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“Likecancer.”
“Exactly. Traditional approaches have helped identify monogenic disorders and locating which genes are responsible.” I take one gummy from the first line and turn it ninety degrees on the plate so it sticks out from the others. “But now, we’re realizing that a lot of diseases aren’t explained by a single gene. They’re explained by lots of genes making smaller contributions.” I take the knife I brought with me, cut two gummies from the second line in half, and turn each of those halves ninetydegrees.
“That soundscomplicated.”
“Before the Human Genome Project, it was pretty much impossible. Technology, data management, new approaches—they’ve paved the way for all of it. And it’s incredible what we can donow.”
Her expression is a mix of engrossed and incredulous. “You do that all for yourdad?”
“I do it because thousands of people go through what I wentthrough.”
I stare out over the city, taking a deep breath. I feel invigorated, either from the gummies or the evening or the company of the woman sitting inchesaway.
“Incomingcompliment.”
Her voice is teasing, and I swallow the laugh. “Proceed.”
“You’re incredible, WesRobinson.”
Her words work through me, sending blood flowing through myveins.
“You wouldn’t have thought so once.” I take the plate of gummies and tip them back into the baggie. One sticks, and I flick it with a finger. “It took me an extra year to finish myundergrad.”
Rena’s eyes go wide. “You’rekidding.”
I shake my head. “I screwed around. Mostly because I saw other kids on free rides not care, and I figured, why should I work that hard? My dad paid forit.”
“How did he feel aboutthat?”
“We fought. One year it was especially bad, like he reached a breaking point. He told me to stop acting like I had the right to ignore my responsibilities, turn my back on what was right in front of me. All he wanted was for me to finish school. I got back on track, did my master’s. Then he gotcancer.
“He got better, or we thought he did. So, I didn’t come home. Kept doing school.” Pain washes over me, but I laugh. I guess the gummies are kicking in. “Then last year, the doctors said it was getting worse. I thought I could squeeze out just a little more time. I wanted to defend my dissertation, so I did. I stayed a couple months. A couple months more. Doing my research, applying to jobs. Got one. Then I found out he had less than ayear.
“I moved back here. Asked University of Washington if I could defer thejob.”
“They saidyes?”
“They said there were no guarantees. The thing is I don’t regret taking a pass on the job offer. But I regret not doing itsooner.”
I can’t see her face in the darkness, but I hear her soft sigh. “You cameback.”
“What kind of a son would I be if I didn’t?” Instead of getting cold, I’m hot. I unbutton the sleeves of my shirt, shove them up to my elbows. “What kind of a son am Ianyway?”
“Why would you think that?” she asks, her voice barelyaudible.
“Because I’m selfish. I spent my whole life resenting people who had what I wanted”—I can’t bring myself to say “people like you”—“because I thought I was less than them. Everything I had I worked for. But I realized something.” I swallow. “Part of me thought I was better than thembecauseI had to work for everything. And that’s evenworse.”
I’ve never said those words outloud.
I expect Rena to look at me with new eyes, like the closeness we have hasevaporated.
Instead, I feel her shift closer. “You misshim.”
My head falls back against the building. I feel the slide of her hair against mine. “He was the best man I know. It seemed as if he worked all the time, but we watched a movie once a week. I told him I wanted to be a doctor. He said, ‘Of course you will.’” Bitterness rises in my throat. “But when I went to school, I had these ideas about what it would be like. My classmates weren’t there for the same reasons. They wanted to get ahead. I got jaded, fought with my dad, pissed away a year’s tuition. After that, he told me to pay for my ownschool.”
“Which you did.” Her voice is fierce, as if she’s defendingme.
“And now I have my father’s bills—and his funeral—which I’m not letting my mom pay for. I thought I’d find a way out, but when I look at my teaching salary, or even what I’d make as a professor, it won’t add up for a long time. Until my kids graduate.” I frown. “Assuming kids are free to raise. They’re free, right? Otherwise, I’mscrewed.”
