heavy one leave out for one of the graduate assistants to pick up. It’s peer reviews I’ve finished that can be mailed back. The other is for you and Kate to open.”

  “I’ll take it right in.” Her mother’s voice fell to a near whisper. “Kate is quite depressed. The doctor says her amniotic fluid is marginal—no better and no worse than last time, which is both good and bad. He hoped it would improve.”

  “How is she physically?”

  “She is so swollen, especially her hands and feet. The iPad buttons are big, though, and she can at least play Angry Birds. If she gets out of bed for long she starts to cramp.”

  Kate confirmed her condition when her mother handed over the phone. “I get up to shower and pee, then it’s back in bed. I am so fucking bored. I’m going to be so fat when this is over.”

  A month ago she might have told Kate she should have thought of those consequences before dispensing with birth control, but she could almost hear Lily whispering in her ear, “Be fair. Kate is a healthy young woman and had little reason to expect a pregnancy to consign her to bed rest.”

  She shook Lily’s voice out of her head. “I’m really sorry you’re so miserable. What are you reading?”

  “My usual wonderful trash. Books you’d hate. Did you send us a present?”

  “I did.”

  “I’ll put the phone on speaker.”

  She heard the snip of scissors and the pop of tape followed by the rustling of paper. Her mother said, “There are two little boxes.”

  “You can decide between you who likes which best.”

  She couldn’t help herself, she glanced again at Lily, who gave her a questioning look. She answered it with a grin.

  After another rustle of paper Kate said, “Oh! So pretty! Where did you get them?”

  She explained about the gift shop and the Alhambra—it seemed so long ago now. “You really like them?”

  “It is such a beautiful bracelet.” Her mother’s voice conveyed the kind of broad smile Nicole remembered from a long-ago Mother’s Day morning when she and Kate had brought her a breakfast of rubber eggs and burnt toast. “I will wear it tonight for my garden club meeting.”

  “It’s gorgeous, sis,” Kate added with an audible sniff. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  “It’s hormones. I cry over dog food commercials these days.”

  Nicole held the receiver away from her ear as Kate blew her nose. Across the distance Lily mimed a look of surprised inquiry and Nicole shook her head with a silent laugh. Her observant brain noted that they had become skilled at silent communication.

  Kate chatted for a little longer and Nicole was glad to hear less stress in her voic
e. She had feared Kate and their mother would be at each other’s throats, but clearly some dynamic had shifted. She would have some adjusting of her own to do, perhaps, when she got home.

  As she walked from the phones to the restaurant where Lily was waiting she realized she was no longer counting the days until this tour was over and she was home again, safe behind the walls of her office. Instead, each new morning she looked forward to the first sight of Lily’s welcoming smile even as it filled her with a growing sense of impending loss. She didn’t like this teeter-totter of emotions and yet…it was wonderful. Improbably, unexpectedly wonderful.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” Lily gestured broadly at the crowds crisscrossing Bourbon Street. Balconies over their heads with intricate cast-iron railings were thick with even more partygoers pelting beads at the people below them. Heavy rock music blasted down the street, but Lily didn’t recognize the song. It was fitting for the raucous atmosphere. And, Lily thought, equally incongruous with the antebellum guesthouses with their Creole windows and French shutters. “Looks a little like Europe, doesn’t it? Our bookstore is just two more blocks. I’m glad we walked.”

  “You’re right, it’s just like Europe except for the fraternity boys walking around with cocktails in one hand and the beads being flung at our heads.” Nicole ducked as a scarcely covered college girl lunged for a purple and gold necklace. “Yes, just like Europe.”

  Lily tried hard not to smile at Nicole’s obvious distaste. No doubt Professor Hathaway kept a good distance between herself and student bacchanals. She’d gone to her share of parties at Wellesley but usually the ones without the drunk frat boys. “You wanted to see it, remember? By midnight this will be a mob. It’s not even Southern Decadence, so I don’t know what the occasion is.”

  “Perhaps there’s no need for one.”

  “Like the Jimmy Buffet motto?” Libido pointed out that a lot of the college girls—who weren’t a lot younger than she was—were quite attractive. Right, Lily thought. Like she wanted to turn up in some Girls Gone Wild video. She could just imagine the Merrill Boone headline.

  “You’re going to need to clarify that.”

  “It’s five p.m. somewhere, time for a margarita? Apparently in New Orleans it’s spring break for somebody, all year round.” She broke off as a broad-shouldered young man stumbled to a stop in front of her.

  “Hey, babe!”

  “Hi!” Lily matched his goofy grin and loud tone. “You don’t know me at all! Your friends are over there!” She pointed.

  “Oh yeah?” He nearly fell over as he turned, then went green. Lily threw her arm out in front of Nicole, backing her up.

  “Oh good heavens,” Nicole said. “Two million years of evolution and homo habilis still can’t hold his liquor.”

  Lily averted her eyes and tried not to inhale as they stepped around the wretched, retching young man. “Okay, maybe this isn’t much like the Europe we just saw, but think Europe circa sixteen hundred. The streets were sewers.”

  “I am profoundly grateful to be a creature of the flush toilet epoch.”

  The bells and music of Bourbon Street faded behind them as Lily followed the GPS instructions and turned left on Dumaine Street. As far as she was concerned, the box was still on probation. “The bookstore isn’t far from the Ursaline convent—one of the oldest in the United States. Would you be interested in one of those late night walking tours through French Quarter cemeteries? We can probably join one tonight. Spooky stories and voodoo curses.”

  Nicole hesitated. “I think I’m too tired for superstition, especially after another presentation. I have only myself to blame for not paying attention to the first assistant, who created the itinerary. Otherwise I would have asked to stop off at home for a week, to rest and recharge—and change out my wardrobe. I’m still jetlagged.”

  They’d arrived at their quaint French Quarter hotel—several blocks from the hubbub of Bourbon Street, thankfully—at midday. Like Nicole, Lily hadn’t been able to stay awake. Their shared dinner had been quiet. After that Nicole had been a real trouper, neat as a pin in her black slacks and white blouse, and displaying modest enthusiasm for the first big book club gathering at seven o’clock. It was longer, more personal and ultimately more draining than any of the bookstore signings. She didn’t know if Nicole had managed to sleep again after they’d returned to the hotel, but Lily had crashed. Nicole had seemed refreshed when they met up for a short cab ride to Tulane University and her first lecture in the United States. But Lily was also finding it an increasing downer every day to look at the same clothing. Tomorrow morning she’d set aside for laundry before they went to the book festival. Undies could be rinsed in the sink only so many times before a trip through a washing machine was mandatory.

  Perhaps she’d suggest a shopping trip. They could both ship home clothing and buy some new things. With two official paychecks now in her bank account, less some payback for the advances Uncle Damon had arranged, she could afford a new suit, if they found an outlet mall.

  They reached the Pontchartrain Bookstore and fell into their normal pattern. Lily assessed the crowd and took a few photos—at least thirty-five women, a few men and standing room only at that. The old bookstore smelled like the library at Wellesley. If ideas and creativity and storytelling and knowledge put together had a smell, Lily decided it was a blend of wood pulp and furniture polish mixed with damp sweaters and the tang of ink. She wouldn’t be surprised to find the aroma was something that triggered all those brain chemicals Nicole talked about—was it oxytocin? She inhaled deeply and held her breath. Whatever it was, it worked and it was free.

  Nicole made her usual opening remarks, markedly more casual and with more humor than that first appearance in London. It was a shock to realize it was more than a month ago now. If practice made perfect, Nicole had had lots of practice. Nevertheless, she was constantly adapting and Lily had yet to be bored.

  “As I’ve talked about my findings all over the world I find that most people want to see relationships as natural combinations. Sometimes they’re compatible through similarities, like cheese and cream. Other times they’re compatible through their differences, like shrimp and grits.” There were chuckles from the crowd. “We can taste when it’s right. We can smell when it’ll be good. I was raised in New England and we like our seafood, but I’d never had it with grits—apparently I’ve never had properly made grits in my entire life. Last night I had properly made grits. After a long and tiring journey, they may have saved my life.”

  Nicole waited while the crowd laughed. She glanced at Lily who nodded back—even with an obviously appreciative crowd, Nicole still looked for reassurance.

  “How can people who are, on the surface, as different as crustaceans and corn, meld into a satisfying, enduring relationship? Based on the research it all comes down to chemistry. Today I want to talk about how our DNA determines our brain’s response to the chemicals of passion and love.”

  Lily eased into a position where she could lean on a bookcase. She didn’t know this material.

  “A complex and uniquely tuned mixture of chemicals is pumping through all of our brains right now. No two people, the world over, have the same mixture. We can, however, have similar mixtures. When we feel attraction or experience good sex our brains load up on oxytocin, serotonin and dopamine. Even scientists refer to the mixture as the Love Drug, and it’s powerful stuff. No doubt all of us know someone who, under the influence of the Love Drug, did something they would have never otherwise contemplated.” Nicole nodded along with many in the crowd. “But we also know people who didn’t lose their mind—literally—when they were obviously pumped full of the Love Drug. Researchers have determined that specific strands of DNA sequencing are what control how our brain handles the Love Drug cocktail. What I found in my study is that people with the same type of response had relationship lengths at least twenty percent longer than those with different responses to the Love
Drug’s effect.”

  There was a low murmur in the crowd and a woman near the front raised her hand. Nicole said, “Go ahead.”

  “Does that mean if I’m crazy about a guy and get all googly and flushed when he’s around, and he says he’s crazy about me but is cool as a cucumber that we’re not really compatible?”

  “Good question—that’s an easy leap of logic to make, but it would be an incorrect one. Physical manifestation of the Love Drug in our system is only one indicator of its presence, and perhaps of how much of it is present, but it’s not a consistent measure of what’s actually going on in our brains. Sexual attraction can evidence itself in a telltale blush, a shaky voice, averting of eyes. But another person with the same amount of the Love Drug releasing in their brain may look nonchalant. On the inside, by their own standards however, they may feel as if they’re going insane with these foreign feelings. That person might have…” Her voice trailed away. She glanced at the lectern as if to consult notes.

  “That person might have…The person you describe might have a higher resistance to the physical impact of the Love Drug, that’s all. But I want to clarify that the exterior response to our brain chemicals varies both because of biological reasons—it’s in our hard wiring—and for social reasons. For example, most men feel the urge to cry as often as women do, but social conditioning has taught them to tamp down the physical response. So it would be a mistake to think that just because we’re hardwired to respond in a certain way that we don’t have some measure of control. It’s equally a mistake to think that because we have a measure of control we’re not sometimes incapable of mastering our hard wiring.” She glanced at Lily, then back at the audience. “An example from my own life would be that my mother’s hard wiring is to shriek, loudly, at the sight of a spider. When I was little and she did that it frightened me and when I was in my twenties I realized that she had learned how not to scream for my sake.”