Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “Eight months too long.”

            We exchange a glance, laughing at each other. I love having Reike here. I love that she and Levi arranged her visit behind my back and surprised me with it. I love her nagging us because we have only vegan food in the house and she’s “sick of competing with the cats for a meager slice of chicken breast!” I love that she’s hooking up with nose-tongue dude while she’s here. I love her. I love all of this.

            “Are you going to do the race?” I ask.

            “Yeah. It’s for a good cause. Not that I fully understand what a Ph.D. is, what graduate admissions are, or even why someone would voluntarily go to school, but if you say you’re helping traditionally underrepresented groups, I’m on board. Rocío and I will walk and chat. She’s planning to talk to me about yet-uncaught serial killers.”

            “Lovely.”

            “Isn’t she? I cannot believe you let her move back to Baltimore.”

            “I know, but she got into her dream school, has an apartment with her dream girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure she’s a leader in the local Wiccan community. I’m just glad she and Kaylee managed to be here for the 5K after putting so much effort into organizing it.”

            A young woman walks up to Reike with a smile. “Excuse me—Dr. Königswasser?”

            “Oh”—she points at me with her thumb—“not quite the Königswasser you’re looking for.”

            “Yep, this is actually my evil twin. I’m Bee.”

            “Kate. I’m a psychology grad at UMN.” She shakes my hand enthusiastically. “I’ve been following @WhatWouldMarieDo for years, and I just wanted to say how cool this is.” She gestures around herself. Three thousand people signed up for the 5K, but it feels like three million showed up—perhaps because it turned into a grad school fair of sorts. The organizing committee decided to allow universities that pledged to guarantee a fair, holistic admission process the opportunity to set up stands to recruit at the finishing lines. I glance at the crowd, spotting Annie and waving at her. We went out for dinner last night, since she flew in for the race a day early. It’s not not strange, having a meal with your former best friend who once broke your heart, but we’re slowly mending things. Plus, she helped out a lot with the logistics of the 5K.

            I always thought that revealing my identity would ruin the fun of running WWMD for me, and I was frustrated when Guy’s actions made it impossible for me to do otherwise. Remember when I said that I was scared of being doxxed by creeps who look back wistfully to Gamergate? Well, that happened. A little bit. There was some unpleasantness as the news spread and I went public—some awkwardness, a period of adjustment. But one day Rocío called and said, “I always suspected that deep down you were cool, but I figured it was just wishful thinking. Instead, look at you!” That’s when I knew everything would be all right. And with time, it was. Being old news is such a relief.

            “Thank you so much for coming all the way from Minnesota, Kate.”

            “You flew in, too, right? From Maryland?”

            “I actually live here now. In Houston. Left NIH for NASA last year.”

            BLINK’s demonstration was a resounding success. Well, the first was a resounding disaster. But the second one went so well, got so much positive attention—likely because of the botched first attempt and the publicity it generated—that Levi and I ended up having our pick of jobs. You know how I thought I’d end up living in an underpass with a pile of angry spiders? A month later I was offered Trevor’s job. And when I declined, Trevor’s boss’s position. That’s life in academia, I guess: the agony and the ecstasy. Ebbs and flows. Did I fantasize about taking the job and forcing Trevor to write me a report on how men are stupider because their brains have lower neural densities? Often. And with almost sexual pleasure.

            In the end, Levi and I considered NIH. We considered NASA. We considered quitting, building a lab in a retrofitted shed, Curie-style, and going rogue. We considered faculty positions. We considered Europe. We considered industry. We considered so much, we were doing nothing but considering for a while. (And having sex. And rewatching The Empire Strikes Back, about once a week.) In the end, we always came back to NASA. Maybe just because we have good memories here. Because deep down, we like the weather. Because we truly enjoy annoying Boris. Because the hummingbirds rely on us for their mint.

            Or because, as Levi said one night on the porch, my head in his lap as we looked at the stars, “This house is in a really good school district.” He only briefly met my eyes, and I’m 74 percent sure he was blushing, but we formally accepted NASA’s offers the following day. Which means that now I have my permanent lab, right next to his. A year ago, it would have been a nightmare. Funny how these things go, huh?