Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “That’s . . . intense.”

            “I’ve been watching HBO with Mrs. Tuttle’s password. Point is, Jack’s not telling anyone shit. Can you imagine if he went to Monica and brought up random details of your romantic relationships that he thinks should be disqualifying? HR would have a field day. Don’t you watch the harassment-prevention webinars?”

            “I—they’re mandatory.”

            Cece’s eyes narrow. “Yes, but do you watch them, or do you let them play while you do integral calculus and browse cheese porn on Pinterest?” I flush and look away, and she sighs. “Here’s a recap: Jack can’t ask you about your personal life.”

            “He already has.”

            “But he can’t tell others. It would be, as the kids say, a bad look. And, as the lawyers say, illegal. Plus, Monica the badass chair would kick him in the nuts. She seems nicely predisposed to nut kicking.”

            I exhale. “You’re right.” I celebrate my relief by rolling down my thigh highs. Small miracle: no holes yet. “So he’s bluffing. Posturing. Just like I am.”

            “Yup.” Cece bites into her lip, suddenly pained. “With one minor difference.”

            “Which is?”

            “If his posturing doesn’t work, he’s still an MIT professor. If yours doesn’t . . .”

            I groan and drop onto the lazy chair. “If mine doesn’t, it’s one more year in the adjunct pit.” No research time. Students calling me Mom and insisting their dogs ate their computers. Rationed insulin. And, of course, the longer I spend without a tenure-track job, the less appealing a candidate I’ll be. I hate vicious cycles, and academic ones are the most vicious of all.

            “Hey!” Cece comes to kneel next to me, setting Hedgie on top of my chest. “Clearly Jack knows you have a shot at the job, or he wouldn’t try to intimidate you. And Kirk said that scientists—”

            I sit up. “Kirk? The new Faux guy?”

            “Yeah.” Is she blushing, or is it just the poor lighting? We need new bulbs. Also needed: money for new bulbs. “He said that scientists get mean when they feel threatened.”

            “Hmm.” What if Jack really does think I have a better shot than George? I ponder the possibilities until Hedgie rolls on her back, quills stabbing my right boob. “I’m going to boil you and eat your soup with udon noodles,” I murmur.

            Cece frowns. “What did you say?”

            “Nothing! Just . . . You’re right. Thank you for talking me down.”

            She smiles, and I feel a surge of affection for her. “See, that’s the reason scientists need the humanities. You guys lack big picture.”

            “We don’t—”

            “Plus, you morons are training the machines to become our robotic overlords.” She pats my head. “Have you told Dr. L. about this?”

            I groan, once again sapped of my will to live. “I sent him an email. He wants to see me in his office tomorrow morning.”

            “Before your teaching demo? Can’t you just have a call?”

            “He doesn’t like phones.”

            “Hmm. High maintenance.”

            He’s not. Dr. L. only wants the best for me, and given everything he’s done, waking up one hour early is the least I can do. Or two hours, accounting for traffic.

            The first thing I do once I’m in my jammies and my “Physics: why shit does stuff” Snuggie is contact Greg. I already tried from the Uber, after spending dinner debasing myself by using my hard-earned physics Ph.D. to make up puns for Volkov—my serial killer origin story. I wonder if Jack tried to call his brother, too, and I snort at the idea. Clearly he’s decided that I’m after the Smith trust funds, like some skank from the Dynasty reboot. He probably just called his nosy mom and Uncle Paul the Perv, and they’re all about to descend on Greg like a horde of goblin sharks.

            But Greg is unreachable. I send him a text he won’t see. I set the iTwat aside, wondering if Jack’s phone is cracked, too. Probably not. Next time I see him, I should smash it into the sidewalk and correct the situation.