Wherever the Dandelion Falls
a novel by
Lily R. Mason
© 2014 Lily R. Mason
Cover image design by Rosalie
This book would not have been possible without the generous support and guidance of JJ.
Dedicated to any twenty-something who is worried she’s about to fuck up her life.
Chapter 1: A Rope Untwisted
I walked into class in a confusing state of happiness and dread. On the one hand, I was excited about the guest lecturer and what he had to say about parental attachment. On another, I didn’t want to face Henry and the way he whispered and snickered about me to his buddies. And on yet another hand, I was worried that my pants were a little too white for the underwear I had put on that morning.
It was a rough way to start my third semester as a neuroscience grad student.
I slid into the back of the class, hoping not to draw attention to myself as I took out my laptop and prepared to take notes. Normally I wouldn't have kept such an intentional low profile in a class I excelled in, but Henry made me uncomfortable. I'd agreed to go on one date with him in our first semester of our Master’s program. He’d been in my Molecular Neuroscience lecture and he was cute, so I figured it couldn't hurt. It had been a boring date, and in an effort to avoid that end-of-date awkwardness, I made out with him and let him grope me a little. Mind you, this is grad school, not sixth grade, so it should not have been a big deal. But the next week I find I've got this reputation in my graduate cohort for being easy, which isn't me at all.
After settling into my seat, I looked around the lecture hall in every direction besides Henry’s. I’d seen a cute girl I didn’t recognize from previous semesters in the few classes we’d had already and wondered if she was here yet. There weren’t many girls in the Neuro program, so we tended to notice each other just as much as the boys did. The fact that the other girl was attractive was even more of a pleasant surprise. But as I tried to casually ignore the discomfort Henry’s presence drew out in me, I didn’t see her anywhere.
It wasn’t as if I’d go up and introduce myself without a reason if she’d been there. I’d have to come up with a reason to talk to her, and short of asking her if my pants were indeed too see-through, there wasn’t a reason I could think of that wouldn’t seem forced. It’s hard enough to find ways to make new friends, let alone scope out if the only other girl in the room also likes girls when every man in the room is sizing her up for himself. Besides, ever since the debacle with Henry, I’d sworn off dating anyone in my program.
I sighed, thinking it was awfully early in my life to give up on dating and sex. It wasn’t a permanent giving-up, just until I was in a different situation where my life didn’t revolve around class and studying and navigating the obstacle course of being in a male-dominated field. As soon as I got out, I’d find myself a nice boyfriend or girlfriend and be much happier.
I dreamed about what it would be like to wake up next to someone you actually liked having sex with and make pancakes together in your underwear before going out for a hike or a drive down the coast. I was eager to get to that future. But at the moment, it seemed my decisions regarding school and dating weren’t bringing me closer to that future.
I was jolted out of my thoughts by the entrance of a man dressed in a nice suit carrying a leather briefcase. He was handsome. Like, movie star handsome. He was clean-cut with a hint of a five-o'clock shadow on his strong jaw line. Judging by the way he walked to the front of the room and began organizing papers, I figured he was our guest lecturer.
For the next ninety minutes, I couldn't take my eyes off him. With a Don Draper level of smoothness and charisma, he mesmerized the rows of students with his poise and knowledge of neuroscience. I barely took notes, certain I would remember everything this gorgeous man had to say. It was the most enjoyable class I’d had in years, and by the time I packed up my laptop, I’d forgotten all about Henry and my too-thin pants.
And when he happened to be the only person in the elevator with me after class, I racked my brain for something friendly to say. The door slid closed and I cleared my throat.
"That was a great lecture, Dr. Turner."
He bobbed his head once, hands folded around the handle of his briefcase in front of him. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
As we rode down in silence, I noticed some chalk on his shoulder. "You have some--some dust on your jacket," I stammered, gingerly brushing his shoulder.
Dr. Turner looked at his shoulder and finished dusting it off.
"Thank you." He flashed me a smile as the bell dinged, signaling we had reached the ground floor. He gave me a polite nod before stepping out into the foyer of the building.
I saw something flutter from his pocket.
"Dr. Turner," I called after him. "You dropped something."
Dr. Turner turned around as I bent to pick up a twenty-dollar bill. I looked at him through my lashes as I stood up and offered the bill to him.
"Thank you," he said, contemplating me in the different light of the building lobby. "Most people wouldn't be so honest."
I shrugged, still holding out the twenty. "It's not my money."
Dr. Turner studied my face for a moment before taking the money from my hand.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier."
"Riley."
He nodded, squinting for a moment as he studied me. His eyes flickered up and down.
"Would you like to have a drink with me tomorrow night?"
I could feel my face grow warm and I was sure I was blushing a little. I tried not to seem too eager. "Sure."
He held up his phone with an expectant smile and I recited my number dutifully. When he was done programming it in, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and left without saying anything else.
I was so preoccupied with my phone, I almost didn't notice that Dr. Turner happened to be the only other person in the elevator with me after class. As we sank towards the lobby, I was aware my time for conversation was running out.
"How did you become interested in neuroscience's role in attachment?" I asked, opting for academic discussion, which was always safest.
Dr. Turner looked at me with a polite smile. I doubt he recognized me from the lecture he'd just given. "When I was at Cal I connected with a professor who was doing some of the primary studies on neuroscience and attachment. I liked that it was uncharted territory and asked if I could help with his research, and it just went from there."
He was so suave and casual about it.
"That must have been exciting. Your current work sounds fascinating, too. I liked that you gave focus to paternal attachment in your presentation; everyone focuses on the mother."
Dr. Turner flashed me a tight-lipped smile as the bell dinged, signaling we had reached the ground floor, and my opportunity to talk to him was over.
"Thank you." He gave me a polite nod before stepping out into the foyer of the building.
I saw something flutter from his pocket.
"Oh, Dr. Turner," I called. "You dropped something."
Dr. Turner turned around as I bent to pick up a twenty-dollar bill. I looked at him through my lashes as I stood up and offered the bill to him.
"Thank you," he said. "Most people wouldn't be so honest."
I shrugged, still holding out the twenty. "It's not my money."
Dr. Turner studied my face before taking the money from my hand. "Are you in your final semester here?"
I nodded.
"Do you have a plan for after graduation?"
"Not yet."
Dr. Turner reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing me his business card. My heart raced. "I have a
n opening in my lab for an assistant if you'd be interested in interviewing."
I could feel my face grow warm and I was sure I was blushing a little. "Sure... Yeah, definitely!"
Dr. Turner gave me another polite nod and turned to go, leaving me in a swirl of my own thoughts. Had a job opportunity with a painfully handsome man just fallen into my lap like that?
I almost didn't notice that Dr. Turner happened to be the only other person in the elevator with me. But once I did, I spun into action.
Wanting to hear his sexy, deep voice when he responded, I racked my brain for something to say.
"That was a great lecture Dr. Turner."
"Thank you."
"The rest of the class enjoyed it too. They don't sit up as straight or pay as close attention to the regular professor."
"People are generally polite for guests," he said with a dismissive smile.
"I don't think that's what it was."
Dr. Turner flashed me another tense smile as the bell dinged, signaling we had reached the ground floor. I gave him a smile I realized was far too flirtatious for a student and professor, but it was over before I realized.
"Thank you." He gave me a polite nod before stepping out into the foyer of the building.
Thinking quickly, I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Bending over, I called after him. "Dr. Turner! You dropped something."
Dr. Turner turned around as I bent to pick up the bill. I looked up at him through my lashes as I stood up and offered it to him.
He contemplated it before taking it. "Most people wouldn't be so honest."
I shrugged, still holding out the twenty. "It's not my money."
Dr. Turner studied my face for a moment before taking the money from my hand. "Can I buy you a drink?”
My plan had worked better than I thought. "Sure."
He gave me the cat-like grin of a man who has gotten something he wants. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
I thought about the whispers in the halls that had started after I'd gone out with Henry; everyone in the program knew Riley as the "easy" girl. I didn't want Dr. Turner to know that girl.
“Violet."
Chapter 2: Offers
When I got back to my apartment that night, I was bursting to tell Justine. I dropped my bag by the door and rushed over the to the couch where she sat tossing popcorn in her mouth. She wore acid-wash jeans over her curvy hips and a t-shirt printed with the name of a band I had never heard of.
"Guess what," I said in an excited, low voice. "Our guest lecturer in Neurogenetics asked me out."
That got Justine's attention. She tore her eyes away from the History Channel. "For serious?" she asked, scrunching her nose in disbelief.
I told Justine about Dr. Turner and she was glad that I was trading in the yoga pants and fuzzy socks that were my usual Saturday night outfit for a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse she made me buy last year.
The following morning I went for my usual run around the neighborhood. Aside from other joggers, the rest of the neighborhood was still sleeping as I made my rounds. When I returned home, I got a text from Dr. Turner:
Sorry, I have to postpone tonight. Can we reschedule for next weekend?
I tried to seem upbeat as I assured him we could, and went about the rest of my weekend as though I wasn't disappointed he had canceled on me.
I started to worry when I hadn't heard from him by the following Friday. I didn't want him to get away with giving me the brushoff, so I sent him a message.
Hey, are we still on for tomorrow night?
A few minutes later, his reply came. Sure. Text me your address and I'll pick you up at 8.
It wasn't encouraging, but I wasn't ready to give up on going out with him.
Dr. Turner was fifteen minutes late picking me up. I had changed out of the jeans and blouse I'd picked out into a pencil skirt and different blouse. I added a bracelet my high school boyfriend gave me and put on a little extra eye makeup. I smoothed over my skirt, wondering if it made my stomach look strange. But before I could decide, I heard a knock at the door. My stomach fluttered with nerves, and I went to answer it.
"Hi," I said with a bright smile.
Dr. Turner didn't look any different than he did during lecture. He kept his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Ready to go?"
I kept my nervous smile plastered on and nodded, turning to pick up my purse. I thought about inviting him in for a drink, but my place was small and Justine hadn't done the dishes in a few days. Even though Dr. Turner was a professor, he could still be a psycho, so it was best to stay in public until I knew he wasn't crazy.
We went to a Mexican restaurant in the Castro. I asked about his PhD studies and what his dissertation had been about. He talked a lot, looking around him distractedly, barely engaging with anything I said. After half an hour of trying too hard, I just gave up. Dr. Turner wasn't interested in me, and that was just going to be that. I stopped talking, looking around the restaurant.
Feeling awkward by the lack of conversation, I started commenting on the things around the room, not caring if Dr. Turner had the decency to comment back. There were several pieces of art and a few young couples around us, but nothing remarkable. The most interesting thing in the room was the bar, where a man in a white shirt and black vest was mixing and pouring drinks. Any drink someone ordered, he knew how to make from memory.
I wondered how he kept track of all the different combinations; how did he know a Manhattan from a Cosmo? A Mai tai from a mojito? Were they filed in some kind of savant Rolodex in his mind, or had he been doing this for so long, they were second nature?
"Bartending must be interesting," I mused. "I'd like to do that."
For some reason, that got Dr. Turner's attention. "Bartending?"
"Yeah," I shrugged.
Dr. Turner looked at me as though that was the most amusing thing he'd heard all day. "Go for it," he said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. “Tuition isn’t cheap."
I bit the corner of my lip, unsure. "I was hoping to get a job in the field," I admitted.
Dr. Turner shook his head. "Market's no good now. You'd be counting caterpillars."
I didn't know how to respond to that. I don't even remember if I did. But when I went home that night, I started looking up drink recipes. By the time I deleted Dr. Turner's number from my phone after a few weeks without hearing from him, I had a job a bona fide San Francisco gay bar.
A few months later I graduated with a Master's in Neuroscience, which I always imagined I would know what to do with. Now my diploma seemed to taunt me, leaning out a centimeter from the wall in its gilded frame, reminding me that I invested two years and thousands of dollars to be where I was. It might have felt like an achievement if I had known where exactly I was.
I put off telling my sister about my bartending job as long as I could. She never puts me down directly, but usually when she disapproves of one of my decisions, she makes it clear. But I knew I had to tell Kimi eventually. I waited until Justine got home, so she could get me out of a painful conversation by yelling that something was on fire in the kitchen if I gave her our "help me" signal of wiggling my nose like the lady in Bewitched.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, facing the wall. As the phone rang, I traced the pictures I had taped up, wishing the San Francisco humidity didn't curl the edges. I was hoping Kimi wouldn't pick up, but we had a date to talk, and she never misses scheduled things.
"Hey, Riley," she said. It sounded businesslike. I could almost imagine her in her black or grey suit, power walking down a street in New York.
"Hey, Kimi," I said, trying not to sound weary. "How are you?"
"Busy," she said. Something in her voice sounded distracted, and I pictured her holding her arm up to hail a cab.
"How's the market this week?" I asked. It was an obligatory question.
"It can't decide which way it wants to go. Kind of like you."
She was trying to be lighthearted, but I couldn't help but feel patronized. Just because I've dated guys and girls doesn't mean I haven't made up my mind.
"That's the only way I can be.” I forced cheer into my voice, hoping it would put her off bringing up my dating history. Just because she has a perfect Wall Street boyfriend in a Wall Street suit with a Wall Street paycheck doesn't mean she knows everything.
"How's the job search?" she asked.
I still cringed at the question. She'd started asking about my job search in September when I was still nine months from graduating. But I'd swatted the question away too many times for her not to be suspicious.
Still, I tried one more time. "You worry about me too much. How's your new place?"
"You're avoiding my question."
I sighed. I was going to have to tell her. "I have a job."
"That's great!" Kimi chirped in surprise. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you're going to give me crap about it."
Kimi seemed taken aback by that. "I wouldn't give you crap. You can tell me. Is it bean counting or something?"
"I'm bartending."
There was a moment of stunned silence before she said, "Oh." She must have realized she reacted exactly as I predicted she would act because she tried to cover quickly. "That's - that's not so bad, right? What kind of bar?"
"It's a gay bar," I said.
"Cool!" she said. But the word felt too tight, like she was forcing herself to be enthusiastic. “What made you take that job?"
"I figured I needed a break from academia. I've been going to school nonstop since I was four, so... How are things with John?"
The rest of the conversation meandered on, feeling more like an exchange of the insignificances in our lives. We were talking, which is something sisters should do. When it was over, I was relieved. I could tell dad we'd talked, and he'd be happy. I hung up and put on my work clothes and made my way to bar.
It was about ten o'clock when things started getting hectic. If the crowd around the bar didn't indicate it, the nerves of Dave, my favorite coworker, certainly did. He was usually a pillar of ease and good humor, but when he started bustling around, I knew we were busy.
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