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“Oh, Elsie.”
“He sees everything—”
“Elsie.”
“—and he’ll get sick of my bullshit—”
“Elsie?”
“—and he’s way too tall for me—ouch!” My arms drop. There is a red bruise on the back of my hand. Another cheddar cube on the floor. “What the—”
“Stop whining all over my kitchen,” she commands. “Fear aside, do youwantto be with Jack? Do youlikebeing with Jack?”
So much.
So, so much.
So, so,somuch.
“I like it. But maybe I still shouldn’t.”
“There are things like that. That feel nice but are bad for you. Like MDMA, or Q-tips for ear cleanings. I don’t think Jack qualifies, though.”
“Why?”
Cece’s eyes are earnest. Her fingers reach out for mine.
“You know me, Elsie: Ihategiving credit to a dude who probably went to kindergarten at a French château. But you’ve been seeing him for, what, weeks? And I don’t know what it is precisely that you two have been doing for each other. But he just let go of a very shitty thing he’s been carrying around for half his life. And you... I feel like I know you better than I ever did before. And I’m thinking that maybe, I owe it a little bit to him.”
I look at Cece, letting her words swirl around me in messy, complicated, unpredictable patterns. Then they settle inside my brain, and I cantastetheir truth.
Four weeks ago I was a different person.
No: four weeks ago I was an infinite number of different people. I’ve put myself in a hundred tiny boxes, played a thousand roles, sculpted myself in a million smooth lines. But for the first time in memory I’m fighting against that, and...
What doyouwant, Elsie?
I squeeze my hand tight around Cece’s. Then I stand, pick up my coat, and run out the door.
•••
There’s something new on the door of Jack’s office.
Under the “Jonathan Smith-Turner, Ph.D.” plaque and the “Physics Institute, Director” subplaque, someone taped a printout of theAnnalsarticle Cece showed me earlier today.
All two pages.
Including the citations.
One of which is an article of mine.
“Dr. Hannaway?”
I turn to Michi walking down the hallway. “Oh—hi.”
“Hi!” She smiles widely at me. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, I was...” I point at the door, which looks a lot like I’m pointing at the paper. I quickly lower my hand. “I was looking for Jack.”
