Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “Not that I know. It’s nice to see you, Sam.”

            “Why didn’t I know you two were here?”

            “Because we’re not on the program. We just drove up for a specific presentation.”

            “We?” Sam’s eyes widen. She looks between us a few times before settling on Levi with a huge pleased grin that I cannot interpret. Then she takes one of his hands. “I didn’t know there was a ‘we,’ Levi. I’m so happy for you. I’ve been hoping for so long, and finally, such an incredible—”

            “Bee and I are working together on a NASA project. Temporarily.” He says it quickly, like a teenager stopping his mother from revealing that he still sleeps with a stuffed triceratops.

            Sam gasps, covering her mouth. “Of course. Of course, the NASA project. I can’t believe it slipped my mind. Still, you two should come to my brunch. In”—she glances at her phone—“ten minutes. All my grads are coming. Food’s on me, of course.”

            Uh-oh.

            Uh-shitshitshitshit-oh.

            I glance up at Levi, ready to beg him not to make me watch Tim and Annie eat huevos rancheros for thirty minutes, but he’s already shaking his head. “Thank you, but we can’t. We need to get on the road.”

            “Oh, nonsense. It’ll be less than an hour. Just make an appearance, say hi to everyone, have breakfast on me. You’re both so skinny.”

            I wonder how one could possibly look at Levi’s chest, or biceps, or legs, or . . . anything, really, and think the word “skinny,” but he doesn’t skip a beat. “We need to get going.”

            “You can’t,” she insists. Have I mentioned that Sam’s bossy? I guess it’s a professional hazard when you’ve been running a lab for decades. “You were my favorite grads. What’s the point of having a lab brunch if you two aren’t there? Might as well cancel!”

            “You didn’t even know we were here until three minutes ago,” Levi points out patiently.

            “But now I do. And . . .” She leans forward and puts a hand on both our shoulders. “I’ll be making an important announcement today. I’m retiring at the end of the semester. And once I’m out, I’m not planning to do the conference circuit anymore. So there might not be a next time.”

            Levi nods. “I get it, Sam. But we really—”

            “We’ll come,” I interrupt. “Just tell us where.” I chuckle at the excited way Sam claps her hands.

            “Are you sure you want to do this?” Levi asks me calmly once Sam is out of earshot.

            “I’m sure I do not want to do this.” If I had to type a comprehensive list of the things I’d rather do, I’d need several gigabytes of cloud space. “But if she’s announcing her retirement and it’s important for her, we can’t not go, not after everything she’s done for us.” I massage my temple, thinking longingly of ibuprofen. “Plus, my old therapist would be proud of me.”

            He studies me for a long beat. Then he nods, once. I can tell he doesn’t like this. “Fine. But if you’re not feeling well, you tell me immediately and I’ll take you away.” He speaks in an authoritative way that should make me want to tell him to shove it, but . . . it doesn’t. The opposite, actually. What a mystery. “And remember my hand.”

            “Okay, Daddy.” I realize the blunder only once the words are out of my mouth. Since I can’t take it back, I turn around and walk out of the conference center, blushing. Oops.

            What a cluster of a day. And it’s only seven minutes past ten.



* * *



            • • •

            VISUALIZE THIS: YOU step into a restaurant, and the hostess guides you to your party’s table. It’s round and full, but when you and your companion arrive two chairs will be pulled up, guaranteeing lots of cozy elbowing. Yay. You’re welcomed by many pairs of wide eyes, and gasps, and a few “My gosh, how long has it been?” Some are for you, some for your companion. Some for both. You realize that aside from the person who invited you, no one was expecting you. Double yay.

            You want to focus on catching up, ask old friends about their lives, but there’s something that nags at you. A tiny worm slithering in the back of your skull. It has to do, you initially think, with the two people who’ve yet to stand to greet you, and with the fact that you used to be engaged to one of them, and to love the other like a sister. Fair. That would nag at anyone, right?