“Welcome back.” She gives him her cheek, leaning awkwardly because she doesn’t trust herself to take a step just now, not in these shoes. And not when the citrus pinch of his aftershave, Guerlain Vetiver, rings in her head like a fucking bell and she is Pavlov’s bitch. Couldn’t he switch brands? There ought to be a law. Olfactory memories are made of hardened steel—she knows that—but her reaction surprises her nonetheless. Her reptilian brain has apparently misplaced the memo that she is over him.
Miles reaches around to shake Harlan’s hand. “Hey, great to see you.” Miles’s smile is warm, genuine, like everything about him. Jackie stabilizes herself against her husband’s shoulder.
Harlan gestures toward the table, toward the woman seated to his left.
Jackie smiles reflexively in greeting, then realizes who it is. “Nasira?” Jackie glances at Harlan, but he’s taking a seat, arranging his napkin.
“Hi, Jackie.” Nasira’s voice is soft and breathy.
Harlan says, “Miles, I don’t think you’ve met Nasira Amari, have you?”
Miles answers, but the words don’t register. Jackie stares across the table at Nasira, her new postdoctoral research associate. What is she doing here? For a moment Jackie thinks that perhaps she invited Nasira and forgot, but no, that is impossible. She wouldn’t include Nasira in an intimate dinner with friends, not before getting to know her.
“What a surprise,” Jackie manages, and turns to Harlan with raised eyebrows. Getting to know her. Surely he will offer an explanation, a reason for inviting her postdoc at the last minute, or perhaps an account of how they have come to know each other. Jackie spots a flicker of mischief in his eyes, which dissolves as quickly as Jackie’s certainty that it ever existed. Classic Harlan.
Jackie feels everyone’s eyes on her and sits. Miles holds her chair—ever the gentleman—and takes his seat. Jackie, having been sideswiped by Nasira’s presence, is eager to prove she can still steer. “Sorry we’re a little late. Harlan, what’s this new zest for punctuality?”
Harlan laughs. “You know how keen I am on self-improvement.” This is a solid brick of irony, but it flies right past Nasira, as it would, since she couldn’t possibly know Harlan at all well. She’s only been in the department, what, not even three weeks?
Nasira says, “The Portrait Gallery closes at seven, but they start hustling you out earlier. The timing was perfect.”
“The Portrait Gallery,” Jackie repeats. She wants to ask Harlan what the hell they put in the water in Madison to render him amenable to a museum outing—portraiture no less—but stops herself. She stacks that question behind the others; her curiosity is her sharpest, largest sword. But she can’t interrogate her ex-boyfriend in front of her new postdoc or her husband. Even as her mind races to illicit and alarming conclusions, she’s wary of jumping the gun and making an ass of herself.
Miles asks about the exhibits (more good manners—he cares less about stuffy art than Harlan does, or did), and small talk swirls around the table. Jackie studies Nasira. Of course, Jackie is familiar with Nasira’s appearance from work, but either the lighting in the lab is worse than Jackie thought or she hadn’t been paying attention to her postdoc. Whatever the cause, tonight Nasira is gorgeous in every detail: heart-shaped face, dusky olive complexion, catlike eyes so dark the irises are nearly black, perfectly arched eyebrows, full lips. Until now, Jackie hasn’t been able to pinpoint whom Nasira reminds her of: Jasmine, the Disney princess. And like the princess, Nasira is tiny, as if it would be an offense to the balance of the universe for her to be so beautiful and take up any more space. Jackie feels like a mastodon by comparison and regrets the shoes. What is Nasira wearing exactly? Some garment consisting of lengths of soft dove-colored cloth, twisted and draped loosely across her body. Its construction confounds Jackie. Nasira wouldn’t undress so much as unravel.
Jackie hurries away from that thought.
The waiter arrives, a godsend of distraction, and asks for drink orders.
“I think so,” Harlan says. “Jackie?”
Sure, age before beauty. But there is nothing other than affection and solicitousness in his expression. “I’d love a martini. Dirty.”
Harlan’s grin slides sideways, and he winks at her.
“I’m fine with water, thanks,” Nasira says.
Jackie thinks, Of course. How embarrassing if she should get carded, and chides herself for being bitchy. But, really, Nasira can’t be more than twenty-six, twenty-seven. Harlan is twice her age. Not that it matters, because they couldn’t possibly be dating. That wouldn’t be plausible, ethical, nor fair.
Jackie reaches under the table for Miles’s hand.
He squeezes hers lightly and looks up at the waiter. “Gin and tonic for me, please. Sapphire.”
“The same,” Harlan says.
Harlan asks Miles about his recruiting trip, and Jackie follows the conversation so she doesn’t have to talk to Nasira. The drinks arrive.
Harlan straightens and raises his glass, his face bright. “To friends—new and old.”
Jackie touches her brimming glass to the others with care and smiles at Nasira. The impending delivery of gin to her system has made her generous.
“To new friends,” Nasira says.
New friends? We’ll see.
CHAPTER 2
On the sidewalk outside the restaurant, Jackie and Miles say goodbye to Harlan and Nasira in a blur of air-kisses, handshakes, and shoulder clasps. Jackie notes that Harlan and Nasira do not discuss where they are going or how they are getting there, together or separately, apparently having worked it out ahead of time.
Jackie takes Miles’s arm as they leave. A moment later, she pulls up short and digs in her bag for her phone.
Miles stops. “What’s wrong?”
She wakes the phone. “Something in my eye.” She clicks open the camera and toggles to selfie mode. In the camera, she sees Harlan and Nasira walking away, and dabs at the corner of her eye for Miles’s sake. Harlan dips his head toward Nasira in conversation and places his hand on the center of her back.
“Shit.” Jackie drops the phone into her bag.
Miles leans closer. “Does it hurt?”
She blinks hard, completing the performance. “Nope. Got it, I think.” She is dying to turn around, but is not prepared for what she might see. What is going on with those two? Her mind is racing, like it was during dinner as she scrutinized Harlan and Nasira on the sly. She doesn’t know what to think. She needs to talk it out, run through the possibilities, and she doesn’t want to wait until she and Miles are at home where there will be distractions. Miles will want to go through his mail, unpack.
Jackie touches his arm. “Are you up for a drink?”
“Out or at home?”
“Out. I haven’t seen anything other than moms, babies, and freshmen all week.” Between advising, teaching, and the start of a new study, her schedule has been packed. She made a point of introducing parents (usually mothers) and their babies to the study herself. Even behavioral laboratories can be intimidating, and she understands the importance of putting the moms at ease. A tough week combined with that dinner has left her desperate for time and conversation with her husband—and another drink.