“You’re misunderstanding my intention. I don’t think you need fixing.”
He pointed to my stack of papers. “Then what’s that?”
“It’s data. And maybe I spent my time looking in the wrong places. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m trying to understand.”
“I’m not a fucking a lab experiment, Hazel.” He gathered up his lunch and stood. “I have a lot to do. I should get back to my office.”
The crisp sheet of paper slipped from my fingers as I watched him go.
He was angry.
Why was he angry?
Couldn’t he see that I wanted to help? He understood data better than anyone else I knew. I’d thought for sure he’d be as interested as I was in what the research had to say.
This was science. Science had the answers.
But maybe they weren’t the answers he wanted. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to hear them from me.
33
Hazel
“You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him discover it in himself.” ~Galileo
The row of macarons I piped were perfect—shiny, round, and even. Pausing with the pastry bag held to the side, I smiled in satisfaction. These would not only be delicious, but pretty to look at. Exactly what I was aiming for.
I’d started my Saturday with an early morning run. We didn’t have long before the Soggy Seattle Half, and the training plan I’d devised called for decreasing mileage leading up to race day. We wanted to be fresh and energized on the day of the race, not sore and tired. This morning’s shorter run had left me feeling good.
For the most part, at least. An undercurrent of worry poked at me as I piped another row of macarons. Could I really do this? Could I run over thirteen miles?
Even without Sophie’s bet with Bella Ferndale, that prospect would have been daunting. Logically, I knew the progressive nature of the training program, and my adherence to it, would enable me to finish. But the increased competitiveness stirred my self-doubt. I could explain to my friends everything they’d ever wanted to know—and then some—about race training. And had. But could I successfully apply it?
This was pushing me outside my comfort zone in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I finished another row of macarons. Erwin stretched out near the entrance to the kitchen, a fluffy pile of gray fur on the carpet.
“What do you think, Erwin? Will I be able to finish the race?”
He twitched an ear.
“Well, yes, objectively speaking, I shouldn’t be concerned about finishing. Even if I wasn’t adequately prepared and had to walk much of the distance, I could finish. But crossing the finish line isn’t enough.”
I spooned more batter into the pastry bag.
“Look at me, Erwin. I’m a scientist, not an athlete. The Bedazzled Bitches might have terrible taste in fashion, but they’re good runners. They’re experienced. Who knows, maybe there’s something to all those gemstones they use on their shirts.”
Erwin licked a paw and ran it over his flat nose.
“I know, that’s silly. There’s no objective reason their bedazzling would make them faster. Although maybe there’s something to their matching attire. It undoubtedly creates a sense of connectedness between them.”
I finished piping the macarons while Erwin groomed himself, and put them in the preheated oven. There was more batter, so I prepped a second baking sheet.
Before I got started on the next batch, I checked my phone. No new messages. My stomach sank with a renewed sense of disappointment. Corban and I hadn’t spoken since yesterday. I kept hoping he’d reach out and want to talk. But he hadn’t. And maybe he wasn’t going to.
“I feel bad for upsetting Corban. But I’m not sure what to do to make things better.”
As usual, Erwin didn’t answer. But as I went back to the kitchen, I kept talking. Maybe it would help me make sense of my tangled thoughts.
“I didn’t intend to treat him like a lab experiment. I simply had questions. And what do we do when we have questions? That’s right, first we look at the literature to see what’s already been discovered and explained.”
That was true, when the questions were scientific in nature. Questions about human behavior and related outcomes lent themselves well to structured research. We gathered data and drew conclusions based on our findings.
But Corban wasn’t a subsection of the population. He wasn’t a dot on a graph or a percentage. He was a man.
“Oh, Erwin. No wonder he was upset. He was right, I was treating him like a lab experiment. And he isn’t. He’s a unique human being. He’s a man with his own history, personality, and talents. A person can’t be distilled into a data set. Especially not a person like him.”
I started piping a new row of macarons onto the baking sheet.
“He’s intelligent and insightful. Somehow he manages to be handsome in a strong, masculine way, and also charming and adorable. He’s funny and talented, and he knows so many interesting things. I could talk to him for hours. You know what he’s like, Erwin; you’ve met him. He’s…”
I slowly lowered the pastry bag, my latest row of macarons only half-finished. But I was experiencing a feeling.
A big feeling.
An intense surge of emotion flooded through me. It wasn’t new. I’d felt it before, but until this moment, I hadn’t let myself truly feel it in all its fullness.
I’d felt it as I ran my fingers through Corban’s hair when he’d been sick.
When he’d stood up for me at the vet.
Each time he’d stolen a kiss at work or grinned at me like we shared a secret.
It had been there, trying to nudge its way to the front of my brain, every time I’d lain in bed with him, my body warm and satisfied. That had been more than the release of oxytocin and the flood of dopamine. More than just physical gratification.
And now, with a pastry bag dangling from my limp fingers, I felt the full force of the truth.
I was falling in love with Corban Nash.
Scientific curiosity wasn’t driving my desire to understand him. I cared about him. Deeply. I didn’t want to examine him under a microscope. I wanted to feel him laid bare, physically and emotionally, and I wanted to be right there with him, open and vulnerable.
I wanted intimacy with him. Real intimacy.
The oven beeped and I almost dropped the pastry bag.
“Oh my god, Erwin. Do I love him?”
My cat didn’t seem nearly as unhinged by this realization as I was. But I’d never felt this intensely about someone before. I’d dated and even gotten married—although that had proved to be an ill-advised decision—but I’d never felt this way about any of them.
I’d never been in love.
Erwin let his chin settle on his front paws and closed his eyes.
I pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack, my hands trembling. Instead of finishing the cookies, I turned the oven off.
How had I not realized it? I was a smart woman. I understood the science of human attraction. But I’d been walking around, living my life, working with him, sleeping with him, and I hadn’t put the pieces together?