“Thanks for your help,” Hazel said when she’d finished.
“Just make sure he finishes the prescription,” the vet assistant said. “And get him in here for regular check-ups.”
“I bring him in once a year.”
“Really?”
Hazel’s back straightened. “I’m sure my records show that I do.”
The vet assistant waved a hand, as if dismissing Hazel’s comment. “Considering how much weight you let him gain, I figured you didn’t bother with preventative pet care.”
I winced, waiting for Hazel to fire back that Erwin wasn’t fat, he was fluffy. I grabbed the pet carrier so we could get out of here.
“I don’t overfeed him,” she said.
“Yeah, clearly.”
“I don’t. I take good care of him.”
The vet assistant sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up. Most cat owners are hands-off; it’s why they have cats. But you can’t ignore his needs and expect him to stay healthy.”
I stared at the vet assistant. Had she really just said that? I opened the pet carrier door. I needed to get us out of here before Hazel got going on what I was sure would be a well-researched defense of her cat’s size.
But she didn’t.
I glanced at her and couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. She chewed her bottom lip and her eyes were red-rimmed, shining with tears.
I’d never seen Hazel look like that before. She was always so confident, like she knew how smart she was. It was one of the things I liked about her.
But this woman had hurt her feelings, and it made me furious.
“Hazel doesn’t ignore his needs. She’s an amazing cat mom. She probably has his entire medical history memorized. She takes good care of him and the fact that he’s fluffy doesn’t give you the right to make her feel bad about his size.”
The vet assistant’s eyes widened, like she was shocked she’d been called out for being a dick. “Sorry.”
“You should be sorry. Now get out so we can get Erwin home. You’re making him worse.”
She glared at me, but I didn’t give a shit. Ignoring her as she left the room, I reached out to scratch around Erwin’s ears.
“Thank you,” Hazel said, her voice soft.
I met her eyes. They still shone with unshed tears, but she smiled.
God, I loved that smile. It was going to be the death of me.
29
Hazel
“Let us always meet each other with a smile, for the smile is the beginning of love.” ~ Mother Teresa
One of the tricks to gathering useful data in the motion capture lab was allowing the subjects enough time to gain comfort with the equipment. That was an interesting phenomenon in and of itself. Much like people being filmed for a reality TV show gradually forgetting about the presence of the cameras, subjects in our lab gradually forgot they were wearing motion capture sensors and began to act naturally.
I could see it happening now as I observed through the one-way glass. The male and female subjects—both undergrads—had been given a list of questions to spark conversation. They were small-talk in nature, things that were easy for most people to answer. We weren’t as interested in their responses to these questions as we were in watching for the signs that they’d crossed into what Elliott referred to as the comfort zone, when we could begin gathering data for our true purpose.
Elliott stood with his arms crossed, his attention on the view through the one-way glass. Corban sat at a desk off to the side, rapidly clicking through different screens on the array of monitors in front of him. I could almost see his brain working, analyzing the preliminary readings coming through the motion capture equipment, devising different ways of manipulating the wealth of data.
Seeing him made me crack a little smile. I still felt the warm glow of gratitude for the way he’d helped me with Erwin. I’d brought him blueberry muffins this morning as a thank-you. Two empty muffin cups sat next to his keyboard. It would appear he’d enjoyed them.
“What do you think?” Elliott asked, angling his face toward me.
I checked my watch. “It’s been just over four minutes.”
“But what do you think? What are your instincts telling you?”
I observed the pair again. Their posture had softened. They were maintaining natural eye contact and their conversation was continuing without significant pauses.
“They appear to have adjusted sufficiently. But I would still suggest waiting the full five minutes we’ve allotted before the next phase. That way we’re not inadvertently introducing a new variable.”
“That’s a valid point,” Elliott said. “But don’t forget that sometimes your instincts as a researcher matter as much as the data.”
That was hard to believe. “Not to be unnecessarily argumentative, but instincts are fallible. Data is… data. Numbers don’t lie as long as they’re interpreted correctly.”
“In a lab, maybe. But the world isn’t as controlled as a laboratory.” Before I could ask what he meant, he turned for the door. “I’ll send the lab assistant in. This is our last pair for the day, so if you could get everything reset for tomorrow when they’re done, that would be great.”
I adjusted my glasses. “Of course.”
Once the lab assistant went in, there wasn’t much for me to do except observe. She entered and informed the subjects that we needed to calibrate the motion capture system by having them walk in a circle around the room.
In reality, we were already capturing data. The purpose was to discover how long it would take for their movements to synchronize, if they would at all.
I watched, fascinated, as the two subjects circled at a self-selected pace. It didn’t take long before the length of their steps, the angle of their bodies, and even their posture began to match. They were syncing. Mirroring each other.
The lab assistant then asked them to perform a series of tasks and mirroring games while we observed, and the motion capture system collected data. When they finished, and they’d removed their equipment, I joined them to administer a questionnaire. It contained a variety of questions, but we were particularly interested in their self-reported feelings and their reactions to their study partner. Did the syncing behaviors—conscious and unconscious mimicking of each other’s movements—influence how they felt about the other person?
The data would tell us for sure.
After the subjects left, I went back into the observation room with Corban and checked my phone. I was meeting Sophie for lunch today, but she’d texted to say that something had come up at work and she couldn’t get away. I texted back to let her know I’d see her later in the week for our run.
“Everything okay?” Corban asked.
He stood from his spot at the desk, not bothering to smooth down his shirt. It was partially un-tucked in the back today, like he’d gotten partway through dressing and forgotten what he was doing. I had a feeling that’s exactly what had happened.
Absently, I brushed a few muffin crumbs off his shirt. “Yes, fine. I was going to have lunch with Sophie, but she had to cancel.”
“Do you want to go grab something? I didn’t bring lunch, so I need to go out anyway.”